The Secret of Ka Read Free

loud. Call me tonight."
    "But..."
    "Or I'll call you. Goodbye, Mom. Love you."
    I hung up fast. Amesh was staring at me. I smiled.
    "Sorry," I said.
    "You could have talked to her."
    "No, actually, I couldn't have."
    As we took the street that led out of Istanbul, I was struck by how fast the desert engulfed us. The view of the sea had been the one sight that had helped keep me sane the past week in the hotel. Now it was gone.
    We eventually turned onto a narrow road. Sand dunes rose around us. A stiff wind, it seemed, could easily bury the road. Amesh nodded at my unspoken thought.
    "During the storm season, this road disappears," he said.
    "On days like that, how do you ride your moped to work?"
    "I push it. Besides, I don't have to make deliveries in town every day. A lot of the time I just work out here."
    "Well, I hope you liked the taxi ride."
    "First time I've been in one."
    "You're joking, right?"
    "No. It's been fun."
    He got out a mile later and gave me a quick heads-up on the design of the job site; specifically, where to find my father if he wasn't at his desk. He said my dad liked to get out and get his hands dirty.
    We exchanged cell numbers. He said he would give me a call.
    I was flattered at his promise. Silly, I know, but my heart skipped.
    A twenty-foot gate topped with barbed wire surrounded the complex. I had to go through a security check. Guards carrying automatic rifles stopped me. I showed them my only form of identification—my passport.
    The smallest of the guards took my passport and studied it.
    "I'm Sara Wilcox, Charles Wilcox's daughter," I said.
    "Do you have an appointment to see him?" he asked.
    I smiled innocently. "Well, he's my father. I wouldn't be surprised if he's forgotten that he promised to have lunch with me today."
    The guard smiled; he seemed a nice man. But he lifted a phone to call in. The half-completed plant must have feared terrorist attacks to take such thorough precautions. Eventually, he handed me back my passport.
    "Your father will meet you at the corner of that building." He pointed to a structure. "Tell your taxi to wait for you."
    "Why?"
    "Talk to your father about that," the guard said.
    The taxi drove me to the designated building. He demanded payment before he let me out. I told him that he might want to hang around, that I would probably be going home soon. He just nodded; he was listening to some weird music on the radio.
    I finally got my first clear view of the place.
    The construction site for the hydroelectric plant itself was immense, and south of the main building was a large herd of oil wells. From what little my father had told me, the wells were designed to pump out natural gas to fuel the engines that would later create the electricity. But the actual oil the wells found—the black liquid stuff—was something of a nuisance. It had to be hauled away in special trucks.
    My dad came out of the building a minute later.
    We shared the same blond hair and blue eyes, although he kept his hair cut marine-short, and I had yet to see him outside the hotel without his thick shades. His eyes were not a sky blue like mine. They were darker, and he had an intense stare, which he used to good advantage when he wanted to get his way.
    I had a feeling I would be seeing it soon.
    My father did not like surprises.
    At the same time, I steeled myself for a confrontation. I could not let the whole summer slip by and simply bow to his schedule. It had been his idea I come to Turkey. He owed me a certain amount of time, and if he didn't agree, then I was going to remind him there were plenty of planes leaving for America every day.
    Yet he disarmed me with a smile and hug. "Sara. This is a pleasant surprise. How did you manage to find this place?"
    "There are only so many hydroelectric plants being built in Istanbul. How are you doing, Dad? I was hoping that you weren't too busy and we could have lunch together."
    He glanced at his watch—it was close to noon—and shifted