Clive glanced at Dial. “Your meeting was with the governor of Mount Athos?”
“It was. But apparently I missed him-by several hours.”
“Either that, or you’re thirteen days early.”
Dial looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“The monks also use the old Julian calendar instead of the Grego rian calendar. So they’re thirteen days behind the rest of us.”
Dial shook his head. “Someone in town said a trip to Mount Athos was like going back in time. I guess they meant that literally.”
“Literally and figuratively,” Clive assured him. “Although in recent years there have been improvements to many of the monasteries. Some of them even have electricity.”
Andropoulos laughed. Meteora had recently gone through similar renovations, moving them out of the nineteenth and into the early twentieth century. Still a century behind, but much better than it used to be.
Clive extended his hand. “Hi, my name is Clive.”
“Sorry,” Dial said as Andropoulos shook Clive’s hand. “This is my assistant, Marcus.”
“Your assistant? What kind of business are you in?”
Dial answered. “I work for Interpol. He works for me.”
“Interpol? How fascinating! And you’re here to meet with the governor? Is there something dangerous going on that I should know about?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to get access to Mount Athos for a routine investigation.”
Clive groaned. “Well, you’re in trouble now. I’ve met the governor on a few occasions, and he isn’t exactly a cordial fellow. My guess is that you’ve made an enemy for life.”
“Great. Just great.”
“Of course, there are other ways to get to the peninsula.”
“Such as?”
“Me.”
“You?” Dial asked.
Clive nodded. “I have no influence with the guards, but if I pull up to the main dock and you flash your badge, you might be able to talk your way onto the property.” He paused. “You do have a badge, don’t you?”
Both Dial and Andropoulos flashed their credentials.
He smiled and continued. “At the very least, the guards have a special phone that connects with the administrative offices in Karyes. Anytime there’s a problem with a visitor’s permit, the guards contact their bosses for clarification. So even if they don’t let you through, perhaps you can speak to someone who can help you with your investigation.”
61
Both Payne and Allison stared at Jones, trying to determine if he was serious. They realized he was when he made them feel the object for themselves.
Allison went first. She noticed the same crinkling as Jones. “It feels like paper.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a grin.
Payne rolled his eyes as he took his turn. “I’m kind of hoping you’re wrong. Otherwise you’re going to be a bigger pain in the ass than normal.”
“I don’t know about bigger. But I’ll definitely be
Payne smiled. “Don’t buy a mansion just yet. We have to see what it is first.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Allison wondered.
Jones made a cutting motion with his two fingers. “Snip, snip.”
“Wait. You’re going to cut the coat?”
He nodded. “You’re damn right I’m going to cut the coat. But just the lining. It’s not like I’m going to take off a whole sleeve.”
“Come on, guys. There has to be a better way.”
Jones turned toward Jarkko, who was steering the boat at the front. “Hey, Jarkko! Do you have any X-ray gear on here?”
Jarkko stared at him. “You mean X-rated movies?”
“Not X-rated,” he shouted. “X-ray.”
“X-ray? What is that? Is that more sexy than X-rated?”
“Forget it. Don’t worry about it.”
Jarkko threw his arms up in frustration. “How will Jarkko learn if you not explain!”
“Sorry,” Jones apologized to Allison. “No X-rays on board. We’re gonna have to cut it.”
She sighed. “Fine! Cut the lining. But promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Of course I’ll be careful. I don’t want to cut the paper.”
“I meant with the coat!”
Jones glanced at Payne and grinned. “Man, I love revving her up. It’s so easy.”
Payne smiled as he patted Jones on the arm. “Before you start, let me tell Jarkko to stop the engine. The smoother the ride, the better.”
“Good idea.”
Jarkko cut the motor and the boat slowed to an easy crawl. Because of a lack of storms in the area, the winds were calmer than normal and so were the waves. Allison spread the garment bag across the bench, and Jones laid the coat on top. Their goal was to do as little damage as possible, whether that was from grime or the tip of his knife.
The first cut was along the edge of the seam. A tiny ripping sound was heard, followed by a loud groan from Allison. Jones made her turn around before he continued. The process was easier than he had expected. After getting through the first layer of lining, he noticed a small compartment had been stitched into the coat.
Jones stuck his fingers inside and felt an object. “There’s something in here.”
“What is it?” she wondered.
“I don’t know. I can’t get it out. My hands are too big.”
“Here,” she said. “Let me try. Or you might rip it.”
After they switched spots, she stuck her slender fingers inside the secret pocket. With more wiggle room than Jones, she was able to finesse the object out, carefully sliding it through the gap in the lining until she held it in her hands.
It was an old piece of paper, folded and yellowed with age.
“What does it say?” Jones asked.
“I don’t know,” she said excitedly. “Someone move the coat.”
At this point Payne was tempted to chuck it overboard; he was much more concerned with the paper than the coat. Instead, he carefully hung it on its original hanger while Allison laid the document on top of the garment bag. Then, using the tip of her fingernail, she carefully unfolded it, trying not to smudge the writing.
“It feels so brittle. I don’t want to turn it too quickly or it might tear.”
Jones glanced over her shoulder. “I swear to God, if Ivan dry-cleaned this coat, I’m going to kill the bastard.”
“It’s not that,” she assured him as she kept unfolding the paper. “It’s in pretty good shape for its age. I just don’t want to take any chances.”
Finally, after several seconds, the document was fully revealed. She held it flat with the tips of her fingers, making sure that a gust of wind didn’t blow it overboard. Despite its age, the document was still legible, penned by a steady hand. It was written in Greek, a language that none of them could speak, yet all of them knew what they were staring at.
“Holy shit,” Jones mumbled. “It’s a fucking map.”
The comment made Allison grin. “The correct term is
“Jon,” Jones blurted, “it’s a fucking
Payne laughed at his friend’s joy. “I see that, but what does it say?”
“I don’t know! I can’t read Greek, but I recognize the most important letter of all.”
Payne glanced down at the map. A mountain was drawn in the middle of a large landmass that was
