Will Adams - The Lost Labyrinth

'The Egyptians aligned key buildings with the dawn,' continued Franklin, oblivious of Knox's distraction. 'So did the Minoans. Did you know that on certain key days of the year, the first rays of the rising sun would spear through double doorways at Knossos and bathe the throne room in light? And look at religion: Osiris and Isis are the central gods of Egyptian myth. They had a strange kind of immortality, giving birth to themselves. The same was true of the Minoan gods. Dionysus was worshipped as a young man and a bearded king. Demeter was worshipped as a maiden, a mother and a crone. A very Egyptian theology that was transformed in Crete to become the basis of Greek religion right here in Eleusis.'

'Speaking of which,' smiled Knox, getting to his feet. 'I should really read through my speech again before-'

'And that's another thing,' said Franklin, taking Knox by the sleeve to prevent him getting away before he was done. 'Eleusis was a grain cult, remember. It was all about farming.'

'Forgive me, but I really-'

'No. You'll like this. You see, Petitier was convinced that farming was the key to understanding how religion and culture had spread through the ancient world. He painted a word picture of a great golden plain of wheat and barley sweeping in from the east like sunrise, bringing socialisation, technology and enlightenment with it; and he was convinced that so beneficial a development would certainly have been memorialised in Greek legend. And because people like to credit their own, he speculated that the story would have been rewritten with Greeks as noble heroes wresting precious secrets from dastardly oriental villains, before bringing them back to Greece.'

'Don't tell me,' murmured Knox. 'Jason and the Argonauts.'

'Exactly,' smiled Franklin. 'And the crops they brought back with them, he called "the golden fleece".'

Nadya Petrova put on her shawl and dark glasses before emerging into the arrivals hall of Athens airport. Sokratis, the private detective she'd contacted through the Internet the night before, was waiting for her as arranged. He was a short and unprepossessing man with sallow skin, a tired brown suit and an unattractive habit of picking the septum of his nose between his thumb and forefinger while trying to make it look as though he was merely scratching. He didn't offer to help her with her bags either, just turned and led her out to his rusting green Volvo, its front bumper patched with silver tape, its tyres as slick as a racing car's.

'Any success?' she asked, buckling herself in.

Sokratis nodded briskly. 'There were four of them, like you said. They got into two big black Mercedes with tinted windows. Three in the first, one in the second. I followed the second; less chance of being spotted. He headed to the hills north of Athens. Very expensive up there, very exclusive. If you're not a shipping billionaire or a Russian oligarch, forget about it. And the house…' He waved his fingers as though scalded. 'I couldn't follow him down the drive, he'd have spotted me for sure. So I went on a little way, gave him a few minutes to get inside, then made my way in on foot. There was another car already parked there, a gold Ferrari. But I figured you were interested in the Mercedes, so I was putting my transmitter on it, when guess what?'

'What?'

'The second damned Mercedes suddenly turned up!' He gave a laugh, designed to let her know how cool he was in a crisis. 'I had to get out of there pretty damned quick, let me tell you.'

'But you got the transmitter on, yes?'

'Sure did.' He proudly patted the SatNav monitor screwed clumsily to his dashboard. 'No sign of life yet this morning, but we'll know the moment they're on the move.'

'Good job,' she said. 'You've done well.'

'All in a day's work,' he said. 'Speaking of which…'

She nodded and handed him a white envelope from her bag. He opened it up at and counted the notes twice, folded them away in his wallet. 'So what's this all about, then?' he asked. 'Husband being naughty, is he?'

'Something like that.'

'It always is,' he chuckled. 'That's all I ever get these days, divorces.'

'Is that a problem?'

'Not as long as I keep getting paid.'

'Good,' she said. 'Then we understand one another.'

The morning was drawing on, and Mikhail still hadn't emerged from his room. 'Shall we knock?' asked Zaal.

'He took the Ferrari out again last night,' muttered Boris. 'I think he brought someone back with him.'

'Is that a yes or a no?'

'If you want to knock, don't let me stop you.'

'Maybe another ten minutes.'

It didn't take that long. His door opened suddenly and he appeared on the balcony, looking very Hollywood in shades, jeans, a white cotton T-shirt and his leather trench-coat. A waif-like young woman in a sequined dress and high heels followed him closely down the stairs, using him for cover. With her short brown hair and slight frame, she had rather the look of Gaille Bonnard about her, and Edouard couldn't help but wonder if that brief encounter in the lift last night hadn't given Mikhail an itch that he'd gone out specifically to scratch. 'Knox will be starting his speech soon,' he said brusquely, as though he'd been the one kept waiting. 'We're leaving in five minutes. Be ready.'

'I'm going to have to stay behind,' said Edouard. 'Your father has asked me to work on-'

'You're coming.'

'Yes, but-'

'I said you're coming,' said Mikhail. 'Speak to my father from the car.' He turned and walked away before Edouard could protest further, over to the kitchen where he began giving instructions to Boris.

'Don't worry so much,' said Davit, with unexpected sympathy, from an armchair. 'It'll be fine.'

'I'm a historian,' shrugged Edouard, as he went over to join the big man. He felt clammy with perspiration. 'This kind of business…' He shook his head.

'I understand,' said Davit. 'It can take a bit of getting used to.'

Edouard sighed as he sat down. 'How come you look so familiar?' he asked. 'Have we met before?'

'I don't think so. But perhaps you watch rugby?'

'That's it!' said Edouard, snapping his fingers. 'The Tbilisi Lions! You play lock for them.'

'Used to,' grinned Davit.

'I saw you jumping against Pavel in the semis a few years back. What a game that was.'

'He was a good line-out man, Pavel. The best I ever went up against.'

'You gave him one hell of a fight.'

'We still lost.'

'Games like that, no one really loses.'

'I can tell that you've never played sports for a living.'

Edouard grinned. 'He's my son's hero, Pavel. All he wants in life is to be a lock. Poor kid takes after me, though. He'll be lucky if he's big enough to play scrum-half.'

'Best position, scrum half,' Davit assured him. 'All the glory, all the girls, none of the damage.'

'Try telling him that.'

'Maybe I will, if I see you at one of the games. I could introduce him to Pavel if you like.'

'Would you? He'd love that. Honestly, he worships you guys. I'd be his hero for a year if you-'

'Are you two going to be yapping all night?' asked Boris, standing by the door with Mikhail and his hooker.

'Coming,' said Davit, pushing to his feet.

'Hell!' muttered Edouard, feeling a little sick again. 'What if we're seen? What if someone remembers us?'

'Don't worry,' murmured Davit, nodding towards Mikhail. 'Who's going to remember you with Morpheus over there to look at?' He spoke in a low voice, yet Mikhail must have heard. He turned immediately their way and began to march towards them with such coldness in his eyes that Edouard and Davit both froze. He undid and drew out his leather whipcord belt as he advanced, feeding one end back through the buckle to make an improvised noose, wrapping the free end twice around his fist, the better to hold it. He raised it up and feinted to lasso Edouard, but at the last moment turned on Davit instead, throwing it over the big man's head and hauling it tight with such swiftness that he had no time to interpose his fingers. Then he tugged so hard that he spilled backwards over the arm of his chair, sending shudders through the polished wooden floorboards. And now Mikhail dragged him behind him, while Davit kicked and squirmed and scrabbled uselessly at the strangling leather, unable to prevent it tightening around his throat and cutting off his windpipe, his face bulging and turning crimson.