His boots echoed on the wooden pier that swayed drunkenly beneath him. He did not like deep water or boats or ships, and traveling through Greece had promised much of that.
Catching up with Lourds had proven problematic. At first, Layla Teneen had been cautious, unwilling to even talk about Professor Lourds, and Dmitry had understood. She had wanted Lourds kept out of harm’s way. Dmitry had calmly, professionally told her that the only way to do that was to remove the threat.
“That is exactly what Thomas said.” She had sounded anxious and tired. “He told me that if he could find Alexander’s tomb, then this would be over. That there would be nothing to be taken or hidden or kept secret.”
“In one respect, Professor Teneen, that would be correct. But Anna Cherkshan will not be avenged. That is what I will do. And I can protect Lourds at the same time.”
Eventually, she had agreed, but she had not spoken with Lourds in a while and did not know his exact location. He had not told her his plans, and she did not know for certain where he had gone.
Dmitry had tried using tracking software from low earth orbit satellites that were available to the SVR, but even the LEOs had failed to pinpoint Lourds’s satphone ping. Past experience had proven that even using the Doppler shift calculations could be off by several kilometers.
Finally, last night, Lourds had spoken with Professor Teneen and told her where he was. As Dmitry had requested, for fear of being overheard by Colonel Linko, she had not mentioned Dmitry and his group.
Dmitry wore combat armor under his long coat, and he carried a Heckler & Koch MP3 submachine pistol on a Whip-it sling on his shoulder under the garment as well. The rest of his unit, all hard men who had seen action in Chechnya and other covert actions around the globe, were similarly attired.
Standing once more on the solid ground of the shoreline, Dmitry took a map from his chest pouch and unfolded it.
An old fisherman approached them. “You are visitors, yes?” His English was stilted but easily understandable.
“Yes.” Dmitry smiled at the man.
“Visitors do not usually come this time of year.”
“We thought we would come when it was not so crowded.”
The man nodded. “Not so crowded now. But cold.”
“Not too cold for fishing, I see.”
The old man grinned. “Never too cold for fishing.”
“Have you seen many other tourists?”
“Yes. Many men. Two groups go into the old places.” The man pointed in the direction of the ruins. “They not come back yet. Camping. Probably archeologists.” He had trouble with the word.
“How many men?”
The old man thought for a moment. “First group ten men. Second group, maybe thirty.”
That caught Dmitry by surprise. He had thought Linko would have tried to keep his operation small. Dmitry had only brought six men with him. Moving even that many through customs and getting the proper identification in order had been difficult. Linko must have hired local talent to supplement his forces.
“Thank you for your time. I wish you good fortune with your fishing.”
“Thank you. And may you have good fortune with your travels. You come back later, I fry you some fish. We will have wine.”
“I will be back.” Before Dmitry had gone three steps, the ground beneath him quivered and shook and rolled, then snapped back into solid earth again.
The old man laughed. “That was an earthquake. We have many of those here. There is nothing to worry about. The old stories say it is because Poseidon is angry out to sea. He strikes the ground with his trident and causes the earth to tremble.” He nodded out at the Adriatic. “Somewhere out there, a storm is brewing. You will see.”
Dmitry nodded and continued on. To the west, the sky was darkening, obscuring the setting sun. It would be twilight in another three hours or so. He hoped to have located Lourds — or at least Linko — in that time.
50
The second well was in worse shape than the first. More stones had been scavenged, leaving almost nothing of the original retaining walls. Dark patches of earth filled with roots and worms and grubs marred the walls. A few wine bottles and the remains of a campfire occupied one corner.
Fitrat smiled at the ashes and the bottles. “Boys trying to be men.”
“Thousands of years ago, you would have probably found the same thing in many abandoned or out-of-the-way places like this, only they would have been wineskins, not bottles.”
“We do not change so much over all this time.”
“Not really.” Lourds swept the walls with his flashlight. “It’s getting darker.”
“A storm is rolling in from the sea.” Fitrat sniffed. “You can smell it.”
Lourds had noticed the changes in the weather as well. “Perhaps we should head back for the night. There’s no sense in staying out here and getting wet.”
Fitrat nodded. “I would like a chance to eat a meal made over a campfire rather than trail bars inside a tent. Even though we will only be opening cans, that is better than granola.”
Lourds chuckled. “It’s a shame you can’t just whip up something while we’re out here.”
Fitrat shrugged. “Perhaps we could buy a goat from one of the men in the town.”
“Hey.” Rahimi stood at the top of the well. “I found another well.”
“Another one?” Lourds started up from the well, and he felt a spark of excitement. He took the small walkie-talkie the team had purchased to communicate while on the exploration from his backpack. “Adonis?”
“Yes?”
“Have you found anything that looks like wells where you are?”
Marias was silent for a moment. “Two, but they go nowhere. Why?”
“I have an idea. I need you to mark those wells with something we can see from a distance. Use the orange fluorescent spray paint. Then we need to meet up on the hill.”
Twenty minutes later, they gathered on the small rise that overlooked the ruins and the vicinity they’d been searching. Lourds held a copy of the strange geometrical shape they’d made by connecting the mysterious dots on the back of the Oracle scroll.
Marias peered over his shoulder as he consulted the map.
“We’ve found five wells so far.” Lourds pointed down the hill to where the orange Xs glowed in the gathering gloom. “See how the ones we marked correspond to the dots?”
“It’s a map?”
“More than that. This is something you should have caught.” Lourds loved being ahead of the curve on his friend.
“Why should I have caught something I plainly still do not see?”
“Because you’re the expert on Greek mythology. This isn’t a map, Adonis. It’s a constellation.”
Marias looked at the shape a moment more, then he grew more excited. “You are right.” He leaned in closer. “This is Auriga. Eight stars comprise the constellation, the brightest of which is Capella.”
“Excuse me.” Fitrat looked at both of them. “What is Auriga?”
Marias talked excitedly. “Not a what. A who. He was believed to be the hero Erichthonius of Athens. He drove out Amphictyon, who had taken the throne from Cranaus. According to the mythology, he was the chthonic son, born of the earth when Hephaestus tried to rape Athena. Hephaestus did not manage the task because Athena fought him off, but the seed of the god fell to the earth, and Erichthonius was born anyway.”
“Why would Auriga be important to Alexander?”
Marias shook his head. “That we may never know. But the wooden rollers on the coded scroll had serpents on them. Ericthonius had a son, Pandion I, whose symbol was a snake. His mark is on the statue of Athena in the Parthenon — the snake hidden behind her shield.”