“Two vessels that I’d like to find at the bottom of the sea,” Giordino said. “Was Yaeger able to find anything?”
“It appears so,” Pitt replied, perusing several pages of documents. “Both vessels are apparently registered in Liberia, under a shell company. Yaeger was able to trace ownership to a private Turkish entity called Anatolia Exports, the same outfit the police mentioned. The company has a lengthy history of shipping Turkish textiles and other goods to trading partners throughout the Mediterranean. It owns a warehouse and office building in Istanbul, as well as a shipping facility on the coast near the town of Kirte.”
“Ah yes, I know the latter quite well,” Giordino said with a smirk. “So who runs this outfit?”
“Ownership records cite a couple named Ozden Celik and Maria Celik.”
“Don’t tell me . . . They drive a Jaguar and like to run over people with boats.”
Pitt passed over a photo of Celik that Yaeger had gleaned from a Turkish trade association conference. Then he shared a number of satellite photos of the Celiks’ properties.
“That’s our boy,” Giordino said, examining the first photo. “What else do we know about him and his wife?”
“Maria is actually his sister. And data is somewhat scarce. Yaeger indicates that the Celiks are secretive types who keep a very low profile. He says he had to do some real digging to find any juice.”
“And did he?”
“Listen to this. A genealogical trace puts both Celiks as greatgrandchildren of Mehmed VI.”
Giordino shook his head. “Afraid I don’t know the name.”
“Mehmed VI was the last ruling Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. He and his clan were kicked off the throne and out of the country when Atatürk swept into power in 1923.”
“And now the poor boy has nothing to show for it but a mangy old freighter. No wonder he has a chip on his shoulder.”
“He apparently has a lot more than that,” Pitt said. “Yaeger believes the pair may be among the richest people in the country.”
“I guess some of that explains the fanaticism over the Ottoman shipwreck.”
“And the brashness of the Topkapi theft. Though there might have been another motivation.”
“Such as?”
“Yaeger found a possible financial link to an Istanbul marketing organization. The organization is helping promote the candidacy of Mufti Battal in the upcoming presidential election.”
Pitt set down the page he was reading. “Rey Ruppé in Istanbul told us about this Mufti. He has a large fundamentalist following and is viewed as a dangerous power in some circles.”
“Never hurts to have friends with deep pockets. I wonder what’s in it for Celik?”
“A question that might have an illuminating answer,” Pitt said.
He set down the last of the report and pondered the wealthy Turk and his savage sister while Giordino took a look at the satellite photos.
“I see the Ottoman Star has returned to home port,” Giordino said. “I wonder what a Greek tanker is doing alongside her.”
He slid the photo across the table for Pitt to examine. Pitt took a look at the high overhead shot of the now-familiar cove, spotting the freighter at the dock. On the opposite side of the dock was a small tanker ship, its blue-and-white flag barely visible atop its mast. The flag caught his eye, and Pitt studied it a moment before grabbing a magnifying glass from behind the chart table.
“That’s not a Greek flag,” he said. “The tanker is from Israel.”
“News to me that Israel has its own tanker fleet,” Giordino said.
“Did you say something about an Israeli tanker?” Captain Kenfield asked, overhearing the conversation from across the bridge.
“Al found one parked in the cove of our Turkish friends,” Pitt said.
Kenfield’s face turned pale. “While we were in port, there was an alert making the rounds about an Israeli tanker that went missing off the coast near Manavgat. It’s actually a water tanker.”
“I recall seeing one a few weeks back,” Pitt remarked. “What’s the size of the missing ship?”