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  Mom scratched her head. “Why does that matter? It’s a private security company, not the national police. Can’t their employees be from anywhere?”

  “Of course,” said Orhan. “Bulgaria is our neighbor, and there are many Bulgarians in Turkey. They work in all industries, but many are in the security business. Like this Lazar and Vasil. And what I will tell you next, you must consider carefully. I myself have many Bulgarian friends. I do not wish you to think Bulgarians, or Bulgarian Turks, are bad people. They are not. But the Bulgarian mafia also has operations in Turkey. And the mafia is often involved in international smuggling operations. Sometimes they use security firms as their cover. Are you following me?”

  Mom dropped her fork onto the table.

  I stared at Orhan, my mind racing, trying to connect that idea to what had happened back at the Marmaris docks. Could Lazar and Vasil actually be mafia types who were involved in smuggling? Not bounty hunters at all, but the criminals whom bounty hunters, Turkish police, and Interpol were all looking for? Maybe hiding in plain sight, disguised as security guards, was the perfect cover. People like the Clarksons trusted them with their belongings, and their lives. There was a national call to get private security firms involved in anti-smuggling efforts. Lazar and Vasil were working on a boat and hanging out at a dock, places where stolen goods could be spirited out of the country. And they wore uniforms—which from a distance looked legitimate, especially to someone like me who’d grown up trusting people in uniform. But they had that unclear logo and no company name.

  They also had weapons, which they had been just a little too eager to brandish.

  A chill ran through me. I remembered Vasil dropping Sage and me off at our boat, how he’d refused to leave right away. How he’d said something to Sage, which she seemed to understand, and which she’d reacted so strongly to. What if Vasil had demanded something from her, something she didn’t agree with?

  What if Sage was working in a smuggling network with not just Baklava Guy but Lazar and Vasil, too?

  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 the
se 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.