The Istanbul Puzzle by Laurence O’Bryan Page B

laid out at the centre of the cave near all the instruments with their dials and read-out screens. None of them were turned on. I imagined Father Gregory rushing around, as we came down the corridor, turning everything off, in case we might be here to report on what he was doing.
    ‘Why did you come here?’ he asked me.
    ‘There’s something we want your advice on, Father. Have you got the photo, Peter?’
    Peter took out the print of the mosaic from his bag and passed it to Father Gregory.
    ‘This is why we’re here,’ I said. ‘We have to find out where this photo was taken.’ Father Gregory examined the print, brought it close to his face.
    ‘The only reason I let you in here was because you told my assistant you were working in St Sophia.’ His tone was soft, but totally self-assured. ‘Is that true?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘In Hagia Sophia.’
    ‘Our great church is St Sophia, Holy Wisdom,’ he said, tartly. Then he blessed himself. ‘St Sophia is closer to the Divine than anything else here on earth. Its walls once showed the fields of paradise, and in its dome the heavens could be glimpsed.’ He closed his eyes, as if in prayer. Then he blinked them open.
    ‘Before we lost it.’ He was staring at me, as if I were the one to blame.
    ‘There are many secrets to St Sophia that have not been revealed. You know they want to turn it back into a mosque, and keep us out again. Now tell me, which university are you with?’
    ‘I’m with the Institute of Applied Research in Oxford. These people are helping me. They work for the British government.’ I waved towards Isabel and Peter. Isabel’s eyebrow arched, but she said nothing. Father Gregory looked at them, as if they were dung beetles.
    His eyes narrowed. ‘You won the project in St Sophia last year, didn’t you?’ he said.
    ‘Yes, we’re in the middle of it now.’
    ‘Have you uncovered anything?’ There was a distinct eagerness in his tone.
    ‘We’re digitizing mosaics. I don’t expect anything revolutionary will come out of it.’
    ‘They’re afraid to look properly,’ he said. ‘All of them.’ He nodded his head, vigorously, as if he was agreeing with himself. He leaned forward. His brown habit draped down like a tent.
    ‘We are at a crossroads, you know, and they want to close the path.’
    This guy was the original Mr Creepy.
    ‘Do you want to know what I’m working on, young man from an Oxford Institute?’ I nodded. Peter was scanning the walls. The other monk was pacing, head down, as if he was praying.
    Father Gregory pointed at the wall behind him. The opposite wall to the one with the carving of Ishtar.
    ‘Look, these are demons, the djinn they call them. The things concealed by darkness. That is what the word means. These are the oldest images of demons ever found, I am sure of that. They are from well before the time of Mohammad and from before the time of Moses too and all the commandments, for us people of the book.’
    The carvings on the wall behind Father Gregory were of winged creatures with horned helmets. It looked as if they had cloven feet. Great. This was exactly what the place needed, something to lighten it up.
    ‘The djinn bring war, destruction, disease, like a murmur passing from man to man.’ He paused. ‘And this is where they were worshipped, until Christians came and then Islam.’ He pointed above us. Someone had painted a thin cross above the djinns . Near it was a crescent moon. It had writing beside it, a jagged Arabic-type script.
    Tell me, why did you need to see me so quickly? What is it that could not wait until I leave Iraq?’ said Father Gregory.
    ‘Sean’s colleague was murdered in Istanbul,’ said Isabel. ‘He was beheaded. We’d very much like to find out who did it.’ She paused. ‘If we can find out where this photo was taken it will help us’
    Father Gregory inhaled sharply.
    ‘It is all starting then,’ he said.
    ‘What’s starting?’ I said.
    ‘The djinn will be