They glanced at one another dubiously, trying hard to imagine what shining qualities Faye could see.
She continued. “This mission is unlike anything the Arkana has attempted before. The circumstances are unique. We don’t know the location of the message which the key unlocks, nor do we know what artifacts we’re searching for. We don’t even know how many of them there are. On top of that, we’re very likely to run into dangerous competition for those relics. This is a highly unorthodox retrieval mission, and I believe it calls for an unorthodox team to bring it to a successful conclusion.”
She peered at them all earnestly, willing them to understand the point she was trying to make. “This mission can’t be conducted by the book. Seasoned experts often grow complacent, and complacency would be fatal in circumstances where you need to be especially on your guard. The project requires flexibility and ingenuity—a new perspective that comes from a fresh set of eyes.”
Cassie and Griffin smiled at one another. Their shared naïveté created a bond. Neither one had ever considered lack of experience to be an advantage before. It was a comforting thought that there might be a strategic benefit to it after all.
“So, you’re saying greenhorns are good?” Erik asked incredulously.
Faye tilted her head to the side, considering the question. “Yes, I suppose I am. For this particular mission anyway.”
“Then why include me? I actually know what I’m doing. If you want a greenhorn to handle security, then bring in a blind German Shepherd.”
The old woman remained unflustered. She smiled sweetly. “You have been chosen to provide balance. I think one field-tested veteran will round out the team nicely.”
Erik’s expression remained skeptical, but he held his peace.
The other two were still glowing at one another under the conviction that their shared weakness was really a strength. They offered no further objection to Faye’s plan.
“Now, let’s discuss strategy while I put on a pot of coffee,” Faye suggested.
Cassie thought back to the previous evening when Faye had been able to sway an audience of two hundred to do what she wanted. This morning she had persuaded three antagonistic people to jump on a plane and retrieve lost relics for her. All that and she still had time to bake banana nut bread. “She’s good,” the pythia said to herself.
Chapter 30 – Happy Hour
It was a hot afternoon for mid-May. At least it would have been considered hot in Chicago, but this was Greece. A little seaside town in Greece called Pylos. Leroy Hunt was sitting alone at an outdoor café fanning himself with his Stetson hat. Three local boys strolled by and noticed his outfit.
“Cowboy. Bang! Bang!” they said cheerily in passing.
“Right back at ya, pardners,” Leroy replied affably. He made a mock gesture with his thumb and index finger simulating firing a gun. The boys laughed and moved on.
Hunt briefly flashed on an image in his mind’s eye. He saw their smiles congeal into expressions of terror when he pulled out the Sig Pro pistol that was actually concealed in his shoulder holster. The thought amused him. He chuckled. Too bad he was minding his manners this trip. He was ripe for a little dust up, but he had to keep a low profile.
He took another sip of liquor and considered his plight. A low profile was one thing, but he might as well be dead. He was bored out of his mind. No fun in trailing along behind Metcalf’s hangdog kid watching him scratch around in the dirt.
Hunt rolled his eyes in disgust. So much for special skills. His talents were wasted on this trip. It was small comfort that he was getting paid handsomely to do nothing. He craved some action to get his adrenaline pumping, but it sure didn’t look like he was going to get any. A glorified babysitter was all he’d turned out to be. The next time that crazy old preacher man came to him with some work, he’d tell him where to go.
In the meantime, his days were spent cooling his heels at every taverna between Thebes and Pylos while he waited for the kid to turn up something. He’d learned a few useful words in Greek though: Roditis, Retzina. Man, those Greek wines really packed a wallop. Almost as good as the shine back home, but ouzo was his favorite. It must be something like 160-proof. They even named restaurants after the liquor—ouzaria. It was a place where you could sit all afternoon and sip the stuff while they brought you snacks to go with it. Too bad they didn’t have any fried pork rinds. He couldn’t bring himself to eat calamari. The dish reminded him of boiled rubberbands in glue. He sighed and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table and then looked at his watch. Four p.m. The kid said he’d meet him here at four, but the little runt was always late. He beckoned the waiter to order another drink.
This whole trip was screwy. When they flew into Athens, two of the Greek brethren showed up to whisk them off to a Nephilim compound out in the hills. Leroy took a pass and made them bring him back to a proper hotel. He wasn’t going to sleep in a place that felt like a mausoleum for the living. Same as the compound in Chicago. All stone floors and squeaky-clean silence. Besides, he figured Junior would be safe in the hands of his freaky fan club. They practically kissed the ground he walked on. They kept calling him “the son of the diviner.” You’d think he was Elvis the way they carried on. No, Leroy was sure Daniel was safe enough with them.
The next morning, he went out with the boy and his groupies to the first site. It was a heap of old ruins, and they started crawling over rock piles like a bunch of
