Boris’s flashlight beam cut across the bright surface again.
Evan leaned against a wall. His backpack thumped against the stone, and it sounded hollow. He stepped away from the wall in surprise. At the same time, Boris spotted the flash again. He trained his flashlight on the shiny sliver and knelt. His fingers picked at the thin, uneven edge he found there.
Evan knelt beside him. “What is it?”
“It looks like a coin.”
“Someone dropped a penny in the wall?”
“I don’t know.” Boris pulled the messenger bag strap over his head and placed it beside him. Rummaging inside, he took out a small rock pick and banged at the wall around the coin. The stone was surprisingly soft and gave way at once.
A moment later, the silver coin tumbled to the floor.
Awed by what he saw before him, Boris put the pick aside and picked up the coin. The silver coin was about the size of a dime and bore the profile of a man wearing a tight-fitting helm. On the other side, a man seated on a chair held out his hand and clutched a spear in the other.
“What is that?” Evan peered over Boris’s shoulder.
Exasperated, Boris turned on the young man. “If you’re going to create a game that is going to hold the attention of a world of gamers and you’re going to use your knowledge of history to do it, you should know what a drachma is.”
“I know what a drachma is.”
“What?”
“A Greek coin. Percy Jackson uses them to call the Greek gods.”
“What?” Boris couldn’t believe his ears. Then he held up his hands. “Never mind.” He picked up his messenger bag, took out a ziplock baggie, and dropped the coin into it. “For your information, that drachma is a coin minted in the time of Alexander the Great. You do know who that is, don’t you?”
“Of course. King of Macedon.” Evan had slumped back into sullen.
“Stand back over there. Out of the way. And hold that flashlight on this wall.”
Evan moved back and held the flashlight steady.
Excited again, Boris attacked the wall with the pick. “You see, Evan? This isn’t real stone. Under normal circumstances, and by that, I mean torchlight or candlelight from centuries ago, the false nature of this wall would have escaped notice.” He struck the wall hard enough to make his hand ache and his arm vibrate. Stone chips flew, and a few blows later, he broke through.
Breathing hard, pulse thrumming within him, Boris switched the pick for his flashlight. He stared through the fist-sized hole he’d broken through the wall.
“My god.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
On the other side of the wall was a tomb. And in the tomb was a stone sarcophagus that bore a sword and shield. On the floor in front of it was a chest plate. Spears stood against the wall.
With renewed vigor, Boris put down the flashlight, took a fresh grip on the pick, and attacked the wall.
12
Thomas Lourds deplaned in Kabul, made it through customs without a hitch, and started for baggage claim. He hadn’t made it twenty feet past the checkpoint when he spotted Layla standing next to the wall.
She looked a lot different in Afghanistan than she did when they were in London or Rome or New York. They’d arranged to meet in all those places when her work had taken her there and Lourds could get away.
In Afghanistan, Layla observed more of the customs. She wore a black-and-white-print hijab that covered her head and circled her neck. She honored the traditions, but she did so with her own flair at the same time. The loose-fitting jelbab, the outer cloak, offered no hint of the beautiful body that lay beneath it.
Lourds had seen her in a black evening dress, a bikini, and in the altogether. He didn’t care how she was dressed. She was lovely. For a moment, he just stood there — ignoring traffic — and drinking in the sight of her.
Then she glanced in his direction and saw him. She came across the floor to meet him, and he went to her. When he reached her, she turned and headed to baggage claim with him.
Not being able to hug her or kiss her bothered Lourds deeply, but he knew in Afghanistan, such actions could get her killed. Women still lived tightly regimented lives in the country, which was one of the missions Layla had undertaken to change.
But the change had to come gradually.
“Good evening, Thomas.”
Local time was eight thirty-seven.
“Good evening.” Lourds was used to the stiff, formal greeting. It was a learned behavior while they were in country.
“I trust your flight went well?”
“It did. Thank you.”
“I do wish you hadn’t come here unannounced.”
Lourds grinned ruefully at that. “Since you were waiting at the airport for me, I would hardly say my arrival was unannounced.”
“I talked to Tina.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I called your office. She answered. She seems like a delightful girl.”
“Young lady, actually. An adjunct at the university. She’s taking over my classes while I’m visiting you.”
“That’s very nice.”
“It was.”
“About the visit…”
“Yes?”
“I was unprepared for it.”
The flat statement didn’t hurt Lourds’s feelings. One of the things he most treasured about Layla was her ability to say exactly what was on her mind. “I’m sorry.”
“It is not you. It is me. I should have remembered Valentine’s Day and that you might be tempted to do something special.”
Lourds hadn’t even been able to send flowers because of the culture. Neither he nor Layla wanted to run the risk of some kind of retaliation for her behavior. Trying to manage the Islam rules was proving more difficult than he would have thought.
“You’re right, Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. I thought maybe we could get away. Maybe to Bucharest or to Istanbul. Either one of those places is less than five hours away by plane.”
“It is a very pleasant thought, but tomorrow is a Thursday. That is a workday for me, and I have booked it solid, I’m afraid. In fact, I had to work hard to get off in time to meet your plane here.”
The drive from Kandahar to Kabul was over three hundred miles. There were no available hotels in Kandahar, and large pockets of the city remained without electricity.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense. I care about you deeply. I didn’t want to leave you unattended and unwelcomed.”
“Well, I thank you for that. Perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow evening.”
Layla looked at him with sad, dark eyes. “I wish I could do so, but I have been booked into a fundraiser.”
Lourds refused to be crushed by the distressing news. “Perhaps I could crash the fundraiser.”
“I do not think that would be a wise idea. You would be a distraction.”
“Surely I’m more than a distraction.”
She smiled at him. “You are more than a distraction. And when I get you to your hotel, I’ll show you how distracting you can be.”
Lourds grinned. “We can skip baggage. I’ll have my luggage delivered.”
“I won’t hear of it. We’ll get your things.”
When they arrived at the Kabul Serena Hotel, twenty minutes from the airport, Lourds confirmed his reservation and accepted his room key. Layla stood apart from him and didn’t speak. They took the elevator up to the second floor, then slipped into his room.
Once inside, they didn’t waste time on words. He reached for her, and she was in his arms. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and for a moment, he just held her, feeling her warm body against his, smelling the shampoo that filtered through the hijab, and hearing her breathing in his ear.