The Lost Throne(111)

If his parchment was correct, a Greek holy man by the name of Cydonius had spent his life compiling the true history of Ancient Greece. Written in the second century B.C., the book used information from some of the best-known Athenian historians and orators—Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Plato, and Aristotle—and combined it with data from lesser-known historians from the other city-states. This helped to eliminate the pro-Athenian bias that has always slanted the modern view of Ancient Greece. By utilizing writers with different backgrounds, Cydonius was able to paint a more accurate picture of the events of that time.

And according to the foreigner, the Spartans were portrayed in a negative light.

They weren’t described as heroes. They were depicted as dim witted barbarians.

Even their legendary stand at the Battle of Thermopylae was called into question.

Obviously, the existence of such a book infuriated Apollo. His life and that of the village were based on a core of Spartan values in the same way some cultures are based on religion. Therefore, in his mind, anything that threatened his beliefs needed to be found and destroyed before it could do irreparable damage to the memory of his ancestors and his way of life.

Thankfully, the foreigner had inside knowledge about the men who protected the book and several other relics from Ancient Greece. They were called the Brotherhood, and they met once a year at a secret location. Desperate to find these men, Apollo was willing to cut a deal. He would help the foreigner, and in return, he would be allowed to burn the book before it was made public.

It was a win-win situation for both parties involved.

As promised, the foreigner pointed the Spartans in the right direction. They stormed the gates of Holy Trinity and killed the members of the Brotherhood, one by one, until one of the monks finally cracked. Not only did the monk reveal the location of the secret tunnel that used to house the book but he also described where it had been moved several years before. It was now kept in the same place as all the other treasures that the Brotherhood had sworn to protect.

To thank the monk for his helpful information, he was beheaded like all the others. Then their heads were stacked on the stone altar that used to hold the book. It was Apollo’s way of taunting his opponents, just as his ancestors had done in ancient times.

Now that the Spartans knew where the book was kept, they were coming for it.

And they dared anyone to get in their way.





58




Payne barely slept that night. His mind was far too busy to get any rest. By the time morning came, he had made a decision that affected them all. They would keep their meeting with Ivan Borodin, but they would push it forward one hour. That way, if Ivan had tipped off the police, they could slip away before the cops showed up.

Payne had already scouted Ivan’s house. He was familiar with the surrounding streets. He knew the dead ends and the blind spots. He knew where the police would lie in wait, if they were waiting at all. It was a quiet neighborhood on the southern side of the city. The houses were small but well kept. Yards were virtually nonexistent. If the cavalry came charging in, they would know about it—especially if someone stayed outside and kept watch.

That someone would be David Jones. He would remain in their car, which Payne rented at the crack of dawn using his fake passport, and monitor things from down the street. At the first sign of trouble, Jones would call Payne’s cell phone. He, in turn, would grab Allison, and they would slip out of the back of the house while Jones pulled around the corner to pick them up.

It wasn’t a perfect plan. There were many variables that they couldn’t control. Yet Payne decided it was worth the risk. They had come this far. One more meeting wouldn’t kill them.

At least, he hoped not.

Payne and Allison got out of the car and walked half a block to Ivan’s house. Payne had a gun tucked in the back of his belt and carried a book bag filled with the cash from Richard’s safe. He had no idea what price had been negotiated by Richard, and Allison had failed to ask during her phone call with Ivan. If the item cost more than Payne was carrying, they were shit out of luck, because Payne wasn’t willing to have a second meeting. This would be a one-shot deal.

“If it’s okay with you,” Payne said, “I’d like to do most of the talking.”

Allison nodded her approval. “I think that would be best.”

“We want to leave as soon as possible, so no long stories. Promise me: no long stories.”

“I promise.”

The nineteenth-century house was one story tall and made out of wood—it did not have aluminum siding, as they were used to seeing in America, but actual strips of wood. No paint covered the surface. Only a light sealant protected the planks, letting the natural color shine through.