A Deceit to Die For (11 page)

“Good morning, Mr. Öztürk. I had them put some white cheese, olives and tomatoes on the breakfast buffet this morning. I’m afraid the cheese and olives are Greek, but it was the best I could do in this neighborhood.”

Advanced memory training for the Bedouin?
he thought to himself. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still don’t have the tea you want. You will have to make do with English breakfast tea.”

“I’m sure I could choke it down, but I think I’ll have your coffee instead.”

Now Mustafa’s face lit up with a smile.

“There is nothing like a cup of Arabian coffee,” Zeki said.

The human mind has an amazingly selective semantic filter and a tremendous weakness for flattery, so it made no difference to Mustafa that this sentence would have been just as true if it had been said of Kenyan coffee or that it could be an insult just as easily as it was a compliment.

After breakfast, Zeki sat out in the lobby waiting for his friend Haluk. They were supposed to meet at 8:30. Haluk was late again. He was the complete opposite of Zeki in every way, undisciplined, careless, not averse to partying,
and a late sleeper. But they were in the same department at Istanbul University and the man had undeniable linguistic genius.

“
Günaydin
, Zeki
Bey
.” Zeki turned to see the elevator door closing and Haluk coming towards him with his hair combed, but still slightly unruly.

“
Günaydin,
Haluk. How did you sleep?”

“Like a babe.”

“Not with one?”

“Not yet.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Last night around eight o’clock. I called your room, but no one answered.”

“I was having dinner at that Indian place I told you about. Can’t get curry like this in Istanbul, so I am taking advantage of every opportunity.”

In a pretentious mocking tone, Haluk said,

“Indian? Is that a type of cuisine? I thought the only cuisines worthy of the name where Chinese, French and Turkish.”

Zeki smiled at his friend’s thinly-veiled criticism of the cultural myopia of Turkey.

“Yeah, well, I think our cultural understandings deserve to be revisited. If Indian curry isn’t cuisine, then I’m not a son of the sultans. Anyway, after that, I went over to Russell Square and sat in a café for an hour or two. It helps me track with the new time zone if I don’t hit the sack too early the first few days.”

“Are you ready?”

“We can talk about it as we walk. I want to get a good seat for Dr. Herrin’s lecture.”

They stepped out of the hotel into the London drizzle and opened their umbrellas.

CHAPTER 8

Ian walked into his office at 8:00 and called the department secretary located at the end of the hall.

“Good morning, Cathy.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“Is everything set?”

“Well, the coffee maker in the conference lobby isn’t working, but I’ve brought over the espresso machine from Fine Arts.”

“Good thinking. We’ll still need to get that fixed. A whole week of espresso is probably more chemical stimulation than we need. Is there anything that needs my attention?”

“No sir. Everything is taken care of. The hospitality team is all set. There are conference programs available at the information points, and all of the AV equipment is ready in the break-out rooms.”

“Superb. Can you get me the number for Dr. Brown in the Mediterranean Studies department?”

“Is that the same fellow who is doing the
History in Chaos
break-out session this afternoon?”

“It might be. Dr. Rittlin organized that part of the conference.”

“Let me check on that.”

“Thanks, Cathy.”

He hung up the phone, opened his briefcase and removed a stiff cardboard folder. He had placed the document in a hard plastic binder for protection. He laid it down on the desk and busied himself tidying up the myriad of notes and papers that typically cluttered his desk. The phone beeped. It was Cathy.

“Dr. Brown is the one doing the break-out session this afternoon and I have him on the line if you would like to speak with him.”

“Yes, I would. Thanks, Cathy.”

She hung up and the phone clicked to indicate the handover was successful.

“Dr. Brown, this is Dr. O’Brien. I just learned that you are doing a break-out session on Tuesday afternoon. We appreciate your contribution.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

“I hope you have been made to feel welcome and are beginning to get settled in.”

“Oh definitely. Everyone has been very helpful.”

“I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Dr. Peacock.”

“Why yes, he was my committee chairman.”

“Dr. Brown, I have an old document, which, I believe, is in Arabic. I wonder if you might be able to take a look at it.”

“I would be happy to.”

“It’s a single page that probably dates back a couple of hundred years. I expect it is a letter of some kind. Where have they stuck you?”

“I’m on the third floor in B Block room 319.”

“Well, then, we are neighbors. I am on the fourth floor in A Block. Would you mind if I dropped by for a moment?”

“Well, I’m putting the finishing touches on my break-out session, but if it’s short I suppose I could take a quick look at.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right over.”

In spite of the drizzle, Ian did not bother with his coat or umbrella. For an Irishman, a walk in the rain was almost as good as a visit to the pub. He crossed the yard and took the stairs. He never passed up an opportunity to exercise. Brushing the rain off his shoulders and sleeves, he moved down the hall until he came to Dr. Brown’s office on the right. The door was open. The knock was courtesy.

“Dr. O’Brien?”

“Dr. Brown, I presume.”

They shook hands and sat down. Dr. O’Brien extended the thick folder across the desk.

“Thank you for agreeing to look at this. I chanced upon it at a private sale, and it has piqued my curiosity.”

Dr. Brown took the folder and opened it. Ian took a moment to study the man and his office. There were still stacks of books piled about the room so the process of getting settled in was obviously on-going. Dr. Brown appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was a handsome man with an olive complexion and light brown eyes. His beard was short and neatly trimmed giving him the look of a Spanish conquistador. Most of the books on the shelves had titles written in a flowing script that looked identical to that on his mysterious document.

The Mediterranean Studies department had obviously chosen to expand its focus a bit. Classes had traditionally focused predominately on the European cultures of the Mediterranean. Of course, the southern and eastern Mediterranean and all of Spain had been controlled by Muslim states beginning in the seventh century so it was natural that they should want to reinforce their faculty with an Arabic scholar. He turned his attention back to Dr. Brown. His brow was furrowed and he was shaking his head.

“I am afraid I won’t be of much help. The script is Arabic, but not the language. Some of the vowel points are different. This is almost certainly Ottoman Turkish. I can pick out some of the Arabic loan words and think I recognize some borrowing from Persian as well, but the grammar is completely different.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Strange. I suspect some sort of Morisco connection so I assumed it was Arabic.”

“If you don’t mind me hanging on to it, I have a friend who can probably help you.”

“Actually there are several Ottoman scholars attending the conference, so I will see if one of them has time this week to look at it. If not, then after the conference I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He extended his hand to take the folder, but Dr. Brown appeared not to notice and continued staring at the document as if he were trying to work something out. Finally, he shook his head again and said,

“You will definitely need an Ottoman scholar for this. The orthography is very interesting. I would like to study this in more detail. The evolution of script has always fascinated me, and as you know, in Islam, calligraphy was the only form of art allowed under some rulers. Would you mind if I made a photocopy of it?”

“I would rather you took a flashless photograph. I am quite fussy when it comes to handling ancient manuscripts. If you don’t have a digital camera here, I can have my secretary send you a high resolution digital copy.”

“No, I don’t have one here.”

“No worries. I will have my secretary send you a digital copy.”

Dr. Brown handed him the folder.

“Let me know if you have any luck with it.”

“Once this conference is over, maybe we could have lunch together.”

“I would like that.”

Ian went back to A Block and walked down to the secretary’s office. He asked Cathy to take a flashless high resolution digital photocopy, call Dr. Brown and ask for his university email address so it could be sent over to him right away. When he came back three minutes later, she handed him the folder and said,

“I put a copy of the digital image on a thumb drive for you too. It is in the
 
folder. Apparently our IT department hasn’t assigned him an email address yet. He gave me his personal address to use instead.”

“No matter, as long as he gets the file. Why don’t you help our new colleague get his email set up by giving our IT department a call and expediting this process? It is a bit embarrassing that they have dropped the ball on this.”

The secretary heard him muttering something under his breath about the curse of technology as he walked away.

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As they approached the doors to the hall where the plenary lecture would be given, Zeki noted the security detail. It was inconspicuous yet efficient, consisting of a metal detector for bags and purses and two guards, one male and one female. After years of dealing with terrorist strikes from the IRA, it was only natural that the British would adapt rather quickly to the new reality of homegrown Islamic terror.

Haluk headed for the conference hall lobby to see if he could grab a cup of coffee. As usual, he had chosen an extra thirty minutes of sleep over breakfast and though it wasn’t the strong Turkish coffee he would have preferred, right now he would take his caffeine in any form he could get it. Zeki went ahead to find a seat near the front of the conference hall. Ian was down front making last minute preparations with some of the staff. Zeki found a seat and sat down to wait for Haluk. Ian saw him and immediately his face broke into a smile. He raised his hand in greeting and began to make his way across the room.

“It’s good to see you,
dostum
.”

“Did you order the weather special for my arrival?”

Ian laughed. “You didn’t expect sunshine in London, did you?”