The Lost Throne(130)

“Did you find something?” Petros wondered.

Dial countered the question with one of his own. “How far are we from the beach?”

“Just over half a mile. Why?”

“Did anyone check for boats?”

“Harbor patrol was called. They will tell us if they find something.”

“If they do, tell them to lock it down. We don’t want these guys escaping.”

“I will tell them.” Petros pulled out his radio and walked away.

“Sir,” Andropoulos called from behind. “The guards assured me there is nothing over here but some caves. Centuries ago, hermits lived in them for months at a time, but that practice stopped when the sketes were built.”

“Where are the caves located?”

“All over the place. The mountain is full of them.”

“And they’ve been here for centuries?”

“They’re caves, sir. They’ve been around since the dinosaurs.”





Jarkko sat on his yacht more than a mile away from the shore. Even from way out there, he had heard the monks pounding on their simandros. The sound rolled across the water like thunder.

Curious about all the commotion, he decided to move closer.

At this time of night, he had the biggest boat in the Singitic Gulf. Sixty-five feet long, accommodations for six, and a master bath complete with a small hot tub. If he got too close to Mount Athos, the harbor patrol would notice him for sure. Normally, he wouldn’t care. He would have a drink in one hand, and he would flip them off with the other.

But tonight, he couldn’t afford the extra attention.

His goal was to get close enough to assist his friends in case they needed help, but far enough away that he looked like a fisherman trolling for fish.

To complete his façade, he got out a rod and reel, lit a cigar, and put up his feet.





Staring at Mount Athos, Dial asked, “Are the monks safe?”

“All of the monasteries are fortified,” Petros explained. “Sturdy gates, heavy doors, elevated architecture. They should be fine.”

“What about the guards? What are they doing?”

“Protecting the monasteries.”

Dial grimaced. “Twenty guards are protecting twenty monasteries? No, wait. Make that sixteen guards because some of your men are over here. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but that seems like an inefficient use of manpower.”

“That is not my job. I am in charge of customs. I am not in charge of the guards.”

“Who is?”

Petros explained that the leader of the guards was currently on vacation. And the acting leader of the guards was in Karyes, trying to coordinate his men from the capital city.

“Do you have any pull with him?” Dial asked.

Petros nodded. “I hope so. I helped him get hired.”

Dial smiled. That would make things easier. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds here, but I have a lot of experience with manhunts. Since the monks are safe, our main goal is to find the assailants as quickly as possible.”

“Yes. That would be best.”

Dial pointed to several footprints near the trail. “The Spartans killed the monks and then continued up the mountain. I don’t know where they’re headed, but our best chance to find them is with as many guards as possible.”

Petros nodded in agreement. “I will make the suggestion.”

Dial shined his flashlight on the nearby trees. Many of the branches had been disturbed. Some had been cut with swords. From the physical evidence, he guessed roughly a dozen Spartans had made the journey north.

“One more thing,” Dial added. “Make sure they’re armed as well.”





68




The Spartans moved swiftly and silently in pairs. Some of them continued up the mountain, searching for the ancient book. Others sprinted across the slope, striving to kill the guards before their search gained momentum. Without modern weapons, the Spartans realized they had to choose their battles carefully. They couldn’t wage war in an open field, so they positioned themselves for a sneak attack, using the rocks and branches as camouflage.

The first confrontation was remarkably one-sided. Two young guards, who were used to patrolling the eastern side of the peninsula, trudged up the mountain, their flashlights leading their way. The Spartans saw the beams from their position in the trees a full minute before the guards were underneath them. In unison, they leapt on top of the guards, using their weight and gravity to drive their blades through the guards’ shoulders all the way to their hearts. Blood sprayed in all directions, coating the Spartans’ hands and faces. And both of them loved it.

In their world, the only thing that quenched their thirst was the blood of the enemy.