“
“Shit.”
“Whoever was in there was hacked into pieces.”
Dial’s voice hardened as his anger boiled inside. “Any bodies?”
“No.”
“What about villagers?”
“Not yet.”
“Anything else?”
“I am sorry about before,” Toulon assured him. “I tried calling the governor several times, but I had no luck getting through. I can try again tomorrow, if you would like.”
“No, Henri, I’ll handle customs myself.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Stay in touch with Sparti. If you learn anything, I want to know at once.”
A giou Pavlou, or Saint Paul’s, is the southernmost monastery on Mount Athos. Inside its walls, many treasures are protected, including fragments of the True Cross and some of the gifts brought to Jesus by the Magi. Outside its community, it owns two sketes-small villages of hermitic monks who prefer to live in seclusion away from the larger monastery. Both of them, Nea Skiti and Skiti Agias Annas, are located on the southwest corner of the peninsula and are connected to Saint Paul’s by a simple path through the dense forest.
At this time of night, the two monks did not expect to see anyone on the way to their skete. Hauling supplies on the back of a mule, they heard a rustling in the trees and paused to find the source of the sound. The lead monk lifted his lantern and was stunned by the sight. A man, dressed in full armor and carrying a sword, stepped through a thicket of bushes. A second later, another soldier emerged behind them, blocking any avenue of retreat.
The monks and the mule were now trapped.
“Hello,” said a voice from the trees. The two monks turned toward their right as Apollo stepped onto the dirt path. The red plume on the top of his helmet glowed in the lantern light. “We are seeking the next ridge. Is there a road?”
Both monks shook their heads.
“I thought not.” Apollo paused as he glanced at the dark peak that hovered above him. Its silhouette could barely be seen in the pale moonlight. “Kill them.”
In unison, the two soldiers lifted their swords and slashed the monks’ throats. Both holy men made gurgling sounds as they fell to their knees, drenched in a fountain of blood. The crash of their lanterns spooked the mule, which started kicking and braying.
The commotion was stopped a moment later when the Spartans struck again.
This time silencing the defenseless animal.
66
When Payne and Jones landed on the southeastern tip of the peninsula, they knew nothing about the Spartans. Otherwise, they would have approached their mission differently. For starters, they would have kept Allison on the yacht, far away from the violence that was about to erupt on Mount Athos. But since they weren’t expecting any bloodshed, they let her join the group.
After all, she was the expert on ancient treasures.
“I feel kind of guilty,” she said as they trudged up the narrow beach toward the first hill. “Women aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Feel free to wait with Jarkko,” Payne said from the front position.
“No way. This is the chance of a lifetime. Besides, I’m just following Schliemann’s lead.”
“How so?”
“He dressed up as a Bedouin tribesman and snuck into the forbidden city of Mecca. Do you know the courage it took to do that?”
Jones smirked from behind her. “I’m not impressed.”
“You’re not impressed? It’s a Muslim-only city. They would have killed him if they caught him.”
“Been there, done that.”
Allison wanted to ask Jones, who had sneaked into Mecca for a mission, what he meant by his comment, but Payne ordered them to shut up. They were heading into the first line of trees, and he wanted to move in silence- especially at the lower altitudes, where they were more likely to run into guards.
According to Jarkko’s map, Megistis Lavras, the largest and oldest monastery on Mount Athos, sat a few miles to the northeast of their landing point. A large Romanian skete called Prodromos was even closer, maybe a mile away. The two communities were connected by a narrow footpath that continued across the southern tip of the peninsula and eventually joined a bigger trail along the western shore. Until they crossed that road, there would be no talking.
Payne led the way, shining a tiny flashlight along the hillside so he could maneuver between the rocks and trees. Allison and Jones had flashlights as well, but they used them sparingly.
All of them were dressed in a similar manner. Long dark pants, sturdy shoes, and dark short-sleeved shirts. Large packs hung from their backs. Eventually, once they reached the higher elevations and the temperature dropped, they would add layers of clothes. Until then, it was important not to sweat too much or they would get dehydrated during their journey.
Mount Athos was 6,670 feet tall. If Schliemann’s treasure map was correct, they were searching for a cave roughly halfway up the mountain. By the time they finished their trek, the weather would be much colder, and they would be exhausted.
The guard wasn’t allowed to smoke on duty, yet he did so every night. He would walk along the trail, listening to the waves as they crashed against the rocks below, and think about his life. In some ways, he was like the hermitic monks who lived in the nearby skete. He loved the peace and quiet of the southern end of the peninsula, where nothing ever happened.
He had walked the trail so many times he knew the route by heart. Up ahead there was a slight dip in the path followed by a gradual climb. Nothing too steep or his lungs wouldn’t be able to handle it. That was one of the drawbacks of his pack-a-day habit. Stench was another. If he wasn’t careful, he would reek of smoke when he returned at the end of his shift.
That’s why he liked smoking here. He had plenty of time to air out before he got back to Dafni.
With a cigarette pressed between his lips, he pulled his lighter from his uniform pocket and flicked it with his thumb. A quick flash followed by a steady flame lit up his immediate surroundings. He slowly brought it toward his face when he realized something was wrong. Although it hadn’t rained in days, the path and the nearby trees glistened in the firelight.
“What in the world?” he mumbled in Greek.
Intrigued, he moved a few steps closer and extended his lighter in front of him.
Then, and only then, did he see the headless mule.
The lights were out in his hotel room, but Dial was wide awake.
He lay on his bed, furious, incensed over his investigation. He had wasted an entire day, and for what? To be jerked around by the community that he was trying to protect. In his line of work, he dealt with political bullshit all the time, but normally it involved two different countries fighting over evidence or the right to prosecute a case.
But this? This was something new.
Hell, it was
Dial’s seething continued until he heard a knock on his door. Actually, it was more than a knock. It was more like an urgent pounding.
“Open up,” said the voice in the hall. “It’s Petros.”
