The Lost Throne(140)

He was also excited about the possibilities.

“Hey, Marcus,” Payne said. “You’re Greek, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What type of animals might live up here?”

“Wolves.”

Payne nodded. “That’s what I thought. Everyone stay alert.”

The group moved in unison, each of them searching the surrounding rocks for any sign of trouble. Above them to their left, they could see the towering peaks of Mount Athos in the pale moonlight. To their right was the steep slope that they had just conquered. Payne tried to imagine a forty-foot statue being hauled up the mountainside by the Ancient Greeks. It seemed unlikely. Then again, modern-day historians still don’t know how the Egyptians moved the massive stones that were used to build the Pyramids. So anything was possible.

Well, almost anything.

Because the closer Payne got to the cave, the more confident he became that the lost throne was not inside. It couldn’t be. At least not in one piece. Simple geometry assured him of that.

The mouth of the cave was roughly five feet wide and six feet tall. To get through the narrow opening, Payne had to duck down so he wouldn’t hit his head on the jagged rock above. Before entering, he shined his light into the interior and saw nothing but darkness.

No walls. No ceiling. Nothing but empty space.

It gave him hope that the cave opened wider.

Taking a deep breath, he crossed the threshold, wondering what he might find inside. He hoped it wouldn’t be similar to the last cave he had explored, which had been on Jeju, a tiny island in South Korea. The U.S. Army had asked him and Jones to investigate the disappearance of an ex-MANIAC, and when they arrived at the scene, the entire cavern had been bathed in blood. The stench of decomposition had lingered on their skin and hair for nearly a week.

Shining his light along the ground, he noticed a thin layer of gray dust. He crouched down and touched it with his fingers. It was coarse and similar in color to the natural stone.

“What is it?” Allison whispered.

“I don’t know. It almost feels like—”

Payne stopped and signaled for everyone to be quiet. Suddenly, the dust’s composition was less important than what he had noticed in its surface. A set of footprints.

He crouched lower and examined them. They were human and pointing forward. The person’s stride had been short and was accompanied by a secondary pattern on the left. It was circular and infrequent. Something man-made. Perhaps a walking stick. Or a spear. Payne couldn’t tell for sure. But he was certain of one thing: there were no tracks going out.

That meant whoever made them was still inside or had found another way out.

With a gun in his right hand and a flashlight in his left, Payne continued forward, striding over the uneven ground. Deeper inside, the cave opened slightly, its ceiling climbing to eight feet and its width stretching to ten. Payne was appreciative. Not only could he walk upright, he also had room to maneuver in case he was attacked.

Jones was next in line, his light burning bright. Allison was third, followed by Andropoulos and Dial. The four of them crept softly, watching Payne as he braved the tunnel ahead of them.

Suddenly, he raised his hand and signaled them to stop.

The group obliged, hardly making a sound.

Up ahead, Payne could see a solitary figure sitting in the darkness. It was an old man, wrapped in a wool blanket. He was leaning against the back wall of the cave. A cane lay by his side. He looked frail and feeble, withered with age. His beard was long and unkempt. It rested on the front of his cloak like a gray scarf. His head was tilted forward, and his eyelids were closed.

Payne wondered if the guy was still breathing.

A moment later, he got his answer.

Without opening his eyes, the old monk spoke, his words barely rising to a whisper. “I wondered when you would arrive. I have been waiting for you.”

Payne grimaced in confusion. He had no idea who this man was or what he was talking about. He figured he might be a crazed hermit who lived in this cave.

“What are you doing here?” Payne asked.

The monk’s eyes sprang open. He stared defiantly at the flashlight, not willing to shield the light from his eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Nick.”

From the back of the pack, Dial heard his name. It took a few seconds for things to sink in, but once they did, he knew who was hiding in the cave.

“Coming through,” Dial said as he squeezed his way past the others. He made his way to Payne, who was still shining his light on the old man.

“Do you know this guy?” Payne whispered.

Dial stared at the man and nodded. It was Nicolas, the old monk he had met on his first night at Metéora. The same one who appeared, forty years younger, in the framed photograph at Great Metéoron. The one man he had hoped to find at Mount Athos. And now he had.