He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. But if you want seven figures, I’m going to need to know what it is I’m selling.”
She handed him a memory stick and he plugged it into his computer, a series of photos displayed.
“What am I looking at?”
“Proof of who is buried at the tomb.”
His eyes widened as he clicked through the photos. “You’ve figured it out?”
“We have.”
“Who?”
And when he heard, he realized seven figures wouldn’t be a problem at all, perhaps even eight.
And that meant a new class of criminal would become involved.
A far more dangerous class than he had ever dealt with.
4 |
Cylon Residence
City of Athens
632 BC
Cylon lay on a couch, wine in hand, listening to the impassioned debate of his friends. Stimulating conversation was his favorite pastime, even more so than sport, at which he excelled. As a champion of the Olympics, he was hailed a hero by most of Athens’ citizenry, and with his position as a member of one of the aristocratic families, he was shown automatic respect.
But respect with a smile.
The people loved him.
And it was this very reason that started the conversations surrounding the troubles now facing Athens, and the possible solutions he and his friends could bring. He was a public figure, he was loved by the masses, he was handsome, wealthy, and well-married, his father-in-law the tyrant of Megara, a city much better off than it had been before Theagenes’ takeover.
Athens wasn’t suffering. Not yet. But it would if this foolish notion of granting more power to the citizens were to continue unopposed. At one time, it was only the aristocracy that had a say in the affairs of the city-state. After all, it was the aristocracy that defended the city, that paid for everything the citizenry enjoyed. But with the advent of the hoplite soldier, who merely had to provide his own body armor and weapon, and in exchange for fighting for the city was given a say in its affairs, the grip on power people like him had held since time immemorial was slipping away.
And it was well known that the common man was an idiot.
The uneducated masses shouldn’t be allowed to hold sway over the affairs that affected people like him, the privileged few who had made this great city what it was today. To suggest that the unwashed masses could do better was an insult to the countless generations before him that had built what the citizenry took for granted.
This notion of people having a say was insulting. It was selfish. It was ignorant.
And it couldn’t stand.
The archons leading the city into ruin had to be replaced, replaced by people of strength, of good character, and of good standing. People like him.
“What will you do now that you have Apollo’s blessing?”
Cylon regarded his best friend, Basileios. He had known the man since childhood. They had fought countless battles at each other’s side, and competed as friendly rivals in the Olympics.
They were inseparable.
Among their friends, it was often said they were brothers of another mother, their similarities so numerous.
He didn’t know what he would do without him.
“What would you have me do, my friend?”
Basileios held up his wine. “I would honor the will of the gods.” He rose to address those gathered. “My friends, we have been given an opportunity that must not be let to pass. My good friend, my best friend, Cylon, has proven time and again that he loves our great city, that he loves its people. He has proven he is a fine warrior, a champion Olympian, and a skilled administrator, his house one of the greatest in our fair city.” Basileios paused, surveying those around him. “But he has also shown he is not driven by the ambition that too many who would take power are commanded by. Our good friend here, rather than rush out and seize power, because we urged him to, instead sought the council of Pythia, and was granted a rare audience. He completed the rituals, and passed the tests necessary to actually receive her council, and when asked if he should do that which we have been urging him for months, the Oracle of Apollo herself said yes. And she actually told him when he should do it, on the day that honors Zeus himself.” He turned and smiled at Cylon, raising his cup. “To our future leader, Cylon!”
Drinks were raised all around, those gathered chanting his name three times before downing their imbibements. Servants rushed from the periphery, refilling the cups, as Cylon acknowledged the courtesy shown him, then rose, bringing a silence of anticipation.
“Some may doubt what the Oracle said to me. I can understand this, for often what she says is ambiguous. But what is often unclear, what often has more than one meaning, cannot be said of the prophecy given to me. She said, ‘should you act wisely, you will succeed in unifying the people of Athens.’ And that is what I think we have all been doing. Acting wisely. We have not rushed to a quick decision on what should be done. We have debated this for months, and with Pythia’s words, I am certain the decision we have come to is the correct one. But we must still not rush into things. She said ‘take action not this day, but on the day that honors Zeus.’ She also warned that not doing so would result in tragedy. Though it will require some patience, we must not ignore her warning.”
“The next festival honoring Zeus is in three weeks. This will give us time to organize, to make sure the people are on our side when we make a move.” Basileios held up his cup, staring at the heavens. “Our god Apollo is truly wise.”
Cylon smiled, but shook his head. “He is indeed, but not so much you, I fear.”
Gentle laughter swept through the friends, even Basileios joining in. “I bow to your greater wisdom, oh wise one. Please, explain to me how I am the fool.”
“The next day that honors the great Zeus is in two days, at the start of the Olympics.”
Basileios’ eyebrows rose. “Are you sure? I mean, yes, Zeus is of course honored during the opening ceremonies, but the day honors many gods. The Festival of Pandia in three weeks specifically honors our god Zeus, and him alone. This would also give us the time to organize our supporters. Two days simply isn’t enough time.”
Cylon smiled at his friend’s concern. “Your words are wise, my friend, and not those of a fool, I assure you. And if the message had been delivered to anyone else, I might agree with you. But it wasn’t. It was delivered to me, not only an Olympian, but an Olympic champion. Surely, Apollo recognized the significance of this. Surely, he meant for me to seize control on the anniversary of my greatest triumph, when the citizenry is filled with the memories of my victory, and their hearts are filled with the joy of sport and competition.”
“But—”
Cylon raised a hand, silencing his friend. “And there is one more thing, one more thing I have not yet shared with any of you.”
All present leaned forward, including the servants that surrounded them.
He held aside his robe, revealing the amulet given to him by Pythia. “This amulet was given to me as a token by the high priestess herself, after the prophecy was delivered. She said it would give me the strength of Apollo.” He paused to let his words sink in, the gasps and excited utterances proving his words were having the desired effect. “Let our followers know of the prophecy, let them know of this gift from the high priestess, and let them know that we are fueled by the power of Apollo in our quest to restore order to our great city!”
Everyone rose to their feet, chanting his name while pumping their fists high in the air.
And goosebumps rippled over his body as he relived his Olympic glory, his chest swelling as he realized that once he took power, the entire city would chant his name for the rest of his days.
“Should you succeed, blessed will be all who wear it. But should you fail, all who possess it shall know nothing but misery.”
He suppressed the frown that threatened to spoil the moment as he remembered the rest of what Pythia had said,
and the doubt those words brought. For if he did indeed have the power of Apollo behind him, then how could he possibly fail? It was a contradiction that made no sense, and the more he thought about it, the more he was plagued by uncertainty.
Perhaps Basileios was right, and they should delay for several weeks to unite their forces.
But it was too late. To change it now would be to show weakness.
He was committed.
And it could mean the death of him, and everyone he loved.
5 |
Granger/Trinh Residence
St. Paul, Maryland
Present Day
Tommy Granger raised his glass rather awkwardly, leaving little doubt the young man wasn’t used to drinking from a wine glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
Archaeology Professor James Acton put down his fork and raised his glass, along with his wife, Laura Palmer, and Tommy’s other half, Mai Trinh.
“Umm, ahh, I’m not sure what to say. I think, umm, that this might actually be the first toast I’ve ever given, but, umm, I’d like to thank you both for coming tonight. You’ve both been so good to us, so supportive—”
“And fed us countless times!” interjected Mai.
Tommy smiled at her, his eyes revealing the love he had for the young woman. “Too many times!” He returned his attention to their guests. “And now that we have our own place, and we’ve figured out how to operate all the appliances, we’ll start trying to repay you for your kindnesses.” He lifted his glass a little higher. “May this be the first of many meals we enjoy together here.”
“Hear, hear!” Acton took a drink then put his glass down.
“Well done, Tommy,” said Laura. “I would never have guessed that was your first toast.”
Tommy blushed. “Well, I did practice a little.”
Mai squeezed his hand. “For days!”
Acton laughed. “Well, I remember when I was a kid, I was in Boy Scouts. We had a big jamboree, and I was asked to say grace. We were never that religious growing up, so I had no clue what the heck that was, so when it was time, my Scout Leader nodded at me and I rose, bowing my head along with hundreds of other kids, then said ‘Grace.’ I sat back down and started to eat. It took me a few moments before I realized everyone was just staring at me, then suddenly the entire place broke out into laughter.” He sighed. “You wouldn’t believe the number of dishes I had to wash that night.”
Laura squeezed the back of his neck. “I love that story. ‘Grace.’ Can you believe it?”
Tommy was grinning, though Acton had a sense that Mai was only joining in out of respect, the young woman, a Vietnamese refugee for all intents and purposes, her exposure to American culture only recent. She was thriving, especially now that Tommy was in her life, but it would take time before she picked up on all the idiosyncrasies that made an American American.
He envied her immersion in a new culture so alien to her own, yet it wasn’t all smiles. She missed her family. Terribly. Though with modern technology, and some greased palms of their neighbors, she was able to speak to them from time-to-time using borrowed phones.
She didn’t dare call them directly, as the Vietnamese government was not pleased with her. She had sacrificed her future in Vietnam to help strangers in their time of need.
And paid a heavy price.
Though if one were to walk into that small, humble apartment today, and see the joy on her face, one could be forgiven for thinking her past was simply a story told to entertain, rather than the truth.
But he had been there, and so had Laura, and if it weren’t for young Mai Trinh, they’d both probably be dead, or worse, in a Vietnamese prison, rotting with the vermin.
“Where are you?”
He flinched. “Huh?”
“You look like you’re a million miles away.”
Acton smiled at Laura, patting the hand on his shoulder that had shaken him out of his reverie. “Sorry, just remembering how we all met.”
Phaser fire erupted from his pocket and he looked down, aghast at having forgotten to put his phone on vibrate. “I’m so sorry.” He fished his phone out and checked the number displayed. “Country code thirty. Is that Greece?”
Laura nodded. “I think so. Answer it and find out.”
Acton turned to his hosts. “Do you mind?”
Both shook their heads. “Of course not,” replied Tommy.
Acton swiped his thumb and pressed the phone against his ear. “Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Jim?”
His eyes narrowed, not recognizing the voice, though the accent confirmed Greece. “Yes, it is. To whom am I speaking?”
The man laughed. “I wouldn’t expect you’d recognize my voice after all these years. This is Professor Basil Antoniou, from the University of Athens.”
Acton smiled as he pictured the awkward man he hadn’t seen in at least five years. “Basil, how are you?”
“I’m well, very well. And you?”
“Still on the right side of the dirt. Married as well.” He gave Laura’s knee a squeeze.
“Wonderful news, though I was aware. The archaeology world is a small one, and when two of its most prominent members wed, the news is bound to spread.”
Acton laughed. “I suppose so. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m calling to invite you and your lovely wife to Greece. Phaleron Delta to be exact.”
Acton’s heart skipped a beat as a smile spread across his face. “The necropolis?”
“So, you’ve heard of it?”
Acton chuckled. “In passing.”
It was Antoniou’s turn to laugh. “Will you come? I’d love to show you both around.”
“Let me confirm with Laura.” He held the phone against his chest. “You, me, tomorrow, the Phaleron Delta Necropolis. In?”
“Is a bear Catholic? But make it the day after tomorrow.”
He grinned then returned to his call. “How’s the day after tomorrow sound?”
“Like someone who has too much time on his hands. Let me know when you’re arriving, and I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“Will do. Thanks for the invite, Basil, I’ve been dying to see what you guys have found.”
“It’s breathtaking, Jim, absolutely breathtaking.” He sighed. “And heartbreaking.”
Acton frowned, picturing the images splashed across the newspapers worldwide only recently. “It is, indeed. Have you figured out who they are?”
“Yes.”
Acton’s eyes shot wide. “You have? Who?”
“You’ll have to wait until you get here. I’ll see you soon, my friend.”
The call ended and Acton placed the phone on the table. “He says they’ve figured out who’s buried at the necropolis.”
Laura drew a quick breath. “Who?”
“The bastard wouldn’t tell me. He said we’d have to wait until we got there.”
“Where is there?” asked Tommy.
“Greece. Phaleron Delta, to be exact. It’s a suburb of Athens. A few years ago, when they were excavating to build a new opera house and library, they discovered a massive burial mound. The site I think is over ten acres, and they’ve found over a thousand bodies so far. But there was one section they just recently excavated that has them puzzled. They found about eighty bodies, most lined up neatly, and shackled together, along with another smaller group that were shackled, but all mixed together as if just piled on top of each other. Most of the skeletons showed evidence of violent deaths, which suggested they were criminals, but for them to have been buried with at least a modicum of respect, suggested otherwise. It’s a puzzle, and it would appear that our good professor might have discovered the solution.”
“Sounds exciting!” gushed Mai.
“It does.” Acton regarded Mai for a moment. Since they had received word that Laura couldn’t have children due to a gunshot wound, they had both resigned themselves to growing old alone. But with Mai so young, Acton had come to almost think of
her as a daughter, and was certain he was a father figure to her. A smile spread. “Why don’t you two come with us? You may never get another chance to see something like this.”
Laura squeezed his leg in approval.
And Mai’s brightening face filled his heart with the warmth a father would at seeing his daughter so excited. “Could we?”
“Absolutely.” He turned to Tommy. “Do you think you can get a few days off?”
“Umm, I sort of work for you, don’t I?”
Acton grinned. “Oh yeah.” He shrugged. “We’ll take pictures for you.”
Tommy’s jaw dropped and Acton roared with laughter, Laura joining in, Mai taking a few moments before she realized it was all a joke. Tommy remained red-faced. “You’re an evil man, Professor.”
Laura laughed. “You have no idea.”
6 |
En route to the Acropolis
City of Athens
632 BC
“You fool, the Olympics are that way!”
Cylon stared at the man, no anger in his heart toward him, for he wasn’t the first to have shouted such a sentiment at him and his followers.
The day wasn’t going as he had envisioned.
Not at all.
It had started strong. Over one hundred of his aristocratic friends had met at his home, all in their impressive armor, all filled with the righteous fervor such an occasion warranted. He had been a bundle of nerves himself, but all smiles, for today was to be a great day, and by the end of it, he would be Cylon, Tyrant of Athens.
Though to succeed, he needed the people behind him.
And all indications suggested they weren’t.
At first, as they marched through the streets, his followers spreading the word, they were joined by dozens then hundreds. Yet when challenged, many of those who followed proved to be spectators rather than supporters, and broke away from his group, or continued to follow, joining in on the mocking or outright challenges, demanding by what right he thought he should rule Athens.
The Cylon Curse Page 2