Remi cleared her throat, her green eyes gleaming. “You were saying . . . ?”
Sam guided her to the table. “Professor Alexandris?”
“You seem surprised,” the woman said.
“A bit,” he replied, ignoring Remi’s catlike smile as he pulled out her chair. He took a seat next to her. “There was a bit of confusion about your name.”
She smiled at a waiter who brought two plates to the table, one with bread and olive tapenade, the other with thick slices of white cheese covered with a red compote. She slid that one toward Sam and Remi. “Grilled Halloumi cheese with cherry salsa. I hope you’ll try it. It’s a particular favorite of mine.”
“Thank you,” Remi said.
“So,” she turned her attention to Sam. “I read the book, The Pirates of Poseidon. What is it you’re hoping to learn?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
I don’t suppose you heard about the man on Fourni who was found at the bottom of the cave? Tassos Gianakos?” Sam asked.
The professor’s brows rose. “These are small islands. News like that travels fast. This morning’s headlines announced they’d made an arrest.”
“Well, this is about him.” Sam dipped his knife into the olive tapenade, spreading it onto the bread. “His granddaughter, Zoe Gianakos, said that he’d spent his life looking for a treasure called Poseidon’s Trident. Have you heard of it?”
“No, but I have to imagine there’s some connection to this children’s story, The Pirates of Poseidon, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Zoe believes it has something to do with the treasure mentioned in the story. He had the book in his pocket when he died.”
Professor Alexandris reached for the serving fork on the dish of Halloumi. “I have to admit,” she said, placing a slice of the cheese and cherry compote on her plate, “this is nothing close to what I imagined when I received the email.”
“By any chance,” Remi asked, “are you familiar with the story?”
“Very. It was a favorite of my brother’s when we were children. The history of it is uncertain. While I didn’t have much time to research before our meeting, I managed to find one scholarly article that suggested the tale was derived from one of Aesop’s fables.”
“Aesop,” Remi said. “That would put it around the same time period that Cyrus conquered Lydia.”
“Depending on which historian you want to believe, Aesop probably died a good fifteen or twenty years before. Even so, he suggested that it was meant to be a cautionary tale about looking too far afield.”
Sam helped himself to the cheese and cherry appetizer. “I take it you don’t agree?”
“I don’t. The story’s far too long, and most of Aesop’s fables are represented by animals.”
He bit into the thick, firm goat cheese, the mild flavor accentuated by the tart cherries and sweetened sauce. He slid his plate toward Remi. “You need to try this.” Then, to the professor, he asked, “Could The Pirates of Poseidon be based on any truth?”
“It could. As you can imagine, though, there’s no way to know what was changed, or simply left out, over the centuries. One has only to look at Herodotus as proof.”
“Why is that?” Sam asked.
“Herodotus,” Remi said, “was known for embellishing tales, and making assumptions.”
“Exactly,” the professor continued. “Unfortunately, many of these old tales were never written down. The idea of books meant for the masses was still centuries upon centuries away.” She gave a pointed nod to the portfolio on the table, no doubt containing her photocopied pages. “There’s no way to know how close the modern-day children’s book might be to the original story.”
Remi sank back in her chair. “Then it could be completely made up?”
“Absolutely. That being said, what makes me think that the tale is based on some kernel of truth is the fact it’s so well known in these parts. I doubt there’s a child in the Aegean who hasn’t heard the story. So, why so popular?”
“Pirates?” Remi suggested.
“And treasure,” Sam added.
“Undoubtedly,” the professor replied. “And, if the story is based on truth, then someone lived to tell the tale.”
“So why not the boys?” Remi said. “That would make sense since the story is from their point of view.”
“What about Pactyes?” Sam asked.
“Again, assuming this story has some real connection to history, there’s every reason to assume that the Pactyes mentioned in the book is undoubtedly the same Pactyes who made off with King Cyrus’s treasury. According to Herodotus, that Pactyes was eventually captured on Chios.”
“The only problem with Chios,” Sam said, “is that doesn’t line up with our theory that the treasure is on one of the islands in the Fourni archipelago.”
“I wouldn’t discount it,” she replied. “As Remi mentioned, Herodotus sometimes took liberties with what he didn’t know firsthand. But he also left out large swaths of history. So it’s anyone’s guess as to what happened in between the theft of the gold and Pactyes’s arrest. It could even be that someone made up this tale of Poseidon’s Trident to fill in that gap, and the story carried on through the centuries.”
“So we have nothing,” Remi said.
“Not necessarily. Herodotus being Herodotus, any scholar would wisely try to confirm the man’s narrative with other sources. We know that Pactyes hired mercenaries to move the Sardis treasury from Lydia to the coast. With that sort of wealth to protect, Pactyes had the means to hire the best. And that brings us to the Samian pirates.”
“Why the Samians?” Sam asked.
“Proximity.” She took a bite of cheese, then nodded out toward the marina. “You can see Lydia—or Turkey, as we now know it—from here.” They looked out, seeing the hills of the Turkish coast in the distance. “More importantly, Pactyes needed mercenaries who’d be willing to go up against Cyrus. Pythagorio, the oldest man-made harbor in the Mediterranean at the time, was filled with them. And it probably helped that the Samians were the sworn enemy of the Lydians. From the Samian point of view, I imagine the prospect of helping to loot what was left of the Lydian kingdom found great appeal.”
Sam glanced at the portfolio next to her. “So you think there could be some truth to this children’s story?”
“There’s nothing to suggest otherwise.”
“Any idea where this cave could be? We’ve heard conflicting reports, that Poseidon’s Trident might be the name of a treasure, or the name of the cave where it was hidden.”
“That I can’t say. I can tell you this much, though. The cave where your friend’s grandfather was found could not possibly be the cave in the book.”
“Why not?” Remi asked.
“Quite simply, the boys want to whisper into Poseidon’s Ear. He was, after all, the god of the sea, so it would make sense that his ear opens up to the water.”
Sam and Remi exchanged glances. “Definitely not the cave on Fourni or Thimena,” Sam said.
“The takeaway from your book,” she continued, “is that the pirates hid their treasure in a cave that opens up both somewhere on land, and also to the water.”
“Any chance you happen to know of any caves that fit that description?” Sam asked.
She laughed. “This being Greece, sea caves past and present were and are somewhat plentiful.”
“So much for that lead,” Remi said. “I don’t suppose you happened to notice the sketch of an ugly sun face at the end of the book?”
“I did.” She opened her portfolio, turning the sheets of paper until she found the photocopy of the sketch.
“We were told it might be Helios.”
“I suppose that’s one possibility.” She studied it a moment, then shrugged. “It certainly looks like flames around the face. I have to admit, Helios
is usually depicted as being handsome. This,” she said, tapping the sketch, “is quite the opposite. If I had to make an educated guess. I’d go with one of the three Gorgon sisters. They’re often depicted with broad, round heads, large teeth and fangs.”
“Sisters?” Sam said.
“The most common reference is that they’re three mythical sisters, Stheno and Euryale, immortals, and their human sister, Medusa.”
He looked at her in surprise. “As in snakes-for-hair Medusa?”
“As in turn-you-to-stone Medusa. Because of that ability, their images were often placed upon objects and buildings as protection. You really can’t travel through Greece without running into one somewhere.”
Remi tapped on the thing growing from the head. “That could be a snake.”
Sam was about to agree, when he happened to glance up, seeing two men, one of them wearing a red ball cap, stopping in front of the next restaurant over. The pair stood in front of the menu displayed near the maître d’ podium and appeared to be searching the faces of the patrons sitting at the waterside tables. “Remi.” Sam tapped her foot with his, nodding toward the patio seating on their right. “The men from the ferry.”
She looked over as the one man pulled off his ball cap, running his fingers through his curly hair. “That’s Fayez.”
The moment she said the name, it came back to him. Kyril’s party. He was the man Remi had thrown her knife at—and missed. “Professor. You’ve been a big help. But . . . something’s come up, and we really need to go.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
Their only option for a quick exit was a narrow street leading behind the restaurant. Remi had enough time to grab her purse before he led her out, the scent of cooking meat and fresh baked bread hitting them as they hurried past.
“What about the professor?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
“She’s definitely safer on her own. Those two men are looking for us, not her.”
“But Kyril was arrested—”
“And you’re a witness who will need to testify against him. Get rid of you, go after Dimitris, no trial.” Once past the restaurant, they hid behind a delivery van parked nearby. Sam peered out, then ducked back as Fayez came around the corner and stopped on the other side of the vehicle.
He looked around. “Zenos,” he called out to his partner.
The other man ran up, slightly out of breath.
Fayez rattled off something in Greek. Zenos took off toward the marina, while Fayez started walking the opposite way.
Sam, holding tight to Remi’s hand, waited a minute, making sure they didn’t return. “What’d he say?”
“He told Zenos to walk on the waterfront.”
Sam rose up high enough to look through the windows of the van. Fayez, apparently, intended to parallel his partner, walking up the street behind the restaurants. Unfortunately, both men were heading in the direction that Sam and Remi needed to go to get back to their motorcycle. “I think if we head up another block, we can parallel the both of them, and keep out of sight.”
They made a right turn, walking up a steep street, the cobblestones slippery from being so worn. Keeping the port on their left, the streets and alleys were easy to navigate as they worked their way west, then south. They turned the corner, then stopped, seeing Fayez blocking their way.
“Time for Plan B,” Sam said, taking her arm.
“Which is what?”
“We run.” He pulled Remi down a narrow, covered street crowded with shops and kiosks. A cacophony of sounds carried toward them, music and the drone of voices. Merchants called out, trying to entice customers into their space, some selling fine linen and Egyptian cotton, others jewelry, souvenirs, and T-shirts. Sam and Remi ran past, then jumped over a dog napping at the entrance of a catwalk between two buildings. The wire-haired mongrel was apparently used to the comings and goings. Sam looked back. “I think we lost him.”
Remi, however, was looking in the opposite direction. “Doesn’t that remind you of the drawing in the back of Zoe’s book?” She pointed at a banner strung across the awning of a ceramics shop on the opposite side of the street.
Sam glanced up as a gust of wind caught at the sign, rippling the material like a ship’s sail. When it finally settled, he saw an angry face surrounded by snakes staring at him. He was about to agree when he heard the sound of footsteps echoing somewhere behind them.
Remi looked up at the Gorgon as they crossed the street. “The professor did say Gorgons ward off evil.”
“Let’s hope she’s right,” Sam said, then drew her inside the store.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
A young man sat on a stool, carving away at a block of wood, while pale-colored shavings accumulated on the floor at his feet.
His dark eyes regarded first her, then Sam, with mild curiosity as Sam returned to the door, keeping watch outside. Remi, trying to look like a normal customer, eyed the ceramic pieces, many depicting the same angry face as that on the sign out front.
She picked up a mug sitting on a shelf, rubbing her thumb over the carving on the mug. “I’d say this looks far closer to Zoe’s sketch, don’t you think?”
Sam glanced over. “Definitely in the face. But Zoe’s sketch has a head full of hair, not snakes.”
He was right about that. Every one of these faces had thick-corded hair with snake heads at the ends. Curious about the origin of the design, she turned to the boy, showing him the mug. “What is this?” she asked in Greek.
He looked up from his carving, his brow furrowing as he glanced from her to Sam, then back. He pointed to his mouth. “To drink. Coffee? Tea?”
She laughed. “I mean the face.” She looked about the shop. “It’s everywhere. What is it?”
“You like this? Everything here, my mother makes.” He called to someone in the back of the shop.
An old woman holding a broom pulled aside a curtain and looked out. She tapped her broom on the floor. Having overheard the conversation, she knew they were Americans and replied in English. “Gorgons. To ward off evil.”
“Gorgons,” he repeated.
“We should buy one,” Remi said to Sam.
“Why?”
“What if it works?”
“You don’t really believe that stuff?”
“Who knows?” She replaced the mug and picked up a quart-size blue pot with what she thought was a delightfully ugly Gorgon face on the front. “We might be pleasantly surprised. I do like this one.”
Sam looked at her, his brows going up as she pulled money from her shoulder bag to pay for it. “A flowerpot? Why not one of those flat wall plaques? We’re on a motorcycle.”
“This one called out to me.”
“Of course it did.” He glanced out the door, then suddenly stepped away from the opening, backing toward her. “While he’s wrapping it, you mind asking if there’s another way out? And you’d better hurry it up.”
Remi took the shopping bag, apologized for the inconvenience, then asked if there was a second way out.
“Remi . . . ?” Sam said, his eye on the front door as he continued backing toward her.
“I have to be polite.”
The young man, witnessing this exchange, hesitated, then pulled aside the curtain. “Through here,” he said in perfect English.
“Thank you,” Remi said.
Sam took her hand. “Our friend seems to have found us,” he said as they hurried through. The old woman looked up from her sweeping, yelling at them as they rushed past, scattering dust in their wake. They fled out the back door, their footsteps echoing as they raced down the street. Sam paused at an intersection, looking both ways, then started toward the left.
“Not that way,” Remi said.
“We need to go left,” Sam insisted.
They rounded the corner, then hit a dead end.
> “Why,” Remi said, “do men refuse to trust a woman’s sense of direction?”
“For the same reason women insist on buying flowerpots at inopportune times.”
They retraced their steps. Unfortunately, as they ran past the intersection, Fayez burst out the back of the potter’s shop. He followed as they took off in the opposite direction. They turned a corner onto a narrow street, then into an alley, where, up ahead, bright pink bougainvillea vines spilled over the top of a high wall. As they raced past it, they noticed the entrance to an open courtyard filled with potted plants and a wrought iron table and chairs. Backtracking, they ducked inside. About ten feet away, on the opposite side of the alley, a boy sat in a doorway, playing with several gray kittens. He picked up one of the tiny creatures, watching warily as Sam and Remi hid behind the thorny vines that grew on either side of the open gate. Remi set her shopping bag at her feet, pressing closer to the wall. Hearing Fayez’s heavy footfalls, she looked at the boy through the bougainvillea leaves and put her finger to her lips.
“Did you see the Americans?” Fayez asked.
The child held out his hand, saying, “You pay?”
Fayez scowled as he dug a coin from his pocket, tossing it onto the ground. It bounced, then rolled along the stones, landing at the boy’s feet.
He picked it up, took a step toward the courtyard, then let the kitten go, shooing it inside. “Hurry!” he said, and darted off down the alley.
Fayez started to follow. The kitten mewed, then jumped onto Remi’s shopping bag, swiping its tiny claws at the handles. Fayez, hearing the noise, retraced his steps, and drew a dagger from a sheath on his belt.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The moment Fayez stepped into the courtyard, Sam grabbed him by the collar and swung him around. As Fayez lashed out with the knife, Sam caught his arm, the two struggling for control of the weapon. Fayez brought up his other hand, splaying it across Sam’s face, forcing him back into the courtyard, nearly knocking Remi over. Sam pivoted, managed to get his other hand on Fayez’s wrist, and slammed it against the wrought iron table, again and again, until the knife clattered to the ground. Remi scooped it up, then circled around the table.
Wrath of Poseidon Page 24
