The Istanbul Puzzle

She placed the prints on the glass-topped dining table.

‘These images were on that storage device,’ she said.

I bent over, looked at them. There was a page of thumbnails and two images printed out full size. The thumbnails were images of mosaics in Hagia Sophia. I scanned them quickly. The only ones not clearly from Hagia Sophia were the two that had been blown up and the photo of Alek with Isabel.

The two photos she had printed out full size were the ones I’d left in the hotel room, which had been in the envelope. They must have meant something for Alek to have had them printed out. But what?

‘Can you tell me anything about these photos?’ Isabel pointed at the two prints.

I looked at them closely. ‘They’re not part of our project. That’s all I can say.’

She pulled one of the chairs forward and sat down.

‘OK, let’s go back to the beginning,’ she said. ‘Did your project include work in any excavations or tunnels under Hagia Sophia?’

‘No, not all.’ I was sitting opposite her, facing the sun.

‘Then why does this picture look like it was taken under- ground?’

‘I have no idea. Our project is about the mosaics that are on public view. And anyway, we did a lot of research on Hagia Sophia and there are no crypts under it, nothing like this.’ I pointed at the pictures. ‘There’s just a few drainage tunnels. No one has ever found mosaics under Hagia Sophia.’

‘So where were these photos taken?’

I didn’t have an answer.

She stretched her arms up high, as if she was warming up for a yoga session.

‘I think Alek must have gone off and done some exploring, Sean.’

‘He couldn’t have done it in Hagia Sophia. The place is guarded day and night. It’s a museum housing priceless treasures. Their security is tight.’

I took a sip of my coffee, placed the cup on the table and picked up one of the pictures. It was of a floor mosaic, a representation of a Madonna with child in dull blues and pale greens. The faded IH letters near the baby represented the word Jesus. It was a classic and beautiful image, an archetype of Christian art. There was a giant Virgin and Child wall painting in Hagia Sophia, which was like it.

‘Did Alek tell you anything about what he was up to? You were friends weren’t you?’

‘Yeah, we were, but he never said anything about this.’ I motioned at the pictures again. ‘What about you, did he tell you anything? This is a picture of you, isn’t it?’ I pointed at the thumbnail.

‘We went for lunch, Sean. The Consulate likes to keep itself informed about what’s happening in this city. He was a nice guy, but he hardly spoke about his work. And he never said anything about taking pictures anywhere else, before you ask.’

Why hadn’t Alek told me he’d met her, and about these odd photos? Was he planning to when he got back? Or was I being naïve?

‘I’m sure you have experts who’ve examined this already,’ I said, pointing at the picture in my hand. ‘What do they make of it?’

‘It’s an almost classic representation of the Virgin, so I’m told.’

‘What do you mean, almost?’

She moved towards me. I caught a faint lemony perfume smell.

‘Look at the Virgin’s dress. It should have gold stars. And the colours are wrong too. It needs expert examination.’

‘Your people know their stuff.’

‘But not enough,’ she said. ‘We don’t know where the photo was taken.’

She was holding something back though. I could feel it.

‘In a few weeks I might have an answer,’ I said. ‘My Institute has access to a lot of people. Maybe we can figure this one out.’

‘You don’t have to go to all that trouble,’ she said. ‘The greatest living expert on early Christian mosaics of the Virgin is an Orthodox priest. We’re going to contact him, find out what kind of mosaic this is, where it might be found.’

‘We’ll do our own investigation too.’

She looked at me coolly. ‘You’ll get a copy of these images, I promise, Sean, but not yet. They’re part of our evidence chain. Alek’s death was a serious criminal act. We think these pictures have something to do with it.’

I knew where this was going. I’d be lucky if they gave me a copy of these in six months. My best friend had been murdered, I’d been shot at, and I was about to be cut out of what was going to happen next. I felt anger bubbling up inside me.

‘Do your superiors know that Alek and you were close?’ It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

‘You’ve got to be joking, right?’ Her smile was gone. Her expression was glacier-like now.

I’d met some officials in the last two years who’d tried to protect me, tell me as little as possible, whenever I’d asked about Irene’s death. I wasn’t going to accept all that this time.

‘I bet the British tabloids would love to find out that one of Her Majesty’s Consular officials had been involved with a guy who was beheaded. Wasn’t there a campaign to discredit the Foreign Office a while back for bungling? I’m sure there’s plenty of journalists who’d run with this story.’

She looked calm, unmoved by my anger.

‘Alek was a good friend, not just a colleague. I will find out what happened to him. I’m not going to walk away from this. Neither is my Institute. Not now. Not ever.’

She shook her head slowly, indicating I was heading the wrong way. I didn’t care.

‘We consulted with the Greek Orthodox community when we planned this project. So it won’t be hard to find this expert of yours and a few of our own.’ I reached for the photo of the mosaic and picked it up.

‘And I’m sure the Turkish media would love to know about our research material being confiscated, an important UNESCO project being interfered with by the British government.’

Now she pointed a finger at me.

‘I don’t like being threatened, Sean. But I’ll put it down to what happened last night, for your sake.’

‘You can put it down to whatever you like, after I tell the media about this.’ I waved the photo in front of her face.

We looked at each other. Her expression was a mask of grim determination.

‘Your Institute is involved in something it shouldn’t have been,’ she said.

‘You’re talking crap. And you know it. But I don’t care what lies you make up about us. This is too personal.’ An annoying jingle from what sounded like an early morning TV show came up from the apartment below.

I felt a slight breeze on my skin. It barely alleviated the rising heat.