and her mind started drifting. She had no idea how long she'd been breathing them in, but she was sure her little exercise at staying awake had intensified its effects. Her only chance was to find what had to be at the base of one of those walls — and quickly.
She found nothing on the first wall and began to struggle as she moved along the second one. Again, nothing but rock. At the third wall she dropped to her elbows and scratched away at its base. She hadn't slept for what seemed days. She was exhausted and wanted to rest, wanted to sleep. The thought of giving in passed through her mind, but she pushed it away, by pressing her toes against the floor to drive her body forward. By the fourth wall the rest of her body was drifting to the floor. Now she scratched out with both hands, grateful for the pain in her injured hand helping to keep her conscious. She had little energy left when she felt what she'd been looking for. She pressed and clawed at the rock until it flipped up into the room. It was the slot in the base of the wall she'd remembered hearing when he'd shoved in the beribboned gift box of chocolates. It was her last and only hope for fresh air.
Annika forced her face into the opening. She sensed a breeze and gulped at what she prayed was fresh air. But was it imagined, was it enough… was it in time? Those were her last thoughts as she fell off into a deep, long- resisted sleep. He pressed a switch hidden under a camouflaged plate to the right of the cell door, and a single fluorescent ceiling light slowly flickered on inside the cell. The door was two and a half feet wide and five feet high, made of steel. Three massive industrial hinges anchored it to the stone wall on its left side, and three equally massive sliding bolts along its right side held it firmly to the floor, the adjacent mine wall and the ceiling. It was the sort of door one would expect to see securing the shop of a jeweler, but this one he'd hidden beneath the textures and colors of the tunnel walls.
He slid out the bolt from the wall and pulled at the top one. He had trouble with that one, always had. He hadn't aligned it quite right when he installed it. He thought he might need a hammer to move it but decided to slide the bottom one out first and try the top one again. That did the trick. When he pulled on the door it slid open effortlessly. Not only did it carry the weight of the stone fitted to its inside face, it blended seamlessly into the inside cell walls when closed.
He looked at the girl stretched out along the far end of the wall separating the cell from the tunnel. Her face was pressed into the corner. He remembered his sister as rosy red when he crept into her bedroom that late-winter night to remove the hose from the broken pane by her bed, having just disconnected the other end from their miserable father's truck. Her death was blamed on a faulty space heater. She had been the first of his tributes, though he hadn't thought of it that way at the time.
He still smelled the fumes in the cell, even though he'd disconnected the garden hose and restarted the ventilation system ten minutes earlier. He stood in the doorway and studied her body. Not a flinch. Still, he waited a few more minutes before moving toward her cautiously.
When he felt her pulse he realized there was no need for concern. It was weak. No telling how much longer she might last. That meant he had to work fast. Death must come in a place of his saints of the living, not among his gods of the dead. He rolled her over onto her back and dragged her by the ankles to directly under the light. He straddled her above her waist and stared at her face for a moment before dropping to his knees and easing his naked buttocks onto her breasts. She wasn't rosy like his sister.
Slowly, he leaned forward and stroked her cheek with his left hand, while with his right he pulled a straight razor from behind his ear, snapped it open, and tenderly began slicing away. He was quite skilled with the razor and worked more swiftly as he moved along her body. When he was through there wasn't a hair to be found anywhere.
He made her as bare and smooth as the forty-five-hundred-year-old Cycladic marble figurines of elongated, naked females — arms folded beneath their chests — the ancients of these islands sacrificed in place of humans. They'd taken great care to make the sculptures beautiful, a timeless beauty that inspired Pablo Picasso and Henry Moore, then ritually destroyed them in ceremonies honoring their gods. He had little patience for tourists who brought copies into their homes without having any idea of their purpose. Some Mykonians who kept them probably knew, because sacrifice was still among their traditions — the blood of a live rooster must run fresh at the site of a new home to protect all who enter from harm.
He, too, sought to gain the protection of his gods through sacrifice, but he knew that from him they required far more than mere stone or fowl.
His practice was to bind each tribute in symbolic honor to the ancient way before going on to the next step, but this one was so close to death she couldn't possibly put up resistance. Besides, with what he had in mind there was a chance they might be seen before reaching the church. If she seemed drunk or drugged, they weren't likely to attract any more attention than the hundreds of other revelers partying on a panegyri night, but if she were bound head to foot, they'd definitely be noticed. It was far too great a risk to take. He'd undertake that part of the rite later.
He left her lying on the floor while he went to do what else was required to complete the preparation. He didn't bother to lock the door. He didn't need to.
17
Ninety minutes after his meeting with Andreas and Tassos, the mayor met Andreas at a locals' taverna just off the main square in Ano Mera. Two dozen volunteers were inside. Andreas was impressed by how quickly he'd been able to get so many men to search the mines — and after midnight, no less. Then again, he'd been mayor for almost twenty years, and no one wanted to be on his bad side. Most appeared to be in their early forties, some younger, a few older. Pappas looked like the oldest. Andreas smiled to himself — apparently even the self- described, most important man on the island danced when the mayor played the tune.
The mayor spoke first, and formally. 'My thanks to all of you for coming on such short notice in this, the middle of our busiest season, but as I told each of you, it is a matter of life and death. We must find a young woman lost in one of the mines.' A few of the men exchanged glances. Pappas didn't blink.
The mayor came up with that cover story at Andreas' office, and even though none of them gave it much chance of flying, they hoped whatever rumors it spawned wouldn't be as catastrophic as the truth. There was a complication though — a very serious one. Volunteers were being asked to help find a ruthless, brutal killer. They had to be warned of the danger in a way that wouldn't blow the whole story wide open. The mayor assured them he'd handle it.
'My friends, we don't know if the missing woman is alone or with someone, went willingly or against her will. But we think she's somewhere in the mines, places you know better than anyone on our island. Just be careful. Prepare for the worst and pray for the best.'
Andreas couldn't believe what he was hearing. The mayor planned on sending these men off to look for a serial killer in the dark — literally and figuratively. Where was the warning he promised?
'What do you mean 'prepare for the worst'?' It was Pappas.
Andreas assumed the mayor was agitated by the question, but he didn't show it.
'I think whenever you go in search of someone who might have been taken against her will — and I emphasize might — you should be alert to the possibility that someone may be prepared to do the rescuer harm.'
'You mean 'harm' like what happened to that girl up at the church?' Pappas turned to face Andreas, as if directing the question at him.
That had to piss off the mayor, thought Andreas, but still Mihali didn't show it — just hurried to answer before Andreas could speak. 'Let's hope not. I repeat, I don't know what happened to her, but I want all of you to be careful.'
Andreas noticed he didn't offer his volunteers the opportunity of backing out. Perhaps that's why he wasn't agitated — he knew his audience had no choice.
No one else had a question, and the mayor turned the meeting over to Andreas to organize the search. Andreas described the missing woman and the area to be searched, which included mine entrances by the artist's home and Panos' farm. He said he'd leave it to the men in the room who knew the mines how best to conduct the search, but he insisted they work in groups of no fewer than three and that at least one in each group carry a
