‘But it is too late,’ shouted Rubria, ‘The flames are out of control.’
‘My life has been dedicated to the Goddess,’ said the head Priestess, ‘She has given me my whole reason for living. I cannot forsake her now.’
Rubria stared at her.
‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I am ashamed.’ She reached out and took the hand of the high Priestess before adding, ‘We will go together.’
Despite the pleading of everyone around them, they turned around and ran back into the temple.
Flames were roaring from the windows on the upper levels of the Temple and forcing their way out between the red clay tiles of the roof. People shielded their faces from the heat as they peered into the inferno for any sign of the two Priestesses. Suddenly a figure forced himself to the front of the crowd.
‘What’s happened?’ he shouted above the noise.
‘Two of our Sisters ran back in to save the treasures,’ said a coughing Priestess.
‘Who? asked Dragus, ‘Who went back in?’
‘The High Priestess and Rubria,’ she said.
‘How long ago?’ he demanded.
‘No more than a few moments,’ she said.
He looked around and focussed on a bystander holding a redundant bucket of water, his mind racing furiously.
‘Give me that,’ he said and started to remove his cloak.
‘It’s no good,’ said the onlooker, ‘This is the last. One bucket won’t make any difference to that lot.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Centurion, ‘I won’t be wasting it on the flames.’ He shoved the cape into the bucket until most of the water had been soaked up into the fabric, and poured what was left over his head. He wrapped the cape around him, and after taking a few deep breaths, held one edge to cover his face before running through the smoke and into the courtyard.
Chapter 16
Samothrace 2010
Half an hour after the phone call, Brandon was ushered through a weather worn door and up a side stairwell. When the car had arrived back at his hotel, he had been thoroughly searched and bundled into the back seat of a small car. Two moody, but casually dressed men sat with him in the back, one either side of him and they had driven for half an hour before pulling up outside a shabby looking hotel somewhere in the mountains. One of them knocked on a door, and, after a few moments, a voice called out for them to enter.
‘Mr Walker,’ said a man, sat at a side table, ‘Come on in.’ He stood up and shook Brandon’s hand. ‘I am a representative from the ministry of citizen protection.’
‘Hello,’ said Brandon, warily, ‘Why am I here and where is India?’
‘She is fine,’ said the official, ‘But all in good time. Please, take a seat.’
Brandon sat down, and looked around the room. It was typical of any three star hotel anywhere in the world. Typical, that is, except for the armed bodyguard standing just inside the doorway, blocking any escape route.
‘Mr Walker,’ said the official, ‘I will get straight to the point. I understand you have been asking questions about a certain individual by the name of Venezelos.’
Brandon thought furiously. If this man was indeed an official then the chances were that he had access to governmental resources and probably already knew a lot about him. However, If he was some sort of criminal, he may just be lying to extract information. He decided not to risk it and stuck to their cover story.
‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘Peter Venezelos. Don’t know him that well but we met in England and he asked me to call in on his mother.’
‘Where exactly did you meet him?’ asked the official.
‘In some pub near Victoria Station,’ lied Brandon before adding, ‘I’m sorry, who exactly are you and why am I here?’
‘You are here, because I too am interested in Mr Venezelos, and, as a representative of the law, I expect you to answer all my questions accurately,’ said the officer, his voice taking on a harder edge.
‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ said Brandon, ‘We are simply a couple of tourists who have been asked to deliver some flowers. If we have done anything wrong…’
‘Mr Walker,’ interrupted the man, ‘We are both professionals and I don’t want to waste time playing silly games. Let’s just get straight to the point. We know you are a serving British officer and strongly suspect you of being in the SAS.’
Brandon was horrified, but tried to keep up the pretence.
‘This is absurd,’ he said, I’m leaving. He stood up and turned to the door, only to see the guard’s hand reach to an inside jacket pocket, indicating a weapon.
‘Sit down,’ said the guard menacingly.
Brandon calculated his chances but realised he could not cross the room before the guard could draw his gun. He turned and sat back down.
‘Thank you,’ said the official, ‘No need for any unpleasantness, perhaps these may help.’ He threw a handful of photographs on the table, all of Brandon in various places in England. One in particular was obviously taken from a moving vehicle and showed him walking into a camp carrying a large blue holdall. Behind him was a sign that clearly said ‘Stirling Lines.’
‘Now, can we stop this pretence?’ he asked.’ I care not whether you are in the SAS or the boy scouts. All I want to know is information about Peter Venezelos. I am not asking you to betray your country or give away any military secrets. All I want to know are two things. One, is he alive? And two, where is he now?’
Brandon realised he was compromised and assessed the situation. He was unarmed in a locked room with a man with a gun. His training kicked in and he assessed the situation carefully. What the man was asking would be common knowledge soon enough so there was no need to put his life, or the life of India at risk by holding out. If this man didn’t know where Peter Venezelos was, he probably wasn’t aware that he was dead. This was an opportunity to increase his chances by giving some truth to his story without revealing too much information.
‘Okay,’ said Brandon. ‘I admit I am a serving British officer but in the army training corps, not the SAS. I was in Hereford teaching Morse code.’
The man shrugged.
‘We won’t pursue that,’ he said. ‘It is not important.’
‘If I tell you what I know,’ said Brandon, ‘How do I know you will let us go?’
‘We are not animals, Mr Walker,’ he said.’ Greece is a civilised country, and was so, long before your little island had even learned how to clothe themselves. We are a member of the European Union and share a common purpose. What we don’t do, is allow foreigners into our country on a mission to kill one of our citizens.’
‘Kill?’ gasped Brandon. You have got this all wrong. What on earth makes you think I am an assassin?’
‘Why else would you carry a gun?’ asked the man simply.
‘Wow,’ said Brandon, ‘You’ve certainly done your homework. Okay, I will tell you what I know.’ He paused to gather his thoughts. The gun is for my own protection. The man you speak of tried to kill me back in England. I caught him trying to break into my house. He escaped but dropped his wallet. We traced it here and I am just here to see if I can find anything out.’
‘And have you?’
‘Not really, it seems he was a member of some gang long ago, but, apart from that we have found out nothing.’
‘And the girl?’
‘She has nothing to do with this. She is just a friend. I asked her along to avoid suspicion.’
The man glanced at the guard at the door who nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Okay,’ said the Greek man, ‘This all fits with what we know. What about his brother?’
‘I know nothing about a brother.’
The officer stared for a while before continuing.
‘I tell you what, Mr Walker,’ he said, ‘Despite the rocky start, I believe you are telling me the truth. To prove our credentials I will return the compliment and share with you what I know. Peter Venezelos has a twin brother called Jason. They are citizens of Samothrace and were small time drug dealers. When we arrested them they agreed to take part in a sting to catch the main dealers and we set them up with a hundred thousand dollars to bait the trap. Unfortunately, the temptation was too great and they fled Greece with the money. Naturally we want them, and the money back. They were last seen in Rome, so you can imagine, when somebody arrived asking questions, we were naturally very interested.’