The Lost Throne

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, Megístis Lávras, 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 Dáfni.

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 so new he didn’t know how to work around it.

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.”

Dial flipped on the light and opened the door. Petros was in civilian clothes. His hair was disheveled and his cheeks were flushed. His eyes were filled with passion.

“What’s wrong?” Dial wondered.

“Tell me about your case,” Petros demanded as he barged into the room.

“My case? You know about my case. I’m investigating the deaths at Metéora.”

“Yes, I know. But tell me how they died.”

Earlier Dial had skipped the gruesome details, preferring not to show his cards until he was admitted to Mount Athos. Now that plan no longer seemed possible.

“One monk was thrown over the cliff. The other seven were beheaded.”

“Beheaded? By who?”

Dial stared at him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Men dressed as Spartans.”

“Spartans?”

“Armor, shields, swords. The whole ensemble.”

“You are serious?”

Dial nodded. “Do you think I would’ve stayed the night if I was joking?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Not only that,” he growled, “I got word today that they killed three cops. At least we think they did, because we still haven’t found them.”

Petros pondered this information for several seconds before he spoke. “Get your assistant and come with me. We are going to the mountain.”

Dial paused, surprised. “Wait. You’re letting us go inside?”

“Yes. I am granting you emergency access.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Two monks have been killed with swords. And we just found their bodies.”

Dial and Andropoulos pinned visitor badges to their shirts and followed Petros through the gate. A four-wheel-drive vehicle resembling a large golf cart was waiting for them. Dial sat up front next to Petros. Andropoulos climbed in the backseat, which faced the rear.

“What do you know?” Dial asked.

“Not much,” Petros explained as he drove. “I was sleeping at the barracks when I got the news. Two monks and a mule were slaughtered near Néa Skiti.”

“They killed a mule?”

“Cut its head clean off.”

“Who found it?”

“One of our guards.”

Dial considered the information as their cart bumped up and down along the narrow path. The vehicle had one working headlight, which barely lit the way — especially at the speed they were traveling. By the time they saw something, they were already running it over.

“How far is it?”

“Far. It’s near the southwest corner of the peninsula.”

“What else is down there?”

“Two small sketes and a beach.”

“Any treasures?”

Petros shook his head. “The sketes are small communities of hermitic monks. They live away from the monasteries to get away from all the riches.”

“And the closest monastery?”

“Agíou Pávlou. It’s a few miles from the sketes.”

“Have the monks been warned?”

Petros nodded. “We are doing that right now. Unfortunately, Mount Athos is large and our numbers are small. Especially at night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of the guards live elsewhere. At the end of their shift, they go home. I am one of the few employees who sleep here.”

“Hold up. How many guards are we talking?”

Petros shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty.”

“Twenty?” Dial blurted. “You have twenty guards for the entire peninsula? You have that many monasteries!”

“This is true, but—”

“Stop the cart!” Dial ordered. “Stop the cart right now!”

Petros slammed on the brakes. “What is it? What is wrong?”

“We need guns.”

“Guns?” he stammered. “I can’t give you guns. It is not allowed.”

“Fine. Then turn around and take us back to Dáfni.”

“But—”

“But what?” Dial growled. “These guys have killed ten monks, three cops, and a fucking mule. If you want our help, you need to give us guns. Otherwise, I’m going back to bed.”