And Leon just stood there, sword in hand, watching his opponent teeter.
It was an act of weakness that could not be tolerated.
Leon’s enraged father pushed his way through the ring of kids. With a mighty wallop, he smacked his son across the face. The boy fell to the ground, spitting blood. He remained there for several seconds, which was a few seconds too long in the eyes of his father. Bubbling with rage, he grabbed Leon by the neck and yanked him to his feet. Then he shoved Leon toward the large teenager, who was still reeling from the earlier blow.
His father screamed, “There is no mercy on the battlefield. Finish him now!”
Leon nodded, picked up his sword, and did what Spartans were expected to do.
He finished the job without mercy.
33
After breakfast they moved to the living room, where they would be more comfortable. Each of them sat in the same spot as the night before. Payne and Jones were on the couch, and Allison was on a chair. Once again, she held a pillow in her lap.
Payne said, “In my experience, it’s much easier to solve a problem when you’re emotionally detached from the situation. It allows you to consider options that would otherwise be difficult. Part of our training as soldiers was to acquire that skill. We learned how to compartmentalize our emotions in the harshest of environments. We learned how to analyze data calmly despite the threat of death. Without that ability, we wouldn’t have been able to function.”
“Makes sense,” said Allison, as she tucked her feet underneath her.
“As you mentioned, you’ve spent the past two days racking your brain, trying to figure out why Richard was killed, yet you haven’t made any progress. If I had to guess, I’d say that has more to do with your emotional state than your knowledge of the situation.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
Payne leaned forward and smiled, hoping to connect with Allison. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask you some questions about your time in Russia. We’ll try to sort through all your answers and come up with a logical explanation for Richard’s death.”
Allison nodded. She wanted to solve the mystery as quickly as possible.
Payne began. “You mentioned that Richard was fascinated with Ancient Greece. What does that have to do with Saint Petersburg?”
“How much do you know about archaeology?”
“I know a little,” Payne said, thinking back to their recent missions in Italy and Saudi Arabia. “But not as much as D.J. He’s something of a history buff.”
“No, I’m not,” Jones argued. “I’m just naturally smart. I remember things that dumb people forget. . . . Remember, Jon?”
Payne smirked but didn’t dignify the insult with one of his own.
Allison glanced at Jones. “What do you know about Heinrich Schliemann?”
Jones smiled at the mere mention of his name. “That guy was a character and a half.”
She laughed at his remark like it was an inside joke-which, in this case, it was. Because Payne had no idea who Schliemann was or what he had to do with anything.
“Time-out,” said Payne as he signaled for one. “Who is Heinrich Schliemann?”
Jones answered. “He was a German businessman who hated his day job and decided he would much rather be a famous archaeologist. The guy had no formal training, but he took all his money and went searching for Greek treasures. Amazingly, he hit the jackpot on more than one occasion, finding the lost cities of Troy and Mycenae and a number of other sites.”
“And?” Payne asked.
Allison jumped in. “Rivals hated him for it. Since he lacked formal training, he didn’t know how to preserve a site or catalogue the artifacts. He was more interested in finding treasure and being famous than anything else. For every piece of gold he discovered, he ruined ten pieces of historical evidence that would have helped scholars understand these ancient cities. Newspapers praised him for his frequent discoveries. The public adored him for his golden treasures. But historians hated him, because they knew what he was destroying.”
“Not only that,” Jones added, “he lied more often than a politician. People never knew what was real and what was bullshit.”
“True,” Allison admitted. “But that was part of his charm. He lied about his methods. He lied about his treasures. He even lied in his own diary. He used to glue rewritten pages in his journals to change the facts of his life, so he would seem more important after he died. He talked about dining with presidents and surviving famous disasters, and none of it really happened. After a while, he started to believe his own stories, which made it even funnier. No one knew what he would do or say next. But people were captivated by his adventures.”
Jones laughed. “Like I said, he was a character and a half.”
“That’s one of the reasons I chose Schliemann as the focus of my thesis. I thought the modern world should learn more about him.”
“I’d love to read it when you’re done. That guy was a classic.”
She smiled at Jones. “I refer to him as the P. T. Barnum of archaeology. In my opinion, he brought fun and entertainment to a field that used to be bone-dry. Pardon the pun.”
“Not a bad comparison,” Jones admitted. “They lived about the same time, right?”
“They actually died four months apart. Schliemann in 1890. Barnum in 1891.”
Payne listened to the conversation, trying to sort through all the details. Some facts were relevant; others were not. But he would allow them to keep rambling on the topic. Not only to get as much background information as possible-since it was obvious that Schliemann factored into the equation in some way. He also wanted to get a better sense of Allison’s personality. What made her tick? What was her role in this? Could she be trusted in a tough situation?
All those questions needed to be answered.
Then again, so did the question that got everything started.
“And,” Payne repeated, “what does this have to do with Saint Petersburg?”
Allison’s cheeks turned pink. “Sorry. I tend to get excited when I talk about Schliemann. I’ve been researching him for the past few years. Right now, he’s a major part of my life.”
“That’s quite all right. Now I feel like I know him, too.”
She smiled at the sentiment. “Schliemann was born in Germany. At the age of twenty-four he moved here to work for an import/export firm. He was very good at his job, and before long he was making a nice living. Four years later, he learned his brother Ludwig had died in California, where he had been a speculator during the height of the Gold Rush. Considering Schliemann’s lust for gold, he took it as his cue to move to Sacramento to settle his brother’s affairs. Within a year, he had started his own bank that specialized in buying and selling gold dust. Before long, he had made millions and decided to move back to Saint Petersburg, which was a whole lot safer than the Wild West. Especially since he was accused of ripping off his business partner in California and taking advantage of his customers. They used to hang people for that.”
Payne asked, “And that’s why you came here? To research Schliemann’s life?”
“Yes and no,” she answered cryptically. “The first half of his life was important to my thesis because it revealed his character as a young man. He was someone who took big chances to accumulate his fortune, but when things got rough, he ran for the hills. Meanwhile, Richard’s interest was completely different. He was fascinated with the second half of Schliemann’s life, the decades when he searched for treasures.”