brothel. But drawings like these preserved the last memory they had of their parents, as if they were still little children. As if their whole world had ended at that moment on the railhead.’
Dillen leaned over, and stared at the drawing. ‘How strange,’ he said. ‘A reverse swastika. She’s drawn it above her, and coloured it gold and silver.’
Rebecca took a deep breath, and blinked hard. ‘A swastika,’ she said, swallowing. ‘So, what’s the big deal about that? Isn’t that what you’d expect? The hated symbol?’
Hugh spoke quietly. ‘The last time I saw Peter, the last time I ever spoke to him, was those few moments we had in Corps HQ when I handed over this drawing. He and I both saw that reverse swastika at the same moment. We were both suddenly overcome with excitement. That’s how I try to remember him. To understand why we were excited, I have to tell you about an extraordinary discovery at Mycenae.’
‘ Mycenae,’ Rebecca exclaimed, sniffing. ‘Huh?’
‘Before the war. When Peter and I were digging there.’
‘You mean when he made the dedication in the book.’
‘A lifetime before everything I’ve been telling you. But what I’m about to say may be the key to the whole mystery. The key that may unlock Troy, but also open up a terrifying discovery. Are you with me?’
Dillen nodded, looked at his watch, then got up. ‘Before that. Quick breather to call Jack for an update.’
‘Are you all right?’ Rebecca said to Hugh, putting her hand on his arm. ‘This must be so difficult for you. Are you tired?’
‘After all these years bottling it up, I feel I’ve been waiting a lifetime to tell this,’ Hugh said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. And a breather gives me time to do another brew-up.’
‘Give Dad my love,’ Rebecca said to Dillen. ‘And everyone else.’
‘Will do.’ Dillen opened the door and turned back. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
Hugh checked his watch, and leaned over the fire. ‘No more, no less. Your drink will be ready.’
14
D illen pushed open the door into Hugh’s flat and pocketed his phone. He had caught Jack on Seaquest II just before diving, uncertain about the state of the Aquapods. The schedule off Tenedos had been delayed a few hours to allow a Turkish navy minesweeper with an underwater demolition team to remove the mine from the shipwreck. Mustafa, the IMU Turkish liaison, had also arrived, and there had been delicate negotiations with the Turkish commander to convince him that it was feasible to float and tow off the mine, rather than detonate it where it was. The commander had refused to have his divers in the water while the mine was being shifted, and Jack had completely understood. He had taken the man into the lecture room and shown him a picture of Monticelli’s Shield of Achilles. That had done the trick, in combination with Costas taking the navy team on a tour of Seaquest II ’s equipment to show them the other available options. Eventually two Turkish divers had gone down to attach lifting bags to the mine, but the actual job of raising it was being done using IMU’s remote-operated vehicle.
It had been going on at that very moment, while they were on the phone; Jack was on Seaquest II ’s foredeck describing it to Dillen. The minesweeper had blast protection so had remained on site, but Seaquest II had stood off two miles to the south of Tenedos on Captain Macalister’s insistence. Meanwhile there was an issue with the electronics on one of the Aquapods. Dillen could sense the tension in Jack’s voice. He was glad he was not there. The good news was that Hiebermeyer had made some kind of breakthrough in the underground passageway at Troy. Jack was going to fill Dillen in at the end of the day, when Dillen would also be able to run through anything new that Hugh might have told them. Dillen had held off mentioning the mysterious swastika until Hugh had explained the connection with Mycenae. And by then Jack and Costas should have completed their dive. If the equipment glitch was sorted out, this could be another day of huge excitement.
Dillen stood for a moment, trying to think ahead. His mind was in a turmoil. He did not know what the next few days might hold for him. Much would rest on what Hugh told them now. He would return here as planned after taking Rebecca to London, to spend time with Hugh on the translation, but only to get it started and to map a course of action. The pressure was already on at Troy to get results, with the deadline of the military exercise looming, and now he felt another line of investigation was going to cascade before them and require his involvement, with Jack and the rest of the team fully committed in the field. And they needed to keep ahead of the game before word leaked out that they were on any kind of new trail, not at Troy this time but in the shadowy underworld of present-day Europe.
He closed the door behind him, and sat down. Hugh handed him another steaming mug. ‘Call get through?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Good show. Are they diving?’
Dillen looked at his watch. ‘Scheduled for fourteen thirty local time. They’re planning to use the one-man submersibles, the Aquapods.’
‘Blast it all. If only I were younger. Jack got me into a drysuit and tank in the IMU pool a few years ago, and it was wonderful. At least he keeps me up to date, with that gizmo.’ He pointed at the computer half submerged under the stacks of papers on his table. ‘Real-time video. Not for this project, though, it seems.’
‘Media blackout,’ Rebecca said. ‘Too many bad guys watching. But I’m sure Dad will link you up as soon as it’s safe.’
‘Do you want to have a proper rest before talking more?’ Dillen asked.
‘Good Lord, no. Let’s carry on.’
‘To Mycenae, then.’
Hugh leaned forward. ‘All right. The summer of 1938. One of the foremen on the excavation had actually known Schliemann. Had actually known him. The foreman was frail and crippled, too arthritic to dig any more, a kind of camp elder. But as a boy, he’d been the one who first showed Schliemann the mound at Hissarlik when Schliemann went there in 1868. It was astonishing to hear his account. It wasn’t Schliemann who discovered Troy. It wasn’t even Frank Calvert, the British consul who led him to the site. The local people had always known about it. A clan in the village of Hissarlik claimed they were descended from Hector, the Trojan prince. Schliemann knew the power of local legend, and of course he believed that real history lay behind myth. And he knew the power of dreams in childhood. That had been where his own quest had begun, as a little boy in a town in Germany, dreaming of Troy. So when he went to Hissarlik, the first thing he did was to go to the children. He offered them riches beyond their imagination, to open up the world to them as the world had once been opened up to him. And the boy who became the crippled old man had taken the bait.’
‘And afterwards he followed Schliemann to Mycenae?’ Rebecca asked.
Hugh nodded. ‘The boy’s father was a Greek sailor his mother had met in nearby Canakkale, and the boy could pass himself off as a Greek or a Turk. Schliemann was as good as his word and took the boy on as a kind of protege, teaching him to read, teaching him English and German, showing him the tricks that had led Schliemann himself to wealth and fame. But the boy was unambitious and content to remain by Schliemann’s side. After the great man’s death, he never rose above excavation foreman, working for the German and British archaeologists who followed in Schliemann’s wake. But what he did tell us was fascinating. He knew perfectly well that Schliemann and Sophia had dug secretly at Troy. And he told us the Ottoman authorities knew too.’
‘So the Ottomans turned a blind eye?’ Dillen said.
‘It was more than that. At Hissarlik, the local Ottoman vizier threatened to expose the boy’s Greek paternity if he didn’t inform on Schliemann. That was why the man opened up to us, all those years later, when he knew he was close to death. All his life he’d felt as if he’d betrayed Schliemann’s trust, and he wanted to ease his burden and tell those he felt might forgive him. But Schliemann like many showmen was too absorbed in his own self-image to realize that others were playing him as well. He was a huge international celebrity, a powerful tool for regimes aspiring to improve their status in the world. The Ottoman court in Constantinople was a decaying beast by the 1870s, but was still a byword for intrigue. It suited the Ottomans to know that Schliemann had dug secretly at Troy and found treasure he had spirited away. One day they might use that knowledge as leverage to make him play their game, to enlist him to help blow their trumpet abroad. The Ottomans were well aware of their bad reputation. Schliemann’s friend Prime Minister Gladstone of Britain was particularly antagonistic towards them. Schliemann
