“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply—”
Dial pointed to the oldest monk in the photo. “How old do you think he was?”
“I don’t know. Maybe seventy.”
“And what about this guy here?”
“Early sixties.”
“And this one?”
“Fifties.”
“Noticing a pattern?”
Andropoulos nodded. “Their ages are staggered.”
“Exactly. Seven monks, each of them born several years apart. Kind of interesting, huh?”
“In what way, sir?”
Dial sighed. He thought his point was rather obvious. “Take a look at the bulletin board.”
“Okay.”
He pointed to a single photo. Seven heads were stacked in a pyramid in the secret passageway underneath Holy Trinity. “Ignore the blood and the brutality. Focus on the faces. What can you tell me about these monks?”
Andropoulos stared at the image, trying to figure out the answer that Dial was looking for. Several seconds passed before it came to him. “The monks were different ages.”
“Exactly! Seven monks with staggered ages. Where have we seen that before?”
“In the other picture.”
“Not only that, but the abbot was in each one. He was a young monk in the old photo and the old monk in the new photo. Somehow I doubt that’s a coincidence.”
“I don’t get it, sir. Why would they stagger the ages?”
“Only one reason I can think of: succession.”
“Succession?”
Dial nodded. “The monks were trying to keep something alive, whether it was a secret or a tradition or whatever. The way I figure it is this. When one of the monks died, they brought a new one into the fold. That guaranteed a new generation to keep things going. Hell, they might have gone so far as to choose seven monks from different countries just to make sure that a natural disaster didn’t wipe them all out at once. That would explain the wide variety of faces in the photos. A new monk from a different place to keep something alive.”
“I’m confused, sir. What kind of something are you talking about?”
He tapped Andropoulos on his chest again. “That goes back to my earlier question. What were these monks discussing in an isolated monastery in the middle of the night?”
“Do you have any theories?”
“Of course I do. I always have theories. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“But you’re keeping them to yourself.”
“For the time being, yes. I don’t want to taint your opinions until I’m a little more certain.”
“Fair enough.”
“What about you? Do you have any theories?”
Andropoulos smiled. “Actually, sir, I might.”
“Let me guess. You’re going to keep them to yourself so you don’t taint me.”
“No, sir. I’d be happy to share it with you if you’re willing to listen.”
“I’m all ears. What’s your theory about?”
“I think I just figured out why they were meeting at Holy Trinity, not Athens or Istanbul.”
“Go on.”
“It never dawned on me until you said the word, but maybe the reason they were meeting locally was tradition. After all, the photograph from forty years ago was also taken here. Maybe they met here every year. Maybe it was a part of their ritual.”
Dial stroked his chin in thought. “You know what, Marcus? That’s a pretty good theory. It makes more sense than anything I’ve come up with.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad you like it.”
Dial walked closer to the bulletin board, staring at all the pictures and index cards. As he did, he ran different scenarios through his mind, trying to decide if he needed to shift anything around. Sometimes that was how it worked with Dial. One thing fell into place, followed by another and another until all his questions were Suddenly, answered.
“What are you thinking about, sir?”
“The reason. What was the reason they started meeting at Holy Trinity?”
“That I don’t know.”
“I’m glad,” Dial teased. “It will give me a chance to earn my big paycheck.”
Andropoulos smiled and was about to say something else until he noticed the faraway look in Dial’s eye. He was no longer paying attention to the young cop. Instead, he was focused on the bulletin board, crunching all the data in his head, trying to figure out the answer to the question that he had just asked. Why were they meeting at Holy Trinity?
A few minutes passed before Dial spoke again. When he did, he spoke with clarity.
“The tunnel. This whole thing is about the goddamn tunnel.”
“The tunnel?”