18

The next morning, Beyza served us an early breakfast, and Orhan took us to the hospital.

Aunt Jackie was sitting up in bed, the color restored to her cheeks. “The baby is fine. I’m fine,” she said, after Mom and I rushed up to hug her. “I just heard the heartbeat.”

“Do you want to listen?” asked the doctor, smiling. She put a little wand over Aunt Jackie’s stomach and turned a knob on the monitor beside the bed. Weird whooshing sounds, underwater sounds, crackled from the speakers. Then I made out the sound of tiny galloping hoofbeats. The baby’s heart!

Mom wiped away a tear. “Thank God. So what’s with the cramping and spotting? And why did they have to keep you overnight?”

“Just to be sure, given my history of miscarriages,” said Aunt Jackie. “They gave me a progesterone boost. And they think I may have a low placenta. I’m supposed to take it easy for a bit. Not walk too much. But where were you two? I called the airport and they said you were moved to the police station. Then I called there and heard you were released, but they wouldn’t tell me anything else!”

Mom and I quickly brought her up to date.

Aunt Jackie’s smile faded when she heard where we’d stayed. “You stayed at Orhan’s?”

“Yes.” Mom lifted her chin. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

“You do want to be a bit careful, Kitsie. Much as I hate to buy into stereotypes, there is a thing here in Turkey with younger men preying on older foreign women. For their money.”

“Older!” Mom’s eyes flashed. “I’m not that much older.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Besides, didn’t you say not all Turkish men fit the stereotype? Orhan’s a nice guy, Jackie. He’s helped us a lot. His mother was at the house, for God’s sake. And he’s waiting for us now, outside in the car.”

“Now?” Aunt Jackie looked surprised.

“We’re due back at the police station in a half hour to find out about the artifacts,” Mom said. “Are you free to leave?”

Aunt Jackie looked at the doctor, who nodded. “You may go,” she said. “Just be careful not to overexert, avoid heat and stress, and please check in with your physician in Istanbul when you return. I will have the nurse bring your release papers.”

“Great. I’ll just change out of this stunning hospital gown and we’ll be on our way.” The doctor left and Aunt Jackie eased herself to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I sure hope Inspector Kemal has good news for us. I’m guessing he does, since he let you go before the appraisal.”

“Oh, he didn’t let us go,” Mom said. “It was his superior, someone named Inspector Lale Demir. We’ll be meeting with her this morning.”

“Inspector who?” Aunt Jackie almost fell off the bed.

“Inspector Lale Demir. If I heard correctly. I might be mispronouncing the name.”

Aunt Jackie sucked in her breath. She grabbed for her clothes on a nearby chair.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“Just a crazy thought that I might know this person. We’ll find out when we get there.”

Mom, Aunt Jackie, and I waited in the holding room at the Dalaman Police Station. I stared at the evil-eye bracelet on my wrist, twisting it around and around so that the little glass eyes that made up the band seemed to roll and wink at me.

Beyza had given bracelets to Mom and me at breakfast that morning.

“This is a nazar boncuu, or evil-eye amulet,” Orhan had translated for us.

I’d immediately handed mine back. “Thanks, but I think I’m done with presents,” I said. “They seem to get me in trouble.”

“These are not valuable,” Orhan insisted. “They are sold all over the country, in every gift shop. The amulets are supposed to protect you from the evil eye.”

Mom had nodded, sliding her bracelet on. “He’s right. Aunt Jackie has lots of these of her own. They’re supposed to protect you from misfortune that results from envious people looking at you.”

Envious? I didn’t know who could possibly want to walk in any of our shoes, especially mine. Still, I’d had enough misfortunate lately. So I’d slid my bracelet on, too, and secured the clasp firmly.

Inspector Kemal entered the room, and the door banging behind him startled me. He took a seat across from us at a desk, slapped down a file folder, and looked at us. “I have the authenticator’s report. The four gold figurines are replicas,” he announced. “Gold-painted lead. Skillfully made imitations. The gold paint contains some real gold, and the lead gives them their weight, so they are designed to fool the uninformed tourist and make them believe they are getting an item of great value for relatively little money.”

Mom let out a long breath.

“Thank God,” said Aunt Jackie. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if actually praying.

I looked down at my hands and realized they were trembling.

The inspector looked as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself—and as if maybe he were just a little disappointed that three American tourists weren’t headed for lockdown. “Inspector Lale will be in momentarily. She will give you the figurines and the certificate proving they are fakes, and you must keep it with you at all times, traveling within Turkey or leaving the country. Otherwise you will have this problem all over again. And you. Young lady.” He turned to me. “I would advise you not to accept gifts from people you do not know well.”

“I never accepted those gifts in the first place!” I burst out.

Mom jabbed me with her elbow.

“I mean, I won’t. I never will. Thank you.”

“And be careful in your interactions with police and security guards,” he added with a stern look. “With a history like yours, people may suspect your motives.”

“What history?” Mom demanded. “What motives? What are you talking about?”

“We are aware of your daughter’s involvement with looting.”

“Shoplifting,” Aunt Jackie corrected. “Not looting. That’s entirely different.”

“Forgive me. I do not understand all the English idioms. There is a video that comes up on a search in your name . . .”

Oh my God. That damned video. So even Turkish officials could dig up the dirt on me! Was it a blight on my record forever, one that would grow instead of diminish, like the blotches on my skin? Would I always be trying to cover up the Athleta incident, too? I hated hearing him hurl that word: looting! I was getting lumped in with people like those tomb robbers in Fethiye, or the looters who’d stolen the Karun Treasure from the grave of the princess. I wasn’t that kind of person. Was I?

Inspector Kemal stood up. “Inspector Lale will now speak with you.” He exited the room, leaving us to sit in stunned silence.

The door opened again moments later, and a woman strode in. It took me a moment to realize this must be Inspector Lale Demir. She didn’t look like a police officer, with her long layers of wavy dark hair, tumbling loose around her shoulders. Instead of a uniform, she wore a cream-colored pantsuit and pumps and was carrying a stylish leather satchel. She looked to be in her late thirties, and her makeup was impeccable—it seemed to have been applied less to enhance her beauty (she was obviously beautiful) and more as an attempt to soften her sharp features: high, angular cheekbones, a strong chin, and a cool, almost unblinking gaze.

Aunt Jackie stood up fast. “Oh my goodness! Lale? It is you! I thought I recognized your name!” She approached the woman as if she might hug her, but then stopped short as if she’d hit an invisible barrier.

The woman held out her hand, and Aunt Jackie shook it, confused.

“It’s Inspector Lale now,” the woman said brusquely.

“You’re with the police?”

“I’ve been working in the anti-smuggling unit in Istanbul for the past three years.”

“Oh. I see.” Aunt Jackie drew back. “Well. That sounds . . . like an exciting career move for you,” she finished softly. “Quite a change.”

“Not really.” Inspector Lale tossed her glossy hair over one shoulder and pulled back a chair at the table. “With all the museum budget cuts in this country, my PhD in archaeology wasn’t opening any more doors there. And once the government purged the police departments of corrupt staff members, a whole lot of new positions in law enforcement opened up. When I saw they needed an expert to head the department of stolen artifacts, I jumped at the chance.”

“Ah.” Aunt Jackie stared at her a moment longer, then seemed to remember we were there, too. “Um. Well. This is my sister, Kitsie. My niece, Alexandra. She goes by Zan. I guess you know all our names already, though.”

We all shook hands with Inspector Lale, who then took a seat opposite us at the table where Inspector Kemal had sat minutes before. I couldn’t stop staring at her. She struck me as the kind of person who would have a corner office in a New York City high-rise. She seemed to control everything in the room, even the way the air flowed around us, just with her strong presence. Inspector Kemal had filled that chair up more than Inspector Lale did, but she radiated power.

“Thank you for releasing us yesterday,” Mom gushed. “Jackie was not well. And we are completely innocent. As you can see, since the artifacts are fakes. What a huge relief!”

Inspector Lale nodded, rifling through her satchel and avoiding eye contact with us. “I’m glad I could help you. I would do anything for Berk Yilmaz. He was a wonderful mentor to me when we worked together at the Archaeological Museum in Istanbul years ago.”

“Berk always spoke highly of you, too,” said Aunt Jackie, who also seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the inspector. “Though I think he hadn’t seen you recently?”

Inspector Lale’s all-business mask shifted, just a little, as she shook her head. A small, sad smile leaked through. “I was so sorry to hear of his death. I wished I could have attended the funeral. I always had the highest respect for him. So when I saw your names on the report about suspected smuggling activity, I wanted to help you if I could. But I also needed to talk with you in person.” She took some documents out of her satchel and handed them to Aunt Jackie. “First, these are your release papers. Second, I have the certificate from the authenticator.” She patted her satchel. “But I need to retain it, as well as the figurines.”

“Why?” I asked. “They’re authentic fakes. And Inspector Kemal said we needed to have the certificate if we’re traveling around with replicas.”

“Oh, no. Please keep them,” Mom said to Inspector Lale. “Those things have caused us enough trouble. I don’t want to travel around with them even with a certificate.”

“The figurines need to remain in custody for now,” said Inspector Lale. “They’re evidence from a suspicious transaction that is under investigation. They could be useful for prosecuting individuals within the smuggling ring we are after.” She hesitated, as if about to say something else. Then she scribbled something down on a notepad and shook hands with Aunt Jackie, brusquely, and then with Mom and me. “Good to see you, Jackie. Nice to meet you, Kitsie and Zan. Safe travels.” She picked up her satchel, pivoted on one heel, and strode out of the room, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. The door clicked closed.

“Are we free to go, then?” Mom asked.

“Look,” said Aunt Jackie, holding up a piece of paper. It was the note Inspector Lale had scrawled. She’d slipped it to Aunt Jackie during their handshake! Mom and I stood beside her to read the tiny handwriting:

Meet me at Café Antalia around the corner in ten minutes. I need to talk to you.

“The statues are actually solid gold artifacts from the sixth century BC,” said Inspector Lale, in a low voice. We had found her at the tiny café a few minutes after leaving the station and joined her at a corner table. “I could not say this in the office, since I am never sure who may be listening.”

“Where were they stolen from?” I asked, while Aunt Jackie and Mom exchanged an anguished look.

“There was a security breach at the Ruen Koçak Museum in Fethiye the other day,” Inspector Lale explained, “and these figurines were among some of the items reported missing from the storage facility.”

I remembered that museum. I’d seen it from the carpet shop. I’d also misdirected Lazar and Vasil there, making them think Sage might have had something to do with that break-in. I hoped I hadn’t made some colossal screw-up.

“The museum owners will be happy to see these again, once they are no longer needed as evidence,” Inspector Lale went on. “I’ll return these to the museum, hopefully soon.”

“Hang on,” said Aunt Jackie. “Someone signed a document saying they were replicas.”

“Yes, I arranged for that,” Inspector Lale said. “I have my own contacts here.”

“You did this for us?” Mom shook her head in disbelief. “Had someone write a fake document? Put your reputation on the line?”

Inspector Lale nodded. “I believe your story, and I don’t want to see a young girl in jail.” She looked pointedly at me. “But I’m also in charge of this investigation and can override the local precincts. Who, quite frankly, are bungling everything.”

“What are they doing wrong?” I asked. “We’ve been seeing police everywhere.”

She smirked. “Acting like cops in some American movie! Roadblocks. Highly visible displays of power. It all only serves to drive the smugglers deeper underground and to scatter their own resources. And it makes museums, especially small ones, even more vulnerable to theft. This is what I came here to tell the police precincts, and I’ve been working around the clock to convince them to change their tactics. The smugglers are almost playing with police here. It’s like a game to them.”

“How are these museums more vulnerable to theft?” Mom asked. “I would think the strong show of force would help.”

“Publicizing the thefts shows everyone which museums have stockpiles and storerooms, which ones can easily be robbed,” the inspector replied. “The looters, the middlemen, everyone on the chain, they get more inside information when the events make the news. They get smarter at evading security systems. If there’s a robbery reported in Göcek, smugglers go to , or to Fethiye, or to some other town. There are mosques and small museums everywhere, all with stashes of artifacts and art. Then even more smuggling gangs spring up, almost overnight. And all the while, as more police and coast guard boats patrol, and more security guards get hired, the tourists get frightened and avoid coming. The country loses money. It’s a vicious cycle. But I wish to get to the heart of the organization. The masterminds. The people behind the largest, most powerful smuggling network that is leaking Turkey’s treasures and stashes of Islamic art across its borders.”

“Okay, I follow,” said Aunt Jackie. “But Inspector Kemal doesn’t know you’re retaining the figurines?”

“No. My team in Istanbul has a special storage facility for these items. I’ll keep them there. I trust and respect Inspector Kemal, but I don’t trust all the police. We’re having a problem with confiscated artifacts and other evidence being stolen from police stations, or sold off by corrupt officers who are willing to do business with smugglers.”

Aunt Jackie pressed her lips together, not taking her eyes off Inspector Lale. “So you did us a favor, releasing us. But we’re doing you a favor, too, in a way, by letting you quietly take these things back. Is that right?”

“Yes. I hope so,” said Inspector Lale. “You see, in return, I need to know everything about what happened, and especially about Sage Powell.” She turned her eyes to me. “Everything,” she repeated.

I told her all the facts Sage had told me about herself. I told her about the brother who had OD’ed, the mother who had a heart problem, even about the paper she owed her teacher. For some reason, I was way more nervous now than I’d been around Inspector Kemal or Sergeant Emre. I felt like I should trust Inspector Lale, since she had worked with Uncle Berk and we owed her our freedom. But I couldn’t read her face. And I could feel Mom’s eyes boring into me. I got to the part about Lazar and Vasil accosting me in Marmaris, at the docks, but I stopped short of confessing that I’d previously met them, and been at the other end of their guns, on the midnight swim with Sage. Mom would definitely freak out if she knew that, and if she knew that I hadn’t told that to the other police yesterday.

“Thank you,” Inspector Lale said when I was done talking. “This is all extremely useful to know. Is that everything, then?” She continued to look at me, drumming her polished nails on the table.

“Yes,” I said. “Everything.” I swallowed hard. I averted my gaze while she continued to stare, and I picked at a hangnail on my own hand. Did she suspect I was holding back on one piece of information that might be useful?

“So what do you think Sage did?” Mom asked her, breaking the awkward silence that hung in the air.

“The question is not so much what she did as who she is,” said Inspector Lale. “Or who she isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“There is no record of a Sage Powell having entered this country with a US passport. Or any passport,” said Inspector Lale. “There is, apparently, no Sage Powell at all. We have been researching this since you gave us Sage’s name yesterday.”

“Wait. What? I don’t get it,” I said.

“I hope you’re not suggesting my daughter invented her as a way to clear her own name,” Mom said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “We all met the girl. She exists.”

“Then the name is false,” said Inspector Lale. “The closest match we found is an Amy Miller, whose face came up in a photo recognition scan. We compared it to a security camera photo we have of Sage at the dock in Marmaris.”

Inspector Lale took out a new paper from her satchel: a photocopy of a passport.

We all leaned forward to look. The girl in the picture was definitely Sage, or the person I’d met as Sage. Birthplace: Hawthorne, Oregon. She’d told the Clarksons that she was from Rosedale. Another lie.

I looked at the name on the passport copy again. Amy Miller. “I know that name!” I exclaimed.

“You do?” Inspector Lale looked at me intently.

“I forgot to mention one thing. Sage gave me a book before she left. A book by a writer named Freya Stark. This name, Amy Miller, was written inside the cover. I just thought it was a used book.” I stared at that name on the passport copy now. Her real name seemed more like an alias than her alias did. Too ordinary a name for a complicated person. In my mind, she was still Sage.

“Amy Miller was an exchange student at the Istanbul International School earlier this year, taking some classes there, which she paid full tuition to enroll in,” Inspector Lale went on, putting the photocopy back in her satchel. “But she dropped out of the program in January.”

Dropped out! So the late paper was another deception. Facts soured into lies and swirled in my head. Sage had mentioned she’d been sick and missed some school, but that wasn’t the same thing as dropping out. The story of her teacher who was obsessed with the Lycians—was that a lie, too? And why had she changed her name?

Disbelief gave way to anger. Sage—Amy—had lied to me and to my family about so many things. Here we’d been trying so hard to avoid hustlers, ever since we got to Turkey, but I’d been cruising with the biggest con artist of all, right on our own boat.

“Amy’s extended student visa has become invalid,” Inspector Lale went on. “Which means she has overstayed her ninety-day tourist visa. Passport control will be very interested in her when and if she decides to leave the country.”

I ran through the facts in my mind. Fethiye had been crawling with police and coast guard officials. Orhan had said they’d been boarding some of the boats, looking at passenger lists. If she’d gotten on the boat with a fake document, or if the crew had let her slide in, she could have been in serious trouble for that alone. And if she had something else to cover up—like criminal activity with a smuggling network—she’d be in even more hot water.

“She already left the country,” Mom insisted.

“Or did she?” said Aunt Jackie, looking questioningly at Inspector Lale.

Inspector Lale shook her head. “Likely not. Passport control would have caught the alert on her. They should have given her a large fine for overstaying and for not reporting her change of circumstances to the Istanbul police. So either a lenient customs officer dozed on the job, or, more likely, Amy Miller is still here in the country, maybe lying low until all this blows over.”

“So you want to haul her in about the overstayed visa?” guessed Aunt Jackie.

“Among other things, yes.” Inspector Lale snapped her satchel closed. “She allegedly bought figurines of uncertain origin, with no paperwork, and then gave them to you, secretively, before disappearing. That is certainly enough grounds for me to desire a conversation with her. Besides, smugglers rarely work alone. She may be a low-ranking person in a network, but she may also know people higher up. I believe she could tell us a great deal.”

“What about the security guards that grabbed me in Marmaris?” I asked. “They wanted to find her, too. Do you think they could be involved in some way?”

“They could be bounty hunters looking for smugglers,” she said. “Or they could be smugglers themselves, posing as security guards. I am having my colleagues look into both possibilities. It is very helpful to us that you had at least their first names.”

“If you trust first names,” I grumbled, still pissed about the whole Sage/Amy alias thing.

I sank into my chair, deep in thought. If Lazar and Vasil, or whoever they really were, turned out to be smugglers, too, then Sage could have been running from them, not just from the law. She might have done something to go against them and needed to get away. Fast.

But if she’d been working with them, why would she be on our boat, and not on the Anilar with her coworkers? Or—I shuddered—was that really why the Anilar was near us so often? Did Lazar and Vasil have some kind of say in its itinerary? Did they need to keep Sage in their sight while she went around the coast buying stolen loot from baklava vendors?

I didn’t know how to draw the line between circumstances and events and form a constellation that made sense.

“If she bought these figurines for someone else, then why would she put them in my bag?” I asked. “It’s not like I’d know who to deliver them to. I feel like she wanted me to get caught with these.”

“I have a theory,” said Inspector Lale, leaning forward. “Let’s suppose she thought the police were coming too close. She needed to unload some illegally purchased objects in a hurry. Smugglers are known for separating their caches, so that if they are caught, at least a portion remains, which someone else can be directed to retrieve. So she might expect you to have made it through security somehow—maybe assuming your aunt, as an archaeologist’s widow, would be able to vouch for them and for you in some way if you ran into any trouble. Perhaps she is expecting you will return the figurines to her. You did say she planned to meet up with you again in Istanbul?”

I nodded. Inspector Lale had the exact same theory I did. Sage had seemed excited about meeting up with me in Istanbul; I’d assumed she was looking forward to showing me around and having fun. But she was probably planning her escape even then, and wanted to get her stuff back. So she set me up as an unwitting smuggler.

“Did she give you any contact information? An email address? A phone number?” Inspector Lale asked.

“None,” I said. “I just know her host family was in Istanbul.”

“I’ll pursue that angle,” she said. Then she slid her business card across the table to me. “I believe it is possible that Amy Miller will show up in Istanbul, attempt to contact you, and try to retrieve the figurines. After all, the two of you connected, you became friends, in a short space of time. And she knows the name of your aunt’s hotel. I need you to get in touch with me the moment you hear from her. I can be reached by mobile phone. I will return to Istanbul in three days, and I would appreciate any information you can give me. Especially if you happen to recall anything else she may have told you,” she added, giving me a meaningful look.

My neck itched. I nodded and put the card in my backpack.

Inspector Lale walked us back to the police station. After instructing us not to reveal our conversation to anyone, she went back inside the station and left us in the taxi queue.

A horn beeped. It was Orhan. He’d been patiently waiting for us.

He rolled down his window and grinned. “May I give you ladies a lift to the airport?”

Mom shot Aunt Jackie a look, but my aunt wasn’t about to protest. We got in the car and slammed the doors behind us.

“Floor it,” Mom said, her face grim.

Orhan looked down at the floor and then at Mom, confused.

“I mean, please drive quickly,” she said. “I don’t ever want to see this police station again.”

While she and Aunt Jackie talked to Orhan, giving him only the most basic facts about our meeting with Inspector Kemal and Inspector Lale, I stared out the window, hatching my plan.

I was tired of following other people’s itineraries. I wouldn’t wait around for Sage to find me. I wasn’t sure how I’d do it yet, but I’d find her on my own. Or at least find out about her by following some of her tracks in Istanbul. Who was she, anyway? And why had I been duped and dropped by a friend once again? Did it say something about her—or about me?

Part of me hoped she had a good motive behind her decisions. Like maybe she wanted to sell stuff with a smuggling ring to get money to help her sick mother in Oregon. After all, I had done some dumb things, too, broken laws, and I wasn’t a horrible person.

Then a new thought seized me. What if I gave Interpol a big lead? I wasn’t sure how much the reward was, but I bet it would go a long way in helping Aunt Jackie.

And if Sage didn’t have a good answer to explain why she’d put figurines in my bag? Well, then, I wouldn’t hesitate to turn her in and claim that reward money myself.