It didn’t make any sense—even in an archaic place like Mount Athos.
“What do you think?” Payne asked as he picked up a sword.
Jones laughed. “What do I think? I think Jarkko dropped us off in Ancient Greece. I don’t know what he paid for his yacht, but it was worth every penny.”
“D.J., I’m serious.”
“I am, too. If we hurry, maybe we can help them build the Parthenon.”
Payne grinned and turned his attention to Allison. She was standing next to him, staring at the blade he held in his hands, even though she had been told to stay behind. “Are you okay?”
She nodded but said nothing. Prior to her trip to Russia, she had never seen anyone killed before. Now everywhere she turned, she was surrounded by death.
It would take a while for things to sink in.
“Come on,” Payne said as he tossed the sword to the ground. “We have to get moving. It’s just a matter of time before the guards investigate the gunshots.”
Dial heard the gunfire from his position on the mountain. It had come in disciplined bursts. Two shots, a long pause, and then a rapid cluster. Whoever was firing was a seasoned pro.
And they were shooting at something on the southeastern side of Mount Athos.
“Son of a bitch,” Dial growled, realizing that his search party was on the southwestern side of the mountain—the same side where the dead monks had been found. “Who’s over there?”
“Let me find out,” Petros said as he turned up his radio and started asking questions in Greek. A few minutes passed before he had an answer. “It is not the guards.”
“Shit!” Dial blurted. “That means one of two things. Either the Spartans are carrying guns, or there’s another party on the mountain. And if I had to guess, I’d go with number two.”
“Why is that?” Andropoulos asked.
“Because if the Spartans have guns, who are they firing at? I mean, we’re over here.”
“That is true.”
“It also means there might be more Spartans over there. Because that other party is firing at someone, and it’s certainly not us.”
Dial paused, rubbing his chin in thought. As he did, Petros and Andropoulos stared at him, waiting for his next set of instructions. None of the guards had as much experience in hostile situations as Dial. For the time being, everyone was willing to follow his lead.
“Petros, we’re at a serious disadvantage here. Multiple groups of armed men are climbing your mountain and we don’t know why. We don’t know where they’re headed, and we’re clueless about their numbers. The only thing we know for sure is that they’re willing to kill.”
“What should we do?”
“Honestly? We shouldn’t do anything. We should recall the guards and wait for reinforcements.”
“We should wait? They killed two monks, and we should wait?”
Dial nodded. “Here’s the problem. In combat, elevated positions have an advantage. We’re several minutes behind them in our climb. That means there’s no way we can overtake them without going through them. If we had superior firepower or twice as many men, I’d be tempted to take those odds. But as it stands, our pursuit would be suicide.”
Petros asked, “What if I could change the odds? What if we could get in front of them?”
“How? Do you have a helicopter I don’t know about?”
He shook his head. “No, but I have an idea that just might work.”
69
Driving as fast as he could, Petros explained his plan to Dial and Andropoulos. “There is an old goat path up the western side of the mountain. It starts near Agíou Pávlou and crosses toward the southern face. If we hurry, we might be able to beat the soldiers to that point.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Dial demanded. “We could have set up shop on the mountain and pinned the Spartans in.”
Their cart hit a dip in the road. They all bounced roughly in their seats as Petros struggled to maintain control. He temporarily eased off the accelerator until he had righted things.
“It is not that simple. The path is too narrow for this cart to fit.”
“Then how would we get up there?”
“Motorcycles.”
Dial stared at him in disbelief. “The monks have motorcycles?”
“Last year,” Petros said, “two men came to Athos on a trip across Greece. They brought their motorcycles over on the ferry and parked them outside our walls. The men were supposed to stay for three days. Once inside, they fell in love with the monastic life. One of the abbots gave them permission to stay longer, and they haven’t left since.”