Sam sat up and looked at Sadik and smiled. “You came back for us!”
Sadik nodded. “Against my better judgement.”
Sam loaded the last magazine into his Glock. “What happened to the taxi driver?”
“I told him to get out.”
“Much appreciated,” Tom said.
Sadik reached the T intersection of Kayseri and Nevsehir Yolu and stopped. “Where do you want to go?”
“Kayseri Airport,” Sam said. “I have someone waiting to pick us up.”
“Okay,” Sadik said, and sped off to the north.
Sam asked, “What made you come back for us?”
“You saved my life. I save yours. Now we’re even. Don’t come back. I don’t want to know what all this was about.”
They reached Kayseri airport forty-five minutes later. Sam shook Sadik’s hand. “Good luck with your family. I’ll let you know how I go.”
“No!” Sadik said. “Don’t come back. Leave me alone. I don’t want to know what this was about. I’m not interested. I just want to live my life.”
Chapter Seventeen — Mount Ararat, Turkey
Gianpietro Mioli stood on the crest of Greater Ararat, the higher of the two volcanic peaks, and studied the snow-covered landscape that surrounded him in his search of a hidden secret. A place last seen in 1840 when the mountain last erupted, melting away the snow and revealing a series of ancient lava tubes below. Since that time, thick snow had permanently covered the upper third of the sacred mountain until this year.
As a result of the hottest summer on record, the ubiquitous snow which capped the region all year round had reached its lowest depth since the volcanic eruption of 1840. This year he’d postponed his studies at Italy’s prestigious University of Bologna in order to search the sacred mountain. A mountain rich in mystery and Biblical history dating back to ancient searches for any remnant of Noah’s Ark which some believe to have come to rest on the mountain.
Mioli didn’t believe for an instant the Ark would be found — or any sort of historical treasure for that matter — what he was searching for was something altogether very different, and yet just as valuable. He wore a pair of dark snow goggles that hid his deep-set, gray eyes. He wore a thick mountaineering jacket, helmet and crampons, so that little could be seen of his appearance, except the broad crest of his smile. He felt his heart beat faster, and for a moment didn’t even realize he was holding his breath, as he discovered his first lead in two weeks on the mountain.
Through a pair of binoculars, he studied the snowdrift wander aimlessly along the northern plateau. It turned sharply, as though it had suddenly been given a purpose and sped along the flat snow. Like a mythical beast with a mind of its own, it fought its way against the oncoming wind caused by the natural updraft, before losing momentum and slowing to a stop. A split second later, it spun around and began to move again as though suddenly energized by a secret enthusiasm. This time, it was turning in a large spiral formation. It gained speed as it approached the center, spiraling faster and faster, until it disappeared into an imaginary crevasse.
Mioli grinned and marked the precise location on his topographical map. This was exactly what he was looking for. As an avid mountain climber, he’d spent previous summers climbing throughout Europe. In two weeks, it would all be over, and he would have to take up his placement at the University of Bologna to resume his studies. In previous years he’d successfully climbed the Eiger, Mount Blanc, and the Matterhorn. This time, he’d come here in search of something very different — virginal spelunking.
It had become a craze with cavers around the world. The concept was to discover a brand new cavern, never before entered, and then map it out before the place had a chance of being overrun by other cavers and tourists. One of the tricks was to search for areas where wind shows an abnormal movement. For example a sudden down draft where the wind should be stagnant or flowing upward, might reveal an opening where the cold air below leads to a decreased pressure gradient.
Mioli carefully walked along the plateau, stopping about twenty feet short of the place where he’d seen the strange snowdrift formation disappear inside an invisible crevasse and downdraft. He fixed a climbing pin deep into the snow and attached the sixty foot climbing rope to the end of it. The other side of the rope was tethered to his harness, which he tightened until he was confident the rope would stop his fall if the ground opened into a massive crevasse. He wrapped the remaining bulk of the rope over his shoulder, and then slowly loosened the tether as he approached the point where the snowdrift had disappeared.
He was able to walk right across the section he was certain he’d seen the snowdrift disappear into. The entire place was full of hardened snow. He marked the center of the search grid and then started to examine the area with ever increasing counter-clockwise sweeps. After twenty minutes he’d thoroughly examined the entire section.
Mioli stopped and stared at his topographical map and the search grid. Had he got his navigation wrong somehow? It seemed impossible to him, but then again, the entire area was covered in thick white snow so it would be easy to confuse individual landmarks. He loosened his tether all the way and then made another series of searches throughout the initial grid using his ice pick to feel for any loose snow.
Ten minutes later, his searched confirmed one of two things. He hadn’t seen snowdrift disappear down a crevasse or, he was looking in the completely wrong place. Mioli’s mouth was dry. He’d been breathing hard in anticipation of his discovery, and it was only now that the adrenaline had worn off that he realized he hadn’t consumed any water for hours. He took off his backpack and withdrew a small thermos. He opened the lid and eagerly drank some of the lukewarm water inside.
He stared at the landscape again. What had he missed? He was certain he was at least close to the right place. A few minutes later, he stood up. There was a light wind in the area, and it was bringing with it an additional chill factor, now that he’d stopped moving and allowed his body to cool. He glanced at the sun, which was dipping over the horizon. It would be dark in a few hours. He contemplated making a note on his handheld GPS and returning tomorrow. The thought irked him like a gambler whose weekly numbers finally came up, only to discover he hadn’t got around to submitting them this week.
Mioli untied the end of his rope from the tethered pin in the snow. There was no point using it if he was in the wrong place. Instead, he would need to start again. This time he reached into his bag and withdrew a forty foot piece of string with small pieces of yarn attached on each side every few feet. Like tell-tales on a sailing yacht, which indicated the tiny changes in air pressure to either side of a sail canvas, Mioli’s device could pick up any downdraft or sudden updraft.
He carefully unraveled the tell-tale while moving backward until its yarn finally caught a light draft and began to flap lightly in the wind. He began to unravel the string from its reel, like a person trying to fly a kite. It pulled capriciously to the left and then the right, constantly moving slightly to the north. Mioli watched, gently loosening the string to give the tell-tale more freedom to move. After about three minutes the wind died off and the string and yarn settled gently on the snow.
Mioli breathed heavily and waited for a moment. He wound it in slightly and stopped. The tell-tale perked up, as though suddenly drawn upward by some mysterious power, and it shifted about a foot into the air and then due east. The reel felt firm in Mioli’s hand. He held it tight, fighting the pull and then, like he was fishing, he quickly released more yarn to allow the tell-tale the freedom to follow its new desire.