“Where to now?” Ellis said.
“We’re catching a train,” Riley said. Minutes later, they were in Heathrow Central station, paying for tickets to Oxford.
“The professor lives in Oxford.” Ellis said it as a statement, but raised one eyebrow at Abigail, no doubt expecting a response.
Abigail, however, did not respond. Instead she said, “How long will it take us to get to Oxford?”
“Just under two hours,” Riley said.
“Are we going to book accommodation and freshen up first or speak to Abigail’s friend first?” Thatcher asked him.
“I’ll decide on the way,” Riley said.
Once more, a pang of anxiety struck Abigail. It had been bad enough being in the situation before, but now she knew Riley didn’t trust his agents. That certainly left an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
After half an hour on the train, Abigail stood up. “I have to use the bathroom.”
“There’s one just there.” Riley nodded to his right. “We passed it in the way. Come straight back, won’t you?”
Abigail nodded and walked to the bathroom. As she reached for the handle, she saw a sign, ‘Locked for service.’ Abigail pursed her lips and looked around. She wondered where the next one was, but as she was standing there looking at the sign, an elderly lady bumped into her.
“Sorry, love.”
“Would you happen to know where there’s another bathroom? A working one?” Abigail asked her.
The woman pointed in the direction opposite to where Abigail had been sitting with Riley. “At the end of the carriage.”
Abigail wondered if she should go back and tell Riley, but considered she was being overly paranoid. She thanked the lady and proceeded down the carriageway.
It certainly was a distance and she had no idea the train was so long. Abigail was walking back from the bathroom through the third carriage when she had the sensation she was being watched. She spun around and saw someone duck out of sight.
What was she to do? There were not many people on the train and what protection would they be against an armed Vortex agent anyway? Abigail fought to control the panic threatening to overwhelm her.
The person was between her and Riley. At that time of night, the train was all but deserted. Should she sit on the seat next to the only people in that carriage, an elderly couple, and hope the Vortex agent wouldn’t come looking for her?
Her heart was beating out of her chest. Abigail inched forward. A tall man with blond hair walked toward her. He was staring at her, but when she looked him in the eye, he looked away. Abigail looked around. Should she run away from him and maybe lock herself in the bathroom?
No, she didn’t want to be trapped. She sat in a vacant seat and trembled. When the man approached, he hesitated ever so slightly, looked at her and then continued on his way. Abigail jumped up and walked quickly down the corridor.
Her breath was coming in short bursts. She picked up speed and then at once collided with a man.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, although his tone was ice cold.
Abigail looked into his face and was certain she was looking into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. She knew it wasn’t logical to feel that way, but somehow she just knew. The man leered at her. She backed away from him and then strode down the corridor in the direction of Riley, watching out more carefully this time.
When she reached her carriage, Riley was already standing up. “I was just about to go looking for you,” he said.
Abigail at once sat on the seat. Riley turned to her. “You’re trembling.”
She relayed everything that had happened in hushed tones.
Riley stood. “Stay here.”
He took two strides to sit between Thatcher and Ellis. He spoke to them quietly at and it was obvious to Abigail he was telling them everything that happened. When he returned to his seat, he said, “They’re going to look.”
The train suddenly lurched and the lights went out. Abigail clutched Reilly’s arm in fear.
Thatcher was already standing. “I’ll go and see what’s going on.”
“It could be an attempt to get Abigail,” Riley said. “I’ll have to stay with her.”
Ellis and Thatcher hurried away in opposite directions.
Abigail was concerned. She was certain it wasn’t simply a fault with the train, not with Vortex agents around. But what were they planning?
Abigail was already sitting close to a wall and Riley shuffled closer to her. She saw he was on full alert.
His phone rang and Riley answered it at once. He grunted a few times and then hung up. Turning to Abigail, he said, “That was Ellis. He said someone has fallen out of the train.”
Abigail’s hand flew to her throat. “Are they all right?” Even as she said the words, she knew the answer.
Riley shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“You think it has anything to do with… you know who?” she asked in hushed tones.
Riley nodded. “I doubt it’s a coincidence.”
Abigail clutched his arm.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
Despite the predicament she was in, Abigail believed Riley. Still, she couldn’t help but be afraid.
Ellis returned. “Any updates?” Riley asked him.
“No. Where’s Thatcher?”
“He hasn’t come back yet.”
“I’ll go and look for him,” Ellis said over his shoulder as he walked in the other direction.
Abigail steeled herself in case a Vortex agent suddenly appeared on the scene. She sat, tense, for a full five minutes until Riley’s phone rang again.
Riley simply grunted in the phone again before hanging up and turning to Abigail. “Thatcher is missing.”
“What? Missing from the train?” Abigail could scarcely believe her ears.
Ellis came back at that point. “I’ve searched the whole train. He’s definitely nowhere to be seen. Should we all get off the train and look for him? I don’t know how long they’ll hold the train here with the body.”
“This could be a trap to make us get off the train,” Riley said.
Ellis nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“You get off the train and look for him. Meet us in Oxford at the Turl Street Kitchen restaurant as soon as you can. Keep me updated by phone. And Ellis, watch your back.”
Ellis disappeared.
“Thank goodness nobody knows the name of your professor,” Riley whispered to Abigail.
“Do you think this is all because of him?”
Riley shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Vortex might have taken Thatcher to get that information out of him, but he doesn’t know.”
Abigail’s scarcely dared ask. She didn’t want to know the answer. “Will they believe he doesn’t know?”
Riley shook his head.
Things were going from bad to worse.
17
OXFORD
The Turl Street Kitchen was a restaurant right by the Bodleian Library. It was in a gorgeous Georgian building, although the farmhouse-style tables and bare floorboards afforded a more bucolic, cozy tone to the restaurant.
Abigail desperately wanted to visit the Bodleian Library. Memories of her time spent there poring over leather-bound volumes in the Duke Humfrey’s Reading Room filled her heart with warmth, but Jason’s murder now shaded her golden memories of the Bodleian.
Abigail, not for the first time, wished she could have visited under different circumstances. She was certainly on a wild ride. Only a few days ago, she had no idea she would be on another mission so soon. She had been entirely consumed with her paper for the upcoming conference. The organization of the conference had been out of her hands due to the concerted and somewhat underhanded efforts of Harvey Hamilton. That had turned out to be a blessing, given that she was now on the other side of the world.
Abigail was concerned for her neighbor, Mary Yoder.
Mary would worry about her unannounced absence, although she’d had the foresight to warn Mary she might disappear without warning from time to time. “For work,” she had said. Mary had looked puzzled at the time but was far too polite to push the matter. An Amish lady, Mary ran a Bed and Breakfast with her husband, Eli, and rented Abigail the cottage behind the main building. Thankfully, Abigail’s cottage had electricity and Internet as the bishop had long ago granted the Yoders permission to connect both due to the nature of their business.
She sighed, envious of the Amish for a moment, their simple ways, their peaceful yet hardworking way of life.
Abigail pulled her coat around her and forced herself to study the menu. “The haddock fish fingers, chips, and pea puree and tartar sauce look good.”
“I don’t like fish.” Riley turned up his nose. “I don’t think I’ll try this haddock stuff.”
Abigail scooped the menu out of Riley’s hand. “What about the beetroot, courgette—I think that’s a zucchini?—and goats cheese tart with mixed leaf salad?”
Thankfully, they had arrived at Turl Street Kitchen without further incident. Ellis had called to say he had found Thatcher and they were on their way. He didn’t give any details.
Before they ordered, Ellis and Thatcher turned up. Thatcher looked the worse for wear.
“What happened?” Riley asked him.
Thatcher sat down heavily and put one hand to his head. “I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t remember a thing. They hit me over the head pretty hard, I guess.”
Ellis looked exhausted. “I found him wandering around near the train. They must have pushed him out of the train.”
Thatcher’s smile was rueful. “Luckily for me the train was standing still when they did.”
“And lucky we avoided police attention,” Thacker added. He stopped speaking when a waiter approached their tables.
Riley ordered the soup of the day with freshly baked bread and butter for his entree, and Abigail ordered the same.
Ellis appeared displeased. “That’s a thing, you know.”
Both Abigail and Riley looked up. “What is?” they said in unison.
Ellis narrowed his eyes. “Mirroring. It makes the person you are mirroring feel accepted and it forms a bond with them. Maybe, Abigail, you figured if you mimicked Riley’s order, then he’d like you a little more.”
Abigail’s jaw dropped open. Riley merely grunted. His stealing a hunk of her bread saved her from thinking up a response.
Thatcher shot her a sympathetic look.
For the main course, Abigail selected the haddock, while Riley had the breast of chicken, new potatoes, green beans, olive salad with herb dressing. Abigail strategically chose the fish knowing Riley didn’t like it, so she wouldn’t have to suffer any more of Ellis’s snide remarks. She thought about ordering a glass of chilled Pinot Noir, but she couldn’t bare sitting across from Ellis as he scowled at her choice of beverage. She ordered a ginger beer.
After the main, Riley lowered his dinner fork. “I’m getting the dark chocolate brownie, white chocolate sauce and crème fraiche for dessert”
“Same,” Abigail said without thinking. She inadvertently glanced at Ellis who shot her a smug smile but thankfully remained silent this time.
“In fact,” Riley continued, “I think we should also both get the lemon posset, mixed berry compote with shortbread and the selection of cheeses with crackers and chutney.”
Abigail was delighted Riley enjoyed desserts. She disliked men who didn’t order dessert at a restaurant. She’d dated one such man, a long time ago. Their relationship didn’t last long.
On the drive to Professor Briggs’s cottage, Abigail wished it wasn’t dark. She wished she could see the afternoon sun kiss the thatched roofs of the small white houses as they passed by. England was nothing if not picturesque.
Professor Briggs lived on the outskirts of a small village south of Oxfordshire.
“Err, just a bit of a warning—the professor likes cats,” Abigail said as they drew nearer to the cottage.
“How many cats does he have?” Thatcher inquired.
“Just one as far as I know,” Abigail replied. “And he’s eccentric. You know those old jokes about absent-minded professors? Well, that’s him.”
Abigail knocked on the door. There was a note on the door, something about not letting the cat out written in beautiful cursive, but Abigail was too nervous to read it. After all, she had been the professor’s research assistant back when she was a student years ago, and the reverence she had for him had never left her.
The professor opened the door. “Abigail! Is that you?”
“Yes…”
He interrupted her. “But why didn’t you call? You’re a long way from home. Still, I’m delighted to see you. Come in.”
Abigail was dismayed to see that Professor Briggs was in a wheelchair. A cat jumped from his lap and scooted past Abigail.
“William Shakespaw isn’t allowed outside,” Briggs called out.
Riley scooped up the cat and returned him to the professor’s lap.
“Thank you, err…”
“Riley.”
“He’s a lot cuter than your usual type,” the professor said.
Abigail was aghast. “He’s not my boyfriend, Professor.”
“Thanks,” Riley muttered. “Also ouch! You didn’t have to say that so quickly.”
Thatcher chuckled, while Ellis simply grunted.
Abigail found herself blushing furiously as the professor showed them into his sitting room. She soon forgot her own embarrassment when she saw the room was in a terrible state of disarray. She wondered who was looking after the professor, if anyone. She could not ask him in front of the men and embarrass him, but she made a mental note to do something about it.
Riley introduced the men. The professor smiled and nodded at everyone. “I’ll make us a cup of tea and you can tell me why you’re all here.”
The professor accelerated his electric wheelchair to the kitchen to make them all a cup of tea. He presently returned with a tray balanced awkwardly on his lap. Abigail found it hard to take the tea, because William Shakespaw had taken a liking to chewing on her fingers. Riley had to hold her teacup while Thacker tempted the cat off her with a treat.
“I must admit,” the professor said, stirring his tea, “when I saw you on my doorstep I was a little shocked.”
“It’s about your dig at Sardis,” Abigail said, looking at Riley.
He took the hint and showed Briggs his I.D. “I’m afraid a terrorist group, or rather, an organization that funds terrorist groups, is close to discovering the location of Croesus’s treasure.”
The professor gasped. Riley pushed on. “There’s a copper scroll that states the treasure was kept in five locations. The bulk of it was kept in a Temple of Artemis.”
Abigail was keen to explain further. “I saw the copper scroll and it’s broken, but there were two words before the break: ‘No Amazons.’”
Briggs nodded. “So, not the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus.”
Abigail nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought. And we’ve been told it’s a subterranean temple, so we wanted to know the location of the tunnel you found.”
The professor stroked his beard. “I was certain that a tunnel led to a subterranean Temple of Artemis. Is this why poor Jason died? Such a nice young lad.”
Abigail had a lump in her throat. “Yes, sadly.”
“He was coming to see me, you know.”
The three men were at once on full alert. It was Thacker who spoke first. “What did he say?”
The professor set down his teacup. “He wanted to ask me about my time on the dig near Sardis. He sent me a package.”
“What was in it?” Riley asked urgently.
The professor shrugged. “No idea. I haven’t had a chance to collect it yet, not with my leg. He sent it to my Post Office box.”
Riley shifted in his seat. “Professor, please don’t mention the
location of the Post Office box aloud, not yet, in case there are surveillance devices. And Professor, I need you to come with us to Sardis. I need you to show us where the entrance is.”
The professor looked down at his wheelchair. “My days of exploring ancient ruins are long over, boy. Besides, you wouldn’t want an old man slowing you down.”
“It’s just we don’t know the location of the entrance, Professor,” Abigail said gently.
“I can give you directions. Better yet, I can draw you a map. You there—Ellis—can you reach that atlas?” He gestured to a wall of bookshelves. From where Abigail was sitting, she could see works by Aristotle, Plato, Homer, all the Greek playwrights, as well as Herodotus’s Histories. ‘Histories’ was actually an ancient Greek word, which meant ‘Inquiries’ in English. English had taken the word ‘histories’ straight from the Greek. Herodotus was practically a contemporary of Croesus, having been born sixty or so years after Croesus’s demise.
The professor gestured wildly. “No, the other one. Yes. This book has been in my family for a hundred years,” Briggs said, taking the atlas from Ellis. “I’ll write it all down in here.”
Abigail looked at the page with dismay. “That’s a bit too general. We’ll need something more specific than that.”
Briggs jabbed his finger on the open page. “There’s a dusty track south of the archeological site. Keep going along it until you reach the Temple of Artemis. Of course, there are ruins of a Byzantine chapel inside that temple. Were you aware of that, Abigail?”
Before Abigail had a chance to respond, Riley stood up. “Ellis and Thatcher, would you go outside and make sure we weren’t followed?”
They left, looking none too pleased. Riley turned to Briggs. “Professor, we’re running out of time. Could you tell me precisely where the tunnel is?”
“I’ll do better than that.” Briggs pulled some photographs from the pages of the atlas. “I took several photos so I’d be able to find it again.” He handed them to Riley.
Abigail looked over his shoulder.
Briggs nodded. “I’ve marked the correct entrance with a red pen. All those other tunnels you see are simply tunnels to the Acropolis North. I was just starting to excavate those tunnels when I found disarticulated human bones along with plenty of gold jewelry. The evidence suggested they were robbers who had fallen victim to an earthquake. It made me think here was a repository of treasure directly under the Acropolis.”
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