Aziz nodded and the two policemen stepped outside, closing the door behind them.

The Turkish policeman said nothing, staring first at Gurt, then Lang. It was a basic interrogation technique, one intended to unnerve the subject. Lang made a conscious effort not to shift his weight as he stood there, looking out of the single window behind the desk. The view was of a brick wall.

Realizing his ploy wasn't working, Aziz moved to another. He opened the file and pretended to read.

"You have an interesting record, Mr. Reilly. Suspicion of a couple of homicides in London… Definitely killed a man there a few months ago."

Lang was not surprised. The price of the information age was the death of privacy. He was sure the inspector had entered his name into any number of crime-reporting systems. "The English haven't seen fit to detain me."

The Turk's brown eyes flicked up from the paper. "Presumption of innocence, fair play and all that, I suppose." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desktop. "Here in Turkey, our laws are quite different. You may be detained with or without such suspicions."

"I'll bear that in mind before I commit any crime in Turkey."

Aziz turned his attention to Gurt. "And you, Ms. Fuchs, how is it you have an American passport, but your primary language is not English? Surely you must be able to speak English to be an American."

"Try calling customer service at any public utility," Lang said.

Aziz gave him a glare that could have burned the wallpaper had there been any. "Well?"

"I was born in Germany," Gurt said, leaning forward and resting her hands on the desk.

It was a natural gesture but one that showed monumental cleavage. Aziz was clearly fighting to keep his eyes on her face.

"East Germany," she continued, appearing oblivious to the conflict between the policeman's eyes and his professionalism. "I fled to West Germany a few years before the wall came down. I got a job with an American company…"

This could be shaky ground, Lang thought. They had no way to know how much the inspector had learned. It was a safe bet that Gurt's employment with the agency wasn't to be found by browsing international police sites. Still, some long-ago cover story, some forgotten identity might jump up, alerting this detective to some perceived inconsistency in her story.

Aziz managed to shift his gaze to Lang. "And last night at the Grand Bazaar?"

"A couple of young men attacked us. One of your officers witnessed the whole thing."

Aziz ran his index finger across his mustache as he turned to Gurt, struggling to keep his eyes above the neckline of her blouse. "So I heard. Just where did you learn to defend yourself like that?"

Gurt, still leaning over the desk to the man's distraction said, "It gives good exercise to join the many judo classes in the United States."

"And in these classes, they teach you to disrupt religious services?"

Gurt and Lang exchanged bewildered looks.

"I'm not sure we know what you're talking about, Inspector," Lang finally said.

The policeman glared first at him then at Gurt. "Do you deny you entered the Nuruosmaniye Mosque during prayers last night?"

Lang shrugged. "Is it a crime to enter a mosque?"

"It is if you in any way interfere with worship."

Lang shook his head. "We know nothing about any disruption of any mosque. Unless you have evidence to the contrary…"

Aziz smiled. "We are not in the United States, Mr. Reilly. As I think I mentioned, I can hold you on suspicion."

"Then you better call the consulate and tell them we won't be coming," Lang bluffed.

"Consulate?" For the first time the inspector seemed less that certain of what he was doing.

"The American consulate," Lang continued. "We were on our way there when your men showed up. We were going to see what our government could do about your taking our passports on a mere whim."

Aziz's eyes darted from one to the other. His computer search had revealed not only Reilly's potential criminal past but also that he was a very rich individual, head of an international charitable foundation. The rich were usually well connected. The last thing he needed was to cause an international incident. He would not only never get off Buyukada, he might well wind up shoveling horse manure from the roads there.

Best not to let these infidels see his indecision. "I remind you, Mr. Reilly, you are in my country, not yours. I will return your passports when my investigation is complete."

"Investigation of what, some disturbance in a mosque?"

"We know nothing about any mosque," Gurt chimed in, drawing the inspector's eyes back to her.

Had another button on her blouse come undone?

The inspector made a decision.

"Go to your consulate, then. I will find witnesses to the incident in question. If they cannot identify you, your passports will be returned."

"In the meantime, we're free to go?" Lang asked.

Aziz sneered. "You will not go far without your papers."

He was answering the ring of the phone as they left.

Gurt and Lang tried not to hurry down the hall or stairs. Once outside, they dashed to the first cab they could find.

Lang handed the driver a wad of Turkish lira. "There's more if you can get us to the Side Hotel in a hurry. A big hurry."

Once underway, Gurt was rebuttoning her blouse as she spoke. "Once we get our, er, possessions, where do we go?"

"The airport and the first flight out of Turkey."

"We can do this before he finds out you slipped the passports off the desk while he was staring down my shirt?"

"You're right. The airport is the first place he'll look. I don't understand why the man is so interested in us in the first place and I don't want to stick around long enough to find out."

They were silent for a second or so before Gurt said, "The agency has perhaps a safe house here. A favor or two is owed me at the Frankfurt office."

She produced a BlackBerry and keyed in a series of numbers.

As if in response, Lang's BlackBerry buzzed. He sighed when he saw his office number. He was afraid to guess what Home Depot might have left on his doorstep this time.

"OK, Sara, what got delivered now?"

"Lang? I wasn't calling about that. I wanted to remind you, you've got a preliminary hearing in Macon day after tomorrow."

"Macon?"

"Macon. Federal court. Larry Henderson. A narcotics charge, y'know? Like the ones you said you'd never take. The one case in which you don't have a medical leave of absence."

"I'll be there."

But first he had to get out of Istanbul.

XIII.

Piazza dei Cavalleri di Malta

Aventine Hill

Rome

At the Same Time

The room was dark. Heavy curtains blocked the bright sunshine of a summer day in Rome. The only light came from the monitor of a computer, tinting the faces of the two men in front of it a bluish color.

"He has disappeared," the younger of the two said. "Or at least neither he nor the woman have submitted their passports to register in any hotel."

The older man was scanning a list of names on the screen. "Or they are using false papers. Have you checked to see if they are perhaps staying at the monastery?"

The younger shrugged. "The monastery, too, must register its guests."

"What about the airport?" "No airline has booked a flight for them." The older man shook his head. "What do you suggest?"

"We believe he came to Istanbul to have the book translated by someone who can read the ancient Greek. That is what led us to keep watch on the island where the monastery is located…"

"And we had an incompetent to do the most important task this order has faced in centuries!" the other man snorted.

"Grand Master, by the very nature of our order, men who are skilled at such work would be excluded."