“No. No. Please. I insist you take it. Do. Then I can at last be rid of it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mind?” Gennady’s gaunt face brightened with joy. “Don’t you realise what this means? I am... free! I can leave this goddamned shithole village. I can go somewhere – anywhere. I can have fun. Meet people. Get a girl. My life can start! At forty-one years of age, Gennady Ulyanov finally can live.”
“So you’re saying we’d be doing you a favour?”
“How can I stop you making off with the helmet? Even if I wasn’t tied up like this, there are four of you, one of me. There is only so much I can do to prevent it being stolen. Only so much I am capable of. I am supposed to be willing to sacrifice my life to keep it safe, but fuck that. Take the damn thing. Take it with my blessing. It has only ever been a burden. I have just one small request.”
“What’s that?”
“May I have a lift? If you can find room for me in your helicopter, take me with you. Drop me off wherever you like. Anywhere is better than here. Please?”
OUT OF GENNADY’S earshot and eyeline, they discussed his fate.
Sasha was all for killing him. He knew too much. She would make it quick: grab his head, twist it around on his neck. He wouldn’t feel a thing.
Theo strongly objected. The man deserved a break. All those years on his own. The last in a long line of protectors for the Helm of Darkness. It was only fair that Gennady got some sort of reward for that. Besides, who would believe him if he told them about the Helm? He would come across as half-crazed.
Sasha relented, reluctantly. As a compromise, she said that Gennady would not travel with them, but he could have the rented trail bike she had used to get to Novy Tolkatui. It was parked a couple of miles away. She went to fetch it while the villager, now released from the rope tying him, gathered up his few meagre belongings. She showed him how to ride it, and told him the name of the street where he could find the rental agency in Krasnoyarsk, instructing him to deposit the bike back there.
Gennady was thrilled. Grinning toothlessly, he set off along the track on the bike. He crashed almost immediately, but he was back in the saddle in a trice and speeding off once more, full throttle.
“If he gets to Krasnoyarsk without killing himself,” said Chase, “it’ll be a fucking miracle.”
“That might be my plan,” said Sasha.
THEY WALKED TO the helicopter, four of them now, Chase with the Helm of Darkness tucked into his backpack. He treated it with a proprietorial air. It was his; he should carry it.
The pilot and co-pilot were startled to learn that they were now expected to take an extra passenger. First, a man had emerged from the forest on a trail bike. Then this. Where had the Westerners found the woman, out here where nobody in their right mind went? What was going on?
Chase expanded on his television-documentary story. By coincidence, they had run into a fellow location scout. What were the chances? And her motorbike had been stolen by that man, so she needed a lift home.
The pilot and co-pilot were unconvinced, but a stunning-looking woman was a stunning-looking woman, however dubious her provenance. There was, anyway, plenty of room for her in the cabin. An Mi-8 could seat twelve; she would add a little weight, but not enough to throw out their fuel calculations. Welcome aboard!
As the helicopter took off, Theo cast a sidelong look at Sasha. He was a little less enthusiastic. He couldn’t tell if she had joined them for the duration, as a fourth member of the team, or was merely hitching a ride and would desert them once they got to Krasnoyarsk. She herself hadn’t made it clear and, being long accustomed to doing exactly as she pleased and answering to nobody but herself, felt no compunction to. A queen never explained – or excused – her actions.
And for all her claims to the contrary, Sasha Grace was still a queen. The way she sat in her seat, she made it look like a throne, lap-belt and plastic upholstery notwithstanding. The way she held her head erect, you could imagine a crown perched on it rather than a set of ear defenders. There was regality in her posture, her every gesture.
Danger, too. Theo didn’t trust this woman any further than he could throw her. For as long as Sasha Grace stayed with them, he would be keeping a very close eye on her.
TWENTY-TWO
Krasnoyarsk
AFTER THE MI-8 landed at the heliport on the outskirts of Krasnoyarsk, Sasha gave no indication that she had anywhere else to go. She accompanied Theo, Chase and Salvador in a taxi to their hotel, which stood among the concrete high-rises in the city centre. Only when she checked herself into a vacant room did it become apparent that, for better or worse, she was remaining with them. The one-time ruler of the Amazons did not deign to divulge why or for how long; she told them she was going upstairs to take a shower and have a rest, and they would meet up for dinner later to discuss things.
“What’s her angle?” Chase asked as Sasha disappeared into the elevator. “What does she want?”
“To help?” Theo ventured.
“Then why the damn hell doesn’t she say so?”
“Because she has dignity. Or arrogance, which she thinks is dignity.”
“I dislike her,” Salvador said. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that she and I have history.”
“It’s got everything to do with the fact that she and you have history,” said Chase. “There’s no other reason. You nearly killed her for that girdle.”
“She nearly killed me too,” Salvador retorted. “It was a close-run thing.”
“Still, history. She’s not the bygones type and neither are you.”
“She’s seriously upped her game since,” said Theo. “She was always badass, but today she barely broke a sweat subduing you two. It was almost indecent, how easy she made it look.”
“It wasn’t fair.” Salvador rubbed the back of his neck, where a large bruise had formed. “She played dirty.”
Chase nodded in sympathy. “I could have taken her. I only didn’t because you told me not to, Theo.”
“Sure, sure.”
“It’s true. So you reckon it’s okay that she continues to tag along with us?”
“I think she could be an asset,” Theo said. “I think there are worse people I could have by my side. But,” he added, “I think there are better people I could have at my back, if you get my drift.”
THEY WENT OUT for dinner as a foursome that night, just as Sasha decreed. Theo saw it as an opportunity to probe her gently and gauge her motives and intentions. The concierge at the hotel recommended a restaurant on the Yenisei embankment with a terrace overlooking the river. “Best Siberian cuisine you will ever eat,” he told them, and the food was good, especially the beef dumplings and the sturgeon broth, although the aspic-covered meat jelly was more of an acquired taste.
Sasha remained aloof and tight-lipped for much of the evening, but Theo nonetheless managed to prise a few nuggets of information out of her. Currently she ran a personal security service for high net-worth women – business executives, movie stars, supermodels, trophy wives. Based in London, with branches in Los Angeles, Moscow and Dubai, it was called Wonder Women and it supplied close protection details for clients who preferred not to have a hulking male goon hanging around them the whole time. Sasha’s employees were skilled in combat and the use of small arms, and were attractive and well groomed and could therefore blend in better with the client’s lifestyle. They were inconspicuous, and that made them more effective. Quite often, Sasha said, client and bodyguard formed a personal bond, the latter becoming as much sister as protector, which she found heartening and gratifying.
“So once again you’re head of a band of warrior women,” Theo said, “only now the title’s CEO rather than ‘your majesty’.”
Sasha was obscurely, royally amused. “Not badly put.”
“Don’t these Wonder Women of yours need you right now?”
“The company can manage without me for the time being. I have efficient subordin
ates who know the workings of the business as well as I do. I keep in constant touch. I don’t have to be in the office to supervise.”
Theo decided to go for broke. “I suppose what I want to know is how long you’re –”
At that moment a gaggle of other diners in the restaurant, local young professionals, came up to the demigods’ table brandishing phones. Once of them, elected spokesman by the rest, tapped Chase on the shoulder.
“You are Mr Chase Chance? Of the TV show? The man who is doing the monster hunting?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Hey! It is you! I knew it!”
The group begged for selfies, and Chase was only too happy to oblige. He had downed a few vodkas during the course of the meal, so his grin was wide and goofy as he posed with an arm around the youngsters’ shoulders, the twilight sky and the broad, burbling river forming a scenic backdrop to the shots. He even put on a good show of cowering in terror as one of the group loomed over him with fingers clawed and a snarling expression like a movie werewolf or vampire. It was all very good-natured and rowdy, and Chase was charged up when it was over.
“See?” he said to Theo. “Happens in Russia too. Anywhere in the world I go. That’s properly famous, that is.”
“It’s the same for me in Mexico,” Salvador said, “when I am out with my mask on. They queue up to shake my hand and take a picture. The women – sometimes they can’t restrain themselves. The places they grope me!”
Chase wagged his eyebrows at Theo. Theo just rolled his eyes.
“Hey, cuz, I’ve got an idea.” Chase patted his backpack. Inside was the Helm of Darkness. He couldn’t bear to be parted from the artefact, now that he had it back. “I’ll go the restroom and put the helmet on. Then I’ll come back, you wave your hands about above the table, and I’ll lift up cutlery and plates and stuff in the air to match your movements, and it’ll look like you’re a Jedi using the Force.”
“No.”
“Come on! It’ll be hilarious. Can you imagine their faces? They’ll freak.”
“Still no.”
“You can say things like ‘I find your lack of faith disturbing’ and ‘If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.’”
“Or no.”
Chase pouted. “Seems such a wasted opportunity.”
“It would draw attention to us that we don’t want. Your adoring fans are bad enough. If we start doing parlour tricks...”
“You can always pretend afterwards that you’re a stage conjuror.”
“Really, it’s not going to happen.”
“Spoilsport.”
“If I have to be.”
Chase moped, but not for long. A couple more rounds of vodka saw to that.
Sasha said to Theo, “I presume you have a theory who is carrying out the attacks on us.”
“I do.”
“You would not be Theseus if you didn’t. Care to tell me?”
“Two likely suspects. Harry Gottlieb is one.”
“It’s always sensible to assume Odysseus has a hidden agenda.”
“If it is him, he’s playing us even now by sending you to join us. But I don’t see what that gets him, other than the pleasure of pushing people around like chess pieces. What is the bigger picture? What’s his endgame?”
“Simply messing with us and having us try to second-guess his motives might be enough for him, for now.”
“I’d be more certain that Gottlieb was our man if Novy Tolkatui had turned out to be a trap after all. Since it didn’t and we got the Helm, it could mean I’ve misjudged him.”
“Or he was using you – us – to obtain the twelfth and final artefact, saving him the effort.”
“And then, at his leisure, he can inveigle us into handing it over to him. It’s plausible.”
“Who’s the other suspect?” Sasha asked.
“Evander Arlington. You might know him better as –”
“Oh, I know exactly who Evander Arlington is. I work for him.”
Theo was startled and not a little alarmed. “Run that by me again?”
“Not for Arlington himself. I should be more specific. For his wife. She is a Wonder Women client. Has been for several years. Arlington, of course, foots the bill. Keeps us on a handsome retainer. At twelve hours’ notice I can have a bodyguard at his wife’s side anywhere in the world, wherever and whenever she needs one. He is insanely protective of her, but then that’s hardly surprising.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know who Mrs Evander Arlington is?” Sasha said archly. “And you call yourself a detective!”
“Crimefighter, actually.”
“Well, you used to call yourself a detective.”
“In another age. Technically I’m not even a crimefighter any more. Just a writer.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your books on sale, chiefly at airport terminal bookshops. Can’t say I’ve been tempted to pick one up.”
“So who is Mrs Arlington? Probably some glamorous actress I’ve never heard of.”
“Glamorous yes. Actress? Debatable. In the broadest definition of the word, perhaps. Still not a clue?” Sasha was enjoying his ignorance.
“Chase is the one who seems to know what everyone’s up to. He’s our resident Demigod Wiki. Chase?”
“Yeah?”
“Who is Evander Arlington married to?”
“No idea. Someone beautiful and high-maintenance, would be my guess. I didn’t even know he was married. I thought, like the rest of us, he’d given up on getting too close to mortals. We’ve all seen so many loved ones grow old and die; who wants to have long-term relationships with them anymore?”
“Amen to that,” said Salvador, and he and Chase clinked glasses together, spilling quite a bit of vodka in the process.
“Arlington has got around that issue,” said Sasha.
“His wife a sex doll then?” said Chase. “I can see how it might work. Non-perishable rubber. Never wears out. Lifetime guarantee.”
He and Salvador roared with laughter.
“No,” said Sasha, lip curling in distaste. “He married one of us.”
Theo thought fast. Based on Sasha’s hints and insinuations, one candidate came to the fore. “Helen.”
Sasha rewarded him with a nod that could scarcely have been more patronising. “Helen of Sparta, daughter of Zeus and Leda, sister of Castor, Pollux and Clytemnestra, and wife of Menelaus until her abduction by Paris, which gave her the name she’s better known by.”
“Helen of Troy,” said Salvador.
“And also,” Chase said to Theo, “your one-time girlfriend.”
Theo shook his head ruefully. “Don’t remind me. I’ve made some mistakes in my time, but...”
“Making off with a girl who’d barely started her monthlies,” said Sasha, “while you were in your sixth decade of life?” She sneered. “No, I can’t imagine that going wrong at all.”
THESEUS HAD FALLEN for Helen the very first time he saw her, which was at the temple of Artemis in Laconia, just outside the city of Sparta. In a fit of high spirits, he and his friend Pirithous, King of the Lapiths, had drawn lots to decide which of two divinely sired beauties they would attempt to sleep with. Pirithous had got the short straw: Persephone, wife of Hades. Persephone was loveliness incarnate, with cherubic cheeks and fecund hips, but being married to the god of the Underworld made her by far the greater challenge of the two, and ultimately Pirithous failed dismally. Helen, famous throughout Greece for her astonishing good looks but also young, free and single, had seemed the safer bet, so Theseus was happy to travel to the land of the Spartans and court her.
He had not been prepared for just how remarkable her beauty was. A lightning bolt from Zeus himself could not have left him as staggered and dumbfounded. At the sight of her he felt utterly unmanned, and at the same time aroused to a degree he had never known before. The way her peplos clung to her figure, its folds caressing her curves, its open sides revealing gl
impses of her perfect breasts ... The inviting shape her mouth seemed to fall into naturally when at rest ... The strong planes of her cheekbones and coquettish tilt of her chin... Unlike most women of noble birth, Helen eschewed cosmetics. She did not need them. Her lips were red enough on their own, her eyelids naturally smoky, her skin pale and soft.
She moved among the temple’s columns, bearing a votive offering of cheese, which she placed beside similar offerings at the feet of the xoanon, the wooden effigy of Artemis. Then she took her place among the priestesses and joined them in the diamastigosis, in which adolescent males tried to get at the offerings and were driven back by women armed with ceremonial whips. Even the glee and narrow-eyed ferocity with which Helen lashed at the youngsters did not dampen Theseus’s ardour; quite the opposite, in fact.
The young men seemed to feel the same. Helen’s whipping drove them into a frenzy. They competed with one another to receive blows from her rather than from any of the priestesses. They hurled rivals out of the way for the honour of feeling the bite of her whip, and showed off the bloody weals afterward as badges of pride.
Theseus was soon to discover that Helen’s tongue was a vicious as any scourge. Her behaviour at the temple ought to have given him a clue, but he was too smitten with her. He had to have her, and so he pursued her relentlessly, in secret, without the knowledge of her adoptive father King Tyndareus. He lavished gifts on her, boasted to her of the life of luxury she would lead at his palace back in Athens, danced to her whims, prostrated himself before her, and promised her anything and everything it was in his power to grant. In hindsight he made a complete fool of himself, but at the time, with lust and adoration raging through him like a lava flow, it all seemed sensible and appropriate and right, the only way to be.
She succumbed in the end, and agreed to go with him to Athens. They stole off from Laconia one night and he installed her in his palace as though she were the greatest prize a man could ever win.
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