Nick lifted his hands.
“I’m not sure anyone really does,” he replied. “He’s only joined the growing ranks of Russia’s oligarchs within the last decade. Curiously, over the past few years, he’s become an enormous benefactor to a great number of Greek institutions, the majority involved with various internal archaeology programs. It seems to hold a particular fascination with him. Why this is, I don’t know. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. My department alone back at Aristotle University has been a recipient of his generosity—as has pretty much all the attendees going to tomorrow’s function. If the rumors are true, then he’s practically footing much of the bill for the latest addition to Corfu’s Ionian University. Hence the reason for Minister Stephanidis’ eagerness to honor him. With all the government funding cutbacks due to Greece’s current financial woes, this Talanov fellow must seem like a virtual godsend.”
“No doubt,” agreed David. “Yet based on what you say, I have to wonder why I was also invited. I mean, my work on that dig site outside Salonika was wrapped up years ago, right? Hell, I’ve lived in Boston ever since. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
Nick grinned.
“But it does if you stop and think about it,” he said. “Aren’t you forgetting the obvious? Remember, Stephanidis has been the Minister of Culture in Greece since damn near forever. Despite all your efforts in the past years to conceal the rumored involvement of you and Elizabeth in locating the tomb of Alexander the Great, he must’ve been privy to the secret accord reached between Greece and the government of Egypt.” His grin expanded. “No one has done anything even remotely equal to this. Just be thankful he’s seen fit to honor your agreement all these many years.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
David glanced at his wristwatch before turning his attention back to the still frolicking boys outside in the pool. It would be at least another hour before the expected return of Elizabeth and Maria from shopping. Knowing the girls, probably much longer. Both women were intrigued at the prospect of tomorrow evening’s entertainment aboard Talanov’s yacht; not surprising, Maria far more than Elizabeth.
David still remained somewhat curious about the Russian oligarch and his motives. Why, he wondered, this apparent fascination with Greece and its ancient history? Though Nick hadn’t said, it was apparently common knowledge Talanov had even purchased a small island several years back somewhere close to Corfu.
Perhaps he’d learn more tomorrow evening.
Now reminded of something, he looked across at his friend, and said, “Didn’t you tell me when you first arrived that there was something you wished to show me at a later time? To do with a magazine article, I think . . .”
Nick set his glass down.
“Thanks for reminding me.” He reached for his wallet. “You know, I was waiting for the right opportunity—then quite forgot about it.”
“Well, we’ve got time now.”
Nick extracted a folded piece of paper and handed it over, watching as David opened it up. “That’s an enlarged image I photocopied out of a magazine roughly two years ago. It’s a bit blurry and creased, but I have the original article in my briefcase back in the hotel. It might sound a little weird, but I was hoping to discuss it with you and perhaps get your opinion.”
David saw the sheet’s poor condition was much as described. Confused, he looked up, noting his friend’s serious expression.
“Nick, this appears to be the broken section of an upper arm? Carved out of stone, I’m guessing.” He shook his head. “Marble, perhaps?”
“Not just any marble. According to the article, it’s flawless Parian marble from the island of Paros in the Aegean Sea. It doesn’t come any better.”
Still baffled as to where this was headed, David asked, “And why are you telling me this?”
“To be perfectly honest, because you seem to have a knack for solving mysteries. I really wanted to get your take on this.”
Rather than argue the point, David first swallowed the last of his drink, then said, “Okay, I see the arm—so where’s the mystery?”
“Let me begin with the background of the piece as stated in the article.”
“Works for me.”
“Well, it was brought into a small museum and offered for sale back in 2007 by a local trawler fisherman. The only information he gave was that it came up in his nets. They offered him a modest price for it, which he accepted. And there the piece remains to this day.”
“When you say local . . .”
“Right here on Corfu. When I knew we were coming, I brought the article with me to show you. The museum is located in Benitses, a traditional fishing village not far south of where we’re sitting. I still have time left on my vacation and hoped we might take a drive down to see it. Shouldn’t take us long.”
“Not a problem,” said David. “But I have to wonder about your reason? What makes this ‘arm’ so interesting to you?”
Nick answered by posing a question of his own.
“I assume you’ve heard of the early classical Greek sculptor Myron?”
“Certainly. Considered one of the best—though none of his originals have survived. If I’m not mistaken, the only knowledge and appreciation we have of his work comes down to us in the form of a few Roman copies.”
Nick nodded.
“Which were always made in very exacting size and detail to those Greek masterpieces still in existence. Each copy was commissioned by eminently rich Roman patrons of the arts who demanded nothing less.”
“Go on.”
“Well, one of these Roman copies is called Aries and is in the Vatican Museum. It’s been dated to sometime around 120 BCE—and near as I can tell, the size and position of its upper arm is a perfect match for what came up in the fisherman’s net back in 2008.”
David now understood.
“Then you’re speculating this ‘arm’ might’ve come off the original Aries sculpture by Myron?”
“It sure as hell looks like it to me. The part I find most puzzling is why no one else has made this possible connection.”
David sat back in his chair.
“As you know, Nick, I’m no expert on marine archaeology, so I’m not quite sure what possible help I can be. If your theory is right, then it seems the obvious first step must be to question the fisherman and locate exactly where he hauled it up. Until we learn—”
“Ahhh, well now that’s where the ‘mystery’ part comes into play, I’m afraid. According to the article, the fisherman disappeared off his trawler not long after he sold the artifact to the museum. Presumed drowned, his body was never found.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Southwest of Corfu Island. July 11, 2008
Despite the sea being borderline choppy throughout the morning, the swells presented no unmanageable problems for Ilias Sanna and his small trawler. He was used to its many faces, thinking it not unlike the precocious nature of a woman. If anything, he saw the rolling waves had finally begun to diminish as the sun tipped over its zenith, holding the prospect for an equally productive afternoon of fishing. With continued luck, the mixed catch of squid, cod, shrimp, and prawn already in his holding tanks should show a respectable profit for the day’s efforts—money he much needed at this particular juncture of his life.
This was of increasing importance to Ilias, for his financial responsibilities had increased several-fold in only the past year. Though his recently acquired obligations were at times worrisome, they were ones he nonetheless fully embraced and happily took to heart. At twenty-five and newly married, his first child was on the way—a son, if God willed—and a blessing that much occupied his mind during the time spent alone at sea.
Everything appeared to be going his way.
Indeed, life was good . . .
With the passage of an hour since his last retrieval, Ilias put the trawler’s 30 HP engine into neutral and moved to the stern. As he activated the power winch to begin the slow process of drawing the
long net up to the surface, he once again noted an unfamiliar craft off to his starboard. For some curious reason, it seemed to have been following him since early dawn.
A mere coincidence?
No matter, he concluded. Such things happened.
He guessed it to be a twenty-six foot speedboat of some sort. Too far away to actually tell. Whether through intent or chance, it always maintained a respectable distance, sometimes visible above the diminishing swells, but not always.
Until now.
With no other vessels on the horizon, the boat suddenly moved in his direction. And at a very rapid speed! For what exact purpose, he couldn’t imagine. As it drew near, he was relieved to see the man in control at least had the good sense to swing around to avoid intersecting his vulnerable nets before it pulled alongside. Seen up close, it was a high profile inboard with one man at the rail—one who was quick to climb uninvited onto the trawler’s deck.
Alarmed, Ilias reached for the only weapon at hand—a short, iron-hooked grappling rod—only to realize his defensive reaction came several seconds too late. He was staring into the barrel of a pistol aimed straight into his pounding chest.
“Drop it, Mr. Sanna.” The cold tone of the man’s voice gave Ilias no doubt he meant serious business. Though lean of build and far less than average height, his dark eyes likewise reflected his determination. “Leave everything exactly as it is. You’ll be coming with us.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Present. 11.10pm.
If the broad smiles and animated conversations inside the yacht’s main salon were any indicator, Alexei Talanov’s hastily arranged gathering was a success, leaving him well pleased with how things were so far progressing. The uniformed waiters were highly skilled—ever present, yet never intrusive—offering small delicacies along with fluted glasses of the finest champagne from his private wine reserves. Adding further to the night’s refined ambiance, a cellist situated somewhere in the near background provided melodic strains of classical music.
The oligarch knew how to entertain. Plus he knew to keep his security people at a minimum for this particular gathering, as inconspicuous as possible. Now all that remained for him was to cautiously pick the right time to pursue his next objective—and it appeared the opportunity had finally come.
Perfect!
From across the room, he watched two figures moving toward the single large painting dominating the farther wall. Confident his patience was about to pay off, he caught Pavel Bedev’s eye and gave a single nod, knowing his associate understood what was expected of him. With phase one set in motion, Talanov politely disengaged himself from the company of several prominent attendees and made his way toward his target.
Though the earlier event in his honor at the Hilton went off without any unanticipated surprises, one incident had taken him aback—yet in a way he found intriguing in the extreme. Even now it continued to occupy his mind. It happened toward the conclusion of the luncheon during his all-too-brief encounter with Professor Manning and his wife, Elizabeth. Not normally at a loss for words, he found himself in the unfamiliar position of being somewhat caught off guard as he shook her hand. Up close, her unadorned beauty momentarily stunned him, the long auburn hair and the brilliant emerald green of her eyes quite unlike anything he’d ever encountered. Compared to the overdressed women that normally drew his eye, the elegant simplicity of her pale yellow gown and minimal makeup came as a visual revelation, elevating her into a league of her own. Wearing but a single strand of modest pearls with matching earrings, she’d literally taken his breath away. If she sensed those fleeting seconds of awkwardness on his part, her polite smile gave nothing away as she introduced her son, a tall youth whose name now completely escaped him, for his entire focus had been on her alone.
In retrospect, he believed his initial reaction—though surprising to himself—probably wasn’t all that unusual, a pattern she doubtless encountered on a routine basis. After all, with her extraordinary looks, how could it be otherwise? However, someone who definitely took immediate notice was the bejeweled young woman who clung to him throughout the entire affair. At twenty-six and at the peak of her beauty, Alena was used to being put on display by her flamboyant lover. After ten months as the oligarch’s latest ‘traveling companion’, she understood his constant need to showcase all his latest acquisitions for the world to see. It took a sharp squeeze on his forearm to express her obvious displeasure, for she’d intuitively sensed a sudden threat to her present status.
Not that Talanov in any way cared.
* * * *
David and Elizabeth approached the large, ornately framed painting with growing interest. The seated focus of the piece was a silver-haired woman in perhaps her early eighties, the work rendered in oils by an artist of considerable talent. Though her attractive features were fine-boned and delicate, David was quick to pick up something else as well. Combined with the sparkling intensity of her blue eyes, the portrait likewise conveyed the distinct impression of a woman of inner strength and high intelligence. Certainly a close, blood relative to his host, he thought, finding more than enough family resemblance to warrant this conclusion. Thus it was curious to him there was no identification anywhere to be seen on the canvas or frame.
They both turned as a voice from behind addressed his unspoken speculation.
“Her name was Corrina,” said Talanov. “My late paternal grandmother. Greek by birth, and truly a wonderful woman on more levels than you can imagine.”
Now it made sense to David why this portrait held such a prominent spot.
“I take it she’s the namesake of your ship,” he responded. “A beautiful name.”
“She was a great influence on me, her passion for archaeology and antiquities quite contagious. As an impressionable youth, I spent a year living with her outside Athens.” Talanov paused, smiling in what was clearly meant to be a self-deprecating manner. “I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say she was the originator of my deep and abiding interest in the preservation of ancient Greek culture and art.”
“Quite commendable.”
“I do what I can.”
“In these difficult economic times for Greece, Mr. Talanov, I’m sure your generosity is much appreciated. I’m also told you’re somewhat of an avid collector yourself. Is this so?”
“Please. It’s Alexei to my friends. To answer your question, yes, I’m a collector of sorts—but only on a very modest level, I assure you.” He paused. “To be entirely honest, I was actually hoping we three could perhaps speak privately this evening about your remarkable exploits in the field of archaeology. Needless to say, I’m an avid follower of yours. It would be hard not to be since your involvement in so many recent discoveries has become quite legendary—and this despite all of your apparent attempts to deflect credit toward others. If you don’t mind, I’d certainly welcome such a conversation. Say perhaps in my private study? We have ample time now if you like. It’s still relatively early, and unless I’m mistaken, I believe my associate, Pavel, has just taken your friends and the two boys on a tour of the ship.”
And how timely is that? mused David, rapidly acquiring the distinct sensation of being manipulated—something guaranteed to rub him the wrong way.
“I’m flattered, of course,” he finally responded, “but I’m afraid there’s really nothing I can offer of any particular interest that isn’t already in the public domain. And as for all the occasional rumors floated about, such media speculation is largely groundless—or seriously over-exaggerated. I’m sure you of all people can readily identify with this.”
David was now equally annoyed by something else, as well, for he saw how Talanov’s eyes kept shifting to Elizabeth. Knowing her as well as he did, he saw this brazen attention was making her uncomfortable.
To bring him in line, he pointedly said, “You know, Alexei, we haven’t seen Alena this evening. Is she not here?” He raised his eyebrow. “I’d hate to think we somehow missed he
r?”
The intended barb registered, evidenced by a slight narrowing of the oligarch’s eyes as he refocused on David. Being rebuked in such a subtle manner clearly wasn’t something he routinely encountered.
“Well, no, actually,” Talanov replied with a tight-lipped smile. “Alena seemed a bit—how shall I say?—under the weather after the luncheon, so I thought it best she not attend. She was disappointed, but I insisted.”
“Sorry to hear this,” said David. “Hopefully she’ll be feeling better soon.” A glance at Elizabeth told him of her desire to call it a night. “I believe it’s about time we track down our friends and take our leave. We have a very full day scheduled for tomorrow.”
* * * *
With the eventual departure of the last attendees, a visibly disgruntled Talanov met with Pavel in his private study. Disappointment wasn’t an emotion he normally handled with ease—in particular when it occurred on two very connected levels. Despite his best efforts, nothing had developed anywhere near as planned.
He retrieved the thick folder labeled ‘David Manning’ from his desk drawer and flipped it open, only to then angrily close it. There was no point in reviewing it yet again, for the contents were all-too-familiar to him. He’d hoped to gather additional information tonight, but this wasn’t forthcoming. The secretive professor had given him nothing new with which to work. Thus the raw data supplied over the past year by Minister Stephanidis and several other sources would have to suffice.
But was this adequate for his purpose?
Though still undecided, it now struck him that perhaps the day wasn’t a complete waste after all. Despite Manning’s refusal to cooperate, another avenue for revenge had surfaced—a potential Achilles' heel begging to be exploited. Pondering this, he returned the file into the drawer and looked at his associate.
“Where’s Alena? Still angry and pouting?”
“On the contrary. I believe she’s now trying a different tact. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ll find her waiting in your suite.”
The Ionian Paradigm Page 3