The Lost Throne

“Saint Petersburg.”

“Are you an American?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s good. Then I want you to go to the consulate. There’s an American consulate in Saint Petersburg. If you go there, they’ll protect you.”

She sobbed. “I can’t. Richard said we couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. But he said we couldn’t go there. He said if anything happened to him that I was supposed to call. He bought me a phone just so I could call you. He programmed your number into the phone. It’s the only number I’ve got.”

Payne swore under his breath, not sure what to do. Byrd was dead. Allison was freaking out. And she refused to go to the only safe place he could think of. Back in the day, he used to know several places around the city where operatives could hide in an emergency, but he hadn’t been to any of them in years. So there was no way of knowing if they were still in play.

“Jon,” Jones whispered, “if they killed Byrd, Petr could be in trouble.”

Payne covered the phone. “Explain.”

“Byrd went to the Ulster Archives on several occasions to do research. Who knows what he found there. If these people are thorough, they might go there next.”

Payne nodded in understanding. Suddenly, they had little choice in the matter. They had to get involved to protect their friend.

“Allison,” he said with a firm voice, “listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. Do you believe me when I say that?”

“They killed him,” she said meekly.

“I know that, Allison. It must be tough for you. But let me tell you a secret. Do you know why Richard told you to call me? He knew if you needed my help, I would give it to you. And trust me when I say this, I’m a very helpful guy.”

Static filled the line. Several seconds’ worth.

“Allison? Are you still there?”

Another lengthy pause. Finally, she asked, “How can you help me?”

“It’s pretty simple. I’m coming to get you out.”

14

While Andropoulos sealed the videotapes in evidence bags, Dial strolled into the main chapel and searched for the second camera. He spotted it in the rear of the church, right above the donation box.

Trying not to draw attention to himself, Dial casually leaned against the back wall and glanced upward. The wire was attached to a wooden beam in the same fashion as in the gift shop. Except in this case, the viewing angle was slightly more favorable.

With a little luck, they might actually have footage of the killers.

Ideally, Dial would have viewed the videos right away, but considering their current location, that was an impossibility. Instead, they would have to wait until they drove to the station house in Kalampaka or got to a secondary location like Dial’s hotel. The truth was Dial didn’t care where he watched it, as long as he got to see the recordings as soon as possible.

A few minutes later, Andropoulos walked into the church and approached a uniformed officer who looked even younger than he did. The kid snapped to attention and listened intently as Andropoulos handed him the tapes and gave him a series of orders in Greek. When their conversation ended, the kid hustled through the same door Andropoulos had entered.

Dial smiled, watching all of this from afar. “Marcus!”

He spotted Dial near the back table and walked toward him. “Yes, sir?”

“What was that all about?”

Andropoulos blushed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“That depends. What in the hell did you just do?”

“I thought someone should view the tapes immediately. And since I can’t leave here yet, I asked another officer to look at them.”

“That’s what I thought you did.”

“Did I mess up?”

Dial shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, that’s the most impressive thing you’ve done all night. You just put justice ahead of your own ambition. That’s pretty rare in a case like this.”

Andropoulos breathed a sigh of relief. “So I didn’t mess up?”

Dial laughed. “Let’s walk outside. I want to discuss the crime scene.”

Dial didn’t speak again until they were outside, far away from the other officers. At this stage of the game, he still wasn’t allowed to investigate the scene-since he lacked proof that multiple member states were involved-and would be forced to leave if he overstepped his bounds. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Turf wars were common in his business, one where egos were easily bruised and jurisdictions were guarded like jealous lovers.

For the time being, the local police were in charge of the monastery. Things would stay that way until the Greek government decided the locals couldn’t handle it-or shouldn’t handle it-and the inspector general for northern Greece showed up with a team of national experts from the Forensic Division and the Special Violent Crime Squad. After that, it was only a matter of time before Dial was thanked for his interest in the case and driven to the airport. Then again, Dial wouldn’t blame the inspector. If Dial were in charge of the case, he wouldn’t want an outsider lurking around, either. Especially someone who wanted to take control of things.

“So,” Dial asked Andropoulos, hoping to bond with his liaison, “where did you learn English? Other than a slight accent, you speak it better than most Americans.”

The Greek beamed with pride. “I learned English when I was very young. My parents owned a small cafe in Kastraki, and I worked there as a child. Half our customers were tourists who could not speak Greek. If I did not know English, I could not do my job.”

“And where did your parents learn it?”

“From James Bond.”

Dial grimaced. “James Bond?”

“You know, 007.”

“Yeah,” Dial assured him, “I know all about James Bond. I just don’t understand your comment. How did he teach them English?”

“You do not know? They filmed For Your Eyes Only in Meteora. The cast and crew were in Kalampaka and Kastraki for weeks. This was in 1981, before I was born, but Roger Moore ate in my parents’ cafe on many nights. My mother said he was a very nice man and so good-looking. I am told my father was very jealous, but he said nothing, since Roger Moore has a license to kill.” Andropoulos laughed at his own joke. “I think that is why I joined the police. I wanted to carry a gun so I could impress my father.”

“Hold up,” Dial ordered. He was a James Bond fan but couldn’t think of any scenes that took place in a monastery. “Refresh my memory. What was the plot of that movie?”

“James Bond was searching for a weapon that was stolen by a Greek villain. Holy Trinity was his secret lair, and Bond had to climb up the cliff to kill him.”

Dial nodded. “Okay. Now I remember it. No wonder I had a sense of deja vu when I first arrived. I had seen Meteora on the big screen.”

“I love American films. I watch them all the time. They help me with my English.”

“What about your French?”

Andropoulos shook his head. “No. They do not help me with my French.”

Dial rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Marcus, I know they don’t help you with your French. I’m asking if you know any French.”