The Vault of Poseidon (Joe Hawke Book 1)

by Rob Jones

  “And what do you think, professor?”

  “For all I know, they could still be alive!”

  Hawke laughed. “You can't be serious.”

  “Why not? They could be walking among us now, out there, on the street. Thousands of years old – maybe millions of years old, endlessly wise, omniscient, omnipotent, and, of course, immortal!”

  “And if they were, then their powers would be limitless.”

  “But gods know how to wield their powers, Mr Hawke. The same cannot be said for most men.” Demetriou stopped and shook his head in wonder once again. “This is all too good to be true. I have spent much of my life trying to find it, but never got anywhere as close as this. It shames me. Are you saying you actually have some kind of real, concrete evidence of the tomb, at last?”

  Hawke produced the golden arc from his pocket and slid it across Demetriou’s cluttered desk.

  “Feast your eyes on that.”

  His eyes widened like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Where did you get this?”

  “In New York, at the Met Museum,” Hawke said. “It was inside the Poseidon Vase. In the base.”

  “You mean the irreplacable masterpiece by the Vienna Painter?”

  Hawke nodded.

  “But how did you get this golden arc out without damaging the vase?”

  “That’s not important,” Hawke said, glancing at Scarlet. “What matters is it’s only half the clue – half the information we need. The Vienna Painter broke the location of the tomb into two pieces and hid one in each of a pair of matching vases. The other half of the code is in...”

  “In the Amphitrite Vase!” Demetriou said, smiling, turning the gold disc over in his meaty hands. “Which is just up there,” he added, pointing to the first floor above his head.

  Then Demetriou saw the inscription on the other side of the golden arc. “Beneath the Highest City, Where The Samian’s Sacred Work Shall Guide. What does it mean?”

  “We were kind of hoping you could tell us,” said Scarlet.

  Demetriou picked up his coffee and sipped it absent-mindedly as he stared at the arc in wonder. “Clearly there is a reference to an acropolis here – probably the one here in Athens, I suppose, but as for the rest...” he shook his head and looked up at them.

  “What?”

  Demetriou’s mind seemed to wander. “I have read that the vault of Poseidon contains not only his sarcophagus, but also what is sometimes referred to by the ancient poets as his ultimate power.”

  “His trident?”

  “Possibly, but more likely they refer to his immortality. I have always presumed the tomb would contain limitless treasure, including his trident of course, but most importantly the source of his immortality. If man were ever to find this...”

  “We need to look at the other vase, professor,” Hawke said, “and in a hurry. There are other people on this trail – bad people who want the powers hidden in the tomb. Like we already told you – we thought you had been kidnapped by them, and we believe that your life may be in grave danger.”

  “Then let’s have a closer look at the Amphitrite vase!” Demetriou said, rising from his desk and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

  Demetriou led them briskly along the corridor from his office and up the stairs, his jacket shuffling as he climbed the marble steps. Moments later they were walking into the section containing all the ancient Greek vases.

  Hawke sighed. “I’m getting serious déjà vu.”

  “The Met, you mean?” asked Scarlet.

  He nodded.

  “This way!” Demetriou called over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

  They arrived at the correct case and Demetriou beamed with pride when he showed them the vase, almost as sincerely as Mitch had done back in the Met.

  To Hawke, it looked almost the same as the other one, except this one featured a woman holding a fish.

  “Meet Amphitrite, Poseidon’s wife,” Demetriou said, carefully extracting the vase from the cabinet with a little pear of white cotton gloves. “It is imperative we do not leave grease marks on the pottery.”

  Hawke winced at the thought of what had to come next. “You asked a moment ago how we got the golden arc without damaging the vase?”

  “Yes?”

  “The truth is, the Swiss smashed it out of the base, so...”

  “Oh no! Absolutely not.”

  “We need the other half of the riddle if we’re going to locate the tomb, professor,” Scarlet said, trying to back Hawke up. “That’s the only way we can prove any of this is real and stop Zaugg, so stop being such a silly little man and hand over the vase.”

  “It’s two and a half thousand years old!” Demetriou said.

  Scarlet was unmoved. “Now, professor.”

  Demetriou looked down at the ancient pottery vase in his hands, up to Scarlet and then back to the vase. “But surely we could x-ray it to make sure it contained the other half of the golden disc first, and then perhaps remove the base with special cutting tools – make as little damage as possible, and then...”

  “We’re running out of time, professor,” Hawke said.

  “I’m not going to let anyone damage this vase,” he said, adamant. “If there is something within it then it will be found using the correct archaeological procedures. Now you have made me aware of its potential value it’s more important than ever that we put it somewhere safer.”

  Demetriou shuffled away from them with the vase in his right hand.

  Scarlet drew her Sig Sauer and with one well-aimed shot she fired before Hawke could even begin to object.

  The gunshot rang out in the silent museum, echoing down the corridors and bouncing off the ceiling, deafening. Smoke drifted from the chrome-lined barrel of her gun. As it rose to her face she blew a whisp of it away from her lips.

  Demetriou stood perfectly still, frozen in place by the madness of the last second, his hand no longer holding an ancient vase but now purely its shattered rim. At his feet was a pile of tiny pottery pieces and a heap of orange dust.

  Scarlet stepped forward and reached into the little pile, pulling out the other half of the golden disc.

  “You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, Professor Demetriou.”

  “I...I...you could have killed me you crazy woman!”

  “Aww, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Yannis.” She looked at him sternly, the smoking Sig in her smooth white hand. “Now translate this.” She handed him the metal.

  “Translate this you say! But... you have destroyed an irreplacable, ancient...” the words trailed away as his attention refocussed on the other half of the golden arc in Scarlet’s hands.

  He stared at the Ancient Greek lettering, taking only a second to translate it. “It says The Kingdom Of The Eldest Is Where What You Seek Doth Hide.”

  Hawke shook his head in disbelief. “Not another one.”

  “At least we now have both parts of the riddle,” said Scarlet, reholstering her gun.

  They put the two halves of the golden arc together and formed a perfect disc.

  Beneath the Highest City, Where The Samian’s Sacred Work Shall Guide – The Kingdom Of The Eldest Is Where What You Seek Doth Hide.

  “What does it mean?” Demetriou muttered.

  “It means you have work to do,” Hawke said.

  “Then we must get back to my apartment,” Demetriou said. “All my research and files are there.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Ionian Sea

  Hugo Zaugg’s favorite toy was the Thalassa, his six hundred-foot motor yacht. Designed by the best naval architects in the world and built in Germany under his personal supervision, it was the largest of its kind in the world.

  Zaugg often spent his summers on board, enjoying its thirty guest cabins or flying out to private island parties from its helipad. But today was different. Today was business, not pleasure. Today was about fulfilling his fate, and what better plac
e to do it than on board a yacht named after the primordial sea goddess, more ancient than even Poseidon.

  He walked along the deck of the Thalassa and into the safety and peace of his private quarters. The cabin was beyond luxurious, taking opulence to an entirely new level – cherry wood floorboards, plasma screen, and walnut-veneer drinks cabinet. As much as he was capable of feeling love, he loved being here.

  He slid the door shut and walked casually to his desk, a beautiful piece of Brazilian mahogany empty of clutter except a small platinum statue of Amphitrite and Poseidon in a lovers’ embrace, and the more utilitarian presence of a black satellite phone.

  He surveyed the coast of an anonymous island outside the window of the yacht, contemplating the sequence of the next few hours, and how it must play out for him to achieve his destiny. Soon the entire world would learn who Hugo Zaugg really was.

  It is almost time, he thought.

  He took a deep breath. His old, watery eyes wandered from the divine lovers to the phone and back again.

  A gentle tap on the door.

  “Come.”

  Heinrich Baumann padded into the room, an Uzi casually hanging from a belt slung around his waist. “They’re in the hold.”

  Zaugg turned away from Baumann and peered out the window as some of his men were hauling an overweight, elderly man through the forehatch. For good measure one of the men kicked him in the ribs and he doubled over in pain, coughing and wheezing.

  “Did he admit to it?” Zaugg asked.

  “After some persuasion, naturally.”

  Zaugg raised his eyebrows in appreciation of Baumann’s skills. He never thought the old man would confess. Now, lying in a heap on the deck, Grasso would learn his fate. Zaugg enjoyed meting out his own personal justice. It was so much more efficient than the courts, he considered. This he was going to enjoy.

  “Bring Donovan and the others to the front deck. It would be a shame if they missed the show.”

  *

  Standing on the deck, his face covered by the shade of a Panama hat, was a man Lea knew without introduction must be Hugo Zaugg. He was shorter than she had expected, and thinner, and there was an aura of power around him she was unfamiliar with. He stared at her with dull, slate-gray eyes and his lips parted for the faintest of smiles.

  “Lea Kaitlin Donovan, Ryan Benedict Bale and Sophie Adelia Durand. Welcome to the Thalassa.”

  Lea moved forward to draw attention away from Ryan, but she was stopped by the muzzle of Baumann’s Uzi gently pushing into her breast.

  Zaugg frowned and clicked his fingers. The gun was removed.

  “Hugo Zaugg,” Lea said. “Slime incarnate.”

  “My reputation precedes me,” Zaugg said, pleased with himself.

  Zaugg clicked his fingers again and this time two of his men dragged an older man into the sunshine. Lea was shocked at his appalling condition. He had obviously been savagely beaten.

  “Meet Matteo Grasso,” Zaugg said coolly. “Senor Grasso has worked for me for many years on board the Thalassa.”

  “Please, Senor Zaugg!” pleaded the elderly man, his hands clasped together in desperate supplication. “I beg of you.”

  Zaugg ignored him, and continued to address his new guests. “Unfortunately Senor Grasso was caught stealing a great deal of money from the safe in my office here. Sadly, this sort of thing cannot be tolerated.”

  Zaugg motioned at the men and they obediently began to tie a rope around Grasso’s waist.

  “In my native tongue, the word we use is kielholen, not dissimilar from your own term – keelhaul.”

  “You can’t do this, Zaugg!” Lea said, now restrained by Baumann’s bear-like grip.

  Ryan and Sophie watched in sober silence as the men finished securing the rope to Grasso.

  “This line is looped beneath the Thalassa,” continued Zaugg proudly. “And Senor Grasso here will now be keelhauled, which is to say thrown overboard on this side of the yacht and dragged beneath her until he comes out the other side. This will be repeated until he is repentant.”

  Zaugg gave the order and the yacht began to move forward, its enormous engines gathering speed quickly. Another command saw Grasso hoisted up on the rail and pushed over into the water, where he landed with a terrific splash and disappeared beneath the waves, his bound arms unable to keep him afloat.

  “Now, while Senor Grasso is considering his antisocial behavior, perhaps we should talk about the business at hand. Please – have a seat.” He gestured at a freshly-laid table – linen cloth, fruit, fresh fish, Champagne. “You really must try the scallops. They were caught fresh this morning and prepared – ah! – how remiss of me, they were prepared by Senor Grasso, naturally.”

  Lea looked at him with disgust. “You make me sick.”

  Zaugg smiled, then in a flash he leaned forward and slapped her face hard.

  Ryan rose to confront him, but Baumann smashed him in the back of the head with the butt of his Uzi. Sophie took advantage of the moment to hide a bread knife inside the sleeve of her jacket.

  “Please, everyone… let us enjoy this delicious meal.” Zaugg straightened his tie and buttered a roll. He turned toward Lea once again, but this time instead of hitting her he handed her a glass of Champagne.

  “I’ll never help you, Zaugg.”

  “I don’t need your complicity, Miss Donovan. Besides, you’re not reliable enough. Do think the Irish Army is the only one who knows about what you did in Syria?”

  She looked at him sharply, startled. He laughed out loud and broke open a fresh piece of lobster. He was enjoying himself.

  “If you know that much about me,” she said, glancing at Ryan and Sophie, “then you’ll also know I would never help a maniac like you get hold of a weapon like Poseidon’s trident.”

  Zaugg smiled again, cocking his head as he looked into her eyes. It reminded her of the way a falcon looks at a mouse before it swoops for the kill.

  “You think so little of me as that, my dear?” he said, stroking her hand. She pulled it away in horror. “You think a man of my means would start an operation of this scale for a golden trident reputed to start earthquakes?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re looking for?” She already knew the answer.

  “Thousands of years ago, Miss Donovan, a very ancient power was rediscovered by the ancient Egyptians. It was quickly harnessed by their kings, and we don’t know when or how but at some point news of this power travelled to the elite of ancient Greece. I am of course talking about the elixir of life.”

  Lea shook her head in awe. “You are absolutely insane.”

  “On the contrary, I can think of no saner thing than the impulse to survive, and in this case the elixir means permanent survival.” He chuckled once again, but turned when a commotion on the port side of the front deck interrupted him.

  Lea looked to see the men dragging Matteo Grasso over the rail. He collapsed in a puddle of salt water on the deck, struggling for breath. Lacerations on his legs and face from the barnacles on the hull covered the polished teak deck with blood.

  Zaugg stared at Grasso for a moment, unblinking, chewing his lobster. “Not repentant enough. Again, but the other way!” he ordered.

  The men obeyed, and hauled Grasso up on his feet before dumping him over the other side for a second trip. Grasso gasped for air before going under.

  Lea looked at Zaugg, mortified.

  “What?” asked Zaugg, confused. He looked over his shoulder again before swivelling in his chair and then sipped his Champagne. “Oh, that? Keelhauling has an ancient and venerable heritage, my dear, going back to ancient Greece itself – in fact if I am not very much mistaken it is even the subject of certain Greek vase art. I don’t think anyone will be immortalizing Senor Grasso in the same way.”

  Lea closed her eyes and prayed Hawke would find them.

  Zaugg, apparently invigorated by the keelhauling, continued. “Over the years, there have been many names for this elixir all over the world –
the ancients of all the great civilizations knew that it was more than a legend, that it was real.”

  Behind Zaugg, his men were hanging over the side of the boat, slowly pulling Grasso across the keel of the massive super yacht.

  “The Indians called it amrit ras, the juice of immortality, and the Vedas described it in their poetry, while the Persians spoke in awe of the water of life, or aab-e-hayat. This is because like the ancient Chinese they knew it was real, that what others have called the philosopher’s stone really existed. The only problem being, of course, where. And that, of course, is where you come in.”

  “I told you I will never help you. Besides, I don’t even know how I could help you.”

  “Don’t be coy. We have the full translation of Fleetwood’s work, you forget. I know you have the first golden arc – and presumably the second one by now, and so what I propose is very simple. I will trade your three lives for both halves of the golden disc. Joe Hawke has an hour to bring them both to me or I will shoot one of you every hour until both halves are in my hands.”

  Zaugg took a final sip of the wine and patted his mouth dry with a silk napkin. He rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He walked to the back of the yacht with his hands in his pockets and watched as Grasso was hauled out of the water and dumped on the deck a second time, this time dead.

  “Cut the ropes and throw him over for good this time.” He turned to Lea. “We must recycle, after all.”

  Then he called out to Baumann. “Take them below and secure them. Kill them if they try to escape.”

  Zaugg surveyed the sparkling blue water and descended to the lower decks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Before Hawke and Scarlet could enter Demetriou’s apartment his neighbor came running into the street, hysterical and babbling in Greek. She was pointing at the upstairs apartment. Demetriou’s apartment.

  “What’s going on, professor?” Hawke asked.

  “She says some men came here today, to my apartment. She said they had guns. I see now you weren’t exaggerating when you said my life was in danger. Thank heavens I wasn't at home or they would have me. At least this way no one was hurt.”