THE
IONIAN
PARADIGM
DANIEL LESTON
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
* Copyright © 2018 Daniel Leston
1st Kindle Edition
MAY 2018
All rights reserved. This book may not be used or reproduced in part or in whole without written permission from the author:
This book is dedicated to my niece, Terry, whose encouragement and expertise made it all possible.
5th Adventure of Professor David Manning
(1st Adventure – The Amun Chamber)
(2nd Adventure – The Genghis Tomb)
(3rd Adventure – The Emperor's Treasure)
(4th Adventure – The Porus Legacy)
THE IONIAN PARADIGM
PROLOGUE
The Ionian Sea Off Western Coast Of Greece. The Year 83 BCE.
The incredible ferocity and duration of the early storm dropping down out of the northwest was unlike anything Captain Arrius had encountered in his many years traversing the waters of ‘mare nostrum’. Nothing similar in magnitude came close in comparison. The towering waves were greater than he imagined possible, their shear height and enormity beyond all comprehension. Now, after seventeen hours with no sign of it weakening, he stoically accepted the inescapable reality that neither his crew nor his massive ship, Janus, could survive the relentless force of such unbelievable power. With both stern rudders shattered, masts broken and sails shredded . . . it was as if the very gods, themselves, had ordained his vessel’s demise.
A punishment?
If so, he believed it justified.
Arrius’ alone bore the burden, stemming out of a critical error in his otherwise normal sound judgment. Adding further to his sense of guilt, he knew the impending tragedy had been forged by his own greed. Avarice was proving his downfall—and for this, he must bear full responsibility.
If only he could turn back time.
Too late now to make things right.
It all came about due to the enormity of a promised commission from no less than Lucius Cornelius Sulla—conqueror of King Mithradates and the unquestioned ‘First Man’ in Rome—when Arrius recklessly undertook a late-season crossing from Athens to the sheltered port-city of Taranto on the southern end of Italy. More than anyone, he understood the potential threat of sudden, violent storms during this time of year. Yet it was a financial risk he calculated well worth taking.
Now Arrius lamented his fateful decision.
The Janus was one of the largest merchant vessels of its time. Built only nine years before, it was called a muriophoria, a massive ship capable of transporting a full 10,000 amphorae containing 50,000 modii of grain to the hungry market of Rome. During the summer months, Arrius made many such deliveries from Alexandria in Egypt to Rome’s port of Ostia—and more times than not was escorted by warships to ensure the safety of his cargo from marauding pirates.
It was because of the Janus’ capacity and proven reliability that Arrius was approached in late fall by Sulla’s agents to carry out a particular mission on their master’s behalf. With the defeat of Mithradates and the settling of the eastern provinces, Sulla had finally returned home to Italy after a three-year campaign with over 40,000 of his veterans and an enormous quantity of plunder, the bulk of which was looted from Greece.
Though the vast majority of this acquired treasure had already accompanied Sulla’s fleet home, a considerable amount yet remained to be transported, this being a quantity of valuable items of such considerable size and weight that it required specialized handling. Thus the unique stability and capability of the Janus made it ideally suited to the task. Despite initial apprehension, Arrius was persuaded to take the extraordinary commission and eventually departed Athens’ main port of Piraeus in the Aegean.
He actually came close to winning his daring gamble.
But the gods had deemed otherwise . . .
On the morning of his sixth day out, within a mere 150 stadi of reaching his destination in the Gulf of Taranto, he faced rapidly growing swells and an ominous sky the color of blood, the classic indicators of impending trouble. Worsening matters, the ever-rising wind brought the forward progress of the Janus to an abrupt end. A potential catastrophe was in the making—for scarcely minutes later the brunt of the storm struck in full fury, propelling the great ship steadily back to the southeast into the narrow Ionian Sea which it had previously traversed with relative ease.
Now Arrius’ nightmare begun in true earnest.
By midnight he knew the fate of his ship and crew would reach a disastrous conclusion. By his calculations, the battered Janus was fast approaching the chain of small islands off Greece’s western coast. Eventually, with the black sky and pelting rain severely limiting his vision, Arrius lashed himself to the sternpost, believing he now heard and felt the vessel’s final death throes steadily building deep within the doomed and overstressed hull. That it had somehow held together for this long in the howling wind and towering waves was a wonder in itself.
But the miracle was unsustainable.
Straight ahead, glimpsed through occasional flashes of lightning, were the black and sinister shapes he most feared to see. The Janus rose a final time on the crest of a mighty wave, the deck pitching down at a steep angle as the ship dug into yet another swell, its death knell becoming a sickening shudder that ran from bow to stern. The end came just moments later; the crashing devastation complete as the overstrained hull of the Janus was literally ripped asunder by the rocks and coral reefs below, its cargo soon to be strewn across the sea floor.
Though Captain Arrius couldn’t possibly know or care, it would take the passage of over two full millennia before the fate of his magnificent ship eventually came to light.
And this only in a most unusual manner . . .
* * * *
South Of Corfu Island. July 7th, The Year 2008 CE.
The lone fisherman, Ilias Sanna, navigated his small 30 HP trawler around with extreme caution through the shallow waters, not entirely comfortable with his decision to make a final pass in an area totally unfamiliar to him. With nightfall approaching, he knew he ran the risk of snagging his valuable nets on unseen rocks in these untried waters. Nevertheless, he chose to take the chance, for today his luck had actually proven somewhat better than expected.
It hadn’t begun this way.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
So far his meager catch of flatfish and prawn wasn’t impressive, nowhere near matching what his usual haul would’ve been if the heavy waves hadn’t earlier forced him to seek shelter in the lee of several tiny islands. But such was the fickle way of the sea. He was used to this. The winds had diminished somewhat over the long afternoon. Now he estimated another hour and he could then comfortably head back north to his port village of Benitses with the day not a complete waste.
But it wasn’t to be this simple.
Only minutes into his last pass, an abrupt halt in his vessel’s forward movement told him his original fears were justified.
“Christos--!” Ilias exclaimed aloud, quickly easing the growing tension on his lines by throwing the engine into neutral. But had he reacted fast enough? Either the nylon net—or perhaps the metal beam mechanism dragged beneath that kept the mouth of it horizontal and open—had apparently encountered something solid. Something that appeared quite unwilling to budge.
He prayed it hadn’t entangled his net beyond salvage, for the replacement cost would be far more than he wish
ed to contemplate. He leaned over the stern and pondered the situation with a sinking heart. What to do? The seabed was at least twenty meters down, too deep to judge the probable cause of his dilemma.
This left him but one course to pursue.
Returning to the bow, he eased the controls back into ‘forward’ and slowly throttled up the engine. God willing, he might be able to pull free of whatever held him fast—and hopefully with minimal damage to his livelihood.
It took anxious moments of sustained and ever-increasing tension, but it finally worked. The net—or the metal beam, he knew not which—suddenly broke loose from what ensnared it, and he again threw the engine into neutral. Thrilled at his good fortune, he quickly returned to the stern, employing the power winch to begin retrieving his valuable equipment. Even under normal conditions, it was a lengthy process. This time, even more so. Something extremely heavy was captured in the net’s mesh—and when it finally became visible, he found himself staring in amazement.
“By all the blessed saints—!”
What he beheld was a man’s clenched fist and arm, at least twice normal size; perfectly sculpted in what appeared to be white marble.
CHAPTER ONE
The Island Of Corfu. Midnight. The Present.
Sprawled on the disheveled master bed of the Kerkira Hilton’s penthouse suite, David Manning lay mesmerized as his beloved Elizabeth sat astride him. Her tousled mane of auburn hair hung loosely about her shoulders—the way he so loved to see it—her body bathed in the faint moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A satin duvet was partially bunched at her slim hips, leaving her breasts open to all of his gentle caresses. Moving with him in prolonged ecstasy, she pressed her hands to his chest and he could feel the rapid beating of his heart against the cool skin of her palms. Even after seventeen years of marriage, he still found her incredible natural beauty the ultimate intoxication to all his senses.
His stoic patience throughout their relaxed evening together had proven infinitely worthwhile; their late dinner and quiet conversation setting the stage for what became a prolonged session of pure sexual bliss. His rising anticipation throughout the day had grown exponentially with each passing hour. Now its culmination was all he hoped it would be—and the profound expression of satisfaction on her face told him the emotion was deeply shared. A last feverish kiss before she collapsed into his enveloping arms; yet another cherished fragment of time both would long savor.
Save for the soft murmurings of achieved pleasure, no gratuitous words of endearment were spoken. None was required, for they knew each other’s physical desires far too well to attempt further embellishments. One didn’t tamper with perfection. Thus they lay entwined until the need for sleep overcame her—and only when her slowed breathing told him she’d finally succumbed did he likewise seek the luxury of drifting off.
* * * *
Being a habitual early-riser all of his adult life, David was already shaved, through the shower, and dressed for the day by 5:30 am. He found that his conscious attempt not to disturb Elizabeth had proved needless, for a glance at her slumbering figure told him she remained quite oblivious to his activity. To provide whatever additional hours she required before leaving the room, he closed the heavy drapes to shield her from the invasive rays of the approaching dawn. She deserved all the rest attainable. After yesterday’s conclusion to three long days taking care of DeCaylus Corp business, it was the least he could do. Better than anyone, he appreciated the toll these semi-annual meetings with her European directors had on Elizabeth—and her deep commitment to conduct them in a professional manner. As the only child and sole owner of the multi-million dollar New England conglomerate founded by her late father, she took her obligations and responsibilities very seriously.
Before leaving the room, he paused to study her sleeping features, feeling he was probably the most fortunate man alive. She appeared no different to him than the day he first met her at Cornell University. Then, as now, her flawless skin and inherent beauty was nothing short of exquisite. More than wife and lover, she was his life’s partner—something she’d repeatedly proven on countless occasions, far more than he could possibly recall.
The thought of ever losing her was inconceivable to him.
The pleasurable memory of the previous night still played across his mind as he ordered a pot of coffee from room service. When it arrived, he poured a large cup and slipped out onto their private terrace, the better to relax and enjoy the spectacular view from their penthouse suite.
Corfu town, known as Kerkira in modern Greek, was built on a defensive promontory in the middle of the east coast of Corfu Island—and savoring his requisite morning addiction, he sat and watched in quiet appreciation the dawn beginning to break over the distant outline of mainland Greece. As the minutes slipped by, the sun continued its steady ascent. The first to feel its rays was the higher of two old Venetian fortresses overlooking the deep yacht harbor where cruise-liners often berthed to unload tourists.
The town itself was soon revealed in all its rustic charm. Combining the French ambiance of Lisbon’s elegant arcade cafes modeled on Paris—plus quaint 18th century Venetian architecture of winding, narrow streets—it was a traditional summer magnet for European travelers, providing an ideal location for relaxation and a seemingly endless source of entertainment for devotees of sightseeing.
Despite the temptation to begin to wander through the idyllic setting over the past three days, he’d kept his natural curiosity in abeyance. Instead, he preferred to experience his first exploration of the town’s many attractions with Elizabeth at his side—and today would be her first real opportunity to join him without other distracting obligations. It was something he looked forward to sharing with her.
At fifty, Prof. Manning was just over six feet tall with intense brown eyes and strong, angular features still more than capable of holding any woman’s attention. Always an active man, he still retained his former athletic build, though recent streaks of gray were becoming evident in his otherwise thick, dark hair, primarily noticeable at his temples. Not that this inevitable encroachment concerned him in any way. His natural indifference to these things was such that he gave it no real thought. His philosophy was simple. Life brought what it brought. Period. How one played the cards dealt you was entirely an individual choice.
Though the vast majority of the general public was unaware, amongst his peers David was inarguably the most successful archaeologist of his time. In truth, it was a unique status he actually hated and would gladly pay almost any price to alter. As someone who abhorred limelight in all its forms, he felt such unwanted attention was an impediment to his natural inclination to seek privacy in his personal life, something he diligently preserved wherever possible. Simply put, laudatory recognition of this sort was always a hindrance to him, never a goal.
Nevertheless, he likewise understood that this unsought attribution was the predictable price one paid for the four spectacular successes he’d achieved over the short span of the last seventeen-years—each of which would be considered so remarkable in-and-of-itself as to be the crowning highlight of anyone’s career. Despite this, he’d been very fortunate in maintaining at least some degree of anonymity wherever possible. In all but one instance, the top leadership of several foreign governments had seen fit to oblige him to achieve this goal. Yet not even this had proven totally effective. Such was the high visibility of these four astounding discoveries that a persistent segment of the world’s news media still continued to probe his rumored involvement, unwilling to let go of what they believed was a potentially explosive story. To their continuing frustration, David’s unwavering resolve to never grant interviews only deepened their embedded suspicions. As individuals who virtually thrived on being in the spotlight, it confused them no end to confront someone who lacked all such aspirations.
After leisurely finishing a second cup of coffee, David realized the morning was fast getting away from him. It was already 7:
24 by his wristwatch. Despite his lingering reluctance to disturb Elizabeth, if they were to spend the day sightseeing as planned then he’d have to get the process started.
He took a few moments to phone down for an assortment of fresh rolls from the hotel bakery, along with a pot of hot tea she always preferred for breakfast. When it arrived, he instructed the waiter to place the service cart out by the ornate patio table. When he then went to the bedroom he was spared the small guilt of having to awaken her, for he could hear their shower already running. Pleased that her mental alarm clock had done the deed for him, he returned to the now sun-drenched terrace and poured another cup of coffee, his eyes again scanning the surrounding landscape.
This was the first time he or Elizabeth had ever been to Corfu, and it was due to a formal invitation received two months earlier back in Boston. Sent by no less than Greece’s long-serving Minister of Culture, Andreas Stephanidis, it was a request for them to attend a special event being held on August 3rd at the Kerkira Hilton honoring one Alexei Talanov, a Russian multi-billionaire who over the past five years had generously made monetary contributions to various archeological projects and educational centers across the country—not the least of these being the apparent addition of a complete wing to Corfu’s newly founded Ionian University.
At first only mildly curious, they actually had no practical reason to accept this invitation until they received a call almost immediately afterward from Nick Travlos, David’s former colleague at Aristotle University in Salonika, Greece. Before David and Elizabeth eventually moved back stateside, Nick and his wife Maria were their closest friends. They had likewise been invited to attend the function as Nick was now well established in David’s old position as head of the university’s renowned archaeology department. It would be an excellent opportunity for a joint vacation together, albeit somewhat short in duration.
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