Will Adams - The Lost Labyrinth

It came almost as a shock to him when he reached the end and the teleprompter showed blank. He hadn't given any great thought to how to wrap it up, so he paid a short impromptu tribute to Augustin, then thanked his audience for their time and attention. There was silence for a moment or two, as though everyone else had been taken by surprise too. The silence lasted just long enough to unnerve him, make him feel that he'd misread how well it had gone. But then the applause started and began to swell, and it was like nothing Knox had ever heard before, certainly not at so formal a conference. A woman rose to her feet, and then a man, then pockets of people everywhere, and suddenly the whole auditorium was on the rise, cheering and clapping and stamping their feet, not for him, Knox knew, or even for the talk; but for Augustin, and all the unsung work he'd done in Alexandria over the years, wanting to show that they didn't for one moment believe the police slurs against him.

Nico came over to join him at the podium. 'How the hell am I supposed to follow that?' he muttered with mock gloom.

Knox laughed and nodded at the cameraman. 'You're making recordings, yes?'

'Of course. Would you like one?'

'Not for me. But I think Claire should know how well Augustin's talk went down.'

Nico nodded emphatic agreement. 'Good idea. I'll take care of it myself.'

'Thanks.' The applause still thundered on, like at a party conference. He used the moment to put to Nico his thought about checking yesterday's absentees against people who knew about the golden fleece.

'I wondered that myself,' admitted Nico. 'But everyone was here. Everyone but Augustin, at least. And Antonius, of course.'

'Antonius?'

'An old colleague from the university. An authority on early scripts, which is why I thought he might be able to help. But he was never going to show up. He's turned into a recluse, I'm afraid. He barely ever leaves his house.'

'Not even for a conference like this?'

'No.' But he looked thoughtful. 'You think I should call him?'

'It's an idea.'

'I'll do it in a moment.' He nodded at the audience, the applause finally beginning to slacken. 'You'll take a few questions first, yes?'

'A few,' agreed Knox. 'But then I really do need to get back to Athens.'

Iain and Gaille headed back up into the highlands, passing through picturesque mountain villages and towns before turning left towards Plakias. The rocky flanks of the Kourtaliotiko gorge towered above them, giving Gaille mild tingles of vertigo as she stared upwards. A glimpse of whitewashed wall offered testimony to the Greek inability to pass a mountain ledge without building a church upon it. They soon left the gorge behind, to her relief, but within just a few more miles they'd reached a second, the narrow winding road strewn with fallen rocks and stones. 'Christ!' she muttered, as Iain slalomed casually between them, taking her uncomfortably close to the edge. 'How many of these damned gorges are there?'

'Lots,' he grinned. He pointed down at the floor of the car. 'The African and European tectonic plates meet right beneath us. This whole island's the result; and these gorges are the places where the crust's split under all that pressure.'

'Like snapping open a baguette?' suggested Gaille.

'If you like.'

The road wound tortuously on. Clusters of houses clung grimly to steep slopes, like climbers who'd ventured beyond their competence, and frozen. The roads were narrow and in poor repair; just as well there was so little traffic. They reached a coastal plain, passed the quiet resort of Frangocastello and the cove port of Hora Sfakion, before climbing a cliff road so steep that it seemed to Gaille like a strand of spaghetti thrown against a wall. The hairpin bends grew tighter with each turn. She felt nauseous and her feet clenched with cramp. Heights didn't seem to bother Iain at all; he took the corners with lazy calm, even as their tyres skidded on the dusty tarmac, taking them perilously close to the edge. 'Please,' begged Gaille, clutching the door handle. 'I hate heights.'

'Don't worry,' he assured her. 'I drive these roads all the time.'

'Please,' she said again.

Her tone got through to him. He took his foot off the accelerator, shifted away from the edge. They were already amazingly high, the richly coloured houses and boats of Hora Sfakion like toys on the rugged, fractal coastline below, while the sea was an astonishing colour, the rich blue of a hyacinth macaw. The road degenerated into a stretch of raw bedrock. A dump-truck full of tarmac swung recklessly fast around the corner ahead, forcing them out so wide that Gaille could see nothing beneath her but drop. Hot choking dust blasted through their open windows, sending them both into coughing fits. And still they climbed higher and higher, until Gaille couldn't bear it any more, just sat back in her seat and closed her eyes.

'It's okay,' said Iain at length. 'We're past.'

She opened her eyes to see hills either side of her, removing even the possibility of falling. Her vertigo at once abated, though she still felt a little sick. They reached a small town with a tranquil square. 'Anapoli,' said Iain, pulling up outside a general store. 'I'll go in and ask about Petitier. You stay here. They're less likely to open up with a foreigner around.'

'You're a foreigner.'

'I've lived here ten years; I speak local. That makes all the difference, trust me.'

She didn't argue, still jangled from the drive. She checked herself in the mirror, wiped away the worst of the dust, patted down her hair, got out. A pleasant enough town; the kind where the same few families had been farming the same fields for hundreds of years; where the same few surnames would appear again and again in the cemetery. There was a cafe next to the shop, its glass doors wide open. She wandered over. A canary chirped in its cage. Goatskins were stretched out on the walls. A stuffed eagle was poised to take flight. Split logs were stacked by a potbellied stove, four men playing cards at the table next to it. Three of them glanced up at her with benign indifference, while the fourth saluted her with his glass. She smiled and retreated to the car.

It was five more minutes before Iain emerged from the shop, carrying two white plastic bags bulging with food and water. 'You had to pay for your information, then?' she said, as he stowed them in his boot.

'Worth every cent,' he assured her. 'The woman recognised Petitier's picture at once. He comes in once a month to trade supplies.'

'And? Did she tell you where he lived?'

'Yes,' he grinned. 'She did.'

Under different circumstances, Edouard might have enjoyed drinking his coffee in the Eleusis cafe. It was a pleasant morning, after all, and local families had come out in force to enjoy the fresh spring sunshine. But he was still struggling to digest the implications of his brief conversation with his wife, work out what he could possibly hope to accomplish while-

'Hey, boss,' said Zaal to Mikhail, pointing across the car park to the site gates, from which a man was now emerging. 'That's Knox, isn't it?' he asked.

'That's Knox,' agreed Mikhail. He rose to his feet but then hesitated. There were so many people milling around outside, including security guards by the site entrance, that even he must have realised that this was a wretched spot for an abduction. Besides, if Knox should spot any of them, he'd recognise them instantly from the night before. They therefore waited inside the cafe's grounds until he reached his car and pulled away, then they threw some banknotes on the table and hurried out to their Mercedes.

Knox made good time out of Eleusis and back towards Athens. Despite Nico's misgivings about the traffic police, the earlier four-car pile-up had been completely cleared away. He left the coast behind, passed through a stretch of rocky woodland, reached the top of a hill.