The Fragment, page 10
She rose and washed her face and went to stand by the window. The night was overcast, the clouds turned coppery by the lights rising from the city. On a distant hill, a building burned. She heard shouts and the occasional gunshot. Constantinople looked like a forge upon which blazed all the chaos and passions that mankind was capable of producing. Muriel shut her curtains and returned to sit upon her bed.
She knew why there was no sorrow. The dream had not returned to convict her. She knew she was a sinner. She knew her only hope of eternity lay in the Savior’s gift. No, the dream had returned because she needed to focus. She was surrounded by the din and tumult of life and conflict and war. She had every reason to think on all the other things in her world besides this. The one essential element. Her reason for coming. Charles was wrong, she knew. The senator was a man who moved through the world and yet remained strong in his faith and his convictions. She could trust him. She could use him as an example.
As she lay back down, she reflected on what her father had said in their too-brief telephone conversation. She found herself wanting the same thing. To be known as a good and willing servant. To be faithful to her calling, and this quest. To do what was required, to the best of her ability.
She fell asleep to the sound of approaching gunfire. She slept and did not dream.
: CHAPTER 20 ::
Muriel was almost finished with breakfast when Charles appeared in the dining room doorway. He did not so much look at her as take aim. He crossed the room, almost colliding with a man returning to his seat from the coffee cistern. Charles gave no sign he saw the man at all. He looked over her table. “I must speak with you.”
“Of course.” Charles looked as though he had not slept. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks cavernous. “Do you want to go elsewhere?”
“Here, another place, it does not matter. We are never alone. We are always…” He collapsed into the seat. “I must ask you something. You must tell me the truth.”
“Of course I will. I always have.”
“Yes, that is who you are, is it not? The teller of truths.”
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
“Some. Badly. The dreams…” He wiped his face. “It would have been better if I had not slept at all.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“No food. Answers.” He leaned forward. “How do you know Senator Bryan tells you the truth?”
“You mean, about our being here in Constantinople to find the reliquary?” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Edward, the ambassador’s chargé, watching them with concern. She raised one hand, motioning for him to keep away. “Will you tell me why this is important, Charles?”
“It is crucial. Is that not enough?”
“Yes, of course it is.” Muriel addressed him as she would a feverish child, keeping her voice level, her tone mild. “Let me tell you what I know, and then you may make your own decision. Would you like that?”
“What I like,” he muttered. “What difference does it make in this horrid world what I like or want?”
“It matters very much to me,” she said.
“Then answer my question.”
“Very well, Charles. First, I have known Senator Bryan all my life. He and my parents have been friends since before I was born. When I became fascinated with photography, he gained access for me to places in our nation’s capital. His interest in me grew once I entered university and chose to study history. He urged me to take every course the school offered in Roman antiquities. Which I gladly did. I found myself captivated by the period known as early Byzantium, when Christianity became the religion of the Roman Empire. And I liked the attention of this powerful man.”
Charles eased back in his chair. A number of the others watched them. He either chose to ignore their stares or did not see them at all. “I don’t see what any of this has to do—”
“Wait, please. You asked me a question that is clearly very important to you. I am trying to answer you fully. After I graduated, Senator Bryan helped me obtain a position as a researcher at the Smithsonian. I was the youngest researcher they had ever taken on, one of only a handful of women.”
“He was your advocate,” Charles said, and for some reason the words left a bitter taste. “Just as the minister is for me.”
“Exactly. But most of the other researchers who had such powerful backers did poor work. I struggled very hard to overcome this stain and prove…”
She stopped because Thomas Bryan and the ambassador pushed through the padded doors leading to the private dining hall. The senator spotted the two of them together and frowned. Muriel gave her head a tiny shake. His frown deepened, but he did not approach their table.
Charles pressed, “Yes, you were saying?”
“I was assigned responsibility over the Smithsonian’s collection of reliquaries. I see that interests you. I learned that Senator Bryan had specifically requested this.”
“Did he ever tell you why?”
“In a sense, though at the time I found his answer very unsatisfying. He said that he wanted me, his friend, to be ready in case prayers were indeed answered.”
Charles rubbed his face with one hand. He did not speak.
“Do you see, Charles? Your suspicions are unfounded. How could such a man as this possibly be here for any reason other than the one he has given us?”
“He spent his time in Paris doing the American president’s bidding.”
“Of course he did. He is a United States senator. But the duties of his station did not occupy all his time. He also accompanied me to Saint Denis and then to Notre Dame. And why was this? Because he needs to be certain that the reliquary we are here to recover is real. How is that possible? No records have survived the centuries since the reliquaries were first made. So he took me to Notre Dame to view the reliquary that has the clearest lineage. Since the moment it arrived from Rome to today, it has remained a part of recorded history. Think on that. Sixteen hundred years, through war and strife—”
“Enough.” He bolted to his feet. “I have heard enough…”
She gripped his hand. “Sit back down, Charles. Please. I have a question of my own.”
He stared at her hand on his and did not move.
“This isn’t about the reliquary, is it? Nor is it about trusting Senator Bryan.”
“Of course it is.”
“Not at the deepest level. It’s about something more. Something vital.”
“Let go of my hand.”
“You want to know how a man who has held power through the Great War can still maintain his faith.”
“He saw nothing. He knew—”
“He sent young men to die in battle. Just like you. From a safe distance, yes, but you see the weight he carries from this time. Don’t you? And yet he is different from the men you know in Paris.”
“Release me. I won’t ask you again.”
She did as he demanded. “You don’t care about his motives. You care about his faith.”
He might as well have been turned to stone. He did not speak. He did not appear to even breathe.
“You want to know whether his faith in God is real. You want to know whether you can trust him to speak from a heart that has held on to the most vital part of his existence. And I am here to tell you that the answer to that question is yes, Charles. I know because I share it. I know because I have prayed with him and seen the peace that fills him when he studies the Word. I know because…”
Wordlessly, Charles spun about and strode from the room.
When he was gone, Senator Bryan approached her and said, “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”
Now that it was over, she found herself aching from the fierce onslaught of emotions. “He is a man seeking answers only God can give.”
The senator covered his unease by pulling the pocket watch from his vest and clicking it open. “We are due in the courtyard.”
Muriel rose unsteadily from her chair. Her legs felt weak. As they passed through the dining room entrance, she said, “You were right all along. About Charles, I mean.”
The look he gave her carried the sympathy of a lifelong friend. “The news gives me no pleasure whatsoever, believe you me.”
• • •
The ambassador’s driver was the lone occupant of the front courtyard. He washed and polished the embassy Daimler. He glanced up, hopeful that the ambassador would order to be taken somewhere. When they passed him without speaking, he returned to his work. The drive curved around the stone outbuildings that shielded the embassy’s main portal from the street. Many of the diplomats’ families were housed here. Muriel knew from overheard conversation that the children had been sent home to relatives, but even so, the accommodations were cramped and overcrowded, with as many as seven families sharing one kitchen. Muriel felt eyes on her as she approached the main gate.
The ambassador said, “I still feel it is a serious mistake to allow that man to observe the proceedings.”
Muriel spotted Charles standing by the main entrance, watching them. He seemed barely separated from the portico’s shadows.
“Your objections are duly noted,” the senator replied.
But the ambassador was not done. “I’m convinced he is a spy.”
“Of course he is.” The senator held to a smooth calmness, similar to how Muriel had addressed Charles. “I want them to have an observer present.”
The ambassador’s mouth worked for a moment before he managed, “But…what on earth for?”
“For the same reason that you and Charles accompanied us yesterday,” the senator replied. “So that the world will know there is no hidden motive, no grab for power, no possible conflict.” He asked Muriel, “Ready?”
Together they walked the graveled drive. When the ambassador held back, Senator Bryan said, “You too, if you please.”
Muriel protested, “They may not approach me if I’m not alone.”
“I am well aware of that.” The senator held to the same reasonable tone. “I merely want the watchers to see that you speak with our approval.”
One of the Marines on duty stepped from the pillbox’s shade. “Can I help you, Sirs?”
“Indeed you can, Sergeant.” The senator pointed at the shrubs in the central island. “I’d like you and your associate to go stand over there.”
“But sir…”
“Do as he says,” the ambassador ordered.
“And leave your rifles in the guard box,” Senator Bryan added.
Reluctantly, the two Marines set their weapons by the duty stations, then backed away. As they departed, Senator Bryan asked, “Have either of you gentlemen noticed anything out of the ordinary this morning?”
One of them muttered, “Other than a man who ain’t in our chain of command ordering us to surrender our post?”
The other responded, “Them two Turks, the guards, they scarpered off, sir.”
“When did that happen?”
“Few minutes before you arrived. First time I’ve ever seen them leave their posts.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. All right, Muriel. It’s most certainly time.”
Together the three of them approached the tall metal gates. Outside the barred entrance flowed the chaotic street traffic of central Constantinople—overladen donkeys and camels, an occasional motor vehicle emitting clouds of exhaust, and people. A countless stream of people, walking and calling and shouting and gesticulating, in all manner of dress. Most of the women’s faces were covered, but not all. They stood there for a few minutes, the ambassador fidgeting, the senator calmly observing, and Muriel. Finally, Senator Bryan said, “Come, Ambassador.”
The ambassador protested, “But we don’t know if they have spotted us.”
“Oh, I think we can safely assume they have seen all they need to.” Senator Bryan offered Muriel a confident smile. “Good luck, my dear.”
She continued to watch the noisy tide. The only constant was how every face that passed stared at her. Dark eyes probed with cold hostility, then moved on. Until one man stepped away from the flow and approached. “You are the woman Miss Muriel Ross?”
“Yes. And you?”
“My name, it is not important.”
“It is to me.”
“Then I am Yussuf.” His English was heavily accented but understandable.
“I have an interpreter ready, Mr. Yussuf.”
“No one else.” He wore the ragged clothes of a street beggar, and his face was streaked with dirt. But his features were clean shaven and intelligent. And young. He could not have been more than eighteen.
Muriel guessed, “You are the vizier’s son?”
“Who I am is not the question. Do you have an answer?”
“We will do this.”
“Citizenship for all the vizier’s family. And safe transport to America.”
“It is agreed.” She gestured to the men standing by the central circle. “Their presence confirms it.”
He examined her intently. “It is true, you are a researcher of the Christian church’s ancient treasures?”
“I am. Your family is Christian?”
“If we were, then we would be wise to leave Turkey. Now take this.” He slipped a tightly folded paper from his sleeve and passed it through the bars. “Tonight at midnight. Be ready.”
And he was gone.
: CHAPTER 21 ::
The day was filled with planning. By lunchtime, the details had been laid out. The ambassador remained intensely displeased with the senator, who had insisted that Muriel be included in their discussions. Muriel listened carefully but offered nothing. In truth, she would have preferred to be upstairs in the library.
The ambassador dug in his heels when Senator Bryan requested they include Charles in the party. “Absolutely out of the question. I am astonished you would even suggest such a thing.”
To her surprise, Senator Bryan turned to her and asked, “What do you think?”
“Really, Senator,” the ambassador protested.
“Muriel Ross is a professional analyst,” the senator replied. “What is more, her idea is the only reason we have made it so far. Our success depends upon her.”
Muriel asked, “Will we have soldiers?”
The senator lifted the folded sheet of paper handed to her by Yussuf. “The vizier’s instructions are clear enough. We may travel with three people only.”
Muriel had studied the tightly scripted sheet with the others. Her question had been for the ambassador’s sake. “Charles has known battle. If we are to face danger, he would be a worthy ally.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“We have any number of highly capable veterans in our compound,” the ambassador protested.
“None of whom have been with us since we arrived in Europe,” the senator replied.
“You don’t know the French like I do,” the ambassador said. “They have crossed us at every turn.”
“They helped us immensely while we were in Paris.”
“But they are the only nation whose embassy is not imprisoned!”
“Which may actually harm them, once Atatürk completes his conquest of Turkey.”
“You don’t know that will happen!”
“Actually, I do,” Senator Bryan replied. “And so do you.”
The ambassador disliked that intensely. “If the French can halt us or impede our progress in any way, they will. You mark my words.”
“Noted.” Senator Bryan turned to Edward. “Be so good as to summon the gentleman.”
When Charles entered, the senator handed him the sheet of paper. While he read, the ambassador paced impatiently. Finally, he handed back the page and said, “Thank you for trusting me, Sir.”
“Your impression?”
“I will need a brace of pistols,” he replied without hesitation. “And we will not be coming back.”
• • •
The wind died after lunch, and the afternoon sun baked the compound. The street beyond the locked main gates was a noisy river of Turkish life. And yet within the embassy compound there was a sense of renewed purpose. Muriel observed how the embassy staff moved with greater intention. Cables were written and reviewed and sent. Charles brooded and spoke seldom, and when he did, the ambassador glowered. Muriel excused herself, saying she wanted to pack. In truth, all the talk had left her weary and unable to think clearly.
Packing required no time at all. She was restricted to one case. She was going to take her Graflex and the Leica, her two best outfits from home, and the three dresses from Chanel. As Muriel folded in the formal gown, she heard faint echoes of music. Above the dusty heat and the cries of donkeys and men drifted the faint refrain from a mythic opera house with red velvet walls and sparkling chandeliers. The music shifted, and Muriel recalled a quartet playing a Schubert concerto in the French president’s palace. Then a choir sang a hymn over ten centuries old, as a priest who had defied the world’s darkest hour lifted a fragment of the cross over his head. When she closed the satchel, Muriel felt as though she was saying farewell to a life that had never truly been hers to claim.
An idea struck her, and she carried the tripod and the Graflex back downstairs. She crossed the forecourt and entered the married quarters. She found Sarah and explained what she had in mind. Muriel then had to repeat herself three times, as more and more people crowded in around her. When the families excitedly agreed, Muriel moved back outside and studied the forecourt.
The afternoon sunlight fashioned irregular shadows from the palm and jacaranda trees. Muriel decided the best place for photographing the families would be on the first two embassy stairs. Further up would result in shadows from the portico’s overhang.
Edward and Sarah arrived shy and hesitant as she was still setting up the tripod. She took her time, positioning Sarah on Edward’s other side because she held their infant and Muriel wanted the sunlight full on the infant’s face. The baby squinted, but there was nothing to be done about that. She took careful readings with the light meter, then slid a fresh plate into the camera. The Graflex’s negatives were set on metal squares with thin sleeves to protect them from the light. Before releasing the shutter, the photographer slipped out the sleeve, took the picture, and then replaced the sleeve, pulled out the negative, turned it over, and shot the next picture. By this point, the actions came as naturally to Muriel as using the light meter. As she turned over the plate, a flock of gulls flew overhead. Muriel took the second photograph just as the infant raised her hands to try and catch the birds.
