Remi said, “No go. There are plenty of accounts of the Omphalos surviving the war. The problem is, who knows what the truth is? If the British had managed to steal the Declaration of Independence during the War of 1812, how anxious would the U.S. government have been to admit it?”
“True. What else?”
“There were plenty of treasuries at Delphi. Two in particular were said to have been centers of wealth: the Treasury of Argos and the Siphnian Treasury. They had some religious and cultural significance, but they were essentially small-time banks—gold and silver repositories.”
Sam shrugged. “Again, it’s possible, but Kholkov said Bondaruk was after a ‘family legacy.’ That sounds a little more personal than loot from an ancient bank robbery.”
“Plus, he said, ‘finish what was begun a long time ago.’ Sounds like a mission of some kind.”
Sam nodded and a yawn slipped out. “My brain is running out of steam. Let’s call it a night and pick it up tomorrow.”
Thirty miles to the north, Kholkov stepped off the jet bridge and into the airport’s concourse, powering up and checking his BlackBerry’s voice mail as he walked. He stopped suddenly and peered at the screen. The three men with him did the same.
“What is it?” one of them asked.
In response, Kholkov simply grinned and walked to a nearby cluster of chairs, where he sat down. He pulled his laptop from his briefcase, powered it up, then tapped at a series of keys. After thirty seconds he muttered “Gotcha.”
“You have them?”
“Not so smart after all, are we, Fargos?” he said under his breath. He looked up at his compatriots. “They’re just south of us, in Bavaria. Let’s go!”
CHAPTER 46
And soon now you will enjoy my musical talent,” the boat captain said in solid but heavily accented English. He throttled the engine back and the boat began to slow. “To your right you see Echowand—in English it is ‘Echo Wall.’ ”
Along with the boat’s other twenty passengers, Sam and Remi turned in their seats and looked starboard. They were aboard one of the eighteen covered electric passenger boats operated by the Konigssee Boat Company. There were two types—a sixty-footer, which held eighty-five passengers, and Sam and Remi’s model, an eighteen- footer that held twenty-five.
A quarter mile away through the early morning mist they could see a heavily forested cliff rising from the water. The captain lifted a polished flugelhorn from beneath the helm console, put it to his lips, and blew a few mournful notes, then went silent. Two seconds of silence passed and then the sound bounced back in perfect pitch.
The passengers laughed and clapped.
“Please, if you would, my trumpeting is not included in your fare this morning, and it is thirsty work. As you disembark, you may if you wish put
More laughter. One passenger asked, “What is
“Drinks money, of course. Thirsty work, the flugelhorn. Okay, now we go on. Next stop, Saint Bartholomae’s Pilgrim Church.”
The ride resumed in near silence, the boat’s electric motors making a soft gurgling hum. They glided along, seemingly suspended in the mist, water hissing along the sides. The air was perfectly calm, but chilled enough that Sam and Remi could see their breath.
They’d gotten up early, at six, and had a light breakfast in their room before resuming work. Before going to bed Remi had e-mailed a handful of former colleagues and acquaintances with three questions: At the time of Xerxes’ invasion, what treasures did Delphi hold? What was the current disposition of those treasures? Were there any accounts of Xerxes making off with Delphic or Athenian treasure?
Waiting in her in-box were a half dozen answers, most of which simply opened doors to further questions and more what-ifs.
“Still nothing from Evelyn, though,” Remi said now, thumbing through her iPhone’s e-mail.
Sam said, “Remind me: Evelyn . . . ?”
“Evelyn Torres. At Berkeley. She was the assistant curator at the Delphi Archaeological Museum until about six months ago. Nobody knows Delphi better than she does.”
“Right. She’ll get back to us, I’m sure.” Sam snapped a few pictures of the scenery then turned back around to find Remi staring at her iPhone. Her brow was furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I was worrying about Kholkov showing up again and had a thought: How many times has he popped up so far?”
Sam thought for a moment. “Not counting the Pocomoke . . . there was Rum Cay, Chateau d’If, and Elba. Three times.”
“Not in the Ukraine, not in Monaco, and not here, right?”
“Knock wood.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I can’t be sure, but if memory serves there are three things Ukraine, Monaco, and here have in common.”
“Go on.”
“I never used my iPhone in any of those places; we had the Iridium. I never even powered it up, and only did that here last night—no, that’s not right. I checked e-mail when we landed in Salzburg.”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. Could they have bugged it?”
“Technically it’s doable, but when could they have done it? It’s never been out of your sight, has it?”
“Once. I left it at the B&B when we went to raise the Molch.”
“Damn. The other times—Rum Cay, Chateau d’If, and Elba—did you just power it up, or did you connect to the Internet?” The iPhone could connect to the Internet in two ways, either through its built-in Edge network or via local wireless networks.
“Both.”
“Kholkov could have installed a transponder. Every time you powered up or connected to the Internet the transponder tapped the iPhone’s GPS and sent a ping back to Kholkov saying ‘here.’ ”
Remi exhaled heavily, her mouth set. “Do you think they’re—” She started to turn around but Sam stopped her: “We’ll look when we’re getting off. When was the last time you powered up? The hotel?”
“Right.”
“I didn’t notice anyone following us this morning.”
“Me neither, but with these crowds it’s hard to be sure.”
“Unfortunately, Schonau’s not that big. With a half dozen men they could have simply spotted us from a distance and watched us board the boat.”
“What do we do?”
“First things first, we drag the riddles and the research to the burn folder,” he replied, already doing so on his own. “Can’t risk Kholkov getting his hands on it.” As he had with most of their personal and household gadgets, Sam had tweaked their iPhones, adding a number of applications, including a quick-erase folder. Trying to open the folder without a password would instantly delete its contents. Once Remi had her data moved, Sam said, “Now we hope for a miracle.”
“Which is?”
