The Lost Throne(25)

“Exactly. Like he’s wearing a hood.”

“Me hit Play,” Costas blurted. “You see more! You like!”

Dial glanced at him and nodded. The young cop was excited about something.

He was anxious to see what it was.

Nearly a minute later, chaos erupted on the screen. Multiple shadows, one blending in with the next, rushed along the back wall like a bloodthirsty horde. Dial stared at the action, trying to count the shadows, trying to make sense of things, but they moved so quickly it was impossible.

“Freeze it,” he said.

But Costas ignored Dial’s order. “Wait! You like!”

Dial focused on the TV, not sure what he was waiting for. When the damn thing appeared, it happened so Suddenly, that he almost missed it.

Caught up in the excitement, Costas yelled, “I freeze!”

Then he hit pause by himself.

Andropoulos stood still, his mouth slightly agape, as if he couldn’t believe their luck.

Dial was just as thrilled but didn’t get lost in the moment. Instead, he calmly pulled out his camera phone and snapped a photo of the screen. He wanted a copy of the image just in case the tape was destroyed or he was removed from the investigation.

“So,” Dial asked, “have you seen one of those before?”

Andropoulos nodded. “In a museum. Not at a crime scene.”

“Anything you can tell me about it?”

“No, sir. History isn’t my strength.”

“Mine either. What about you, Costas?”

Costas smiled at Dial and said, “I freeze!”

“Sorry. He’s confused,” Andropoulos said. He rattled off several questions in Greek, which Costas answered while shaking his head. “He knows nothing.”

Dial moved closer to the screen, focusing on the image. It was a silver sword, approximately three feet in length. The type of weapon that had been used in Ancient Greece. The handle was a different color from the blade—maybe bronze or gold—though it was tough to tell for sure in the dim light of the church. The same thing applied to the man who held it. Only his hand and wrist were visible, but he looked Caucasian or Mediterranean. Definitely not black.

“Can you play it slow?” Dial asked.

“Slow,” Costas echoed as he clicked the remote control.

The image ticked by one frame at a time, yet nothing new revealed itself. Within seconds, the blade swung out of view as the warrior walked away from the camera.

“Is that all?” Dial wondered.

“No!” Costas assured him. “Me hit play. You see more. You like!”

“Go ahead. I want to see why you’re so excited.”

Two minutes later, Dial got his answer—one that was completely surreal.

From the left side of the screen, a muscular man walked into view and stood next to the rear table. On his head he wore a full-size bronze helmet that covered his entire face except for his eyes and mouth. Guarding his nose was a long metal strip that started at his forehead and widened near his nostrils, making his eyes look like two hollow sockets.

The effect was more than menacing.

A bronze breastplate hung from his shoulders, protecting his ribs and chest but not his brawny arms. This gave him freedom of movement, allowing him to swing his sword from side to side or reach the silver dagger he had tucked in his leather sheath. An empty scabbard clung to his back, waiting to be reunited with the weapon he held in front of him like a statue.

A blade that didn’t move. A blade that didn’t tremble.

As though he had been training for this mission his entire life and couldn’t be stopped.

Somehow that was the scariest thing of all.





16




MacDill AFB Tampa, Florida




Payne and Jones made the necessary arrangements as they drove to MacDill AFB. A cargo flight was leaving within the hour that would fly them to Ramstein Air Base in the German state of Rhineland-Palatinate, where they could catch a plane to any country in Europe.

It was one of the perks of being special advisers to the Pentagon.

From there, they would travel to Kaiserslautern, approximately 10 miles from the base. Known as “K-Town” to American personnel, it was a city of 100,000 people and could provide them with anything they required: weapons, clothes, or a good German lager. They had been there several times over the years and knew the layout of the city. The only question was which of their contacts they wanted to involve in such a hastily planned trip to Russia.

That was one of the things they would discuss during their transatlantic flight.

Another was Allison Taylor.

She was the biggest unknown in a mission that was full of them. They had gleaned some information during their initial conversation with her, but when it came right down to it, they knew very little about her background—other than her supposed connection to Richard Byrd.