“Neither: it’s just a code from
“Very well. Any others?”
“Yes. Whoever-or whatever-is responsible for our closed-room mysteries will be-”
“‘Circe’?”
“See? You’re getting the hang of this.” Corcoran tossed back the last of his Metaxa. “And now I will walk off my daily indulgence. Could you get a security detail to cover my sunset stroll to the temple with Riordan?”
Downing reached for the handset of the secure land line. “I’ll get you two.”
CIRCE
He leaned his brow against the binoculars: two dim figures moved slowly up the drive toward the fading silhouette of the Temple of Poseidon. He leaned back, checked his watch, jotted down the time on the notepad.
He turned to face the plate that was perched on the edge of the laundry table. Dominating the center of the unadorned white porcelain dish was a barely diminished cube of feta, surrounded by a litter of olive pits and a dusting of crumbs. He reached over the spoor of his dinner, closed his fingers gently around the orange resting at the center of the table. He lifted it slowly, studying it. He bobbed his hand once, as if feeling the heft of it, then brought it closer, up to his nose. He sniffed, tentatively at first, then sniffed again. He exhaled, then breathed in deeply through his nose: as he did, he smiled. He turned the orange round in his hand, rubbing his finger over its surface, inspecting both its stem and base briefly before cradling it upright in his left hand. With the precise and focused intent of a surgeon, using the two-centimeter-long fingernail of his right middle finger, he made three quick, successive sweeps around the stem. He studied the incisions carefully: then, using a neatly trimmed right index finger, he pried away the top of the orange, which-already having been mostly sheared from the rest of the skin- came off easily. He held the fruit to his nose once more, breathed in deeply, smiled again, put it down next to his dinner plate.
He turned and leaned toward the binoculars, rotated them to the right. The two figures were already at the end of the headland, walking across the ruin’s flat central expanse. One silhouette-lean, long-legged-seemed to be wandering a bit. The other silhouette-perhaps two centimeters taller and more thickly built-moved with unswerving surety to the center of the ocean-facing row of columns. That silhouette stepped down the stairs leading toward the overlook and came to a halt, staring out to sea; the other silhouette hopped down to join him.
He smiled, counted the number of pillars to the right of the two silhouettes, counted the number to the left, checked his watch, wrote it down on his pad. He leaned back toward the binoculars while reaching for the orange. Both silhouettes remained motionless.
Still watching, still smiling, he inserted his right index finger under the lacerated skin of the orange and pushed it down toward the base, as far as it would go. Then he pulled his finger slowly outward, away from the heart of the fruit.
The skin bulged and ripped and released its life in a dense, fragrant spray.
Chapter Twenty
ODYSSEUS
Sounion National Park’s meeting facility was hardly what Caine pictured as the setting for a rendezvous with global destiny. Collages of photographs sent by appreciative visitors took the place of the somber busts of statesmen. Simple prefab construction did not deliver the sense of dignity that would have been imparted by well- varnished wood paneling and brass fixtures. No, to judge from the surroundings, the fate of the world was going to be determined in a trailer-park meeting hall.
But first, the facility would host a brief session with disgruntled representatives from Indonesia. Nolan, who had told Caine about the meeting the night before, had openly resolved not to let it spoil their walk up to the Temple of Poseidon. He had been successful: as they stood in the twilight calm and watched the stars come out, he had not uttered one word.
The Indonesian delegation had already arrived, dominated by a squat, late-middle-aged man. As they approached the central table, another, ethnically mixed contingent emerged from the alcove that housed the automated coffee dispensers.
“Bloody hell,” Downing whispered.
— which was fortuitously-or was that carefully? — drowned out by Nolan’s loud and expressive, “Vassily! You’re early today-and you brought company.”
Vassily Sukhinin-Nolan’s Russian equivalent, and old comrade from the Highground War, if Caine remembered his reading-frowned apologetically. “I bring this company like a sheep brings wolves.” He jerked his head vaguely to the rear. “I apologize, Nolan, but I did not bring them. I forced
Nolan turned toward the leader of the new and apparently unexpected group: a spare, immaculately tailored man of youthful middle age, flanked by two nondescript aides. The man wore a tie sporting what looked like a modernized heraldic pattern. Nolan’s tone was interrogative: “Mister-?”
“Robin Astor-Smath. It’s rather pleasant not being known on sight.”
Astor-Smath
Nolan gestured toward a seat at the table. “To what do we owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”
“That is a gracious question-particularly since I must assume you had a hand in ensuring that corporate entities were excluded from the proceedings.”
“The proceedings, Mr. Astor-Smath, were initiated on behalf of the citizens of the world’s nations. And it is solely on that basis-the lawful and sovereign representation of
“All of those shareholders are citizens with equal rights.”
“True, but not all of the world’s citizens are equally privileged shareholders-and that is the crucial difference. You represent the interests of a very privileged few, far less than one-tenth of one percent of the world’s population.”
“Well, Admiral, we’ll see if that distinction holds up after you hear what my friends from Indonesia have to say this morning. I imagine you may have met Indonesia’s Minister of Finance, Mr. Ruap.”
The squat, late-middle-aged man nodded.
Nolan returned the nod. “I haven’t had the honor until now. And while I am unsure how Mr. Sukhinin-Russia’s Minister of Foreign Affairs-learned of our unofficial meeting, I am most grateful that he came along. Vassily, where is all your security?”
“If one would move quickly, one must carry few bags.”
“Moscow is not going to be happy, my friend.”
“
“It’s your career, Vassily.”
“Yes, and it would be a kindness to be asked to retire.”
Nolan smiled-Caine saw a flash of the same gentleness that he had seen yesterday-and then Admiral Corcoran was on stage again: “I’m sorry to rush things along, but we don’t have much time. Mr. Ruap, what can I do for you?”
The Indonesian Finance Minister folded his hands. “I am here to serve notice to the five blocs that, if the Parthenon Dialogs are to be truly global in nature, then the blocs need to provide a place for the many nations that are inadequately represented by them. Therefore, on behalf of these nations, Indonesia is demanding that these underrepresented nations be included as the World General Assembly bloc, which wishes to ensure that any global confederation will remain secondary and subordinate to the legal authority and primacy of the United Nations.”
Nolan leaned forward. “Mr. Ruap, as the Dialogs’ mediator, I am charged with assessing whether your World
