The Lost Throne

60

Nick Dial glanced at his watch. It was 11:30 A.M. in Ouranoúpoli, Greece. He had been standing in front of the rendezvous point — a fourteenth-century Byzantine tower that had been built as a sentry post next to the Aegean Sea — for more than thirty minutes, but the governor of Mount Athos hadn’t yet shown up for their appointment.

On most occasions, Dial would have left a long time ago. He didn’t have a lot of patience when it came to tardiness. But in this situation he realized that the governor held all the cards. If he wanted immediate access to Mount Athos, he needed special permission from the governor, so Dial had little choice in the matter. He had to wait as long as necessary.

“Marcus,” Dial said for the third time in the last half hour, “please check again.”

Andropoulos nodded and started his circular journey around the enclosed courtyard, just in case the governor was waiting on the other side. The building was made out of tan stones and topped with a red-tiled roof. The windows on the lower floors were nothing more than tiny slits, far too narrow for pirates or thieves to have slipped through. Nowadays the lone watchman was the skull of a former resident, which peered at the sea from its perch on a wooden balcony.

Dial followed the skull’s lead and stared at the gentle waves as they kissed the sandy beach. The weather was in the low seventies with hardly a cloud in the sky. If not for the urgency of his meeting, he would have felt as though he were on vacation. Other than the occasional fishing boat that dotted the horizon, there wasn’t a lot of activity in this sleepy village.

Except for the man who was strolling along the shore.

Dial spotted him walking barefoot in the surf. He was older than Dial, but possessed the casual stride of someone who had nowhere to go and all the time in the world to get there. His skin was tan, his silver hair was unkempt, and his light-blue shirt was unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. A pair of sandals dangled from his left hand. Occasionally they brushed against his cream-colored shorts, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Hello,” he called while waving at Dial.

“Hello to you, too.”

The man smiled and walked closer. “American?”

Dial nodded. “What about yourself?”

“Me too. My name is Clive.”

“Hi, Clive. I’m Nick.”

The two of them shook hands.

“So what brings you to Ouranoúpoli? We don’t get many American tourists.”

“We?” Dial asked. “You live here?”

“I live all over the world. But this time of year, I like Greece.”

“Must be nice. Going wherever the wind takes you.”

“I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty great.” Clive grinned. “How about you?”

“I’m here on business.”

Clive glanced around the empty shore. “Business? Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question for the last thirty minutes.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was supposed to meet someone here at eleven o’clock. But I’m still waiting.”

“Is he a local? Maybe I know him.”

“Not too local. He’s from Mount Athos.”

Clive smiled. “Ahh, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why he isn’t here. You missed him by several hours.”

Dial arched an eyebrow. “Several hours? What are you talking about?”

“Mount Athos doesn’t use Greek time. They use Byzantine time.”

“They use what?”

Clive laughed. Dial wasn’t the first tourist to ask him that question in a similar tone.

“The monks on Mount Athos set their clocks according to the position of the sun. Midnight is at sunset, and so on. This time of year, they’re roughly three and a half hours ahead of us. Every few days they readjust their clocks to compensate for the setting sun.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

He laughed again. “It’s not so bad when you’re inside. You get used to it pretty quick.”

“You’ve been inside?” Dial asked, surprised.

“That’s how I discovered Ouranoúpoli. I visited Mount Athos and liked it so much that I swing by every few years.”

“They let you do that?”

Clive nodded. “If your paperwork is in order.”

“Really? You don’t have to be a monk?”

“Not at all. In fact, you’d be surprised how many celebrities visit Mount Athos.”

“Such as?”

“Prince Charles from England. He spends a lot of time at Vatopedi, a monastery that resembles an Italian Renaissance village on the north-eastern part of the peninsula. It has many famous relics, including remnants of the True Cross.”

Dial rubbed his chin in thought. “You seem to know a lot about the place.”

“Not as much as the guest-masters, but more than most. Sometimes when I’m lonely, I give boat tours. It’s a great way to meet people. Especially women.”

Dial laughed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t mean picking them up. I mean meeting them. They aren’t permitted on shore, so I take them around the peninsula and show them all the monasteries.”

“Hold up. Women aren’t allowed on Mount Athos?”

Clive shook his head. “No women at all. Not even female animals.”

“Damn. That’s kind of strict.”

“Considering who owns the place, it’s also pretty ironic.”

“What do you mean? Who owns the place?”

“According to legend, the Virgin Mary was sailing to Cyprus to visit Lazarus when her ship was blown off course. They dropped anchor close to the present-day monastery of Iviron, and Mary was instantly taken by the beauty of the mountain and asked her Son to make it her own. A voice from above said, ‘This is your garden, a haven for those who wish to be saved.’ Or words to that effect. From that day forward, no women have been allowed on Mount Athos.”

Dial smiled. “This is Mary’s garden, and women aren’t allowed to visit. That’s priceless.”

“Like I said, it’s pretty ironic.”

Dial was about to ask Clive another question when Andropoulos came into view. He had circled the tower and was now walking toward them from the opposite direction.

“Sorry, sir. No sign of the governor.”

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. Metéora 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.”