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other men cheered and broke out a bottle, but Father was still. As he rose from the table, Osman grabbed his hand. I could see he was thinking fast, feeling protective of Father. “We—we will help you, Baba ,” he said.
    Father glowered at him in a way I’d never seen. “You two will have nothing to do with this!”
    Shaking Osman’s hand loose, he went for the door, passing among his thieving, drinking buddies without touching a drop.
    I ran after him, afraid of what I might say, but completely aware of how I felt. He was not going to do this without us. “ Baba , this is suicide,” I said, grabbing his hand and spinning him around. “You can’t do this with these men.”
    â€œBecause you don’t trust me?” he said. “I am your father, Aliyah!”
    â€œThey are drunks and thieves—and so are you!” I blurted out.
    As the words left my mouth, I wanted to reel them in, to turn back time. I thought he would hit me or even yell at me. But instead, he nodded. “Yes, Aliyah, you’re right.”
    â€œAnd I love you!” I blurted out. “As your oldest child, I demand that you do this with your strongest team, not your weakest.”
    Father looked up toward the shack. Toward the room of half-witted men already bumping chests and shouting unintelligibly. Standing in the doorway was Osman.
    â€œAs your youngest child,” he said, “I’m in, too.”
    Wednesday, 4:53 A.M.
    I GOT ABOUT three hours of sleep, Diary.
    In a few hours we will set out for Bodrum. Father, Osman, Gencer, and I are going early to scout the castle. Gencer’s man told him that security is spotty, becausethe museum hasn’t even been open for a year. From what I’ve read, it sounds like an incredible collection of objects dredged from the Mediterranean, from ancient shipwrecks and castles that have fallen into the sea. The British Museum and the Turkish government have teamed up to put thousands of these rescued treasures on display.
    What I really want, Diary? To be able to walk among the exhibits like normal people—Father, Osman, and I, spending a day (as paying customers) at the museum. I can just picture Osman, face against the glass like a child, leaping from treasure to treasure.
    Wow, I wrote that without even thinking of adding “Mother.” Maybe my imagination has finally come to terms with the fact that she’s gone.
    We’ll case the museum while it’s still light out. Gencer’s man refuses to meet with us in person—he doesn’t want to get caught if things go wrong. It’s our job to make sure things don’t go wrong.
    I’m worried, though. None of the gang has had much experience with robberies. Robberies of living people, that is. Gencer keeps reminding us that the museum has done all the hard work for us. No diving to the bottom of the sea for us, no dodging spiders or skeleton hands. All we have to do is be at the museum’s back entrance at the right time and take what we need from the truck that will be arriving from the north. Gencer says that the team assigned to protect thetruck is usually a group of sleepy archaeologists or just the curator himself with a thermos of coffee.
    Father’s shouting for us from the door. Osman is wearing underwear on his head and dancing around the room, shooting pretend bad guys with his finger. I need to go.
    Thursday evening
    E VERYTHING HAS CHANGED, Diary. I’m actually excited for one of Father’s plans now. Wait. Let me tell you how it all went down. Eep! I can hardly stop myself from skipping to the end.
    Okay. Where did we start? The museum.
    We arrived at the museum at around midnight. Father and Gencer went to the front of the building, while Osman and I scoped out the rear loading entrance.
    We wandered toward the back of the building. I froze. The watchman wasn’t some sleepy archaeologist at all. He had silver hair, but he was