Page 12 of Troy Story
“Good plan.” Dusty flashed him a saucy grin. “I like this take-charge side of you, Dr. Carlson.”
Whether his decision would come back to bite him in the ass, he couldn’t say. But he didn’t want to waste anyone’s time by hanging around the field house all morning. He grabbed a set of mugs and placed them next to the urn, along with a box of sugar cubes. Dusty filled a cup for each of them. He took a sip, then winced, realizing he’d made it too strong.
“Do I smell coffee?” a strident female voice exclaimed. “Thank the goddess because I’d be a right bitch without it.”
“Oh, is that why you were so grouchy yesterday?” a male voice grumbled.
Stuart grinned at the sight of two familiar faces—TJ Mayer and Emilia Flores. He’d met TJ last year while teaching at a field school in Cyprus and Emilia three years ago while digging in Greece. Though TJ and Emilia were both graduate students working toward their doctorates in archaeology, they’d never dug at the same site before.
TJ looked the same as Stuart remembered—shaggy brown hair, glasses, and a lanky frame, though he’d put on more muscle since last summer. Maybe he’d been lifting. Stuart could relate. After he and Shelby ended things, he’d channeled his depression into a grueling workout regimen.
Dusty smiled at them sweetly. “Everything okay, you two?”
“I’m fine, but Em is still pissed about Istanbul.” TJ glared at her. “Let it go, girl.”
“Did you call me ‘girl’? Don’t dismiss me like that.” Emilia turned to face TJ, her eyes blazing with fury. Tall, slender, and toned, with light brown skin and long black hair, she was truly striking. Like Dusty, she didn’t let anyone steamroll over her just because she was a woman.
“What happened in Istanbul?” Stuart asked.
Emilia scowled. “When we found out we’d be arriving there on the same flight, TJ offered to find us a place to stay for the night, using his ‘connections.’ Some connections. It was the dumpiest, one-star fleabag in the entire city.”
“We were there for one night,” TJ said. “What does it matter if it was a little run-down?”
“Run-down? It stunk to high heaven, probably because the bathroom hadn’t been cleaned since the days of the Ottoman Empire.” As TJ started to speak, she held up her hand. “Don’t call me a diva again. I worked in the jungles of Mexico for two months with nothing but pit toilets, and they smelled better than our hotel room.”
Stuart couldn’t help but laugh. When it came to hard-core experiences, he had nothing on TJ or Emilia, both of whom loved to flaunt their ruggedness. Emilia’s point of pride was the two seasons she’d spent digging in the Yucatán Peninsula as an undergrad, while TJ never missed a chance to boast about his experiences in the Jordanian desert.
Dusty smirked. “How about some coffee, Em?”
“Yes, please.” Emilia pushed past TJ to grab a mug. “I’m still groggy. How are you so damn perky, Danforth?”
“Dusty’s been around the world so many times she’s probably immune to jet lag by now.” TJ glanced around the kitchen. “Nice place, other than the disco-era decor. But this Troy dig is low on the hard-core scale. We’ve got running water, beds, flush toilets, and a decent kitchen. It might be a littletooluxurious.”
Emilia snorted. “If you’re really hurting, you can drag your blankets outside and sleep under the stars. Would that make you feel better,bro?”
Ignoring her, TJ grabbed a mug and filled his cup. After taking a sip, he shuddered. “A little bold for my taste. Got any cream or evaporated milk?”
Stuart found a can of evaporated milk in the pantry, opened it, and passed it to TJ. When he’d first learned that TJ and Emilia were joining the dig, drawn in by the lure of working at Troy, he’d been excited to see them again. Hopefully, they could set aside their animosity for the summer. It didn’t help that they were academic rivals; TJ was doing his graduate work at Harvard, while Emilia was at Yale.
By eight, the rest of the team had assembled in the kitchen and filled their plates. While they were eating, Stuart reviewed the day’s itinerary. “Our first stop is the Troy Museum in Tevfikiye. It’s a wonderful resource, housing an enormous collection of artifacts from a hundred and fifty years of excavation. After that, we’ll walk through the site. We’ll have lunch back here, take a few hours to rest, then discuss the schedule and the logistics before dinner. Does that sound all right?”
Dusty gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it, boss.”
“Thanks for going easy on us,” one of the students said. “I’m still on Chicago time.” The others nodded.
Though the students asked a few more questions, no one brought up Dr. Hughes’ absence or acted disappointed that he hadn’t shown up. Since only three of them were from the University of Boston—the rest were from universities like Brown, Michigan, and Penn—Stuart wondered whether they were fully aware of the professor’s tainted reputation.
At ten, everyone crammed into the two Land Rovers and met up with Mort at the Troy Museum. Located half a mile from the ruins, the stunning, cube-like building stood out in stark contrast to the flat farm fields surrounding it. Inside, the museum was well-lit and beautifully curated, with four floors of material surrounding a large central atrium. The team appeared enthralled by the quality of the displays, especially Mort, who used his phone to take a lengthy video of his visit, complete with a running commentary.
Their next stop was the ruins of ancient Troy, located on a hilltop site known as Hisarlik. After parking their vehicles in a lot filled with rental cars and tour buses, their group passed through the main gate onto a wide, paved courtyard containing a gift shop and an outdoor café.
The star attraction was the giant model of the Trojan horse, which stood forty feet high. Stuart had seen it in countless photos, but the wooden structure was more impressive up close. Kids of all ages swarmed around it, waiting to clamber up the ladder to go inside the horse’s belly. Without a hint of shame, the entire crew joined in, taking selfies and group shots next to the horse and posing with a band of reenactors dressed like Greek gods and Trojan soldiers.
Naturally, Dr. Özgen showed up during their impromptu photo session. Stuart cringed inwardly, anticipating a snide remark, but the professor merely smiled and waited for them to finish. With his muscular build, olive-toned complexion, and dark beard, he looked more like a Trojan warrior than any of the young reenactors.
His warm laugh put Stuart at ease. “Splendid horse, no? I brought my nephews here last month, and they loved it.”
Stuart motioned for the others to gather around. “Folks, this is Dr. Kerim Özgen, from the university at Çanakkale. He’s been the lead Turkish archaeologist on the site for years, so we’re lucky to have him as part of our team.”
