Dial 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.
63
If Payne and Jones had been traveling by t
hemselves, 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.
Hey, 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?”
“I vote for none of the above. I vote for us.”
“Obviously, we can make our case, quoting the ancient law of Finders-Keepers. But it will be an uphill struggle. A hell of a lot tougher than climbing a mountain in the dark.”
Jones nodded in agreement. “Okay. I’m with you on the whole throne thing. If we find it and it’s salvageable, we leave it for the experts to move. But what about the other stuff?”
“What other stuff?”
“According to legend, the Greeks removed all their treasures from Constantinople before the city was set on fire. So there’s no telling what else we might find up there.”
“I forgot all about that,” Payne teased. “Thankfully, I bought several canvas bags in Helsinki. They’re perfect for carrying supplies on the way up, and gold on the way down.”
Clive slowed his boat and pointed to a thick stretch of forest to the east of Zográfou. “Buried in the trees is Kastamonítou. It’s one of the monasteries I’ve stayed at.”
Dial strained to see it on the wooded hillside. “Is it small?”
“Not at all. There are several buildings and a large katholikón. They’re positioned in such a way you can’t see them from the sea. From the shore, it’s roughly a thirty-minute hike.”
“Any treasures of note?”
“The monastery has three miracle-working icons.”
“Which means what?”
“Just as the name implies. They have three different icons that have been responsible for miracles, holy acts that have been verified by the Church.”
Dial smirked at the explanation. “Can any of them predict lottery numbers?”
“If they could, I’m sure you would have heard of the place.”
A few minutes later, they approached Docheiaríou, a tenth-century monastery built along the rocky shoreline. Clive pulled his boat near a stone jetty that extended out into the waters of the Singitic Gulf, so his passengers could get a better view of the boathouse where the monks kept their fishing equipment. Behind it was a small fortress, a mix of ancient buildings and colorful chapels built on top of fortified stone walls.
“Notice the height of the windows,” Clive said as he pointed to their placement seventy feet above the ground. “This monastery was susceptible to attacks because of its position near the water, so they compensated by elevating their architecture into the air.”
“Pretty cool,” Dial admitted. “Not as high as Metéora, but still pretty cool.”
“You’ve been to Metéora?”
Dial nodded but said nothing, not wanting to talk about his investigation.
Clive read between the lines. “So that’s why you’re here. The murders at Metéora. I should’ve figured that out sooner, especially knowing the connection between the two places.”
“What connection is that?”
“A monk from Mount Athos actually founded Great Metéoron in the fourteenth century. That was a turbulent time around these parts—with plenty of political upheaval. Several monks followed his lead and moved to central Greece because it was safer. Metéora was better protected than Mount Athos, because the monks could control who entered their monasteries. If they felt threatened, they pulled up their long ladders and no one could get up to them. But here, there was the constant threat of attack.”
“When the monks left, did they take any treasures with them?”
“Definitely,” Clive assured him. “Around here, two of the biggest concerns have always been thieves and fires. Over the years, both have taken their toll on this community, robbing the monks of some of their finest relics. Not so at Metéora. That place was like Fort Knox.”
Dial frowned at Clive’s word choice. “What do you mean, was?”
“You’ve been there. You know what it’s like. Over the past several years it’s gone from a working monastery to a tourist attraction. People come and go as they please with no security whatsoever. Heck, they even filmed a James Bond movie up there. Can you imagine the monks trying to protect something of value at Metéora?”
“No, I can’t,” Dial admitted.
Everything Clive said made perfect sense. Centuries ago, Metéora had been the best place to store the most valuable relics from the Church. But that notion had faded about the same time that the doors to Metéora were opened to the general public. At that point, the monks had to find a better place to hide their treasu
res, and in the Orthodox world, nothing was safer than Mount Athos.
It was a country within a country, a theocracy where the monks controlled the guest list and men with guns were allowed to patrol the borders.
A place that even cops couldn’t visit without permission.
64
The Spartan soldiers had left their village before dawn. When they arrived in Leonidi, a town on the shores of the Aegean, they found the boat waiting for them. It had been left by the foreigner, just as he had promised when they struck their deal several days before.
Apollo would have preferred a warship, much like the vessels that Sparta had used when it was still a maritime power. Somehow that would have been fitting, considering the mission that he was on—trying to protect the legacy of his ancestors. Instead, he would have to make do with a large white yacht. It blended in with all the other pleasure crafts that dotted the sea. Plus, it was big enough to keep his men and weapons below deck, out of sight from prying eyes.
Their journey to Mount Athos took all day. First, he and his men had to navigate through some of the Cyclades Islands—Kythnos, An dros, Tinos, and Kea. Later they passed Alonnisos and Skyros and the rest of the Sporades Islands. The farther north they traveled, the less familiar they were with the blue waters of the Aegean. Still, with the aid of a compass and a simple map, they kept a correct heading and reached their destination before the sun set in the western sky.
At first glance, Mount Athos was much taller than they had expected. The rocky terrain was covered in thick layers of green trees, and footpaths were nonexistent. But the topography worked in their favor. They were used to training in the Taygetos Mountains. They knew how to fight on a slope, how to hide in the brush, and how to use the hills to their advantage. If they were forced to wage battle in an open field, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Guns, bullets, and modern weapons would tear through their flesh before they could even raise their swords.
The Lost Throne Page 33
