The Lost Throne

57

Nick Dial’s eyes sprang open in the darkness. He blinked a few times, trying to regain his bearings, before he realized where he was and what was happening. His cell phone was ringing on the nearby nightstand. Outside his window, the sun had not made an appearance. The only light in the hotel room was coming from the phone’s tiny screen.

Dial tried to read the name on his caller ID, but drowsiness prevented it.

“Hello?” he answered groggily.

“Nick, it’s Henri.”

There was no teasing or joking. Toulon’s voice was solemn.

Dial sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was early in Greece but even earlier at Interpol Headquarters in France. “What’s wrong?”

“The Spárti police just called. George Pappas and two other officers never returned from their fact-finding trip in the Taygetos Mountains. No one’s heard from them since they left yesterday afternoon.”

A few seconds passed before the information sank in. “What do we know?”

“Pappas is well respected in Spárti. He’s not a drinker or a hothead. He has a wife and family. He’s not the type of guy who would go on a bender and disappear for a few days. Plus, there were two other officers with him. One’s a ten-year vet, the other a rookie. What are the odds that they all ran off together?”

Dial considered other variables, not ready to jump to any conclusions. “Any theories?”

“Car problems are a possibility. Many of the villages are remote, and cell phone coverage is shaky at best. There is always a chance that they are stranded.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“A few hours I could understand. Twelve hours seems unlikely. Three officers should have been able to flag someone down in that time.”

“What about a car wreck? Some of the roads near Metéora were pretty treacherous.”

“That’s another possibility. But not a pleasant one.”

Dial nodded as he pictured three cops bleeding at the bottom of a ravine. “Yet somehow I sense that’s better than foul play.”

“Oui. This is true.”

“What do the cops in Spárti think?”

“They are hoping for stranded. They are preparing for something worse.”

“Meaning?”

Toulon explained. “The reason Pappas took two officers with him is because of the reputation of some of the local villagers. A few of them are known for their brutality, which is why Pappas suspected them in the first place.”

“What are the cops planning?”

“They are forming a search party, a mixture of police and soldiers from a nearby army base. At first light, they are going into the mountains. I am told they will be fully armed.”

“Are you serious?”

“They want to be prepared, just in case.”

Dial swung his feet off the bed and onto the stone floor. It was cold and unforgiving, like the regret surging through his head. He was the one who had ordered Pappas to investigate the Spartans. If something had happened to him, the feelings of guilt would stick with Dial for a very long time.

“Keep me posted, Henri. I want to know as soon as you know something.”

“Not a problem, Nick.”

“One more thing. Please stress to the cops that Pappas was looking for the men responsible for the Metéora massacre. If they locate any suspects, it would be helpful if they brought them in alive.”

Unfortunately, the police would not find anything of value in Little Sparta.

Shortly after the young Spartans had finished killing Pappas, Manos, and Constantinou, Apollo ordered them to dispose of all the bodies on the other side of the valley, far away from any roads or trails. He knew the wolves that roamed the hills at night would feast on the dead cops long before a search party was assembled in Spárti.

Meanwhile, Apollo and his men handled the evidence in the village. The blood puddles were covered with dirt and rocks. The murder weapons — more than fifteen in total — were cleaned and sharpened. And Pappas’s vehicle was used to transport several Spartans to Leonidi, a small town on the Aegean Sea, where they would launch the final phase of their mission.

If everything went as planned, the Spartans would return home in a few days and continue living the way they had lived for more than two millennia.

If not, they would die protecting their most treasured possession.

The legacy of their ancestors.

The Spartans’ mission had started several weeks earlier when a foreigner arrived at their village. Unlike the police, who only caused problems, this man wanted to solve one.

Apollo wasn’t the trusting type, especially when it came to outsiders. After all, it was a traitorous Greek who had helped Xerxes and the invading Persian army to defeat the Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae. But this foreigner seemed different. Although he spoke with a funny accent, he knew more about the history of the Spartans than any of the village elders. Plus he had in his possession the type of historical evidence that was tough for Apollo to ignore — an ancient document that was written long before any of the villagers were born.

If his parchment was correct, a Greek holy man by the name of Cydonius had spent his life compiling the true history of Ancient Greece. Written in the second century B.C., the book used information from some of the best-known Athenian historians and orators — Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Plato, and Aristotle — and combined it with data from lesser-known historians from the other city-states. This helped to eliminate the pro-Athenian bias that has always slanted the modern view of Ancient Greece. By utilizing writers with different backgrounds, Cydonius was able to paint a more accurate picture of the events of that time.

And according to the foreigner, the Spartans were portrayed in a negative light.

They weren’t described as heroes. They were depicted as dim witted barbarians.

Even their legendary stand at the Battle of Thermopylae was called into question.

Obviously, the existence of such a book infuriated Apollo. His life and that of the village were based on a core of Spartan values in the same way some cultures are based on religion. Therefore, in his mind, anything that threatened his beliefs needed to be found and destroyed before it could do irreparable damage to the memory of his ancestors and his way of life.

Thankfully, the foreigner had inside knowledge about the men who protected the book and several other relics from Ancient Greece. They were called the Brotherhood, and they met once a year at a secret location. Desperate to find these men, Apollo was willing to cut a deal. He would help the foreigner, and in return, he would be allowed to burn the book before it was made public.

It was a win-win situation for both parties involved.

As promised, the foreigner pointed the Spartans in the right direction. They stormed the gates of Holy Trinity and killed the members of the Brotherhood, one by one, until one of the monks finally cracked. Not only did the monk reveal the location of the secret tunnel that used to house the book but he also described where it had been moved several years before. It was now kept in the same place as all the other treasures that the Brotherhood had sworn to protect.

To thank the monk for his helpful information, he was beheaded like all the others. Then their heads were stacked on the stone altar that used to hold the book. It was Apollo’s way of taunting his opponents, just as his ancestors had done in ancient times.

Now that the Spartans knew where the book was kept, they were coming for it.

And they dared anyone to get in their way.