by David Wood
She couldn’t help wonder what Professor was doing right now. Perhaps sharing a romantic dinner with Ophelia in some Greek café, swooning over her plastic beauty.
Maybe I’m overthinking this.
But dalliances and one night stands weren’t her style. For all her flaws, and she knew she had a few, she didn’t like playing games with other people’s emotions. Maybe Dorion wasn’t interested in something meaningful—he was French after all, though she couldn’t get a read on whether he was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type—but that wasn’t what she wanted.
So what do you want, Jade?
“I’m really beat tonight.” She tried for a disarming smile. “Maybe some other time?”
She wasn’t sure if she really meant it, or if she was just trying to let him down easy. Maybe both.
“Of course. Let me walk you to your room.”
She accepted the chivalrous gesture and when they reached her door, she even gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Bright and early,” she said, before closing the door on him.
As tired as she was, sleep eluded her for a long time thereafter. Yet, it was not doubt about whether she had made the right decision in turning Dorion away that occupied her thoughts. Instead, it was the image of Professor and Ophelia together that kept her tossing and turning.
FIFTEEN
Mexico City, Mexico
Hodges felt Gutierrez’s scrutiny cut through him like a laser beam, and yet the handsome billionaire had not spoken a single word of recrimination. Instead, the man had listened patiently to Hodge’s report, asking pertinent questions in an incisive tone, without even once giving voice to his exasperation at the evident failure.
It had not been difficult to establish the identity of the mysterious savior who had appeared to whisk Chapman and the others away at the last second, but that knowledge only complicated matters. Ophelia Doerner wasn’t somebody he could go after with impunity. The only option he felt he had was to return in disgrace to Mexico, make his report to Gutierrez, and accept the consequences.
The billionaire continued to regard him across his desktop, then he abruptly leaned forward and picked up a mobile telephone. He composed a brief text message, then set the phone down again.
“You were right not to pursue this woman,” he said, finally breaking his long silence. “It would have complicated matters, though what she is trying to do is exactly what we are trying to prevent.”
“So what happens now?”
Gutierrez waved the question away, but then elaborated. “Damage control. I think it is safe to say that your cover is blown. You’ll be working directly for me now.”
It wasn’t a job offer; Hodges had just been drafted.
An electronic ringing sound, like a first-generation cordless phone, signaled an incoming Skype message, which Gutierrez answered with a keystroke. Hodges could not see the screen, but he recognized the voice from the other end of the call. “Andres? What’s so important that you pulled me off the back nine?”
“It’s your sister, Lee. She’s interfering with our prosecution of an Alpha event.”
Hodges’ eyes went wide. The person on the other end of the call was Laertes Doerner, Ophelia’s brother. That Gutierrez and Doerner were on a first name basis did not surprise Hodges; that Doerner was evidently part of the Norfolk Group did, though on further reflection it made perfect sense. Despite the family reputation for advocating the kind of polarized political views that often fostered the sort of upheaval that the Norfolk Group was trying to prevent. At the end of the day, Doerner, like any other wealthy man, was mostly interested in self-preservation.
There was a disgusted snort at the other end of the line. “Fi’s a dreamer, Andres. Whatever she’s mixed up in can’t be of any consequence.”
“An Alpha event, Lee. You know as well as I do what that means. You helped draft the protocols.”
“Well, sure I—”
“This call is a courtesy, Lee. I am going to be overseeing this affair personally. If you want Ophelia kept safe, then you need to be completely forthcoming. It’s the only chance she has.”
There was a long silence, in which the only sound from the speakers was a faint crackle like static white noise, and then Doerner gave a defeated sigh. “What do you need from me?”
“She left Costa Rica a few hours ago. I presume she’s on one of your planes. I need to know where she’s going.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
There was a click and the white noise vanished.
Hodges sat very still mentally processing the fact that he had just listened in on a conversation between two of the richest men on earth.
“He’s a pampered fool,” Gutierrez said, without prompting. “He may have inherited the greater share of the family wealth, but his sister got the brains. It will be a pity if we have to kill her.”
Hodges felt like he had to say something. “You’re taking over?”
“That’s right. That’s how I prefer to operate. The only way to ensure a task is done right is to do it yourself.” He cracked a smile. “Relax. I’m not angry about your failure in Costa Rica. Well, not very angry. You had to make a difficult decision. Not killing Ophelia Doerner was probably the right call.”
That had only been one consideration for Hodges. The fact that Ophelia’s men might have shot down the second helicopter before they could get close enough to sink the yacht had been a much more persuasive factor, but Hodges decided it was best not to bring that up.
“This way,” Gutierrez continued, “if a situation like this arises again, you won’t have to make a judgment call. I’ll be there to do it for you.”
“You’ll order her to be killed?”
Gutierrez expression was as hard and cold as ice. “It’s an Alpha event. We aren’t playing games here.”
Another electronic tone sounded and the billionaire glanced at his cell phone. “Ah. Laertes made good on his promise. Ophelia Doerner is on her way to Delphi, Greece. And so are we.”
SIXTEEN
Delphi, Greece
Because he was a seasoned world traveler—as a SEAL, he had some experience with grabbing sleep whenever a chance presented itself—Professor rarely suffered from jet lag. The Gulfstream had arrived in Athens after dusk, and they had continued on to Delphi by car, a journey of more than seventy miles, arriving at nine p.m., which was early by local standards, but too late to accomplish anything useful. So, he had retired to his hotel room and promptly fallen asleep.
He awoke with the sun, hit the tiny bathroom to take care of the obligatory “three S’s,” and dressed in the tastefully expensive attire provided by the hotel concierge. He was just getting ready to head down to the hotel lounge for breakfast when a knock came at the door.
He opened it to find Ophelia, likewise looking refreshed and, he had to admit, rather lovely. She wore a sea green raw silk halter-top sun-dress and less make-up than he would have expected.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said, producing a large gift box tied with a blue ribbon.
“And here I didn’t get you anything,” he said, with mock-guiltiness, accepting the box and giving the ribbon a tug.
“Maybe you’ll find just the right thing at the sanctuary,” she replied with a mischievous grin.
Inside the box, he found a hat—his hat—cleaned, blocked and restored to near-perfect condition. “Wow. Thank you.”
“It’s your lucky talisman,” she said. “Now our success is guaranteed.”
He chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about that. This was a long shot to begin with, and even if we find what we’re looking for, all it’s really going to tell us is that we were right.”
“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist.”
“Sounds like something Jade might say,” he muttered. He felt bad that Jade wasn’t here, but when Jade got an idea in her head, there was no reasoning with her.
If Ophelia heard his comment, she gave no indication. “Now, let’s see about some food. They do a traditional Gr
eek breakfast here. I love the galatopita, but they also make an omelet with graviera and siglino that is spectacular.”
He took the culinary recommendations in stride, but as he headed out the door behind her, the significance of what she had said hit home. “You’ve been here before.”
“Several times.” She looked at him thoughtfully as they descended the stairs to the hotel restaurant. “I thought you knew. I’m very serious about this. I was coming to Delphi long before I ever met Paul. Of all the stories, all the myths and legends, this is the one that has always held the most promise.”
He waited until they were seated, with demitasse cups of sweet Greek coffee set before them, to ask what she meant by that.
“You must know something of the history of Delphi. There is something special about this place.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rational explanations for the prophecies given by the oracle.”
He nodded. “The oracle, a woman who was always called Pythia, supposedly inhaled vapors rising from a crevice under the Temple of Apollo and chewed bay leaves to enter a trance. It was up to the priests of the sanctuary to interpret her ramblings, which they did in a way so vague they could never be wrong, and which usually pleased the supplicant enough to offer a large gift to the temple. One of the most notorious was the prophecy given to Croesus. He was told that if he went to war with the Persians, he would destroy a great empire. He took that as advice to launch a war, which he lost, and when he confronted the oracle, he was told that the great empire he had destroyed was his own.”
She smiled patiently. “Yes, anyone who’s studied the oracle knows that one, but do you know the rest? How Croesus tested the oracle? Or the oracle’s prophecy that his kingdom would last until the Medes put a mule on the throne?”
Professor was not about to let Ophelia show him up. He searched his memory for more information about the Ionian king whose legendary wealth was remembered even into modern times. “Croesus was defeated by Cyrus, half-Mede, half-Persian. Mule could be interpreted to mean ‘half-blood.’”
Ophelia nodded. “The oracle Pythia endured here for more nearly a thousand years, and more than five hundred prophetic pronouncements have been discovered. Some of them are, as you say, open to interpretation, but many of them are quite specific and startlingly accurate, particularly those that involve world events on a grand scale. It’s easy for us to play the skeptic, but do you believe the oracle’s prestige and reputation for infallibility, could have lasted that long if she were just spouting fortune cookie prophecies?”
Professor shrugged. “As a scientist, I have to follow the principle of parsimony. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary explanations. I can’t discount what I’ve seen in the last few days, but I’m not going to let down my guard and start believing everything.”
Ophelia reached out and clasped his hand. “Maybe today, you’ll see something that will change your mind.”
With his “lucky talisman” atop his head, Professor followed Ophelia along a trail that led out of the modern city of Delphi, across the evergreen-dotted slopes of Mount Parnassus, with a spectacular view of the azure waters of Kólpos Itéas and the Gulf of Corinth. Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of Ophelia’s security detail, but the men seemed to have learned a thing or two since Costa Rica, and for the most part, remained inconspicuous.
The half-mile walk ended with a steep descent that led past the ruins of a theatre and the site of the Sanctuary of Apollo, where the Oracle at Delphi had delivered her prophecies. They passed by the Castalian Spring, where both the devotees and visitors to Delphi would ritually bathe themselves before approaching the oracle, and eventually arrived at the Athenian treasury, built to commemorate the Battle of Marathon. In ancient times, there had been several such storehouses on the site, but most had fallen into ruin. The Athenian treasury, a blocky structure of cut stone that looked a lot like a cross between a bank vault and a Greek temple, was as much a masterpiece of modern restoration techniques as it was ancient architecture.
Ophelia led Professor down the stone walk below the treasury and showed him a stone slab upon which rested a conical rock, about four feet tall, that looked a little like the top half of an egg or the nose cone of a jet.
“The Omphalos,” she said, with a magisterial flourish. “One of them anyway. There’s a better one in the museum.”
“That must be the one I’m thinking of,” Professor replied. “It looks sort of like a giant potato wrapped in a fishnet, right?”
“That’s not what I see when I look at it,” Ophelia replied, raising a playful eyebrow. Then her expression became more serious. “You know the significance of the Omphalos, right?”
He nodded. “The Greeks believed it marked the center of the earth—literally the navel of the Earth goddess Gaia. Of course, the exact location was subject to change. According to the myth, Zeus sent out two eagles from different places, and told them to meet at the center of the world. That turned out to be Delphi, so they marked the spot with an Omphalos stone.”
“That’s one story,” Ophelia replied. “Another is that Apollo slew the dragon Python, who was guarding the navel of Gaia. The vapors that rose from beneath the Temple of Apollo were believed to be the gases of Python’s body decomposing.
“There may actually be some truth to that story,” she went on as they headed back toward the museum. “The site was inhabited in the Bronze Age, by the Mycenaean Greeks, and it is believed that there was a temple to Gaia here, and a Sybil who prophesied the future, as early as the fourteenth century B.C.E. The Mycenaean civilization collapsed of course, and the site was abandoned for many centuries, until the rise of Classical Greek culture. So perhaps Apollo ‘slew’ Python in the sense that the worshippers of Apollo arrived and took over the site for their own religious practices.”
After touring the two thousand year old remains of an ancient civilization, the Archaeological Museum at Delphi was something of a surprise architecturally speaking. Instead of trying to mimic the Classical design, the building was modern looking, with plain geometric lines, and lots of windows to provide natural light. The reason for this became apparent as Professor stepped inside; the museum architects did not want their contribution to Delphi to overshadow the historical riches housed within.
They found the more famous Omphalos stone displayed near the entrance of the museum, an orange-colored, bullet-shaped stone, several feet high. The exterior was carved to resemble an elaborate rope net. The stone was hollow through the center, and had acted as a sort of nozzle, focusing and concentrating the mystical vapors that the oracle would have breathed in the innermost chambers of the Apollo sanctuary. This was the Omphalos that was reproduced on coins and artwork dating back to the Classical Greek era, but it was widely believed that this stone was a copy from early Roman times.
The Romans, Professor learned, had also venerated the site and consulted with the oracle, at least until the fourth century C.E. when Emperor Theodosius I had ordered the temple destroyed and forever silenced the prophetic voice of Pythia.
The museum contained numerous treasures brought from distant lands; spoils of war brought to honor the oracle who had guided kings and heroes on adventures abroad. One of the most spectacular pieces was the Sphinx of Naxos, a seven-foot tall marble structure with outstretched wings, dating back to the year 570 B.C.E. Once, it had stood atop a column and gazed out over the waters of the Gulf below. There were far fewer artifacts from the Mycenaean period, but a helpful English-speaking tour guide filled in some of the gaps in his knowledge.
“There was almost certainly a shrine here during the late Minoan and Mycenaean periods, but very few physical artifacts remain. On the way up to the Sanctuary of Apollo, you will see the Sybil Rock. That is where the ancient oracle, the one before Pythia, delivered her prophecies.”
Professor thanked the guide, but before the man could leave, Ophelia asked him, “What happened to the original Sybil?”
T
he man shrugged. “We know very little about the Bronze Age history of the site. There are many possible explanations for what happened to the Mycenaeans—war, internal conflicts, earthquakes—the answer is probably a combination of these factors. For many years, it was believed that the Mycenaeans were destroyed by invading Dorians, but it seems more likely that the invasion was more a cultural change than a military campaign.”
“Was there a Sybil or an oracle here during that time?”
The tour guide spread his hands apologetically. “That period is called the Greek Dark Ages for a reason. We just don’t know. The history of Delphi, to the best of our knowledge, begins when Apollo, in the form of a dolphin, brought priests here to establish his sanctuary.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say a ‘dolphin’?”
The guide nodded. “That’s how Delphi got its name. Apollo Delphinos—Apollo the Dolphin.”
As the man left to rejoin his tour group, Professor took Ophelia aside. “The sphere we found in Costa Rica also had a dolphin glyph. Dolphins were sacred to the Phoenicians, which we would expect from a sea faring people.
“During the same period when the Mycenaean civilization was collapsing,” he continued, “the rest of the Mediterranean region was under attack by a group of raiders called the Sea People. Some contemporary accounts mention the Sea People in connection with the destruction of Knossos and other Mycenaean cities.”
“Were the Sea People the Phoenicians?”
“You won’t find a serious historian who believes that, but it’s interesting that the Phoenician cities were left untouched by the Sea People. It’s been suggested that they were more of a loose confederation of pirates, so why not Phoenicians? Or maybe the Sea People plundered the Omphalos sphere, and sold it to a Phoenician trader who was headed east. Maybe the old myth got it backward. Maybe the ‘dolphin’ wasn’t Apollo bringing the priests here; maybe it was the Phoenicians taking the Ompahalos—the original Omphalos away. They sailed east, across the Pacific, and when they spotted the dolphins, they decided that was the place to establish a new temple, a new oracle.”