The Babylon Idol

Chapter 45

Anna survived the night, as well, with no cockroach sightings to report when morning came. Breakfast was a cup of Turkish coffee so strong you had to chew it, taken in the empty dining room. ‘I think we’re the only guests here,’ Ben commented.

‘What a surprise.’

Ben left her to finish her coffee while he went over to the reception desk to enquire about hiring someone local to show them around the surrounding area. As it turned out, Anna had been right about everyone knowing everyone in Harran, but wrong about the abundance of suitable tour guides.

‘There’s only one man I know of who might be able to help you,’ the manager said. ‘Wait a minute.’ And kept Ben waiting for several of them while he took his time looking up the number in a grubby old diary. ‘Here he is. Diya Sharifi.’ The manager scribbled the name and number down on the back of a scrap of paper and showed Ben the way to a payphone.

An hour later, Diya Sharifi was sitting with Ben and Anna in the empty motel dining room, over more of the chewy coffee. He was an ethnic Arab, about thirty years of age, who said he’d lived in the area all his life and knew every inch of terrain from Gaziantep to Batman. His manner was relaxed but his eyes were sharp and his English fluent, even though it had been learned from American TV. He confirmed that he could make space in his frantically busy schedule to help them out, and listened as Anna outlined to him what they were looking for.

‘The place we’re trying to find would be very, very old. It was already a ruin in ancient times, possibly the remains of an Assyrian fortress dating back four thousand years. There might be virtually nothing left now, except a few scattered pieces of rubble. Yet it’s vitally important that we find the right place. Do you think you can help us?’

Sharifi considered the request. ‘Most tourists, they want something they can take a picture of, you know? You’re asking me to take you someplace that doesn’t even exist any more?’

‘It would be on high ground,’ Ben said. ‘Somewhere right up in the hills, a good vantage point where you could see an enemy approaching miles away. The kind of place a lightly equipped guerrilla force would have had no problem slipping in and out of, but regular infantry would’ve found difficult to access, even harder to attack.’

‘Do I look like a military tactician to you?’ Sharifi said, then broke into a grin. ‘Relax, man. Happens I do know a place that kind of sounds like what the lady was talking about. You could say it was a fort, or was once, what’s left of it. Might be the same one you’re looking for, maybe.’

‘You can take us there?’ Anna asked, leaning forward in her chair.

‘It’s a long way up in the hills. Kinda hard to reach, but I have a good truck. Sure, I can take you there. Gonna cost you a little extra, though. It’s real close to the border. Lots of trouble still going on in some of those places. You hear stories of ISIS fighters slipping across and killing folks.’

Ben and Anna exchanged glances. His, dubious. Hers, flashing with excitement. ‘It’s as good a place as any to start,’ she said.

‘I still think it’s best if I go alone,’ Ben replied.

‘Over my dead body.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to avoid.’

Anna dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. ‘You have the job, Mr Sharifi,’ she said.

‘The price will be five hundred lira,’ Sharifi said. ‘And please, call me Diya.’

‘That’s fine, Diya. We’re anxious to reach the fort as soon as possible. How quickly can you be ready to leave?’

‘Let me go fuel up the truck,’ Diya said, knocking back the dregs of his coffee and getting to his feet. ‘I’ll meet you outside in one hour, ready to rock. You should bring some food and water. Gonna be a long day.’

Ben watched him go, then turned to look at Anna, saying nothing.

‘What?’

‘Are you sure you want to play it this way?’ he asked her.

‘You heard him. It sounds as if he might be able to take us to the right place. And for a good price, too.’

‘I don’t care about the money,’ Ben said.

‘It’s just that you don’t trust anyone.’

‘I trust myself.’

‘But you don’t know where the fort is. You said so, remember?’

An hour later, Diya Sharifi screeched up outside the motel in a Dodge Power Wagon pickup truck that looked as though it had spent the last thirty years hauling rocks over the desert, complete with enough ancillary lighting to fry a camel crossing the road and knobbly tyres so oversized that Anna could barely clamber up inside the crew cab.

‘You can dump your bag in the back, boss,’ Diya said. The rear bed was filled with a clutter of various junk. One big steel jerrycan for fuel, a plastic one for water. A crammed metal tool box with all the paint knocked off it. A spare wheel, wearing the same pattern of knobbly tyre, tethered to the side of the flatbed with rope. Some shovels and other well-worn wooden-handled utensils carelessly rolled up in a frayed bit of canvas tarp tied in the middle with a length of twine. Ben always found it interesting what people carried with them for travelling in the wilderness.

‘You coming, boss?’

‘I’ll be right there,’ Ben said. He shoved a few things aside to make space for his bag, made sure it was secure and then walked slowly back towards the front passenger side. He paused at Anna’s window. ‘Last chance to change your mind.’

‘I told you, I’m coming. I wish you wouldn’t keep asking.’

‘Fair enough,’ Ben said. He pulled open the front passenger door and hauled himself in. The dashboard was covered by a colourful patterned cloth to protect it from melting in the summer sun. An Islamic ornamental pendant dangled behind the windscreen from the mirror stem. Less traditional was the sat nav device suckered to the inside of the glass.

Diya grinned at his passengers. ‘Hang on tight, folks. I drive real fast and we’re taking the road where there is no road. Let’s go.’