Hawke produced the golden arc from his pocket and slid it across Demetriou’s cluttered desk.
“Feast your eyes on that.”
His eyes widened like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Where did you get this?”
“In New York, at the Met Museum,” Hawke said. “It was inside the Poseidon Vase. In the base.”
“You mean the irreplacable masterpiece by the Vienna Painter?”
Hawke nodded.
“But how did you get this golden arc out without damaging the vase?”
“That’s not important,” Hawke said, glancing at Scarlet. “What matters is it’s only half the clue — half the information we need. The Vienna Painter broke the location of the tomb into two pieces and hid one in each of a pair of matching vases. The other half of the code is in…”
“In the Amphitrite Vase!” Demetriou said, smiling, turning the gold disc over in his meaty hands. “Which is just up there,” he added, pointing to the first floor above his head.
Then Demetriou saw the inscription on the other side of the golden arc. “Beneath the Highest City, Where The Samian’s Sacred Work Shall Guide. What does it mean?”
“We were kind of hoping you could tell us,” said Scarlet.
Demetriou picked up his coffee and sipped it absent-mindedly as he stared at the arc in wonder. “Clearly there is a reference to an acropolis here — probably the one here in Athens, I suppose, but as for the rest…” he shook his head and looked up at them.
“What?”
Demetriou’s mind seemed to wander. “I have read that the vault of Poseidon contains not only his sarcophagus, but also what is sometimes referred to by the ancient poets as his ultimate power.”
“His trident?”
“Possibly, but more likely they refer to his immortality. I have always presumed the tomb would contain limitless treasure, including his trident of course, but most importantly the source of his immortality. If man were ever to find this…”
“We need to look at the other vase, professor,” Hawke said, “and in a hurry. There are other people on this trail — bad people who want the powers hidden in the tomb. Like we already told you — we thought you had been kidnapped by them, and we believe that your life may be in grave danger.”
“Then let’s have a closer look at the Amphitrite vase!” Demetriou said, rising from his desk and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.
Demetriou led them briskly along the corridor from his office and up the stairs, his jacket shuffling as he climbed the marble steps. Moments later they were walking into the section containing all the ancient Greek vases.
Hawke sighed. “I’m getting serious déjà vu.”
“The Met, you mean?” asked Scarlet.
He nodded.
“This way!” Demetriou called over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
They arrived at the correct case and Demetriou beamed with pride when he showed them the vase, almost as sincerely as Mitch had done back in the Met.
To Hawke, it looked almost the same as the other one, except this one featured a woman holding a fish.
“Meet Amphitrite, Poseidon’s wife,” Demetriou said, carefully extracting the vase from the cabinet with a little pear of white cotton gloves. “It is imperative we do not leave grease marks on the pottery.”
Hawke winced at the thought of what had to come next. “You asked a moment ago how we got the golden arc without damaging the vase?”
“Yes?”
“The truth is, the Swiss smashed it out of the base, so…”
“Oh no! Absolutely not.”
“We need the other half of the riddle if we’re going to locate the tomb, professor,” Scarlet said, trying to back Hawke up. “That’s the only way we can prove any of this is real and stop Zaugg, so stop being such a silly little man and hand over the vase.”
“It’s two and a half thousand years old!” Demetriou said.
Scarlet was umoved. “Now, professor.”
Demetriou looked down at the ancient pottery vase in his hands, up to Scarlet and then back to the vase. “But surely we could x-ray it to make sure it contained the other half of the golden disc first, and then perhaps remove the base with special cutting tools — make as little damage as possible, and then…”
“We’re running out of time, professor,” Hawke said.
“I’m not going to let anyone damage this vase,” he said, adamant. “If there is something within it then it will be found using the correct archaeological procedures. Now you have made me aware of its potential value it’s more important than ever that we put it somewhere safer.”
Demetriou shuffled away from them with the vase in his right hand.
Scarlet drew her Sig Sauer and with one well-aimed shot she fired before Hawke could even begin to object.
The gunshot rang out in the silent museum, echoing down the corridors and bouncing off the ceiling, deafening. Smoke drifted from the chrome-lined barrel of her gun. As it rose to her face she blew a whisp of it away from her lips.
Demetriou stood perfectly still, frozen in place by the madness of the last second, his hand no longer holding an ancient vase but now purely its shattered rim. At his feet was a pile of tiny pottery pieces and a heap of orange dust.
Scarlet stepped forward and reached into the little pile, pulling out the other half of the golden disc.
“You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, Professor Demetriou.”
“I…I…you could have killed me you crazy woman!”
“Aww, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Yannis.” She looked at him sternly, the smoking Sig in her smooth white hand. “Now translate this.” She handed him the metal.
“Translate this you say! But… you have destroyed an irreplacable, ancient…” the words trailed away as his attention refocussed on the other half of the golden arc in Scarlet’s hands.
He stared at the Ancient Greek lettering, taking only a second to translate it. “It says The Kingdom Of The Eldest Is Where What You Seek Doth Hide.”
Hawke shook his head in disbelief. “Not another one.”
“At least we now have both parts of the riddle,” said Scarlet, reholstering her gun.
They put the two halves of the golden arc together and formed a perfect disc.
Beneath the Highest City, Where The Samian’s Sacred Work Shall Guide — The Kingdom Of The Eldest Is Where What You Seek Doth Hide.
“What does it mean?” Demetriou muttered.
“It means you have work to do,” Hawke said.
“Then we must get back to my apartment,” Demetriou said. “All my research and files are there.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hugo Zaugg’s favorite toy was the Thalassa, his six hundred-foot motor yacht. Designed by the best naval architects in the world and built in Germany under his personal supervision, it was the largest of its kind in the world.
Zaugg often spent his summers on board, enjoying its thirty guest cabins or flying out to private island parties from its helipad. But today was different. Today was business, not pleasure. Today was about fulfilling his fate, and what better place to do it than on board a yacht named after the primordial sea goddess, more ancient than even Poseidon.
He walked along the deck of the Thalassa and into the safety and peace of his private quarters. The cabin was beyond luxurious, taking opulence to an entirely new level — cherry wood floorboards, plasma screen, and walnut-veneer drinks cabinet. As much as he was capable of feeling love, he loved being here.
He slid the door shut and walked casually to his desk, a beautiful piece of Brazilian mahogany empty of clutter except a small platinum statue of Amphitrite and Poseidon in a lovers’ embrace, and the more utilitarian presence of a black satellite phone.