“You actually saw the killer?” she asked.
Payne nodded. “Couldn’t see his face, though. We were kind of hoping you did.”
She shook her head. “I was too far away.”
“In that case,” Jones said, “we need to figure out why Byrd was killed.”
“His name was Richard. Can you guys please call him Richard?”
Jones corrected himself. “Sorry. Force of habit. Why Richard was killed.”
She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, afraid that she was going to get emotional again—which was something she didn’t want to do in front of Payne and Jones. They had flown halfway around the world to rescue her and weren’t looking for money or anything in return. The least she could do was keep it together when she was in their presence.
Allison said, “For the past two days, I’ve thought about everything I’ve done in Saint Petersburg, and I don’t have any answers. I simply don’t know why Richard was killed.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Payne stated, “because you won’t be safe until we know.”
32
Taygetos Mountain Range (22 miles west of Spárti, Greece)
The Taygetos Mountain Range extends for 65 miles across the Peloponnese in southern Greece. Not far from the ruins of Ancient Sparta, the mountains are home to several small villages that have little contact with the outside world. No electricity. No telephones. And no public schooling. Instead, education is handled by the community in any way that it sees fit.
In some parts of the world, the Spartan way of life would be classified as barbaric.
Here, they viewed it as necessary.
Leon was only twelve years old, but he strode into the center of the ring with the swagger of someone twice his age. Confidence filled his face despite the welts and scars that covered his back. His schooling had started at the age of seven, the same as every other boy in the region. But he was unlike them in one way: this was his day to prove that he was ready for the next stage of training.
This was his chance to become a man.
He wore no shirt or shoes, for those were luxuries that had to be earned, much like food and water. He grasped a wooden sword in his right hand and a small metal shield in his left. Someday, if he survived his trials, he would carry real weapons like those used by his ancestors—warriors who were best known for their heroic stand in the Battle of Thermopylae. In 480 B.C., three hundred Spartans, led by his namesake King Leonidas, held off the invading Persian army. They killed more than twenty thousand men before they were outflanked, but only because the Persians were helped by a traitorous Greek.
People around the globe had been made aware of these events in the movie 300. Yet he never saw it and never would. He had heard the true story from the time of his birth. It had been drilled into his head, over and over again, until he believed that the Spartan way was the only way to survive, that everyone else in the world was weak and corrupt, and that someday, when push came to shove, he would be ready to defend his family and his village with the tip of his blade.
It was a philosophy shared by both men and women in his culture.
In ancient times, before going to war Spartan soldiers were presented their shields by their wives or mothers. They told the men to return home, “With this, or upon this.”
That is, come home victorious or come home dead.
Nothing else was acceptable.
Rocks lined the perimeter of the circle. Dirt and stones filled the ground in between.
Leon stood in the middle of the harsh terrain, staring at all the boys who surrounded him. For the time being, he considered them the enemy, unsure who would attack him first. Their ages varied from seven to seventeen. The youngest were given whips; others were given wooden swords. It all depended on their stage of training. The oldest boys, who had proven their worth long ago, could use nothing but their fists; otherwise they would overwhelm Leon in a matter of seconds. Still, if given the chance, they would gladly beat Leon to death with their bare hands.
Leon’s father, familiar with the same proceedings that he had endured as a child, loomed in the background, anxious to see if his son was worthy of living. The only other adults present were the instructors who worked for the agoge—the local equivalent of a martial arts dojo—which had been in existence in one form or another for more than twenty-five hundred years.
Simply put, this was where boys learned to be Spartans.
Leon stood in a defensive position, waiting for the assault to begin. His left arm was tight against his chest, holding his small shield high. He slowly turned, always keeping his weight balanced on both feet. This allowed him to move and strike as soon as he sensed danger.