The Lost Throne (41 page)

“
Oui.
It is a possibility.”

“If that’s the case, where are Pappas and his men?”

“We are not sure. Right now, the police in Leonidi are searching for witnesses. They found his truck, so they might be able to find someone who saw the driver.”

Dial nodded. “That’s a start. What else is being done to find him?”

“The Spárti Police went to the village that Pappas was planning to visit first. And they found something strange.”

“What do you mean by
strange
?”

“No adults. No kids. No clues of any kind. The entire village was empty.”

“Empty? How can the village be empty?”

“I do not know. But no one was there.”

“Shit,” Dial cursed. “The villagers cleared out because they didn’t want to be questioned. Something bad happened up there, and they knew the police would be stopping by.”

Toulon nodded. “
Oui.
That makes sense.”

“Does Spárti have access to hounds?”

“I do not know.”

“If they do, have them start there. Maybe they’ll pick up a scent. At the very least, maybe they’ll find the villagers hiding in the mountains. That might be just as helpful.”

Toulon made a note. “I will suggest it at once.”

“Before you do, I wanted to give you an update on my meeting with the governor.”

“That is right. How did that go?”

“It didn’t. Turns out Mount Athos is on Byzantine time.”

“You did not know that?”

“Of course I didn’t know that. How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

Toulon shrugged. “The same way
I
knew that. By being smart.”

Dial growled, no longer in the mood for humor. “Henri, I don’t get mad very often, but I’m pissed off. We have eight dead monks and three missing cops, and you’re being sarcastic with me? That shit needs to stop
now
!”

Toulon said nothing in his defense.

“Because of your negligence,” Dial seethed, “I missed my best opportunity to get inside Mount Athos and find an important witness. Do you understand that?”

“
Oui.
I understand.”

“Good! Now I want you to fix it.”

“How?”

“I am taking a private boat to Mount Athos. Once I’m there, I’m going to try to talk my way past the guards. It would help if they knew that I was coming.”

Toulon asked, “What would you like me to say?”

“I want you to call the governor’s office and explain that
you
screwed up the time of my meeting. Tell them that I take full responsibility for the error, and I will be stopping by the main dock in a few hours to apologize in person.”

“No problem, Nick. Consider it done.”

D
ial didn’t know much about boats, since he had lived most of his life far away from the water. But it didn’t take an expert to realize that Clive’s boat was built for speed. It was forty feet long, painted white with red racing stripes, and looked sleeker than a missile. When Andropoulos saw it for the first time, the grin on his face was remarkably similar to the one he had before his helicopter ride from Kalampáka.

And it got even wider when they hit the open sea.

Every once in a while, Clive would crank the throttle just to prove what he was packing, and when he did, Dial and Andropoulos were thrown back in their waterproof seats. But most of the time, Clive kept his speed steady, rarely venturing more than one hundred feet from shore so he could talk about all the monasteries that they passed on their way to the main dock on Athos.

“This whole region is part of the Halkidiki Peninsula,” Clive explained. “What’s strange about it is that the peninsula has three peninsulas of its own. They’re called Kassandra, Sithonia, and Athos. They stick out into the Aegean like Poseidon’s trident.”

He pointed toward his left as their boat headed south. “Athos is the easternmost peninsula of the three. It’s six miles wide and thirty-five miles long. Ouranoúpoli sits on the northern end of it, serving as a boundary to the rest of civilization. Just past the village, you officially enter the republic of the Holy Mountain.”

“Is there an actual wall?” Dial wondered.

“No, there isn’t. But according to Byzantine law, roads that can be traveled on by wheels are
not
permitted between Mount Athos and the outside world. And the few footpaths that exist between the two are frequently patrolled by armed guards.”

Dial listened with fascination. Prior to a few days ago, he had never heard of Mount Athos. And the reason for that was quite simple: he’d never had any reason to investigate the place. Yet in his mind, that wasn’t a valid excuse for his ignorance. Mount Athos was a part of Greece, so he should have known about the Holy Mountain and all its quirks.

If he had been more knowledgeable, things would have gone a lot smoother.

“So, Nick, tell me a little more about you. What’s your job at Interpol?”

“I’m the director of the Homicide Division.”

Clive whistled, impressed. “That’s a fancy title. Does that mean you’re the big cheese?”

Dial nodded. “That’s what it means.”

“What are you doing way out here? Shouldn’t you be at Interpol Headquarters, bossing people around?”

“You would think so. I mean, that’s what the heads of the other divisions are forced to do. But I’m kind of fortunate in that regard. The Homicide Division is only a few years old, and I was the person brought in to set up its internal structure. Since my experience is in fieldwork, I made damn sure that I was allowed to leave my office or I wouldn’t have taken the job. I don’t get to float around as much as I’d like. Paperwork and meetings guarantee that. But anytime an interesting case comes along, I hit the road and see where it takes me.”

Clive smiled. “And if there aren’t any roads, you take to the sea instead.”

“Exactly.”

Several minutes later, Clive slowed his boat as they approached the first monastery that was visible from the water. Starting on the northern end of the peninsula, a massive hill ran down the center of Athos like a rocky spine. Covered in a thick blanket of trees, it gradually rose higher and higher until it reached the peak of Mount Athos, which towered over the southern tip of the peninsula nearly 6,700 feet above the Aegean Sea.

From his current location, Dial could see the outline of its snowcapped peak, yet his focus was on Zográfou, a monastery founded in A.D. 971 that was nestled in the vegetation. Unlike other parts of Greece, this stretch of land was rarely cleared by human hands.

“Zográfou is unlike any other monastery on Athos. All its monks are Bulgarian, and all its services are performed in their native tongue.” Clive pointed at the monastery’s tower, which was in the center of the multibuilding complex. “That’s where they keep their most-prized possessions, including Codex One.”

“Which is what?” Dial wondered.

“The first official history book of Bulgaria. It was written by a monk named Paisios and stored here for safekeeping. You’d be surprised how many manuscripts and treasures were guarded by monasteries over the centuries. In that tower alone, there are more than ten thousand codices, written in Greek and Slavic languages. Rumor says that they have even more than that, but we’ll never know. Outsiders are never given full access to any of the local libraries, which is a shame. I’m a huge fan of libraries.”

Dial stared at the stone tower with its red-tiled roof. As he did, thoughts of the hidden tunnel at Holy Trinity floated through his head. In many ways, Metéora was better protected than the monasteries at Mount Athos, yet because of their position on the top of natural stone pillars, the monks were limited by geology. Secret vaults had to be dug into the hard rock and accessed from above. But here on Athos, it was different. The peninsula was 35 miles long and 6 miles wide, meaning there were plenty of places to hide their most valuable relics.

Dial asked, “How many of these monasteries have you been in?”

“I wish I could say all of them, but so far I’ve only been in twelve of the twenty.”

“Any treasures stand out?”

Clive whistled. “Now, that’s a tough question. That’s like asking someone to pick out their favorite painting at the Vatican. I mean, there are way too many treasures to name.”

“The monasteries are
that
nice?”

“Yes, they are. Keep in mind that Mount Athos has always attracted the best artists and craftsmen from the Orthodox world. The monasteries offered food, shelter, privacy, and protection, and the artists repaid them by creating religious masterpieces in many different forms: mosaics, manuscripts, carvings, jewelry, and so on. Why do you think there are so many armed guards roaming the hills? These treasures are priceless.”

“And are all the treasures religious in nature?”

“Not all of them. Why? Do you have something in mind?”

Dial nodded. “Anything that involves Greek soldiers.”

Clive gave it some thought. “I remember seeing swords in a few of the monasteries. Even some old guns that were taken from invading pirates.”

“Not weapons,” he clarified. “I meant artwork. Like stone altars or carved doors.”

“To be honest, nothing jumps out at me. That’s not to say that they don’t exist—because I saw some altars and doors that dazzled me. I’m talking really intricate pieces that must have taken several months to complete. But all of them had religious themes.”

Dial glanced at Andropoulos, who was listening to the conversation but remained quiet. They briefly made eye contact, and when they did, Dial nodded his head toward Clive. It was Dial’s way of encouraging the young cop to ask some questions.

Andropoulos cleared his throat. “What about books on warfare?”

“Warfare?” Clive took a moment to consider the word. “Well, as I mentioned, Zográfou has the first history book ever written about Bulgaria. I’m sure some of its sections are devoted to soldiers and war and that type of thing. As for other monasteries, I would guess that they have the same sort of books. Particularly Greek history.”

“Why’s that?” Dial wondered.

“Because seventeen of the monasteries are Greek. The other three are Russian, Serbian, and Bulgarian.”

Dial smiled at this. Of the seven monks beheaded at Holy Trinity, one was Russian, one was Bulgarian, and one was Greek. The fourth monk was from Turkey, which was where the Ecumenical Patriarchate was located. That meant all of the major nationalities on Mount Athos had been represented at that late-night meeting.

He wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence or not.

But he was going to keep it in mind as his journey continued.

I
f Payne and Jones had been traveling by themselves, they would have called Randy Raskin for two seats on a military flight to Izmir Air Base. Located on the western coast of Turkey, it wasn’t far from Limnos, the Greek island where Jarkko kept his yacht.

Unfortunately for them, the U.S. military frowned upon hard-drinking Finns and blondes with fake passports sneaking into a foreign country in the back of one of its planes. Therefore, the four of them were forced to find a different mode of transportation to the Aegean.

Surprisingly, it was Jarkko who came up with the solution. He was friends with a pilot in Helsinki—the same pilot who always took him south for the winter—who was more than happy to fly them to Greece for a reasonable price. And since Limnos had its own airport, they would actually get there faster than they would flying to Athens on a jet and shuttling north to the island.

Plus, a small airport with private hangars made sneaking past customs a lot easier.

Before leaving Finland, Payne bought plenty of supplies at the Kauppatori Market, everything from food to warm clothes. He had never been to Mount Athos, but he was quite familiar with the effects of altitude on air temperature. Especially at night. A brutal mission in the rugged terrain of Afghanistan had taught him that. And since the cover of darkness would aid their journey up the Holy Mountain, he made damn sure they were ready for it.

Meanwhile, Jones used Allison’s computer to download as much information about Athos as possible. He wanted to plot their mission during their long flight to Greece, so they could hit the ground running. Normally, he would have preferred a day or two to survey the topography and scout the patrol patterns on the southern tip of the peninsula. But after thinking it over, he realized that this was a race against a nameless opponent. The man who had hired Alexei Kozlov to kill Richard Byrd was seeking the same treasure they were.

One day could make all the difference between fortune and failure.

H
ey, Jon,” Jones said from the back of the small jet. Jarkko was sitting in the cockpit, trading dirty jokes with the pilot, while Allison caught a nap in the front row.

“What?” Payne asked from across the aisle.

“Let’s assume that this treasure is real, that Schliemann actually found the Statue of Zeus, and it’s somehow hidden inside the mountain.”

“Okay.”

“How are we going to get it out?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, the damn thing is forty feet tall and covered with gold. I doubt we can carry it.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ve been eating a lot of sausage. And sausage means protein.”

Jones smirked. “I’m serious. There’s no way we can remove it by ourselves.”

“You’re assuming that it’s still in one piece. Remember, it was carried from Olympia to Constantinople and back to Greece. And when it disappeared from Constantinople, no one saw it leave. Either that was one hell of a magic trick, or they cut the throne into pieces before the trip.”

“Good point.”

“Besides, even if we find it, I don’t think we should move it. After all, it’s one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. We would be crucified if we damaged it any further.”

Jones rubbed his eyes in frustration. “What are you saying? You want to leave it there?”

Payne nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. If we find it—and that’s a giant
if
—we should stake our claim and call the Ulster Archives for advice. Petr has much more experience with this type of stuff than we do. Hell, I can’t even begin to imagine the border dispute that would erupt over this. Does the treasure belong to Greece? Turkey? Or the monks of Mount Athos?”