“Game, set and match to Athena then?” said Lea.
“Indeed. Cecrops declared Athena the winner and named his city after her. She became their goddess and protected them and their city.”
“And Poseidon took all this like a gent?” Lea said.
“Not at all. He was enraged, and he flooded the Thriasian Plain and drowned half of the Attica Peninsula under seawater with his trident.”
“Nice guy.”
“And that’s the power that Zaugg wants to get his hands on.”
“And how do we know all this?”
“It’s a famous legend, and one of the places it was recorded was on the Temple of Athena up on the Acropolis in Athens, where it's carved into the stone for all time.”
“So what does this have to do with the clue on our vase?”
“Athena’s victory was gained by her planting of an olive tree, and the first part of Demetriou’s sentence tells us to place our hands into the earth to share her victory. I’d say the key to this is buried under an olive tree somewhere.”
“Excellent,” Lea said. “There are only a few hundred million of them in Greece.”
“This whole thing is like a Cretan Labyrinth!” Ryan said.
“What the hell is the Cretan Labyrinth?” she asked.
Ryan replied: “A seven-circuit maze system designed by Daedalus for King Minos son of Zeus. It was built to contain the Minotaur until Theseus could kill him.” He paused for long enough to make Lea turn and ask him if there was a problem.
“Er… well — I’m not sure,” was his reply. “Just looking a bit closer into the legend and there’s more and more talk of something called the nectar of the gods, but it says something here that I haven’t come across before.”
“What is it?”
“Something about ambrosia.”
“Ambrosia?” Lea asked. “Not the bloody custard?”
Ryan shook his head and sighed. “I used to find your ignorance attractive,” he said wearily. “A sort of Pygmalion thing, I suppose, but actually it’s really worrying.”
“Not the custard then?”
“No, not the sodding custard. Ambrosia was the nectar of the gods which is what many believed made them immortal. Demetriou’s research is indicating that it was not merely legendary but actually real.”
“This just gets better,” said Lea.
“It says here that the vault of Poseidon — and he’s citing a passage of Herodotus I don’t recognize, which is odd — but anyway, it says that the vault is real — which we know now thanks to the Ionian Texts — and that its location was recorded by the Vienna Painter and hidden in two vases, but it also makes these references to the divine nectar.”
“You’re telling me that Zaugg’s not really after the trident at all, but some kind of…”
“Immortality,” said Ryan, finishing her sentence.
“But this isn’t confirmed, right?”
“I guess not… it just looks like something this Demetriou has dug up on his travels around the internet. It's just to do with the legend of the gods’ ambrosia and how it mustn’t be touched by mortal man or…” he paused again.
“What, Ryan?”
“Sorry — just making sure my translation is good. This Demetriou is very articulate actually, if you look at how he…”
“Ryan!”
“Ah, sorry — anyway, it says here that if mortal man tries to control the power of the elixir of life the sky will turn to fire and all mankind will burn to death.”
“The sky will turn to fire?” Lea said. “And here I was frightened of the freaking trident. What does it mean?”
“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” said Sophie, who had walked over to the desk.
“Ryan, text that to Hawke will, you? If the goddamn sky’s going to set on fire I want Hawke to know about it in advance!”
“Sure thing.” Ryan tapped out the message.
“And Sophie, get back to that door and keep an eye out for…”
Suddenly the door burst open and they were faced with three armed men holding close-quarter Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns. Lea stared at the man in the middle with fear in her heart. It was Heinrich Baumann. She reached for her gun.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said in heavily accented English.
A voice deep inside her told her to do as she was told, and while she knew Ryan wouldn’t do anything stupid, she could only hope Sophie Durand would make the same play. She would be asking her why she never saw Baumann and his crew approaching the house later on, if she lived long enough to pose the question.
Baumann smirked as she handed over her Glock 17, and Sophie followed suit by handing the Beretta over a second later. Was that glance Sophie and Baumann shared a second too long, she wondered?
Baumann stared at Ryan Bale, who was slinking behind Demetriou’s Packard Bell.
“He’s not armed,” Lea said. “Ryan, show them you’re not armed. And move slowly, for God’s sake.”
Ryan did as he was told.
“Now you are all coming for a ride,” Baumann said.
“What do you want with us?” Lea asked, hoping with everything she had that Hawke had made it to the museum.
Baumann blinked his one working eye and smirked. She heard the tiny motors whining in his metal hand. “You don’t want to know.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The National Archaeological Museum in Athens is acknowledged as keeping one of the greatest collections of antiquities in the world, and is located in the center of the ancient city in the busy Exarcheia district.
A polished expansive floor of white marble tiles stretched away from Hawke and Scarlet as they stood in the main entrance and stared into the vast museum, every wing filled with relics and artifacts carefully divided into special collections for the public to enjoy.
They made their way behind the guide along a quiet corridor lined with offices of various members of staff until they reached the one belonging to Yannis Demetriou.
“Please, wait a moment,” the staff member said. “I’ll call the professor and tell him you’re here.”
They knew the professor wasn't there. They had already called both the university and the museum earlier and been told he was nowhere to be found. They were told it was most unlike him to be absent without explanation. They feared the worst, and quickly got into his office where they started work.
The small office was a temporary affair he was using while on sabbatical at the museum, and on his desk, among the clutter and piles of old journals was a single red rose in a glass vase. It needed some more water, Hawke thought.
It took him back to the day he had met Liz. He was standing on a platform at Paddington Station waiting for a train to take him back to his base on the coast, and she had walked up to him holding a single red rose.
“Are you Quentin?” she had asked.
“Sorry, no. My name’s Joe.”
“Ah…” she looked embarrassed.
“But I’ve always thought I could pull off the name Quentin if I tried.”
She laughed. “You look like a Quentin. That’s why I walked up to you and not that guy.” She gestured subtly to an old man in a greasy raincoat standing a few yards away.
“Whose name is obviously Marmaduke.”
Another laugh.
They talked for a few moments, and then they shared a coffee. Hawke learned her name was Elizabeth Compton, and that she worked as a translator in the Ministry of Defence. He learned her best friend had set her up on a blind date with a colleague named Quentin.
And she learned he was in the navy where he worked as a regular sailor. He couldn’t tell her the truth, not until he knew her much better. It was part of the job. He knew they would get married as soon as he realized they had both missed their trains.