“You will be briefed on the plane. Try to relax as best you can.”
Relax? Was he mad? Abigail shook her head. Clearly, Riley was used to such goings-on, but she certainly wasn’t. The one and only adventure she’d ever had in her life was when agents who were working against both the government and against Vortex had captured her. They had tried to force her to solve a puzzle in an attempt to retrieve the stones on the ancient High Priest’s breastplate hidden in a cave in Greece for centuries. It had almost cost her life, and Riley’s life for that matter. When Riley had said the government wanted her to work for them, she had thought it would be simply translation work from then on. She shook her head at herself in disgust.
Riley drove at a high speed out of town for over an hour until they came to a military airport. He gave his credentials to the guard and was ushered in immediately. For some reason, Abigail had thought they would be flying in a passenger jet. She certainly had a lot to learn about covert operations. In fact, her own naïveté was beginning to worry her.
Riley drove the car directly to a black plane sitting on the runway. The two men standing by the stairs stared at Abigail as if she was some type of rarity, making her uncomfortable. They didn’t say a word, merely stood back for Abigail to board and then closed in behind her. It was most unnerving.
When Abigail walked inside the plane, she was surprised to see it wasn’t as she imagined. Instead of rows of seats on either side, two chairs faced another set of two chairs and a polished burr walnut table sat between them. The chairs were armchairs rather than the usual airplane fare. To the left, was a long table either of walnut or mahogany. Abigail didn’t know much about timbers, apart from the fact that the ancient Macedonian sarissas, the long heavy spears introduced by Phillip of Macedon, were made of cornel wood.
Riley indicated Abigail should sit in the window seat. He sat next to her and buckled his seatbelt. She followed suit. The two men sat opposite her. They were studying her, so she took the opportunity to study them.
The one directly in front of her had a hawk-like appearance. He was tall and slim and looked at her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. The man sitting opposite Riley had a boyish look about him. He had a round face and twinkling blue eyes. He offered Abigail an easy smile, while the other man simply grimaced. Abigail wondered if they were going to sit in silence the entire trip to Selcuk, or wherever the plane would land. She had no idea of airports in the vicinity.
It wasn’t until they were off the ground and ascending that Riley spoke. “We were under fire at the college and we lost them, but then they came after us. I took care of them.”
Both men nodded knowingly. “Abigail, this is Ellis and Thatcher. Guys, this is Dr. Abigail Spencer.”
“Call me Abigail,” she said, wondering if those names were Christian names or surnames.
Thatcher smiled at her, but Ellis narrowed his eyes. Abigail thought perhaps he objected to her presence.
“So can you tell me what this is about?” Abigail finally asked.
Riley nodded. “Professor Jason Hobbs was corresponding with a man from Selcuk by the name of Eymen Bulut, a jeweler. He’s lived in Selcuk all his life. He corresponded with Hobbs saying he had a copper scroll, handed down to him by his father. The scroll mentioned the location of the Croesus treasure.”
Abigail gasped. “You’re kidding! But that seems too much of a coincidence. That’s what my upcoming paper is about.”
Riley waved one hand at her in dismissal. “It’s not so much of a coincidence as you think. You are, of course, aware that Hobbs published a paper on the Croesus treasure?” Without waiting for Abigail to respond, he pushed on. “That was the catalyst. Bulut told Hobbs he had been keeping an eye on the journals for any mention of the Croesus treasure because he was protecting the copper scroll.”
Abigail interrupted him that point. “So this guy actually has a copper scroll that tells the location of the Croesus treasure?”
“Well, that’s what we’re going to find out, but it seems so.”
“And you need me to translate it or see if it’s genuine?”
“Precisely.”
“You mentioned Jason Hobbs’s dying words?” Abigail winced when she thought of her friend’s death.
“Yes, he said, ‘Tell her, Revelation Two, Verse Two.’”
“That’s a reference to the Bible,” Abigail said.
“Obviously,” Ellis, the narrowed-eyed man said. Abigail didn’t know if he was being sarcastic. “What does it say?” he continued.
“I’d have to look at the passage to be certain.”
“I don’t happen to have a Bible on me,” Ellis said. Now his tone was overtly snarky.
Riley shot the man a look. “We can simply look at an online Bible.” He picked up the iPad lying on the table and tapped away at the screen for a few moments before handing it to Abigail. “What does it say? Does this mean anything to you?”
“It’s in English,” she protested.
“What do you mean?” Riley asked.
“I assume if Jason left a message for me, then it was something to do with the Greek meaning, otherwise he would have just stated what he wanted to say. I mean, since he went to the trouble of leaving a puzzle in his message, surely it wouldn’t be something that would be easily seen in an English translation.”
“Good point,” Ellis said grudgingly. “Riley, can you get the ancient Greek translation up online?”
“Never mind. Let me see what it says.” Abigail reached out her hand for the iPad.
She searched quickly and then read aloud.
“‘I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those who are evil, but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not, and found them to be false.’”
After a few minutes, she said, “I’d like to see the Greek.” She pulled up the Perseus Online Library and found the Greek in question.
“I think I know what Jason meant,” she said urgently. “This isn’t good!”
6
EPHESUS
The shooter left the body sitting there. It was just on closing time and that worked in his favor. He pulled his jacket around his shoulders and slipped back into the crowd looking like any other tourist.
The others were waiting for him outside, pretending to study travel guides. They hurried in the direction of the northern car park, the tallest man hanging tightly onto the briefcase. He had flung his jacket over it, lest the briefcase attract attention.
“This had better be the right copper scroll,” he said through clenched teeth.
The man standing next to him let out a grunt of displeasure. “Of course it’s the right one. How many are there? Bulut thought he was meeting Hobbs. He had no reason to be suspicious.”
The man hesitated in his stride and turned to the other. His gray eyes were cold, menacing. His very pores exuded danger. “Never underestimate the enemy, Number Five,” he said, his tone icy. “That’s what will get you killed.”
The other man rolled his eyes. He had heard it all before. “Take the worst case scenario and work back from there.”
“We’ll take the bus to Kusadasi,” the leader said. “We can’t risk going back to Selcuk. That is, of course, unless this isn’t the correct copper scroll.”
The other four men exchanged glances.
The timing once more worked for them. They tumbled onto a bus with a group of tourists, the leader making sure he kept the briefcase hidden. If anyone had noticed the victim carrying a briefcase, then the police would question tourists as to whether they had seen anyone else carrying a briefcase. The leader wasn’t someone who took chances.
And Vortex wasn’t forgiving.
When they got off the bus in the main shopping area in Kusadasi, the leader sent the man he considered rather dim-witted to buy the most nondescript luggage he could find. He and the other three men sat at an outdoor café away from the main street on which was CCTV.
It w
as getting dark and the café exterior area was not well lit. The man returned faster with the luggage than the leader expected. He set aside his chicken kebab, opened the largest piece of luggage, placed the briefcase inside, and snapped the latches shut. It was only then he allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction.
The men were following the plan and so far everything was going well, but the leader knew better than to rest on his laurels. He left the other four men at a hotel and moved onto the next one. He paid cash and gave his fake name using an Oxbridge accent he had perfected over the years. He barely glanced around the lobby, only to take in any potential threats and to check the exits. He was certain they hadn’t been followed.
The reception area was dark, just how he liked it. He shoved aside two half-dead ivy plants to hand over a wad of lira to the clerk, an impossibly thin man with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth.
As soon as the leader entered his hotel room, he locked the door behind him and then searched the room before crossing to the window to look behind the curtain. There was nothing suspicious in the street: pizza restaurants, bars, shops, and people scurrying this way and that.
The hotel could have been any one the leader had stayed in over the years: heavy timber furniture, dark cream walls, and white crumpled linen on the bed.
The room smelled faintly of cheap tobacco and whiskey with an overlay of pine disinfectant. He let himself back out and locked the door before looking for the exits. In long strides he reached the end of the corridor and opened the fire escape door which was at the opposite end to the elevator. The corridor swung to the left, and to the right was a glass door leading to a small concrete balcony. He pushed the doors open and looked outside. A tall brick fence blocked the view from the street and it was only a short drop to the roof of the next-door building. The leader smiled to himself as he strode back along the corridor.
It was only when he was back in his locked room that he made the call.
The leader was eating takeout pizza, when there was a knock on the door.
“Are you in there, Enzo Petros?” the voice said.
That was the code word name, but even still, the leader was suspicious. He popped the last few onion rings in his mouth, adjusted his gun which was already neatly concealed, and opened the door carefully.
He recognized the man, Number Nine. With him was another man he didn’t recognize.
The leader locked the door behind them. Number Nine wasted no time coming to the point. “You have it?”
The leader opened the briefcase. Number Nine nodded to the other man who pulled his reading glasses from his pocket along with some white gloves. “We shouldn’t look at it under these conditions,” the man complained as he pulled on the gloves in what seemed to the leader to be an overly fastidious manner. “It could easily fall apart.”
“You only have to look at it long enough to verify it’s genuine. Anyway, that’s not your area of expertise, is it Professor.” Number Nine said it as a statement not a question. “You’re an interpreter, not an archeologist or a restoration specialist.”
“I’m not an interpreter,” the man snapped. “I’m a translator. One does not interpret ancient texts—one translates them.”
The leader could see Number Nine was angry. Still, he said nothing but sat and watched.
The man bent over the copper scroll and made several exclamations of delight. He took it over to the rudimentary wooden table by the television and placed it there on a linen handkerchief.
“Is it genuine?” the leader asked.
The man was clearly exasperated. “Give me time. I’m only just having a look at it now.”
“Well, what does it say?” Number Nine pressed him.
The academic held up one hand, palm outward, to both of them. “Give me a minute, won’t you? This is written in classical Greek.”
Number Nine’s eyes narrowed. “Should it be written in classical Greek? Or Lydian?”
“Croesus was very generous to the Greeks and they were on excellent diplomatic terms. I expected it to be in Lydian, but it makes sense that it’s in Greek.”
The leader and Number Nine exchanged glances. Still, the leader didn’t share Number Nine’s impatience. He figured translating an ancient text would take some time.
Number Nine appeared to have reached the same conclusion. “I’m not asking you to interpret—I mean translate—it all right now, but if you could tell me if it is genuine or not, that would be a big help. Are you able to tell us that now?” Number Nine spoke slowly.
The man nodded. “Probably. It’s in better condition than I expected.”
The leader didn’t like the sound of that. He had an uneasy feeling something was wrong and in all his years as a mercenary, he had learned to rely on his instincts. If he had to lay odds on it, he would bet this copper scroll wasn’t genuine. Maybe he had underestimated Bulut, after all.
The academic continued to peer at the tablet. “I need to have a better look at this, but it’s not listing any treasure. It seems to be an inventory all right, but it doesn’t mention treasure. It mentions firewood, honey, oil, wheat, meat, as well as hides from sacrificial animals.”
“Does it mention gold or treasure anywhere at all?” Number Nine asked urgently.
“I’m looking for words for gold, jewelry, or any precious metals and I can’t see a single mention of them. I’ve only had a quick look, mind you, but it doesn’t mention Croesus or Lydia or anything that could be construed as treasure. I’d say this copper scroll has nothing to do with the treasure.”
“So it’s a fake?” the leader asked.
“No, it’s a genuine document,” the academic said. “I’m fairly certain of that. The only thing is, it has nothing to do with the Croesus treasure.”
Number Nine strode over to the leader who drew himself to his full height. “And this was all he had in his possession?”
The leader pointed to the briefcase. “That’s all that was in the briefcase. His wallet wasn’t in there, only that copper scroll. There was nothing else in there.”
Number Nine walked over to the briefcase and turned it upside down on the bed. Nothing fell out of it. He produced a knife from his pocket and ripped the lining apart. By the time he had finished, the briefcase was in shreds.
Number Nine turned back to the leader. “Bulut definitely thought he was meeting Professor Hobbs, right?”
The leader nodded. “That’s right. He thought he was meeting Hobbs.”
“So obviously something tipped him off,” Number Nine said. “We’ll have to go back to his house and search it.”
“We can’t do that now.” The leader nodded to the television screen. The sound was off, but the channel had just flipped to the evening’s news. A journalist was interviewing a police officer outside Eymen Bulut’s store. “The police will be crawling all over the place tonight,” the leader pointed out.
“You need to find the scroll, or…” Number Nine’s voice faded away. “You need to find the scroll,” he repeated. “And those RHTF agents will be looking for it too.”
A look of disgust spread across the leader’s face. “You leave them to me.”
7
EN ROUTE TO TURKEY
ALTITUDE: 51,000 FEET
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Ellis said.
Abigail bit her lip. They mightn’t understand. Still, she had no choice but to attempt an explanation. “I think Jason was telling us the man isn’t to be trusted.”
Ellis raised one eyebrow before running his hand through his thin head of hair. “Man?”
“Obviously the man with the copper scroll. Jason was saying he wasn’t to be trusted.”
“And how do you come to that conclusion?”
Abigail shot Ellis a look. “This verse mentions false apostles. In the Greek, an apostle is someone who was sent out, anybody who was sent out. ‘Apostle’ itself is a made-up word. Early Bible translators transliterated the Greek word.”
“P
lain English, please,” Ellis said with a sigh.
Abigail thought she had been speaking in plain English. “A transliteration is not a translation. As you would know, Greek doesn’t have the same characters of the alphabet as English. Most of the letters look entirely different. If you put the Greek word for ‘someone sent out’ straight into English letters you get ‘apostle’. That’s what the translators did—they simply put the Greek words into English letters.” She waved one hand through the air. “But all that aside, my point is that the Greek word ‘apostle’ is translated as ‘somebody who is sent out’.”
Ellis leaned forward. “Are you saying this word in Revelation means an apostle or what?”
She shook her head. “No. Hobbs was a Greek scholar. He was talking about the original Greek language, not the English translation. I’m sure Jason meant that someone who was sent out was someone who can’t be trusted. It was his way to tell us that Eymen isn’t to be trusted.”
Riley too leaned forward, a movement which caused his arm to brush against her shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through her. “Yes, that makes sense. Hobbs figured that Eymen had tricked him—sent him off on a wild goose chase to the Bodleian Library, so he could be killed.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Ellis countered. “If someone wanted to kill Hobbs, they could simply kill him. They didn’t need to kill him in the Bodleian Library, of all places.” He uttered a snort of derision.
Riley appeared unperturbed. “Yes, but Professor Hobbs obviously thought the whole thing was a setup. In his dying moments, he didn’t trust Bulut. Whether he was right or wrong about that is yet to be determined. We examined the correspondence between them and it did seem as though Eymen Bulut was on the level.”
“But Jason didn’t think so at the end,” Abigail pointed out.
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