“Maria, I would have preferred that you not show yourself so quickly. Particularly given your chaotic performance last night.” His eyes centered on her with a glowering intensity.

Whatever intimidation he intended had absolutely no effect on the woman.

“The operation went off entirely as planned. It was only the intrusion by some meddling bystanders that delayed our exit.”

“And subverted the acquisition of the Muhammad artifacts,” he hissed. “You should have killed them all on the spot.”

“Perhaps. But as it turns out, two of them were U.S. government officials, including a Congresswoman. Their deaths would have overshadowed our objective. And our objective seems to have been attained.” She folded the newspaper she was reading and tossed it over to Celik.

It was a copy of Milliyet , a Turkish daily newspaper, its blazing headlines proclaiming “Murdering Thieves Attack Topkapi, Steal Holy Relics.”

Celik nodded. “Yes, I’ve read the accounts. The media is blaming domestic heathens for stealing and desecrating our nation’s sacred Muslim relics. Exactly the headlines we intended. But you forget that we have paid influence with a number of local reporters. What is it that the police believe?”

Maria took a sip from a glass of water before responding. “We can’t be certain. My informant within the department was only able to obtain an electronic copy of the incident report this morning. It appears they have no real suspects, though the American woman did give some physical descriptions and reported that our team appeared to be speaking in Arabic.”

“I told you I didn’t like the idea of using Iraqi operatives.”

“They are well trained, my brother, and, if caught, still provide a safe scapegoat. A Shia thief, even if from Iraq, is nearly as productive as a Western infidel for our purposes. They are well paid to keep quiet. And besides, they falsely believe they are working for their Shia brethren. I couldn’t have obtained this without them,” she added, opening a small suitcase at her feet.

Reaching inside, she pulled out a flat object wrapped in loose brown paper. She stepped over and placed the package on the desk in front of Celik. His darting eyes zeroed in on the package, and he began unwrapping it with trembling fingers. Beneath the paper he uncovered a green taffeta bag. Opening the bag, he gently removed its contents, a faded black banner that was missing chunks along its border. He stared at the banner for nearly a minute before gently picking it up and holding it reverently in the air.

“Sancak-ı Şerif. The sacred standard of Muhammad,” he whispered in awe.

It was one of the most treasured relics of Topkapi, and perhaps the most important historically. The black woolen banner, created from the turban of a defeated foe, had served as the battle standard for the prophet Muhammad. He had carried it with him into the key Battle of Badr, where his victory had allowed for the very rise of Islam itself.

“With this, Muhammad changed the world,” Celik said, his eyes a sparkling mixture of reverence and delusion. “We shall do the same.”

He carried it over and set it on the glass case housing Sultan Mehmed’s tunic.

“And how were the other relics lost?” he asked, turning and facing the woman.

Maria stared at the floor, pondering a reply. “The American woman grabbed the second bag when she escaped the van. They hid in the Yerebatan Sarnici. I was forced to leave before I could retrieve it,” she added with disdain.

Celik said nothing, but his eyes bored through the woman like a pair of lasers. Again his hands trembled, but this time in anger. Maria quietly attempted to stave off an explosion.

“The mission was still a success. Even if all of the targeted relics were not obtained, the impact is the same. The entry and removal of the battle standard will generate the desired public response. Remember our strategic plan. This is just one step in our quest.”

Celik slowly cooled but still sought an explanation.

“What were these American tourists doing at Topkapi in the middle of the night?”

“According to the police report, they were at the Archaeological Museum, near the Bâb-üs Selâm Gate, meeting with one of the curators. The man — his name is Pitt — is some sort of underwater expert for the U.S. government. He apparently discovered an old shipwreck near Chios and was discussing the artifacts with the museum’s nautical authority.”

Celik perked up at the mention of the wreck. “Was it an Ottoman vessel?” he asked, eyeing the encased tunic before him.

“I don’t have any other information.”

Celik stared at the colorful threads of the aged tunic. “Our legacy must be preserved,” he said quietly, as if in a trance that had taken him back in time. “The riches of the empire belong to us. See if you can find out more about this shipwreck.”

Maria nodded. “It can be done. What of this man Pitt and his wife? We know where they are staying.”

Celik continued staring at the tunic. “I do not care. Kill them if you want, but do it quietly. Then prepare for the next project.”

Maria nodded, a thin smile crossing her lips.

Sophie Elkin dragged a brush through her straight black hair, then took a hurried look at herself in the mirror. Dressed in worn khaki pants and a matching cotton shirt, and, without any makeup, she would have been hard-pressed to make herself appear any plainer. Yet there was no hiding her natural beauty. She had a narrow face with high cheekbones, a petite nose, and soft aquamarine-colored eyes. Her skin was smooth and flawless, despite the many hours she spent outdoors. The features were mostly inherited from her mother, a French woman who had fallen in love with an Israeli geology student studying in Paris and had migrated with him to Tel Aviv.

Sophie had always minimized her looks and femininity. Even at an early age, she spurned the dresses her mother would buy, preferring pants so she could join the neighborhood boys in rough-and-tumble activities. An only child, she’d been close to her father, who had ascended to the head of the Geology Department at Tel Aviv University. The independent young girl had relished accompanying him on field expeditions to study the geological formations in the surrounding deserts, where she raptly absorbed his fireside tales of biblical events on the very grounds where they camped.

Her father’s work led her to study archaeology in college. While attaining her advanced degrees, she was jolted by the arrest of a fellow student for stealing artifacts from the university archives. The incident introduced her to the dark world of underground antiquities trading, which she grew to detest for its impact in the destruction of historic cultural sites. Upon receiving her doctorate, she abandoned academics and joined the Israel Antiquities Authority. With passion and dedication, she worked up to head of the Antiquities Robbery Prevention Unit in a few short years. Her devotion left little time for a personal life, and she dated infrequently, preferring to spend most nights working late.

Grabbing a handbag, she left her small hillside apartment overlooking the Mount of Olives and drove toward the Old City of Jerusalem. The Antiquities Authority was housed in the Rockefeller Museum, a sprawling white limestone structure situated near the northeast corner of the Old City. Employing just twelve people, her department was tasked with the impossible duty of protecting the roughly thirty thousand ancient cultural resource sites located around Israel.

“Good morning, Soph,” greeted the department’s senior detective, a lanky, bug-eyed man named Sam Levine. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Thanks, Sam, I’d like that,” she said, covering a yawn as she squeezed into her cramped office. “There was some sort of all-night construction going on near my apartment last night. I slept terribly.”