Korać picked it up and gave it a contemptuous look. “But what is it?”
“It’s a likeness of a Phoenician goddess named Tanit who was worshipped in North Africa three thousand years ago. She’s made of gold and there are diamonds embedded in her as well.”
“How do you know this?” Korać asked Kruger, still not lifting his eyes from the idol.
“I’m a leading archaeologist in the field,” Kruger replied haughtily. “I’ve dedicated my life to uncovering some of the greatest archaeological sites of the ancient world.”
Yeah, Hawke thought. And looting them for your own benefit.
Korać was equally as unimpressed with the South African’s grandstanding. “So, what is special about her? There is not that much gold on her.”
“She was found in a temple in Mexico which was sealed long before the Spanish or any other Europeans arrived — ah — I see now I have your interest.”
Korać had finally raised his eyes off the idol and was now burning two holes in Dirk Kruger. “You may continue.”
Hawke saw a flash of hatred in Kruger’s eyes, and guessed not many people spoke to him like this, but he and Van Zyl were clearly playing the long game as far as Dragan Korać was concerned.
“No one knows how the hell this thing ended up in Mexico, but it is my opinion that this little idol is identical to a statue in Madrid that many believe is an Atlantean goddess who was worshipped in Tartessos, a colony of Atlantis. For me the possibility of a link is too great to ignore. She was found in Mexico, but she came from Atlantis originally.”
Korać gave a long evaluating nod and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table. He shovelled more of the lamb in his face and released another violent belch into the room. “It is true you have intrigued me, but my army is not cheap. Where will we be deployed?”
“Morocco.”
Hawke and Reaper shared a silent glance.
Korać whistled. “This is not an easy thing to do, as I am sure you will appreciate. It takes a great deal of logistics to move my men around the world, although we are more than a little familiar with Africa.”
Kruger shrugged. Hawke could see he was relishing having the upper hand again. “You tell me your men are the best private army in the world, so I came to you with this. My expertise tells me that the signs are pointing to the Atlas Mountains, so that is where I need your army. Either you can do it or you can’t.”
“The Atlas Mountains?” Korać was shocked. “You think there is some kind of link between the Atlas Mountains and Atlantis?”
“Yes. They have a strong connection to the legend, but to find the truth we will have to go there.”
“Where exactly?” Korać asked.
Kruger looked around the room at the other men and lowered his voice. “There’s a gorge near the Valley of Roses. The symbols refer to it. I think that’s our location.”
“You say she is from Atlantis originally — how do you know this?”
“This inscription starts with the symbol for the ancient Persian god Apam Napat — the god of the sea — and ends with the Valley of the Roses. It reads: from Apam Napat’s Kingdom to the Valley of the Roses. A beginning and an end. It’s written almost like an obituary.”
“An obituary? I thought you said Tanit was a goddess?”
“I’m just telling you my opinion.”
Another long silence and slow nod from Dragan Korać before he turned to Hawke and Reaper. “What do you two think?”
“We follow the money,” Reaper said.
The Serb nodded once. “A good plan, I’m sure… and now my men will take you to the courtyard.” He gestured for Hawke and Reaper to join him, and then standing between them he placed a paternal arm over each of their shoulders. “We have business there.”
Hawke met his gaze, and pulled his arm off. He didn’t want to let the idol out of his sight but there was nothing he could do without giving himself away. “Business?”
“Yes, business! Come… join me. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Lead the way, boss,” Reaper said.
They moved through the lower floors of the fort until reaching a set of large timber doors reinforced with heavy iron bolts and hinges. A merc moved ahead and respectfully opened one of the doors, quickly moving out of Korać’s way, and a second later they stepped out into a broad cobblestone yard.
The low autumn sun was coming down at a strange angle through a slit in the clouds and an ominous, crimson light was filling the yard. When his eyes had adjusted to this, Hawke saw another group of men in fake leather jackets and black jeans standing around in a huddle in the corner a few yards from a Mighty Bucky bull-riding machine. This was an unexpected sight to see inside a fortress run by a Serbian warlord, but he kept his surprise concealed and focussed on the men. They were smoking and grumbling, and one of them flicked a cigarette to the ground. Another coughed loudly and stared up at the sky with his hands jammed in his pockets. He looked bored.
When another of the men saw Korać approach, he flicked the other around the shoulder and pointed. With tangible terror on his young face, the first man reached down for his cigarette butt and crushed it in his hand before putting in his pocket and scuffing the soot mark off the cobblestones.
A second later the group broke up to reveal two older men on their knees in the corner of the yard with their hands on their heads. One had a full beard and the other had a thick moustache. The one with the moustache was visibly shaking but trying to control it. Hawke didn’t like the look of it one little bit.
“What is this?” Hawke said.
Korać pointed to the bearded man. “His name is Čanak. He attacked my daughter and she barely got away with her life.” With a flourish, he now pointed to the other man. “And his name is Dačić. He lied to me to give his friend an alibi and get him off. Today, Čanak and Dačić are being executed for their crimes against my family.”
Reaper glanced at the Englishman. “So give them to the police…” he said.
Korać and the other men fell about laughing. “I know two things about you now,” Korać said though the chuckling. “You do not know the Serbian police, and you do not have daughters.”
Hawke and Reaper remained silent while the former Serbian commander settled his men down and approached the prisoners. “Old Serbian proverb — God gave himself a beard first, my friends,” he said, slapping the bearded man around the back of his head.
“What does that mean?” Reaper said.
“You help yourself before you help others, no?”
“What are you saying?” said Hawke.
“Yes,” Reaper said. “What has this got to do with us?”
Korać turned to Hawke and gave him a ghoulish smile as one of his men handed him a heavy antique Ottoman sword. In turn, Korać gave it to Hawke. “You are their executioners and if you don’t kill them, then my men will kill you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Richard Eden was in Elysium’s Memorial Garden with his eyes closed and his mind whirring. Situated in a quiet part of the island to the south of the complex it was a serene place guarded by a ring of palm trees and the name plaques of their fallen colleagues rested peacefully in the sun-dappled shade. From behind the safety of his sunglasses, his eyes settled momentarily on the latest three additions — Ben Ridgeley, Alfie Mills and Sasha Harding. It was hard to believe they were gone and now rested alongside Olivia Hart and Sophie Durand.
He came here from time to time to contemplate things when life grew too painful, or when ECHO business started to climb all over the top of him and make him feel like it was crushing him. Now was one of those times. The Mexican affair had proved costly — three of their own brutally murdered in the jungle and two more — Maria and Ryan — coming perilously close to being sacrificed in Mictlan by the lunatic Morton Wade.