Alex Archer - Seeker's Curse

“Macedonian,” he corrected.

“Macedonian. Right. You mentioned that. Might that have something to do with it?”

He stood up and smiled at her. “I’ll let you pursue that on your own,” he said.

“This means I’m not arrested, yes?”

“For the moment.” He frowned pensively. “It might be better to take you in,” he said, “strictly for your own good. Our informant inside the gang tells us that Bajraktari blames you for setting them up. He intends to take vengeance. It is a major reason I’m inclined to believe you.”

Annja swallowed. “Might the gangs have spies of their own in the Hellenic police?”

He shrugged. “Such infiltration is a problem,” he said. “Our particular task force consists only of handpicked and proven men and women—it’s part of the reason we exist. But we lack the resources to provide you a safehouse. You would have to go to jail.”

There’s a happy prospect, she thought. “Meaning you’d have to get cooperation from other Hellenic police. And you can’t take for granted they haven’t been compromised.”

He spread his big, strong hands. She recognized the typical stand-up cop’s dilemma. On the one hand he hated to criticize a fellow law-enforcement officer, especially within his own department. On the other, he was too perceptive and honest not to know there were dirty cops in his house.

“I have not said it,” he said, confirming her suspicion.

It cut against her grain to roll over completely. “So, what’s a door-busting commando type doing in a library in Athens?” she asked.

Katramados laughed. “The same thing as you—studying. I did serve in EKAM for a time as a commando, as I did in the Hellenic army’s special forces. Now I work primarily as an investigator with an organized-crime unit of the national police, dedicated to suppressing the trade in illegal antiquities. Though, as you know, I still take active part in certain raids.”

“I noticed.”

“As it happens, along with a knack for detective work I have a lifelong love of Hellenic archaeology. Especially as pertains to my native Macedonia. The force finds it useful to pay for me to get my degree.”

His smile turned a bit shy. “One day I hope to lead the fight against antiquities thieves. I admit, that’s quite a leap from my current lowly status.”

I’ll bet you’re a fast-tracker, Annja thought, despite the humble act. Although to be fair she had to admit it didn’t really seem to be an act.

“What now?” she asked.

“It would appear you owe me a debt for saving you from terrorist thugs, Ms. Creed.”

She frowned. “I had things under control.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

She shrugged. She didn’t want to go too far down that road, either. “Okay. I admit I got in over my head in Kastoria. But that’s a reason I try to fly under the radar. It’s just not possible for an archaeologist affiliated with a university or other big institution to do those things. But they have to be done.”

“So much is true,” the young police commando said. “But again, please keep in mind the kind of risks you run.”

“They’re seldom far from my mind. I promise.”

“Then I shall leave you to your research. I accept your story. For now. But I shall keep an eye on you, Annja Creed.”

“So,” Annja said through the steam rising from her cup of intense Turkish-style coffee, “I remember from my history that Alexander the Great made it all the way into India. But somehow I never quite associated that with Nepal.”

Pan Katramados nodded gravely. “He conquered much of northern India. I doubt he specifically set out to take Nepal. It mostly came as part of the package.”

He grinned. He did that readily enough, Annja was finding out. She grinned back.

Traffic beeped and jingled on the street running around the flank of Strefi Hill in north Athens’s Exarcheia district, not far from the archaeological museum. The air was cool and smelled as much of the evergreens that thickly forested the crown and far side of the hill as much as it did of traffic and roasting coffee beans. The morning spring sun, though, warmed any surface it reached fairly quickly. Annja found herself alternately moving into the sun when it got too cool under the table’s umbrella, then back into the shade when she grew uncomfortably warm.

Her companion looked around.

“Why the head-on-a-swivel bit?” she asked. “Concerned about Bajraktari?”

“Always,” Pan said. “But it’s mostly habit. This district is a notorious haven for drug dealers and anarchists.”

“Really?” Annja asked.

“It’s possible that police intelligence exaggerates the amount of drug dealing,” he said, “to allow for more actions against dissidents.”

Annja sipped her coffee and considered what Pan was saying. The whole point of EKAM—the special antiquities unit of the Hellenic police antiterrorist unit—was that the Hellenic Police in general had been penetrated by criminal spies, particularly for the brutal, well-armed and organized Balkan gangs. And here he was admitting behavior among his fellows that was ethically questionable at best.

It clearly caused pain to a good man who believed, as police were generally taught, that all law-breaking was wrong and that criminals were irremediably bad.

“So,” Pan said, visibly dragging his thoughts back to more pleasant pathways, “how go your researches into our Macedonian history?”

“I’m definitely getting up to speed on Alexander. And his father,” Annja said.

“Ah. King Philippos the One-Eyed. His son did enough to earn his name of Megas Alexandros. But the son gets credit for much his father did.”

“So I gather. I did know Alexander beat the army of King Poros. It turns out that part of Nepal was included in the conquered kingdom. Which would seem to explain how coins bearing Alexander’s likeness turned up in treasure stolen from Nepal.”

“But not necessarily why,” Pan said.

“That’s the sticking point. I’m going to have to go to Nepal to find the whole of that reason, I know. Then again, that’s what I was hired to do in the first place.”

“How long will you remain in Greece?”

“That implies I’ll be allowed to leave.”

“At this point the government knows nothing prejudicial to allowing you to do so,” he said, deadpan. As mobile as his long, olive features were, that in itself was significant. “For my part, as a professional matter I shall be glad to have you take your investigation to Nepal and out of the danger the gangsters pose to you. Provided that you send back any pertinent information you turn up. Sadly, our budget is too limited to allow any of our investigators to make the trip on the basis of the evidence we’ve gathered so far.”

“I promised I would,” she said simply. She had no intention of telling him everything she found in the troubled mountain republic—most wouldn’t be any business of his or his task force. But anything pertaining to the still-mysterious link between Albanian gangs and the land tucked up high in the planet’s mightiest mountain range, she’d be happy to pass on to him.

Over the past few days they had bumped into each other more than coincidence could likely account for. Their dealings had rapidly become casual and even friendly. She knew she wasn’t totally out from under suspicion, but she had the impression the sergeant was giving her more attention than his job required.

“So, Pan,” she said, holding her cup with both hands. “You seem to have more than an academic interest in Macedonian history.”

“I do,” he said, grinning and bobbing his head like an embarrassed schoolboy. “I come from Macedonia. I grew up in a poor mountain village in northern Thessaloníki province, in central Macedonia. I herded goats as a boy.”