The Lost Throne(103)
“Well,” she said, trying not to think about it, “I’ll do my best.”
Payne asked, “At first glance, does anything stand out?”
She nodded. “One word is repeated over and over in many different languages. Il trono. Le trône. El trono. And so forth.”
“I’m hoping el trono means ‘the coat.’ ”
She smiled. “Actually, it means ‘the throne.’ But Richard does mention ‘the coat’ on the final page of his translation.”
She pointed to the words that filled the bottom of the last page. They had been written in big capital letters, and then the message had been circled. A giant star was drawn to the left of the note, stressing how important it was. It read:
THE COAT = THE KEY
53
As the black helicopter touched down in an open field on the outskirts of Kalampáka, dirt and dust swirled into the air like a cyclone. Andropoulos, who had never ridden in a chopper before, watched with childlike wonder from inside his car. His vehicle rattled from the whooshing of the powerful blades until the pilot flipped a switch and stopped the turbines.
“This is going to be awesome!” Andropoulos gushed. “Thanks for bringing me along.”
Dial rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm. For him, air travel had lost its luster a long time ago. “You aren’t onboard yet. Keep it up, and I’ll hire the pilot to be my translator.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologize. Make yourself useful. Grab our bags from the trunk.”
Andropoulos scurried off to complete his task while Dial cracked a smile. No matter how helpful the young Greek was—and so far he had exceeded Dial’s expectations—Dial planned on busting the kid’s balls every chance he got. He was a veteran member of the law enforcement community, and it was his God-given right and duty to toughen the youngster up.
Plus, it was a hell of a lot of fun.
Dial was about to step out of the car when his phone started to vibrate. He glanced at the screen. It was Henri Toulon from Interpol. “Hola, Henri.”
“Spanish?” he growled. “I tell you not to speak French, so you speak Spanish?”
“What can I say? I’m an equal-opportunity linguist.”
“Oui. You mangle all languages the same amount.”
Dial smirked. “From the insolent tone of your voice, I’m assuming you have good news about my permits to Mount Athos. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so rude.”
“I have good news. I also have bad news. Which would you like first?”
“Not this shit again,” he muttered, remembering that Toulon had played the same game when telling him about the Spartans. “Just tell me all the news, Henri.”
“Now who is rude? People say we French are rude, but no one ever talks about Americans. And you know why we do not mention you? Because your country has the most bombs. If that was not so, people would say Americans are rude rather than the French!”
Toulon was obviously frustrated about something, so Dial responded in a calm voice.
“What’s wrong, Henri? What’s the bad news?”
“I have let you down.”
“How so?”
“I try and I try but you cannot visit Mount Athos today.”
Dial groaned. They were ready to take off. “Why not?”
“Because the monks are very strict. And you are arriving late.”
He glanced at his watch. It was mid-afternoon in Greece. “Late? I’ll be there by dinner.”
“Which is too late for them. The monks live regimented lives. They work together. They pray together. They eat together. Your arrival will interrupt that schedule. After a certain time each day, the guards will not allow anyone to enter Mount Athos—even those with permits. As I say, they are very strict.”
“Fine. What’s the good news?”
“I have arranged two meetings for you. One is with the governor of Mount Athos. He was appointed by the Hellenic Ministry of Foreign Affairs and is in charge of the civil administration of the Holy Mountain. For requests like yours, he is the man who must sign off on your visit. He has the authority to grant you emergency admission, if he feels it is warranted. So when you speak to him, you must be convincing.”
“Don’t worry, I will be.” Dial jotted a few notes. “Where will I meet him?”
“In Ouranoúpoli, a small village just across the border from Mount Athos.”
“Great. What about the second meeting?”
“There are twenty monasteries on the mountain. Each of them has a guest-master, a monk who is in charge of guided tours, showing relics, and more. He is the main contact person at each site. Visitors must check in with him before they enter his monastery.”