Someone knocked on her door.
"Just a minute." She called out. "Yes?"
"Room service." The voice was muffled.
Still holding the phone, she walked to the door. "Room service. I didn't order anything. Hang on."
She started to open the door. It slammed into her, knocking her back into the room. The phone flew from her hand. The two men she had seen in the restaurant came hard into the room.
Twenty years of martial arts kicked in. Master Kim had seen promise in his young student and taken her aside for special instruction. Over the years he'd taught her a more dangerous level of the art.
She'd landed on her back on the floor when the men burst in. Selena used the movement to somersault herself back and up. She stepped to the side of the man charging at her, grabbed his jacket with both hands and brushed him with her hip. His momentum sent him flying into the wall across the room. The second was on her, wrapping his arms around her. She knew better than to try and use her strength to escape. Instead, she spit in his face. He pulled back in reflex. She head butted him with everything she had. He wasn't expecting it and loosed his hold.
It was enough. She pivoted and used her left hand to grasp his right in a wrist lock and bore down. The hard lock sent an instant, overwhelming pain up his arm. It blocked thought for a critical instant, all she needed. She reached under his elbow with her other hand and levered the elbow up and in and away. It made an ugly sound like a wet branch breaking. He screamed in agony. She moved back and kicked him in the groin with her leg and heel extended, crushing his testicles. He screamed again and fell to the floor.
The other man had a gun, a big automatic. She spun with a high kick and knocked it from his hand. She followed with a strike to the solar plexus, a blow to the throat, a deadly fist up under the ribcage. He collapsed. His face went purple. He died.
The first attacker moaned in pain, clutching his groin. His right arm lay at an odd angle. Selena walked over to him. She felt cold, her mind clear and focused. He had touched her, grabbed her. He had wanted to hurt her, worse, she had no doubt. She considered the strike that would kill him. Just in time, she thought better of it. He would have answers.
She shivered. Where did this urge to kill come from? What had happened to her civilized education, her deep sense of compassion, her sense of common humanity? For an instant they'd vanished like a wisp of smoke in a harsh wind.
It was the Project. Since she'd joined the Project, things has changed. For years she'd hidden behind a comfortable veneer of academic and athletic achievement. She'd had control of her life, everything neatly organized. That was gone. Life in the Project had stripped it away.
She didn't know where this new life was taking her.
Selena bent over the sobbing man as he tried to crawl away from her. She placed her thumb on a nerve center and pressed until he was unconscious. An act of mercy, really, and now it was quiet in the room. Somewhere in the background she heard her name, a tinny voice far away.
The phone. It lay on the rug where it had fallen. She walked over, bent down and picked it up. She was breathing hard. Her forehead hurt. A trickle of blood ran from her nose. She wiped it away with her knuckle.
Nick was shouting. "Selena!"
"It's all right." She walked over to the dead man. "I guess the olive business isn't what it used to be."
CHAPTER TEN
Nick touched down in Thessaloniki sixteen hours after Selena's call. The flight was official, cleared with the Greeks. Nick wasn't pretending to be someone he wasn't. He'd brought a Glock .40 for Selena. His own H-K rested in the shoulder rig under his jacket.
It was Sunday morning when he arrived. The sky was cloudy with patches of sun through scudding clouds. He smelled rain coming.
A white police car with blue stripes waited outside the hotel entrance. A bored constable stood by the car smoking a cigarette. He watched Nick enter the hotel.
Selena opened her door. Her forehead was red and swollen, her violet eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. She smiled. He felt something jump inside him. Behind her, a small, dark man stood near the window.
"You okay?"
She nodded. "Nick, this is Chief Inspector Giorgos Demetrios from the police. We were just talking."
She made the introduction.
Demetrios was around five-seven, maybe 140 pounds. He wore civilian clothes, a brown suit of indifferent cut. His shoes were black and dull. His tie had stains on it. His hair was short and curly, showing gray. He had a paunch and needed a shave. Nick guessed him at around fifty-five years old. Dark eyes watched them with the calculating gaze universal to cops everywhere. He looked annoyed. Demetrios had a Smith and Wesson 910 holstered on his belt.
Chief Inspector. At his age, that wasn't much. He was stuck at the equivalent of a first lieutenant in the military, a working cop. Demetrios wasn't going any higher up the promotion ladder.
Selena had killed one of the attackers. It could complicate things.
"Carter." Demetrios spoke passable English. "I recognize you. From the films of Jerusalem, with your President."
Damn, Nick thought, the Jerusalem thing again. It had compromised him, blown his cover in a big way. Every agency in the world had his picture.
Demetrios didn't waste words. "I want to know why you are here and why Doctor Connor was attacked. And why you are armed." He gestured at the bulge under Nick's gray jacket. "Foreigners are not allowed to carry guns here. Not without official permission."
"I have permission, Chief Inspector. Selena and I work for our government as a kind of floating investigative team. We look into things that might be against the country's interests. In this case, international interests, including those of Greece."
They needed as much help as they could get. Nick decided to tell Demetrios most of it, except about the golden urn. This cop could make a lot of trouble for them if he wanted to. It would delay things.
"We think this incident is related to three murders in the US. It involves historical artifacts."
"Artifacts?"
"Treasure from the days of Alexander. He sent it back from Persia."
"And your investigation brought you here, to Macedonia."
"Yes."
He gave Selena a speculative look. "The man you killed had your picture in his pocket. I received bulletins from Interpol last night. The criminals who attacked you are members of a powerful gang based in Moscow. Why would these people have your photograph?"
Chief Inspector Demetrios walked over to the window and studied the view. "They must believe you have a way to find this missing treasure. If there is any. How much are we talking about?" His voice was casual.
"We don't know," Nick said. "Maybe a lot. One of Alexander's cousins may have brought part of it here, to Dion. I doubt it still exists. But someone must think it does."
"Any items related to Alexander would be of the highest historical importance to my country. I insist that you share any information you have with me." Demetrios' voice had taken on an authoritative edge.
Nick held up his hands. "We need your help, Chief Inspector. We're not treasure hunters, we're investigators. We want the people behind those murders, nothing else."
He could see Demetrios thinking. Uncovering relics of Alexander might salvage his career. Self-motivation made for good allies. Greed was also a good motivation. Nick suspected Demetrios was thinking as much about gold as his country's history.
Selena told him about the tomb. Demetrios agreed to arrange a look at the tomb on Monday. He opened the door and paused.
"Let me be clear about something, Carter. I am in charge, here. You will not act on your own. " His tone was hostile. "You are foreigners in my country. I will investigate why you have permission to carry weapons. You will not leave the hotel without escort. You will not take any action without my express permission. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly." So much for making allies. Maybe he needed to brush up on his diplomatic skills.
De
metrios went out. The door closed behind him.
"Nice to get a warm welcome," Nick said.
"What the hell were those thugs doing with my picture?" The words spurted out. Selena paced across the room and back again. She was upset.
"We'll find out. Let's go down to the restaurant. No point in trying to think on an empty stomach."
"You're impossible."
"You've said that before. Always eat when you can. You don't know when the next time will be."
"Is that another one of your damned rules?"
"Come on, we'll talk about it over coffee."
In the dining room Nick told Selena what Harker had learned about the men who'd attacked her.
"They came up on Interpol right away. They belong to a gang in Russia."
"The Russian Mafia?"
"Similar. There are about fifteen powerful gangs in Russia. This one is Georgian. The outfit is run by a man named Zviad Gelashvili. The man you kicked in the balls is his brother, Bagrat Gelashvili. Along with the Ukrainians, the Georgians are the worst. That's saying a lot."
"His brother? Why would a crime boss send his brother after me? Why here?"
"Gelashvili must know about the tablets. He's probably after Alexander's treasure. He sent those goons to follow up on the same trail we're looking at. That doesn't tell us how he found out about it in the first place."
"How could they know who I am?"
"Someone sent him who knows who you are and what you're doing here. It has to be someone who knows about the Project. Plus they have to be able to get someone on the scene here the same day you arrive. That means first rate organization and intel. It could be an Agency. CIA, DIA, someone like that."
She sighed and pushed her plate away. "Nothing is ever simple in this job, is it?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Come."
The man who entered Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky's office was tall. He wore a dark blue suit. He moved with contained energy, like a controlled explosion. He was handsome in a hard way, with blond hair cropped close to his skull. A small enameled flag of the Russian Federation gleamed on his jacket lapel. There was a small scar on his chin.
His eyes were cold blue, the eyes of a man who knew what he was and was afraid of nothing. He had the kind of military look found on recruiting posters. A hint of reddish shadow colored his jaw. His name was Arkady Korov.
He was dedicated and intelligent and lethal, everything an officer of Zaslon was supposed to be. If you wanted a robot there were plenty who could fill that role, but Korov wasn't one of them. He was perfect for the job Alexei had in mind. Korov reached the desk and snapped to attention. Vysotsky carried the rank of Major General.
"At ease, Major." Alexei gestured at a chair in front of the desk.
Korov sat. Alexei handed him an Interpol report of an incident in Greece involving an American woman and Georgian criminals. Interpol thought it was a foiled attempt at kidnapping and ransom. The report stated the woman was wealthy. She was. It didn't mention the Project, but Alexei was aware of Selena's real role.
"What do you think of this?"
Korov scanned the document. "Zviad's brother, Bagrat. This seems to be a kidnapping that went wrong."
"You find nothing odd?"
"Several things. Why Greece or kidnapping? It doesn't fit Gelashvili's pattern. It says one died and Bagrat is seriously injured. How would a woman defeat these men? Bagrat is as bad as his brother. He's an animal, very strong."
Alexei was pleased. "Exactly. The woman is not what she appears to be. She is part of an elite American intelligence group."
Korov raised an eyebrow. "What is she doing in Greece?"
"Looking for treasure. Or perhaps something else."
"Treasure?"
"She is following a trail that has been cold for a very long time." Alexei told Korov about the tablets and murder of three prominent American virologists.
"What will happen now that Gelashvili failed?"
"That is what you are going to find out, Arkady."
Korov noted the use of his first name. It told him this assignment was important. Vysotsky opened a desk drawer, took out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He poured.
"Na Z'drovnya." To your health. The men drank.
"I need more information. That is where you come in."
"Why are the Americans involved?"
"I don't know. This group is not like other American intelligence units. They are mobile and unrestricted, much as we are. If they're pursuing this there is fire behind the smoke. It is a complication, no more. My concern is Gelashvili. If the Americans bring him down, so much the better. Who knows, perhaps they will help you. Maybe you should look them up and introduce yourself."
Korov didn't smile.
"It's a joke, Major. But in this case, there may be a common goal."
Korov waited.
Alexei thought for a moment. "I think Bagrat Gelashvili will suffer complications from his injuries, even fatal ones."
Korov nodded. He didn't need to ask how that might be accomplished while Bagrat was in police custody. It would be up to him to arrange the details.
"You will proceed at once to Greece." Alexei handed Korov a packet. "You leave at 15:30 hours. This contains your legend, tickets, passport, money, driver's license and Bagrat's present location. Our contact in Athens will provide any weapons and supplies you require. Take care of Bagrat. Investigate. Find out anything you can about the Americans. You have full freedom to pursue your mission in any way you think fit."
Korov knew if anything went wrong, he would be blamed. On the other hand, he had all the freedom he needed to succeed. He smiled.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Arkady's flight landed on time. He took a room in the Plaka, the neighborhood below the Acropolis. His contact ran a shop here that catered to the tourist trade. There were always tourists in Athens. Arkady's passport identified him as Wilhelm Wimmer, a German architect on holiday. No one would think it unusual for an architect to visit Greece. Classical Greek architecture was still admired around the world.
Arkady found satisfaction in buildings like the Acropolis. The neat rows of columns, the perfect proportions, the folly of humans reflected in the actions of their gods. Korov had a genuine appreciation of history and Greek culture. He considered himself an educated man, though most of his education had been in the art of war.
The Russian adventure in Afghanistan was over by the time Arkady received his commission as a Junior Lieutenant. There was no shortage of other conflicts. He'd been recruited into Spetsnaz while serving in Chechnya. After that, things got interesting. Counter-terrorism in Tadzhikistan and Uzbekistan against the Islamic militant subversives. Special Advisor duty in Syria. He'd never married and everyone else was gone. His unit was his only family.
It was night in Athens. The Acropolis was bathed in light on the hill above his window. Tomorrow he would get his weapons and rent a car to drive north. Bagrat Gelashvili was being held under close guard at a hospital in Thessaloniki. His injuries were severe.
They were going to get worse.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Monday morning felt gray and damp with the raw smell of spring. Low walls of weathered stone wandered over ancient fields near the tomb. The land was green with fresh grass, sprinkled with white and blue wildflowers. Mount Olympus loomed in the background, shrouded in dark clouds. If the gods were home, no one cared.
The entrance to the tomb yawned in the side of a large hill. Centuries of overgrowth had been pushed aside to expose a rectangular stone opening. A silent diesel generator sat by the entrance. Cables on the ground coiled into the tomb like Medusa's snakes.
Nick assumed the generator and cables were for lighting. That was good. He'd had enough of dark tunnels and enclosed spaces for a lifetime. Tombs didn't bother him. The shades of the dead didn't bother him, except in his dreams. But lightless caves and tunnels, that was another story.
He stood with Selena, Demetrios and Abraxa
s Papadakis, the archeologist in charge of excavating the tomb. Demetrios hadn't spoken to them since he'd arrived. A group of workmen lounged nearby, smoking and talking, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. They didn't seem in any hurry.
Papadakis was a round, muscular man. He wore clear bifocals attached to a band behind uneven ears that stuck out from the side of his head. His face was lined from years spent working outdoors. His teeth were bad.
Selena chatted away in Greek with Papadakis. Demetrios scowled. Papadakis was entranced.
"They plan to open the rear chamber today," Selena said. "Our timing couldn't be better. It's the last place to explore in the tomb."
Papadakis switched to English for Nick's benefit. "Doctor Connor is right, good timing. The Romans looted these sites but missed this one. We cleared the front before the winter and now we're opening the back. It shouldn't take long to clear the debris blocking the entrance to the rear chamber."
He was excited. "Let's begin, shall we?"
He barked out orders to the workmen. One man started the generator. The noise shattered the spring morning. A flock of birds rose in fright from a nearby tree. The workers picked up their tools and disappeared into the entrance.
Nick followed the archeologist, Demetrios and Selena through the low doorway. Inside, the ceiling was high enough to stand upright. It was cold and damp. Bright lights threw a flickering glare over walls faced with white marble. Empty niches were carved into the walls at regular intervals. A rectangular marble box held place of honor in the center of the tomb. It was simple in design, about three feet high. On the lid was the bas relief and inscription Selena had seen in the museum.
The last stop for Aetolikos, sub-commander, cousin of Alexander the Great. Papadakis answered their unasked question.
"He's still in there. We found two gold coins from Persia inside his skull. They'd been placed on his eyes to pay the boatman."
"The boatman?" Nick asked.
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