Author's Note: Another chapter screeching by... (I can't believe I used to update once a week - seems like an impossible feat now!)
Aaaand... you guys probably noticed by now - I really suck at chapter naming, this one took forever to finalize, but I guess it's not as stupid as the previous name of Chapter 8 (I just changed it, it was an eyesore for the longest time).
CHAPTER 10
Trapped in Silks
Gentle breeze played with the sheer veil of curtains on the balcony of a two-story villa that sat proudly above the busy sunlit city underneath. Weightless fabric danced in the warm air of the late Mediterranean morning. Every now and then it drew close to three women who sat by a round glass table in the corner of the balcony - it almost brushed against them, only to slowly retreat back toward the backdrop of the Bosporus Strait that sparkled in the distance.
Elena wished she could feel that weightless again.
Instead, feelings of resentment and helplessness kept her normally positive spirit anchored - never in her life did she feel more restrained in her actions than she was now.
To add insult to injury, her thoughts kept going straight back to Libertalia – to that moment when she found Nate lying in the creek that ran red with his blood. Back then, for a mortifying second, Elena was sure he was dead. The horror that she felt that day was enough to last her a lifetime - she wished she could erase that image from her memory, but it proved to be securely engraved into its core. And so she wanted to be by Nate's side - that way she could keep him safe if something went wrong like…that time.
And to be completely honest…
…despite her pregnancy being something she was genuinely happy about from the start, Elena just couldn't help but think of how easier this whole situation would be, if she only had herself and Nate to worry about.
"Your turn! Elena?"
Elena tore her gaze off the vibrant purple hues of bougainvillea blooms that hang off the planter on one of the snow-white balcony columns.
She was met with a soft expression of Alia's dark brown eyes and realized it must have been her turn for quite a while now – both women were looking at her with expectation.
Elena struggled a ghostly smile and returned her attention to the cards in her hand. She discarded one and picked another from the draw pile.
"…while the day is still young…," the woman to her left grumbled and discarded a card.
"Come now Zeynep, don't be so hard on Elena."
Elena skeptically rolled her eyes, but didn't respond. Zeynep – a curvy woman with heavy eyelids, heavy mane of thick black hair and enormously heavy personality – was Abbas' sister and close confidant in both personal and business matters (as Elena picked up from various strings of conversations over the course of the last couple of days). Emir, who happened to be Zeynep's son, was Elena's guard on the night when she escaped the mansion in the mountains of Tennessee. Out of his mind with fury at his nephew's negligence, Abbas then reduced Emir to the humiliating role of nothing more than Elena's lackey.
Elena had a faint idea that fact alone could be the reason for Zeynep's animosity toward her humble self – or maybe the woman was simply an arrogant piece of schnitzel – but any time Elena had a misfortune of coming into her view, Zeynep's black eyes squinted into two viper-like slits.
It didn't help the matter that Elena found sick pleasure in sending Emir off on endless odysseys up and down the Istanbul streets in search of things she didn't really need.
It's not like Elena was grazed by Zeynep's attitude and was trying to pay her back – no - it's just that as far as Elena was concerned the current circumstances entitled her to (at least!) this little bit of entertainment. And it made her feel like she had a slight degree of control over something in this out-of-control situation, as little and trifling as it could be.
Some exercise never killed anyone after all!
Meanwhile the game continued. The three of them have been playing card games all morning - despite the questionable pleasure of Zeynep's company, Elena found that spending time around Alia was more enjoyable than living a hermit life inside her bedroom. Besides…
…she could never turn down a good card or board game anyway.
"What phase are we on again?" Elena asked, looking at her cards with confusion. Was she supposed to collect a Run or a Set?
"One run of seven," Alia answered right away, but after a moment's pause threw a side squint at the score sheet beside the PHASE 10 card box to double-check.
"One run of eight actually," Zeynep triumphantly laid down her cards.
"Ah… crap," Elena grumbled and begun counting the remaining cards in her hand. After a short score check, the new round began. Elena looked approvingly at her new cards – this time the odds were more in her favor.
"So how is your brother doing after the…you know," Zeynep spoke again after a while.
Elena looked up with interest. The serenity of Alia's composure remained unchanged and only a small wrinkle between her brows spoke of the displeasure the question stirred in her.
"Ruslan is doing fine. Of course he was upset when Abbas revealed the change of plans, but it was to be expected – who wouldn't if they were in his shoes? But after a while he came to terms with it," Alia replied smoothly, her voice fluid and warm like melted chocolate.
"That's the only reasonable thing he could do," Zeynep said flatly and then added with a sly glint in her eyes, "But really though, it is such a shame, isn't it? Ruslan expected it his whole life and then, for things to change so suddenly," she shook her head and gave a rather fake sympathetic sigh.
Elena had no idea what the conversation was about, but she could undoubtedly sense that Alia's sister-in-law was trying hard to rub something unpleasant into her face. Elena's gaze shifted from one woman and to the other - she told herself she should be munching on her imaginary popcorn and enjoying the show, but… seeing Zeynep openly gloating, Elena couldn't help herself…
"Look!" Elena exclaimed and stood up from her seat, pointing at the waters of Bosporus in the distance.
As she expected, both women immediately looked to see what she was pointing at and, not noticing anything unusual, turned back to Elena.
"The dolphins," Elena explained, "didn't you see them?"
They shook their heads in unison.
"Ah, I was so sure I saw them!" Elena feigned disappointment and sat down on her chair, propping cards back up on top of her baby bump.
The game went on nonchalantly, but, by a silent look of gratitude on Alia's face, Elena could see that she had picked up on the true meaning of her distraction.
It was some time later that the balcony door opened and out walked Emir, a plastic bag in his hand, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. The scratch Elena left on his cheek on the night of her abduction had considerably faded. He walked over to the table and offered the bag to Elena.
"Here. Here's the book you wanted," Emir said as if he just now started to catch his breath.
Zeynep looked at her son with affection and pushed an empty chair out, "Sit down, sevgili oğlum, take a break," she looked at a servant who stood by a small rolling cart by the door and waived her hand imperiously. There was clinking and crushing of ice and a sweating glass of water materialized before Emir's tired eyes.
"Teşekkür ederim," the young man thanked raspily and a look of heavenly pleasure spread across his face as he tilted the glass.
Zeynep threw her long bristly hair over her shoulder as she clucked over her son like a chicken clucks over her flock. The game was paused and Alia put her cards upside down on the table. She threw a glance at the rolling cart and raised herself up, clearly planning to go get a drink. But, as she stood up and took a step, a servant rushed to her side.
"That's all right, I can go get it, Fatma," Alia said with a smile, but she was sat back down on her chair. Within a matter of seconds a tulip-shaped glass of tea was set before her.
"You shouldn't overexert yourself, madam, master said you must rest as much as possible," the servant lady said quietly and retreated back to her spot.
Elena silently watched the scene as she sipped from her own glass of lemonade.
Without touching her tea Alia turned with a barely audible sigh and gazed over the sparkling waters and a bustling city underneath the balcony. In her sharp profile was longing and sadness – a gaze that stretched over a thousand miles, contained within several feet between the table and the balcony railing.
A gaze very similar to the one Elena herself was lost in earlier.
Elena looked away and, to distract herself, opened the bag Emir had brought her. Zeynep's features were still distorted by the show of motherly love, while Emir looked like he recovered enough from his trip into the city. Elena's hand glided along the cover of the book, while a coy glint sparked in her eyes.
"Ah," she gave an exaggerated sigh. It drew the necessary attention and, when the three pairs of eyes were on her, she explained, "That's not the right book."
Emir's brows furrowed into a single thick line.
"It is!"
"No, it's not!" Elena couldn't keep a smile.
"You said – Flowers for Algernon!"
"That's not what I said – I asked you to bring me the…," Elena squinted her eyes thinking, "-The Forgotten Garden – that's what it was!"
"That's not what you asked for!" a real panic flashed in Emir's eyes, "Can you imagine how many stores I had to check before I found this book in English?!"
"Ah…well, if you found one, then you should easily find another."
"Ah…aksi şeytan!" Emir exclaimed heatedly and stood up, heading toward the door, "This woman is impossible!"
"Oh and please, on the way back, can you also get me some mangos, some…pickles and some peanut butter?" Elena called out into his back.
With his hand on the doorknob Emir honored her with a grim stare.
"Ah, pregnancy cravings - you know," Elena explained, accompanying her words with a carefree shrug.
The door closed and Elena turned back to the table and picked up her cards. Alia looked as if she was barely holding a giggle, while Zeynep sat darker than a storm cloud and just as likely to shoot out unexpected lightings.
"That was mean and unnecessary," she finally blurted out as the game resumed.
"If you want to discuss mean and unnecessary you should really talk to your brother," Elena countered calmly and drew a card. She could sense a sassy reply ripening on Zeynep's tongue, but before the older woman could add anything else, Elena laid down her cards with a neat row of nine red cards facing up.
"I'm out – game's over" she announced and innocently drew on her lemonade.
The morning wasn't spent in vain for Elena learned something that she didn't know before - she wasn't the only one feeling trapped in this villa. Alia was too – trapped in her own home, in her own failing body, restrained by well-meaning concern of her family; with her days numbered and little excitement to fill them with; with her husband barely ever there, constantly chasing a ghostly promise of a miracle.
What good are all your riches when you're tied to a chair and life is slipping through your fingers?
Later the same day, Elena stood by a paddock that sprawled from the stables by the villa and stretched all the way out and toward the distant wall of tall cypress trees that marked the edge of the property. It was late afternoon and the sun was slowly starting to sink toward the horizon. Tramping of hooves filled the air – quiet at first it turned into thunder as a rider guided the horse closer to the house.
"Wonderful Hamza, well done my boy!" Alia cheered her son on and a beautiful wide grin bloomed on his face.
"Can you ride with me, anne? Pleeeaaase?" he looked at Alia pleadingly.
Conflicting emotions rippled on the Turkish woman's face, but after a moment she shook her head, trying to soften the rejection with a smile, "I'm sorry my heart, not today."
The happiness on the boy's face faded, his eyes clearly spoke a sulking "that's what you always say", but his protest stayed silent. He pulled on the reigns and his white horse trotted back toward the other end of the paddock.
When Hamza was a good distance away, another violent bout of coughing shook through Alia's body, but she quickly regained herself, hiding a blood-spotted handkerchief in the pocket of her flowy tunic.
Elena pursed her lips and looked away. She took another slice of apple from the basket on the bench and fed it to one of the horse that gathered by the fence in hopes of scoring a treat. Soft lips brushed against Elena's fingers as a golden Palomino mare gently picked the fruit and crunched on it, staring at the blond woman with appreciation. Elena stroked the coarse white mane, observing how the setting sun made the strands glow with gold and silver – a distraction she used to tactfully give the other woman space to recollect and catch her breath.
There was a sigh, so quiet you would think it was wind rustling in the trees. After a moment, Alia spoke again.
"I wanted to thank you for your help this morning," she said, "When you distracted Zeynep from the conversation about my brother."
"You're welcome," Elena said simply and reached for another fruit. There was amicable silence filled with the crunching of apples, but the sideway glance on Elena's face revealed there was more on her mind.
"So…," she began nonchalantly, running her nail against the rough grain of the wooden fence as if she was only trying to keep the conversation going, "what kind of bomb did Abbas drop that could upset your brother so much?"
The innate curiosity that led Elena to become a professional journalist, took over again - once she caught scent of something secretive she couldn't help but follow it to the source. She might only be a hostage, waiting to be freed, but if there was any information that they could potentially exploit against Abbas, she considered it her duty to try and sniff it out.
"Ah…," Alia gave another sigh as she looked into the distance, clearly noticing no ulterior motive behind Elena's question, "It was to be expected, but, of course, it still hurt Ruslan a lot. You see, when Abbas and I got married my brother was still a little boy. Our parents died in a plane crash soon after. Ruslan had to move in with us. He turned into Abbas's shadow – followed him everywhere and, since we never had kids, Abbas treated him like he would treat his own child. He raised Ruslan," she explained, "Years went by and Emir and his mother came to live with us when Zeynep's husband passed away. It has always been intended that both Ruslan and Emir would succeed Abbas in his business, as well as equally inherit our assets when we pass away, however…," Alia bit on her lip and briefly raised her eyebrows, "Hamza came along and…plans changed. Ruslan's and Emir's positions were threatened, but nobody knew for sure what would happen, nor did they want to begin that conversation with Abbas. It all changed several weeks ago when Abbas announced that Hamza will succeed him in the family business," there was a pause and Alia looked at Elena with a sad smile, "That's what Zeynep meant when she mentioned it earlier today."
Elena slowly nodded – she had her own suspicions that not all was smooth between Abbas and his minions – but she didn't expect it to be so "Godfatherly".
"But then," she frowned, "why would Zeynep gloat about it when her own son lost the same privileges that your brother did?"
"Oh that," Alia gave a slight shrug, "Emir has never been interested in following in Abbas's footsteps anyway – all he wants to do is chase girls and have a good time, at least for now," she giggled, "He has never been responsible enough. And then Hamza is both Zeynep's and Emir's blood, so they seemed to be happy for him. Emir will always have a place in our home and be provided for and Zeynep knows that."
"I see."
Walking along the fence line, followed by the group of horses on the other side, Elena and Alia headed in the direction of the stables where they waited for Hamza to return.
"What about this James guy?" Elena asked as they both leaned against the railing that separated horses from the entrance into the stables, "What interest does he have in all of this?"
Curiously, Alia seemed caught off guard by this simple question – she glanced at Elena, but briskly looked away.
"Oh, he's just…he has been looking for the Hourglass for quite some time himself before he and Abbas even met. He lacked funding, so they both benefited from working together," she said stiffly and left it at that.
Elena frowned with suspicion, baffled by the sudden change in Alia's behavior. While a list of possible suspects, who could be leaking information about the Hourglass to Abbas' rival, was starting to take definitive shape in her mind, she was surprised that a mention of the old historian could stir such a mixed response. With questions burning on her tongue, Elena bit her lip and wisely decided to set the topic aside until better time.
"You know what I really miss?" Alia quickly changed the subject and a dreamy smile replaced poorly hidden confusion on her face, "The wind on my face as I gallop away on a horse and all worries are left behind."
Elena's gaze shifted to the boy, riding his horse in the distance and then to his mother's face. A quick look over her shoulder, at the villa behind them, confirmed there was no one watching them, at least no one she could notice.
"What's stopping you?" Elena asked with a rebellious squint.
For a moment Alia's eyes stayed blank and uncomprehending, but when the meaning of Elena's words finally sank in, she instantly frowned and smiled meekly as if she was offered to participate in a burglary heist.
"What… to go riding?! Now? Elena, you're crazy! No-no-no…I can't…," Alia mumbled weekly, throwing worried sideway glances back at the house.
"When was the last time you did things you really enjoy?"
"I… what do you mean? I enjoy my life – every single day is a gift."
"Yeah, especially when your sister-in-law can't pass up a chance to humiliate you in front of a stranger – that sure seemed like fun."
Alia tilted her head and gave Elena a chastising look, "Zeynep is not that bad if you get to know her better… it's just the way she is. Sometimes you just have to accept people for what they are and just love them."
"Hmmmm, is that what you tell yourself?"
"Elena!"
Shaking her head, Elena looked her squarely in the eyes.
"Look, I barely know you and probably don't have a right to judge, but… I guess being forced into your home against my will and having to see things as an uninterested third party gives me a different perspective. I…," Elena cut herself short, took a deep breath and let out a frustrated huff, "You know what... never mind. It's really none of my business."
But the Turkish woman kept looking at her with piqued interest and genuine openness shone in her innocent brown eyes.
"No…please. Go on."
Elena pursed her lips and tried to somewhat tame her overly sensitive perception of injustice.
"You're sick – it's true and you can't change it, but… Lord, you're not even allowed to get a drink for yourself, I don't even mention other things," Elena hesitated, but spurred by complete honesty she added, "Your husband dedicates all of his time to the search for this mythical healing hourglass of sorts, but he doesn't seem to ever have time to just be with you – and time is running out! And don't get me wrong – I don't deny this Hourglass could really exist- believe me, I've seen some crazy shit before. If it does – then Nate (with his track record) is the one to find it, but… it might not and…what then?"
There was silence, interrupted only by wind blowing in the trees and a sound of hooves softly stamping on the grass.
Alia's lips twitched, her eyes glistened - for a moment, Elena feared she pushed too far - but then, with a smile, she looked away into the field again. Alia shook her head and her smile turned into laughter, "They say lying is but a fear to tell the truth. I bet no one can accuse you of being a coward!"
"Well… something's telling me I didn't say anything what wasn't already on your mind."
"Ah, that's true. That's very very true…," Alia nodded with notes of bitterness in her voice. Her pale fingers tapped on the railing, then she looked back at the house again and conflicting thoughts danced like shadows in her eyes, "I…," she paused, "What would you do?"
"I would spend my last days trying to grab life by its tail, with people who really need me," Elena said gently.
Alia followed Elena's gaze to the figure of the lone rider in the distance. Hamza's horse walked slowly, it periodically made small stops to nibble on grass, while the boy made no attempts to correct it – he stared into space and his thoughts seemed far-far away.
Suddenly Alia came into motion – she grabbed a saddle pad from one of the shelves and decisively walked toward the group of horses.
"Really – what do I have to lose?! What am I going to - die?" she laughed with irony. Confidently she approached a Dalmation horse, which had been glued to the fence next to her ever since they approached the paddock, and threw a pad over her back, followed by the saddle. With gentle, but firm movements, she put the bridle in place and secured it under the horse's chin after which she nimbly climbed on horseback.
Elena watched as Alia guided her horse across the field, toward the back of the paddock – slowly and carefully at first, but it only took the Turkish woman a split second before muscle memory took over and the spotted horse galloped with wind streaming through its mane and melodic laughter flared in the gloomy confinement of the villa grounds.
The laughter was infectious – Elena smiled, watching the surprise on the boy's face.
There was a loud sound of a door flying open and, startled, Elena turned back - a girl who was serving them on the balcony earlier that day was hurrying toward the stables from the French doors that led into the house. Above those doors, in the floor-to-ceiling window, Elena discerned a dark silhouette that was outlined by the rays of the setting sun. She couldn't see his face, but something was telling Elena Abbas wasn't pleased with what he was seeing.
She grew cold and her neck tightened under the small trace a sharp blade left on her neck. Instinctively she put her hand on her stomach and slowly looked away.
So far she was successful at avoiding Abbas – once a day she was allowed a phone conversation with Nate and Emir kept her somewhat up to date on the progress of their search, so she saw no need to talk to her host. She only saw Abbas once since Nate left – very briefly and through the window in her bedroom. She planned to keep it that way.
Elena left the servant girl fussing and crying out to Alia and made her way up the winding cobblestone path back to the house. She wanted to slink her way back into the safety of her bedroom. Even though she realized she wasn't at risk for as long as Abbas needed Nate – the cold stare of those intense black eyes made her feel extremely uneasy.
Stepping onto a bridge over a koi pond, Elena suddenly heard crunching of gravel that grew steadily louder. A car passed through the villa gates and drove toward the house. Elena slowed down, put her hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun that flickered against the windshield - it was a small economy size car with rusty wheel rims and faded grey exterior. It seemed alien on these grounds, compared to expensive sedans and posh sports cars that Elena had seen driving up and down the driveway so far.
The little car came in line with the other side of the koi pond – Elena couldn't see the driver, but caught a vaguely familiar scent when a stream of smoke puffed out of the small crack in the window.
The car reached the end of the driveway, flashed the tailgate lights and came to a stop by the garage doors. Elena decided it must be a delivery driver or one of Abbas' lesser minions and felt an unexplainable ping of disappointment as she continued her way back to the house.
She opted against going through the French doors that were still open, for fear of running into Abbas, and instead, ignoring the newly arrived car, she headed toward the small kitchen door on the side of the house that opened into the driveway. Yet when her hand pushed on the handle…
"Is that the way you're greetin' an old friend?!"
Elena froze in place, not able to believe her ears – could it be…?
She turned around and the widest, most genuine grin she had in days, if not weeks, spread across her face.
"Sully!" she squeaked.
"Well don't just stand there - come over 'ere and give an old man a hug!" Victor Sullivan growled, opening his arms with a smug expression – clearly satisfied with the effect he produced.
Elena didn't keep him waiting – she flew into his arms and buried her nose in the Hawaiian shirt (the overpowering scent of cheap cigars never smelled better!). Sully was a fortress, just as safe and secure as her own father. If Sully was here – it would all be okay.
She wasn't alone anymore.
"Hey there, darlin'," Sully said gently and patted her on the black - he must have sensed her emotion or maybe it was a tiny inaudible sniffle that gave her away, "Heard ya got into quite a trouble?"
Elena nodded and a small laugh escaped, "Yeah… you could say that again."
Then she stepped back, still smiling happily and Sully gave a small whistle as he looked at her changed figure.
"Dress me in skirts and call me Sally!" he exclaimed and his grey mustache twitched in amusement, "How many months has it been since I've seen you all last?"
"Ummmm…four?" Elena grimaced, guessing.
"You sure you don't have two in there?"
"Sully," Elena tilted her head reproachfully.
"Just kiddin' sweetheart, you look wonderful – it's just a…ehmmm… a big contrast I guess."
"Yeah, yeah, that's what you all say," Elena grumbled light-heartedly, "So how did the big guy agree to let you into my dragon-guarded tower?"
"Hmmm, guess he decided an old man and a pregnant girl can't be much of a trouble!" Sully replied, pumping the trunk and pulling out a weathered leather duffle, "Though I've heard about your littl' escapade with the guy's Maserati."
"Ah," Elena shrugged innocently, "It was a Lamborghini actually. He'll probably send us a bill too after all this is over – cheap bastard."
"Well," Sully's face grew more serious and his tone gained a glint of steel, "We'll see about that."
Just then the door into the house opened and Emir walked out, shuffling his (increasingly more grey) stylish white Adidas on the concrete – he had another long day at Elena's expense.
"Abbas wants to see you, he is-,"
With surprise Emir noticed Sully and Sully stared him down sternly from under his bushy grey eyebrows. Then the older man looked at Elena and with a сconspiratorial wink offered her his arm, "Whaddaya say we go inside and see what the cheap bastard has to say, eh darlin'?"
One time zone away, Nate stood leaning his back on one of the giant columns of the Brandenburg Gate. Pariser Platz buzzed with hundreds of voices, clicking of expensive cameras and conflicting tones of music, produced by several rivaling street musicians, trying to make a quick euro in the peak of tourist season. Smoldering heat of a long summer day took a small step back and allowed a light refreshing breeze to bring cooler notes of emerging evening from the banks of the Spree River. Rays of the setting sun streamed right through the passageways of the Gate, bathing the square in golden splendor, sparkling in the fountain sprays.
Pencil in hand, periodically raising his eyes at the original, Nate scratched the image of a stately six-story building with jade green roof on the right side of the square into the page of his journal. Next to him, Sam worked on his second cigarette, blowing smoke through his nose thoughtfully, as he examined the same building with a look of an experienced real estate agent. James, leaving observation to the professionals, occupied himself with scanning through a tourist brochure.
All three of them had been waiting for quite a while.
Panofka's latest riddle wasn't hard to figure out – a quick inquiry with Frau Schmidt revealed that, beside his suburban house, the old archeologist also owned an apartment in the city. The apartment was sold by the heirs and the whole building was then turned into a five-star hotel.
Hotel Ältere.
The hotel they were currently stalking from their shaded corner of the sunlit square.
Finally, the person they were waiting for emerged from the set of heavy double doors that were graciously held opened by a pair of courteous doormen dressed in the hotel's red uniform.
Ruslan headed back toward the Gate and the overcast expression on his face spoke candidly on the results of his quest.
"It's booked!" he informed gloomily as he rejoined their group and frustratingly waved at the building, "I offered double price – no use – the guy just kept going on about the importance of each guest and how I can book an identical room on the other side of the building instead. Abbas even called the reception himself and tried to use his connections, but they are adamant about how they cannot disappoint the valued guest who is staying in that room this week."
"Hmmm," Nate drew out and scratched his forehead with the back of the pencil. His eyes were peeled at the windows of the loft Room 607. Panofka's old apartment.
His gaze then traveled up and down the building, scanning the green rooftop, the ledges, the narrow balconies until they lingered on the two doormen in bright red uniform. Simultaneously, the Drake brothers shared a look of complete understanding.
Sam blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth and raised his brows.
"Plan B?"