Black Harvest (The PROJECT)

by Lukeman, Alex

  "Charon. He ferried souls across the River Styx to the underworld. You had to give him his fare or you'd be stranded on this side forever. An unpleasant fate."

  "Wouldn't do to be broke when you died, I guess." Nick placed his hand on the marble coffin.

  Aetolikos had ridden with Alexander the Great against the King of Persia. He'd watched the war banners streaming in the wind under the Persian sky. He'd seen the bright swords and long spears glinting in the sun, heard the clash of battle. He'd smelled the dust and blood. He'd heard the screams of slaughtered men and animals.

  Nick knew what the dust and blood of battle smelled like, had followed the sounds of war for days and months on end. For Aetolikos, in an age that honored heroes, they were days of glory. For Nick, in an age that forgot its heroes, they were days of bad memories and worse dreams.

  He felt depressed. A warrior's life, reduced to a box of dried bones with strangers picking coins from his skull. Everyone ended up in the same place.

  Papadakis stood at the back of the room and watched the workmen. The passage was narrow. The men passed debris back in a chain and placed it to the side. There was a shout from the front of the line.

  "They've broken through," Selena said.

  They waited for the workmen to back out. Papadakis picked up a strong electric torch. He would be first into the chamber. Nick, Selena and Demetrios crowded close behind. They crawled through the opening and stood inside the final room.

  The chamber was large and empty. A niche had been carved into the rock on the back wall. An image of a horse had been cut into the wall above. There were still traces of black pigment on the stone. Beside it, letters were roughly chiseled into the wall, as if someone had been in a hurry when they carved it.

  Papadakis shone his light on the inscription. Selena read over his shoulder. The archeologist sighed.

  Erinys waits for you

  By the springs of Thrace

  Where the two rivers cross

  Seek her and die

  "It's a message." he translated for Nick's benefit.

  "Erinys?" He remembered what Selena had said back in Virginia. "Demeter in her vengeful aspect?"

  Papadakis nodded in approval. "That's right. The black horse is the symbol of Persephone. A night mare. You know Persephone?"

  "I can't keep all these names straight. Persephone, Demeter, Erinys. The same goddess, right?"

  Papadakis smiled. "Not exactly, although some see it that way."

  He turned back to the inscription. "This is a taunt to the Romans. Probably written around 147 or 146 BCE during the final conquest of Greece. The legions were pillaging as they came. If something was here then it was taken away and hidden."

  He swept his hand around the room. "I've never seen anything like this before. It's completely atypical."

  The walls were unmarked except for the inscription, the horse and the empty niche. The room was plain, cut from the living rock. It was more like a storage room than a tomb.

  "It looks like a riddle." Selena ran her fingers along the chiseled letters.

  "I doubt that. Just typical poetic expression. It probably means the locals fled into Thrace and if the Romans came after them, they'd be killed. But Thrace already had large Roman settlements. Classic bravado. It's what finally got Rome annoyed enough to turn Greece into provinces."

  "Where is Thrace?" Nick looked at the inscription.

  "Modern day Bulgaria. The old Thrace ended at the Balkan Mountains to the north and included Western Turkey, this side of the Bosporus."

  "Maybe whatever was here was taken to Thrace."

  Papadakis shrugged. "We'll never know. But this is interesting. It will make for several good papers." He peered at the inscription.

  The academic mind at work. Nick saw Selena smile and look at him. They made their way out of the tomb, back to the outside world. A light rain drifted over the grass and trees. The earth smelled rich and full. After the tomb it felt like a return to life. The drops made minute explosions against his skin.

  Papadakis had stayed inside. Demetrios stood with Nick and Selena in the rain. He pulled up the collar of his coat.

  "I'm wondering about that inscription, " Nick said.

  "Yes?" Demetrios gave him a hostile look.

  "I think Selena is right and our archeologist may be wrong. I think it's a riddle, or some kind of message. More than a jab at the Romans."

  "You think it is a message about the treasure?"

  "It could be."

  Selena wiped a few drops of water from her face. They began walking to the cars.

  "You heard Papadakis, Chief Inspector. The room isn't typical. Something was there. Why else build it like that?"

  "You are both speculating. We know nothing about what was in that room."

  "But we know someone left a message there. It's the only clue we've got. I think we have to pursue it."

  Demetrios stood by the side of his car. "I'm going to Thessaloniki to interrogate Gelashvili."

  "We should go with you."

  "No, Carter, you should not. You will remain here until I return."

  Selena knew Nick was getting ready to blow. She touched his arm "We'll be here. I want to use the internet at the hotel."

  "I will return tomorrow. You are restricted to the hotel." Demetrios got in the police car and drove away.

  Nick shook his head as the car left them behind. "What an asshole."

  "An unpleasant man. Never mind him. That niche was about the right size for something two cubits high."

  "I was thinking the same thing."

  "Let's go back to the hotel."

  Neither noticed the old man standing in a grove of olive trees not far from the tomb. The man had the look of someone who had worked at hard labor in the fields all his life. He was dark and stooped. He wore a cloth workman's hat. He watched the car with the two foreigners grow smaller until it turned out of sight. He sighed, crossed himself and shuffled away in the rain.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thessaloniki was a big city. There were ruins, fortifications, sites of ancient battles. Korov thought he'd look around and explore after his business with Gelashvili.

  Gelashvili was under guard in the AHEPA University hospital. It was a modern complex with several wings and outlying structures. Korov parked near the main entrance. The day was gray with steady, soaking rain. He went over the steps of penetration in his mind.

  Korov had studied plans of the building. He knew where the stairways were located, where the roof exits were, how many elevators there were and where they went, where the various departments were situated.

  He'd chosen one of his favorite weapons for this assignment. The PSS Silent Pistol fired a 7.62X41mm armor piercing round. The unique design prevented escape of any explosive gases. Gases made noise. It had the additional advantage of short barrel length and small size. The pistol was ideal for his purpose. Conventionally silenced pistols were incredibly loud compared to the PSS. No one would hear more than a light cough when it was fired. It only held six rounds, but that wasn't a problem. He wouldn't need six.

  Gelashvili would be restrained in his bed with handcuffs to the frame. There would be a guard outside his door. If there were two guards, things could get messy. Probably, only one.

  Korov had another Spetsnaz favorite with him, an OC23 Drotik. The Drotik fired a small 5.45X18mm round from a magazine of 26. He could select single, three round or full auto fire. At 1800 rounds per minute, the pistol was uniquely lethal. It had light recoil, easily controlled.

  He got out of the car and walked to the entrance. A semi-circle of flags set on tall poles hung like wet sheets in the rain. A long portico extended over the main doors. He walked inside. Leaping figures were painted on the walls against a yellow background. Korov supposed it was meant to convey a sense of health and energy. He straightened his tie and walked to the information desk. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, entering data on a computer. She glanced up as he approache
d.

  "Excuse me," Korov said in English. Anyone behind that desk would have to speak English. He took out his wallet and showed her identification stating he was Inspector Allon Dubois of Interpol. He was wearing a dark suit of European cut, the kind of suit an international cop might wear.

  "I am here to interview a prisoner, Gelashvili. Can you tell me where he is?"

  Korov held the ID close so she could read it. It would have gotten him into Interpol HQ. The forgers at SVR were the best in the world. It was a source of comfort to agents in the field.

  "One moment, Inspector." She entered a few keystrokes. "He's in 4003. Fourth floor." She pointed. "Take the elevator down the hall. On the fourth floor, turn left, go to the second corridor, turn right and you'll see it on the left."

  "Thank you. You've been very helpful." He smiled at her and turned to the elevators.

  "Your colleagues are already here."

  "Oh?" Korov turned back. "Both of them?"

  "Yes, about a half hour ago. Shall I call up and let them know you're coming?"

  "No, thank you. I'll just go on up. They knew I'd be late."

  He walked away toward the elevators. He glanced back at the helpful clerk. She'd gone back to her computer. Good. No phone call. He had to make a choice. Abort and try again later? What if the agents were here to move Gelashvili to a secure location? He couldn't take the chance.

  He might need the Drotik after all.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Outside Nick and Selena's hotel the wind had picked up. Nick stood in front of the windows looking out. The drizzle had changed into hard rain. The Aegean Sea was almost invisible through the sheets of water pounding against the window. Somewhere across the waters lay Homer's Troy. He could hear heavy surf driving up against the shore below. Selena sat in an armchair with her laptop. She'd been sitting there for the last hour.

  Nick was beginning to think they were at a dead end, caught up in a wild goose chase. The chances of finding the urn or any part of Alexander's treasure were slim to none. How long could something like that remain hidden? This was Europe, plundered and pillaged and raped by armies, jacked up kings and brutal emperors for thousands of years. No one could conceal that kind of wealth for all those centuries. Then again, no one had ever found the Templar treasure. Maybe it was possible.

  He watched Selena. Her face was a study in concentration. He thought about the condo in D.C. and moving in together. He had no clarity in his thoughts about it. The lease on his apartment didn't run out for another year. He decided he'd hold onto it for now.

  "Look at this." Selena broke into his thoughts. He went over to the screen. It showed a tourist portal for Bulgaria.

  "Bulgaria."

  "Yes. Or Thrace, if you prefer."

  "What did you find?"

  "I went looking for something to match that inscription. Remember? 'By the springs of Thrace, where the two rivers cross.' I think I know the general area. There are a lot of springs in Bulgaria."

  She moved the mouse, clicked. A picture appeared on the screen of a large city with big churches, cobbled streets and happy people. The churches were dome shaped and old. The people were young. None of them were dome shaped.

  "Sofia?"

  "It's Sofia, accent on the first syllable. The capitol of Bulgaria. It was settled in the seventh century BCE and built around a mineral spring."

  "What about the rivers?"

  "Sofia sits in a big valley at the foot of a mountain. There are two rivers that run through the city, the Vladaiska and the Perlovska."

  "Two rivers crossing and a spring. I think you got it. But we're going to need more than that. It still doesn't pinpoint an exact location."

  "It's all we've got. The inscription might have been left for someone besides the Romans."

  "Someone who needed to know where the treasure was taken."

  "Yes." She stretched.

  "Doesn't mean it's still there or we can find it."

  "No, but we're a step closer if I'm right. Maybe we could smoke out someone with this."

  "How do you mean?"

  "We could let the idea about Sofia slip out. Maybe someone turns up where they shouldn't and we can track them back to the source."

  "And pin it down." He thought about it. "It's a good idea. We'll run it by Harker. She can decide how to do it."

  She stood and walked to the window. It was still raining. The wind had died. The sea was gray and uninviting. She thought about Homer's description of the Aegean as the "wine dark sea". It was dark, all right, but it wasn't the color of wine today.

  Nick came up behind her. "What's going on with Steph?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "She seems different somehow. Lighter."

  "You really don't know?"

  "Know what?"

  "She's sleeping with Lucas. I think she's in love with him."

  "You're kidding. He's CIA."

  "What difference does it make?"

  "Security comes to mind. Plus he works for Lodge."

  "Lucas has high security clearance. And he doesn't work for Lodge, he works for Hood. Steph isn't going to tell him anything. I don't think he'd talk to her, either."

  "Harker know about this?"

  "I'd be amazed if she didn't. She hasn't said anything. Steph deserves to be with someone if she wants. It's not easy in our work. "

  "Tell me about it."

  "Are you hungry?"

  "Yes." He reached for her and drew her close. He slipped his hand down inside the back of her skirt. "I'm hungry. For you."

  "Me too."

  They undressed each other. She ran her hands down his right side, down his leg, feeling over ridges and welts of scar tissue left by the grenade. She touched the puckered scar where a round had gone through his shoulder.

  "You should duck more," she said.

  "Don't have to, when I'm lying down."

  It wasn't long before neither one of them was standing.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Korov stepped from the elevator and turned left. Ahead he spotted two orderlies and a doctor. in blue scrubs talking with an elderly couple. Two more men in white coats and stethoscopes, interns or doctors. The nurse's station was about fifty feet from the elevators. An exit sign marked the stairs at the end of the main corridor.

  The place smelled like every hospital he'd ever been in, of antiseptic and worry and illness and efficiency. The floors were polished and clean, light colored, synthetic. The air was too warm.

  He passed a set of swinging doors emblazoned with red and yellow radiation signs and warnings in Greek, English and French. Two men and a woman in green came through the doors talking. They ignored him and walked by. He started past the nurse's station.

  "Sir."

  It was the nurse on duty.

  Korov showed his Interpol ID. "I'm going to 4003."

  He kept walking. The nurse started to say something. Her phone buzzed. She picked it up. Korov continued down the hall. As he came to the second intersecting corridor he slowed. Ahead, the hallway was empty except for a gurney standing against one wall. He reached the intersection and glanced quickly to the right. A bored policeman sat in a plastic chair outside one of the rooms.

  That's it. One cop. The others must still be inside.

  In his mind, Korov pictured how the room would be. The bed would be to the left or right, it made no difference. There would be a bathroom on the other side. The bed might have a curtain. If the curtain was open, no problem. If the curtain was closed, it could be a problem. It could slow him down.

  Korov eased the PSS from his holster and palmed it in his hand. In his other he held the false ID. He walked up to the cop, the ID displayed in front. As the cop read the ID Korov shot him in the chest. He slumped forward. The noise was no more than a gentle sneeze. In Korov's mind, a clock began ticking down.

  Arkady reached out and settled the corpse upright in the chair. Anyone looking down the hall would see a policemen sitting on duty. It would d
o for the next two minutes. That was all Arkady needed. If anyone raised an alarm, he had the Drotik.

  He opened the door of the room. There was a curtain. It was open. He held his ID out in his left hand. Two men stood by the bed where Bagrat Gelashvili lay. Their eyes went to the ID. Arkady extended his right arm and shot the first man in the head, then the second before he could react. The bodies hitting the floor made more sound than the shots.

  Gelashvili was awake. His right arm was in a cast, his left handcuffed to the bed. He stared at Korov and opened his mouth to shout. The next shot entered his right eye. It exploded with a soft pop. The wall behind turned red and gray with bits of brain tissue and blood. Korov fired again, into the left eye. Just to make sure.

  Orderlies could clean up the blood and mess. They were used to it.

  Korov put the PSS away and moved the Drotik to his gun hand, keeping it in his pocket. He stepped out of the room and closed the door. The dead policeman sat in his chair. Korov reentered the main corridor and walked casually to the stairway at the end. That was one of the good things about hospitals. There were plenty of exits. He opened the door and moved quickly down the stairs.

  Four dead. Korov checked his watch. Four minutes since he'd killed the guard, more than he'd allotted. He was slipping. Five minutes later, about the time a nurse discovered the dead guard and began screaming, Korov pulled out of the hospital parking lot and disappeared into the traffic of Thessaloniki.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Zviad Gelashvili was at his desk. One of his lieutenants came into the room. The desk was an antique, a glowing masterpiece of 18th Century craftsmanship. Its delicate beauty formed a curious contrast to Zviad's coarse bulk. It was the sort of thing that might have inspired a Japanese Zen master to write a poem.

  Behind Zviad two of his bodyguards stood against the wall. They were always present. They were always silent. They were not there to talk.

  The man was nervous. Zviad believed in instilling loyalty through rewards. It was profitable to work for Zviad, but there was a second part of the loyalty equation.