“That is correct. Russia, Turkey, Bulgaria, and Greece.”
“Seems kind of strange, doesn’t it? That monks from four different countries were having a secret meeting in the middle of the night in a place as isolated as Metéora.”
“Very strange.”
“I have a feeling it’s going to get even stranger. In fact, I’d be willing to bet you that the remaining three monks are from different countries as well.”
“Countries with ties to the Orthodox Church.”
Dial smiled. “Exactly.”
“Yet you don’t think this meeting was about religion.”
“My gut tells me no. And after talking to my colleague at Interpol, I’m even more confident than before.”
“Why is that, sir?”
Dial pointed to a small map that was thumbtacked to the bottom of his board. It showed the geography of Greece and several surrounding countries. “Originally, I had assumed that the seat of the Greek Orthodox Church would be in Greece. Nope, stupid me. It turns out the Ecumenical Patriarchate is located in Istanbul.”
“The Patriarchate is in Turkey? I thought it was in Athens.”
“That’s what I assumed, too. But it’s not.”
Andropoulos stared at the map. “And why is that important?”
“If this diverse group of monks was having an official meeting about church doctrine, where would it be held?”
“In Istanbul.”
“And if they were having an unofficial meeting, where would they go?”
“Probably Athens.”
Dial nodded. “Makes sense to me. Major airport. Centrally located. A very solid choice.”
“But they chose here instead.”
“Exactly. Which makes no sense at all. Why arrange a meeting in the middle of the night on top of a mountain unless you had a specific reason to do it?”
“Such as?”
Dial tapped Andropoulos on his chest. “See, that’s a question right there that needs to be answered. Once we figure that out, all of this other stuff will start to fall into place.”
Andropoulos nodded as he returned his attention to the bulletin board. Underneath the index card with the names of the dead monks, Dial had tacked two additional cards. One said Nicolas; the other said Spartans. “What do those mean?”
“Tell me, Marcus, what does Nicolas have in common with the Spartans?”
He gave it some thought. “Both of them are Greek.”
Dial grimaced. “And so are you, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know. I just—”
“Come on, Marcus, use your head. Don’t waste your time on superficial bullshit. Focus on what’s important. Why would I place those two cards right next to each other?”
“Because they’re connected.”
“Right. And how are they connected?”
Andropoulos stared at the cards, struggling to find the link.
“Look at the card above. How do the dead monks connect to Nicolas and the Spartans?”
“Well,” he said, trying to talk his way through the process, “we don’t think that Nicolas is a Spartan, so we can rule that out.”
“Go on.”
“Actually, we aren’t quite sure who Nicolas is. Or why he was there.”
“But . . .”
“But . . . somehow he knew.”
Dial smiled. “Knew what?”
“Nicolas knew about the meeting. Somehow he knew when and where the meeting was being held. Just like the Spartans. They knew about the meeting, too.”
“Not only that,” Dial added, “Nicolas knew about the abbot’s death before we did. That means he knew the time, the place, and the guest list. That’s an awfully large chunk of information for someone to possess.”
“Which is why we’re going to Mount Athos. To look for Nicolas.”
Dial nodded. “Admittedly, the odds are pretty slim that we’ll find the guy. Mount Athos is large, and Nicolas probably looks like half the monks there. Still, I think it’s worth our time and effort. Especially after I saw that old photo of him at Holy Trinity. That cinched the trip for me.”
“Why, sir? Why is that picture so important?”
“Let me show you,” Dial said as he removed the photograph from a plastic sleeve designed to protect it. Theodore, the monk from the library, had been kind enough to lend it to them for their investigation. “Look at the people in this picture. What do they have in common?”
“Most of them are dead.”
“And how do you know that?”
“The picture was taken four decades ago, and the monks were already old back then.”
“Define old,” Dial ordered. “And you’d better watch your word choice.”