Blown Circuit Read online

  I was concerned about cameras. I didn’t want them watching me. First I spread a bit of toothpaste on the lone smoke detector on the ceiling. I wiped toothpaste on the sensor hole and the test button. Then I moved on to the locks on the doors and did the same thing. I covered the little hole in the faceplates above all three door handles. After that, it was time for the painting of the ship. It looked like a Turner, a real one for all I knew, and I smeared the crack between the canvas and frame.

  Then I grabbed a towel to protect my fingers and unscrewed the halogen bulbs in the ceiling one by one. There were four in the cabin, plus the one in the bathroom. When I was done, it was dark in the cabin, bright moonlight filtering through the porthole. I hadn’t swept for bugs, but because I wasn’t speaking, it wouldn’t much matter. At that point, I lay on the bed and waited.

  I figured that if Kate and crew were angry that they couldn’t observe me, they’d be down soon enough. And if they weren’t, that meant I had some time to figure my situation out. Except, things went in a different direction entirely. It started with a squeak. It began intermittently but grew more persistent. At first I thought it was a mouse, or more likely a rat, but it wasn’t. No critter showed its eyes. There was no scurry of little feet. What there was, was a gradual but perceptible movement in the closet’s rear wallboard. I watched as the textured wall expanded outward in one spot, bubbling out farther and farther until it burst, the rotating head of a bolt appearing.

  The bolt head stopped twisting and hung there a moment, before falling to the bottom of the closet. Then the squeaking started again, another bolt, making its way through the wallboard. At that point I saw no reason not to help. I retrieved the toothbrush from the bathroom and used it as a straight edge against the head of the hex bolt to crank it around. Within a few minutes, all four bolts were off and a metal panel tore through the layer of texturing on the wall. A second after that and I was staring through a jumble of wires at Meryem.

  “You took very long to help,” she whispered.

  I put a finger to my lips. If the rooms were bugged, I didn’t want to tip our captors off. It was a tight squeeze, but I followed Meryem past the jumble of wires and through the access panel into her cabin. Once in her cabin, I saw that she had gone in through a disused junction box which gave her access to the panel below it.

  I figured if we were being observed, we’d already have been busted, but you never knew. I signaled Meryem to wait and pulled the toothpaste trick again, just in case they were watching. Then I set my sights on Meryem’s porthole. Unlike the one in my cabin, it was rectangular, consisting of a pane of tempered glass cantilevered out on two long stainless-steel hinges. A rubber gasket around the opening in the hull where the window was seated ensured it would be near waterproof in bad weather. It was a good setup to keep water out. Hopefully not so good at keeping people in.

  I reached outside and hung my weight off the glass. It was surprisingly solid. I felt some movement, but didn’t gain more than a fraction of an inch in vertical play. I noticed an unintended consequence, though. I did gain lateral play. The hinges were still solidly preventing the window from bending down, but they had separated somewhat from the wall. Still, I had nothing but a toothbrush for a tool. I needed something else.

  “What?” Meryem mouthed.

  I raised a finger indicating that she should wait.

  I wouldn’t have been shocked if the door had broken open and armed men had put an end to our little escapade right there, but they didn’t, so I scoured the room. It was the same as mine. Same closet, same tiny bathroom, same non-marine toilet. Smaller yachts tended to carry a marine toilet with a pump and valve regulating shore and offshore use. This one didn’t. It was simply a regular toilet bowl with regular plumbing, which got me thinking. I removed the porcelain toilet tank lid. Sure enough, there was a plastic float in there. A float on a steel rod with a flattened end where it connected to the flushing mechanism. Interesting. I thought it might do. I unscrewed the ten-inch rod. With the black float on the end it looked like a maraca, but it had the potential to give me the leverage I needed.

  I took off the float and inserted the toilet rod under the loosened hinge, prying upward. It gave me the mechanical advantage I wanted. Two sharp, upward strokes and I was able to jimmy both hinges off their mounts. Then I removed the window and gave Meryem a boost. She slipped headfirst through the tight space, landing with the tiniest of splashes. I followed, putting my arms through the window and pushing off the hull, diving deeply into the cool black water below.

  Chapter 34

  BRIGHT PHOSPHORESCENCE GLOWED in the dark water around me as I surfaced, Meryem quietly treading water beside me in the night. The luminescent microorganisms were bright enough to be seen from above which could have been a problem had the guards been on deck. Fortunately, the ship was dark except for the mooring lamp and a light on the bridge. To the east, the moon had risen over the southern Mediterranean creating a perfect beam of reflected light on the rippling water. Meryem tugged at my arm underwater and we followed the moonbeam quietly into a rocky cove.

  “What did they do to you?” I whispered, careful to keep my voice low.

  “Not so much. Asked me questions. Then they locked me in the room.”

  When we reached the shore, she pulled herself out of the sea, salty drops of water glistening on her bare arms in the moonlight. We scrabbled up the rocky escarpment before descending the other side. There was what looked like a goat path leading to the center of the island. Looking back, over my shoulder, I could just see the Furno radar can on the yacht behind us. There was no light and no noise which meant the alarm hadn’t been raised. Yet. I thought we could risk a quiet conversation.

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Who I am loyal to? Why I am traveling with you? Am I lesbian?”

  “They asked you that?”

  “No. They did not ask this,” Meryem smiled. “A joke,” she said.

  “Funny,” I replied. “So what did you tell them?”

  “I told them I am MIT. That I work for my country.”

  “Well, you’ve hit the nail on the head there, haven’t you?”

  Meryem stopped in her tracks. She was soaking wet, her lean, athletic body toned under her T-shirt. Some people look good wet and some people look like drowned rats. Meryem fell into the former category. She looked good. No, she looked great.

  “What nail?” she asked.

  “Loyalty. If Faruk is military, he should be working with you, not locking you up. I need to know who you’re loyal to Meryem. I need to know why your own government is treating you like a criminal?”

  Meryem only laughed.

  “And your Dragon Lady Shaw?”

  “What about her?”

  “Who are you loyal to, Mr. Raptor? Or should I say, Mr. Chase?”

  I considered Meryem’s words. However you played it, espionage was a calculated endeavor. My cover identity had served its purpose. But it was getting in the way now. Meryem had already proved that she had access to valuable information regarding the Device’s whereabouts. But she wouldn’t share that information if she didn’t think she could trust me. I needed to make a call.

  “I’m not Raptor,” I said. “Raptor is dead. I was sent to take his place in order to infiltrate the Dragons. You were identified as his last contact so we decided to go in through you. Like you heard, my name is Chase. Michael Chase. I’m not a mole.”

  Meryem looked me up and down.

  “So you are telling me the truth now?”

  “Yeah. I’m telling you the truth. Now it’s your turn.”

  “The truth, Michael Chase, is a dangerous thing.”

  “We passed dangerous a long time ago.”

  Meryem spent a long moment studying me and gauging my sincerity. Then she spoke.

  “The meeting with Raptor was set only so MIT could discover what the Dragons knew. We look for the Device, yes, but I work for my country, not Faruk, not Kate Shaw. This,
this is the truth.”

  We continued along the path, the yacht no longer visible behind us.

  “Would it surprise you if I told you that Ms. Shaw says you’re a Kurdish terrorist?”

  “This is the same woman who works for the Green Dragons, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same woman to whom you report?”

  “If she could have her way, yes.”

  “The same woman who is a member of a recognized terrorist organization?”

  “That’s her. She says you want to use the Tesla Device to blow people up.”

  Meryem looked at me straight on.

  “You believe this?”

  “I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “Your friend is a liar.”

  I couldn’t argue with her on that point. “Yes, more often than not, she is.”

  The wind rustled in the olive trees, the scent of thyme in the air.

  “Listen,” Meryem said. “When I was a girl, my mother had four children. My father he is not there. He died when I was younger. Vehicle accident. It is only my mother, myself and three brothers. In Turkey, boys go to the army for fifteen months. Conscription. My brothers went to the army. They love Turkey. They go to fight on the border with Iraq. I was the youngest. I am a girl. I stay home. My brothers, they get into battle. They die. All of them. Mortar attack from Kurdish insurgents on the Iraqi border. When my mother learns this, she cries and cries. She says I am a good girl and she is so lucky to have me. Then she takes my father’s gun and, what do you say, blows off her head. She shoots herself. She is dead. I am alone, but I am eighteen. I join MIT. I work for my country. I work so there will be peace. So my brothers and my mother did not die in vain. So, do not ask who I am loyal to, Michael Chase. I am loyal to my people. I will find this Tesla weapon for them. Not so they may use it, but so terrorists, the same terrorists who killed my family, may not kill again.”

  I was quiet. There was no way to respond to what Meryem had said, so we just walked. We continued on for another hundred yards until she broke the silence.

  “We were only to get information from this Green Dragon group. We were never to work with them.”

  “Apparently Faruk didn’t get that memo.”

  “Faruk is planning something,” Meryem said. “Something not sanctioned by my government. Something dangerous.”

  “It looks that way,” I said. “The smart money says they plan to use the Device,” I said. “The question is, what now?”

  “So nothing now. Nothing has changed, Michael Chase. I work for my country first. And my country has asked me to find this Tesla Device. We are free from Faruk and the Dragon Lady. What you do now is your business.”

  “What if I want to stop this thing from falling into the wrong hands just like you?”

  Meryem thought about it.

  “Then we are on the same side,” she finally said.

  Chapter 35

  THE ISLAND WAS called Sedir. It was famous for both its Cleopatra sands and the ancient Roman town of Kedriai, which had been built there. Meryem remembered visiting there as a child. We walked along what I guessed was a Roman road, the well-worn stones laid out thousands of years before. My wet clothes clung to my skin, but they were drying quickly in the hot night air. That far south, only a stone’s throw from Egypt, even the sea breeze was warm.

  “There’s a reason that the Dragons brought us here. I want you to tell me everything that you remember about this island,” I said.

  “That is easy. There is a temple to Apollo here.”

  “Another ruin?”

  “Yes, another ruin. I have told you, there are many old things in Turkey.”

  “You think that the Device is hidden in the temple?”

  “Perhaps you can tell me.”

  Meryem revealed a piece of wet, folded paper that I immediately recognized as a copy of a page from the journal. She carefully opened it. The sketch showed a temple to Apollo, simple Doric columns rising out of the earth to support a marble pediment. It looked like a scaled-down Acropolis surrounded by an olive grove, and beside the temple were two crates. I remembered the drawing, though I hadn’t attached much significance to it at the time.

  “Where did you get that?” I said.

  “I made a copy at the safe house when you were asleep. I thought it looked, how do you say? Promising.”

  “How so?”

  “I have told you that the Tesla Device has been hidden in pieces. It requires two triggers. Our information tells us the triggers are assembled remotely to allow the firing of the Device. I believe these two crates represent the triggers.”

  I thought about it.

  “That’s pretty thin,” I said.

  “Thin? Why?”

  “Just because there are two crates it doesn’t mean there’s enough evidence to support that they represent the triggers.”

  “I thought thin meant not fat. Like me. I am not fat.”

  I looked her over.

  “Maybe a little fat.”

  She punched me. Hard in the arm. It hurt.

  “I’m kidding,” I said. “It’s a joke. You’re not fat at all. Actually you look pretty spectacular.”

  I wasn’t lying. Meryem wasn’t fat. She was womanly with a lithe torso and hips that showed just the right amount of curve. But she wasn’t fat. There was no way.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Really.”

  Meryem smiled. I was pretty sure that she had just fished a compliment out of me, but I didn’t care, even if my arm did still hurt. The woman could punch. We passed an ancient amphitheater on our left, olive trees growing out of the cracked and crumbling rows of semicircular seating.

  “If I remember correctly, the temple is not far,” Meryem said.

  “Good, because we’re on borrowed time already. Once they’ve discovered we’ve gone, they’re going to come looking.”

  “Tell me about the Shaw woman.”

  “What about her?”

  “Michael, please. I saw the way you looked at her. You have more than a business relationship with this woman.”

  “It is more,” I replied. “But not in the way you think.”

  “And what is the way I think?”

  “You think I’m somehow involved with her. Personally.”

  “And you are, no?”

  “We hooked up. Once. That was it.”

  “This is nothing to be ashamed of. She is very attractive.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I said.

  “Complicated how?”

  “Not now.”

  Meryem let it go. After a few more minutes we reached a clearing on a hill surrounded by olive trees, the hot breeze rustling through their dry leaves. I could see the Mediterranean to one side of us. And I could see Doric columns lying in ruins. But I couldn’t see a temple. I went over the details of the journal’s sketch in my head. The columns, the pediment, the two crates. There was something I was missing.

  “Let me see the drawing again,” I said.

  Meryem passed me the folded page, ink-drawn Doric columns rising skyward.

  “How old do you think the journal is?”

  “The Device went missing in 1955,” Meryem said. “We guessed that the journal was hidden sometime after this. The temple might have been still standing in 1955, but this is not likely. The temple is very old. 1955 is not so long ago.”

  I liked the way Meryem said, “Not so long ago,” her button nose upturned. I studied the drawing in the moonlight. If Kate was right, Bayazidi, the man who had sketched the drawing, was a sculptor, an artist. An artist would have had an eye for detail. That detail would turn up on the page. But that was the problem. I couldn’t match the detail in the drawing to a temple that was no longer standing.

  So I thought about it. Then I looked around the area where the temple would have stood. Parts of the temple could have been excavated and moved. That kind of thing had happened before. So I looked at the trees. O
live trees to be precise. Strong, slender trunks opening into a broad, round canopy, hard green fruit on their branches. I didn’t know much about olive trees, but I did know that they were known to live for a very long time. Sometimes millennia. And that like many things, each was unique. I glanced back down at the sketch and took three steps forward. I had my answer.

  “This is it,” I said. “This is the spot.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “The square. Look.”

  I walked ahead another step and placed my hand on the rough trunk of an olive tree. Immediately below my palm was a branch that had grown back on itself to create a perfect hole in the trunk of the tree—a square hole you could toss a stone through.

  “It matches the drawing,” I said. “If the crates are anywhere, they’re here.”

  The moon had risen high enough to cast long shadows over the clearing. The remains of a foundation were visible, sections of Doric columns piled here and there, but not much else. I looked at the sketch again. Below the crates were several words in Cyrillic. I could make them out, but just barely in the moonlight.

  “Can you read this?” I said.

  “It is not Turkish. It is Serbian, I think. I worked there once. Undercover. It says, ‘There is poverty in love that is measured.’”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. It says there are beggars, poverty in love that is measured.”

  “Beggars?”

  “Yes. Beggars. Beggary?”

  I knew what it said right then. I understood it.

  “There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” I said. “It’s Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra again.”

  I turned it over in mind. There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned. It was a very famous line from Antony and Cleopatra. I knew it. Half the world knew it. But why had Bayazidi written it in his journal? I had no idea. I knew that both Antony and Cleopatra had probably stood in this very spot. Was Bayazidi a hopeless romantic? Was he expressing his love for his own nation? For the Kurds? For a new world order? It was unclear.