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States itself so recognized them, before they
found a use for their services. Please, gentlemen—I do not raise these points
in order to obstruct or cause complications. I, too, am eager for this
expedition to take place. But it must be founded on a realistic appraisal of
the situation, yes?"

"We've paid out plenty of money," Baron said, lounging back in his
seat and crossing one leg over the other. He wore a pale yellow polo shirt,
stretched tight over the bulging muscles of his chest and upper arms, and khaki
trousers. "That ought to smooth our way."

"Now, now, gentlemen," Bostitch said, shaking his head. "Why
don't we all just try to get along, here? We're men of goodwill. And the issues
are bigger than all of us, after all."

General Orhan Orga gazed at him with his sad bloodhound eyes for a long moment
before nodding.

"It is also true," he said, "that the army feels especially
embattled now in its traditional role of maintaining the official secularity of
our Turkish Republic against a rising tide of Islamism in political life. It
is, I fear, a case of democracy in practice defeating democratic ends."

"Oh, I can understand that," Bostitch said, nodding his head.
"And after all, you're fighting the good fight against the Muslim infidel."

"Dear Lord," Wilfork said out loud into a sudden silence. Annja noted
that even the half-dozen young men, Rehoboam Christian Leadership Academy graduates all, who made up the bulk of the expedition were staring at their leader in
something like dismay.

Orga's mouth compressed to a line beneath his magnificent brush of moustache.
"Please understand that a majority of Turks, inside the army and out, are
faithful followers of Islam. It is the job of the army, as outlined in our
constitution, to maintain a clear distinction between religion and politics.
That is all."

"Ah," Bostitch said, nodding and smiling. "Separation of church
and state. That's—"

He stopped and did an almost comical take. He'd caught himself just in time
praising a political concept he was quite famous for denouncing back home in
the States. Annja scratched her upper lip to hide an incipient grin that she
just couldn't quite hold in. She wondered if their fearless leader had been
covertly hitting the bottle again.

Despite the whirlwind rapidity with which she'd been whipped from Manhattan's Chinatown to the Turkish capital of Ankara the process had still managed to
entail lots of time sitting in airports waiting for flights. Using that time
and Wi-Fi she'd done a bit more research on her current associates. She had
discovered some interesting things about their employer. Including that he had
a reputation as a real party animal, who every couple of years made a weepy
public renunciation of his bad old ways, only to be caught in a few weeks or
months half in the bag with his face between some stripper's boobs. Annja was
experiencing more than a few second thoughts.

She shot a quick glance to Levi. He looked amiably befuddled. Still, he was
being a good sport about it all.

He reminded her why she still felt committed to this project, increasingly
weird and possibly, well, doomed as it seemed. There was his enthusiasm.
And his innocence. And, oh, yes—the lure of uncovering ancient mysteries. And
maybe a hint of adrenaline rush. Just a teensy, tiny bit.

"General Orga," Larry Taitt said with horrible playful-puppy
brightness, "the key point here is that we're relying on you to smooth our
way east to Mount Ararat. And I'm sure our fate, and the fate of our
expedition, couldn't be in more capable hands."

Annja looked at the floppy kid—she couldn't help thinking of him that way—with
a certain expanded understanding. He may be a happy-go-lucky goof who'd had the
bad judgment to lock himself into weird religion and weirder associates. But he
clearly had something on the ball.

Orga was frowning still, but now it was with a sort of generalized concern.
"I will certainly do what I can for this expedition," he