From his current location, Dial could see the outline of its snowcapped peak, yet his focus was on Zográfou, a monastery founded in A.D. 971 that was nestled in the vegetation. Unlike other parts of Greece, this stretch of land was rarely cleared by human hands.
“Zográfou is unlike any other monastery on Athos. All its monks are Bulgarian, and all its services are performed in their native tongue.” Clive pointed at the monastery’s tower, which was in the center of the multibuilding complex. “That’s where they keep their most-prized possessions, including Codex One.”
“Which is what?” Dial wondered.
“The first official history book of Bulgaria. It was written by a monk named Paisios and stored here for safekeeping. You’d be surprised how many manuscripts and treasures were guarded by monasteries over the centuries. In that tower alone, there are more than ten thousand codices, written in Greek and Slavic languages. Rumor says that they have even more than that, but we’ll never know. Outsiders are never given full access to any of the local libraries, which is a shame. I’m a huge fan of libraries.”
Dial stared at the stone tower with its red-tiled roof. As he did, thoughts of the hidden tunnel at Holy Trinity floated through his head. In many ways, Metéora was better protected than the monasteries at Mount Athos, yet because of their position on the top of natural stone pillars, the monks were limited by geology. Secret vaults had to be dug into the hard rock and accessed from above. But here on Athos, it was different. The peninsula was 35 miles long and 6 miles wide, meaning there were plenty of places to hide their most valuable relics.
Dial asked, “How many of these monasteries have you been in?”
“I wish I could say all of them, but so far I’ve only been in twelve of the twenty.”
“Any treasures stand out?”
Clive whistled. “Now, that’s a tough question. That’s like asking someone to pick out their favorite painting at the Vatican. I mean, there are way too many treasures to name.”
“The monasteries are that nice?”
“Yes, they are. Keep in mind that Mount Athos has always attracted the best artists and craftsmen from the Orthodox world. The monasteries offered food, shelter, privacy, and protection, and the artists repaid them by creating religious masterpieces in many different forms: mosaics, manuscripts, carvings, jewelry, and so on. Why do you think there are so many armed guards roaming the hills? These treasures are priceless.”
“And are all the treasures religious in nature?”
“Not all of them. Why? Do you have something in mind?”
Dial nodded. “Anything that involves Greek soldiers.”
Clive gave it some thought. “I remember seeing swords in a few of the monasteries. Even some old guns that were taken from invading pirates.”
“Not weapons,” he clarified. “I meant artwork. Like stone altars or carved doors.”
“To be honest, nothing jumps out at me. That’s not to say that they don’t exist-because I saw some altars and doors that dazzled me. I’m talking really intricate pieces that must have taken several months to complete. But all of them had religious themes.”
Dial glanced at Andropoulos, who was listening to the conversation but remained quiet. They briefly made eye contact, and when they did, Dial nodded his head toward Clive. It was Dial’s way of encouraging the young cop to ask some questions.
Andropoulos cleared his throat. “What about books on warfare?”
“Warfare?” Clive took a moment to consider the word. “Well, as I mentioned, Zográfou has the first history book ever written about Bulgaria. I’m sure some of its sections are devoted to soldiers and war and that type of thing. As for other monasteries, I would guess that they have the same sort of books. Particularly Greek history.”
“Why’s that?” Dial wondered.
“Because seventeen of the monasteries are Greek. The other three are Russian, Serbian, and Bulgarian.”
Dial smiled at this. Of the seven monks beheaded at Holy Trinity, one was Russian, one was Bulgarian, and one was Greek. The fourth monk was from Turkey, which was where the Ecumenical Patriarchate was located. That meant all of the major nationalities on Mount Athos had been represented at that late-night meeting.
He wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence or not.
But he was going to keep it in mind as his journey continued.
63
If Payne and Jones had been traveling by themselves, they would have called Randy Raskin for two seats on a military flight to Izmir Air Base. Located on the western coast of Turkey, it wasn’t far from Limnos, the Greek island where Jarkko kept his yacht.
Unfortunately for them, the U.S. military frowned upon hard-drinking Finns and blondes with fake passports sneaking into a foreign country in the back of one of its planes. Therefore, the four of them were forced to find a different mode of transportation to the Aegean.
Surprisingly, it was Jarkko who came up with the solution. He was friends with a pilot in Helsinki-the same pilot who always took him south for the winter-who was more than happy to fly them to Greece for a reasonable price. And since Limnos had its own airport, they would actually get there faster than they would flying to Athens on a jet and shuttling north to the island.
Plus, a small airport with private hangars made sneaking past customs a lot easier.
Before leaving Finland, Payne bought plenty of supplies at the Kauppatori Market, everything from food to warm clothes. He had never been to Mount Athos, but he was quite familiar with the effects of altitude on air temperature. Especially at night. A brutal mission in the rugged terrain of Afghanistan had taught him that. And since the cover of darkness would aid their journey up the Holy Mountain, he made damn sure they were ready for it.
Meanwhile, Jones used Allison’s computer to download as much information about Athos as possible. He wanted to plot their mission during their long flight to Greece, so they could hit the ground running. Normally, he would have preferred a day or two to survey the topography and scout the patrol patterns on the southern tip of the peninsula. But after thinking it over, he realized that this was a race against a nameless opponent. The man who had hired Alexei Kozlov to kill Richard Byrd was seeking the same treasure they were.
One day could make all the difference between fortune and failure.
Hey, Jon,” Jones said from the back of the small jet. Jarkko was sitting in the cockpit, trading dirty jokes with the pilot, while Allison caught a nap in the front row.
“What?” Payne asked from across the aisle.
“Let’s assume that this treasure is real, that Schliemann actually found the Statue of Zeus, and it’s somehow hidden inside the mountain.”
“Okay.”
“How are we going to get it out?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, the damn thing is forty feet tall and covered with gold. I doubt we can carry it.”
“Speak for yourself. I’ve been eating a lot of sausage. And sausage means protein.”
Jones smirked. “I’m serious. There’s no way we can remove it by ourselves.”
“You’re assuming that it’s still in one piece. Remember, it was carried from Olympia to Constantinople and back to Greece. And when it disappeared from Constantinople, no one saw it leave. Either that was one hell of a magic trick, or they cut the throne into pieces before the trip.”
“Good point.”
“Besides, even if we find it, I don’t think we should move it. After all, it’s one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. We would be crucified if we damaged it any further.”