Chase thumped a fist on the sofa cushion and got to his feet, his own frustration coiled up inside him. “Buggeration and fuckery!” he snarled, glaring at the African statue. “And you can fuck off, an’ all.” It stared back in wooden silence.
Still fuming, he went into the bedroom and retrieved his jacket. Even on the dark material, the stains stood out clearly. “Well, bollocks,” he told it. “Suppose I really will have to get you cleaned.” He went through its pockets, emptying the contents-
His fingers touched something unexpected. A sheet of paper, tightly folded into a small square. Anger giving way to curiosity, he opened it.
He recognized the handwriting even before looking at the signature. Sophia. She must have slipped it into his pocket when she tugged on his jacket at the party.
He read the note. Then his eyes widened and he read it again, just to make sure it really said what he thought it did.
“Fuck me…” he whispered. Forget the dry cleaner-he needed to go to the IHA after all.
But not to see Nina. This was definitely over her head.
Nina’s office had a small private bathroom, in which she tried to make herself appear as polished and professional as possible for her visitor. She looked at herself in the mirror and touched the pendant hanging from her neck. The curved piece of metal was actually a scrap of an Atlantean artifact she had discovered years earlier without knowing its true nature; she had instead always regarded it as her good-luck charm. She hoped its luck would help her get what she wanted today.
Satisfied that her hair finally looked worth five hundred dollars, she checked that her Armani jacket and skirt were straight and her black stilettos clean, then looked at her watch. Almost time for her meeting.
There was something she had to practice first, though.
Nina left the bathroom and sat at her desk, turning to face the view of Manhattan from the window of the United Nations building. “Okay. I can do this, I can get this right.” She took a breath. “Good morning, Mr. Popadol-Dammit! Popo, Popadolapis…shit!” She ground a palm against her forehead. “Mr. Nicholas Popadopoulos,” she finally managed to say, carefully enunciating each syllable. “Pop-a-dop-ou-los. Popadopoulos. Finally!” She giggled involuntarily. “Okay, I’m ready for you now, Mr. Nicholas Popadopoulos. And you are going to give me what I want.”
The man in question arrived a few minutes later. Nina had spoken to him by phone on several occasions, but this was the first time she had met him in person. For such an obstructive personality, he was not terribly impressive to look at. Popadopoulos was in his sixties, stooped, with thin black hair plastered greasily down in a vain attempt to hide his bald spot. He had a little pencil mustache, and beady spectacles through which he peered suspiciously at Nina as she welcomed him into her office.
“Good morning, Mr. Popadopoulos,” she said, mentally congratulating herself even as she held back a smile. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“Dr. Wilde, yes,” he replied. His accent was Greek, not surprisingly, but with a hint of Italian-the Brotherhood of Selasphoros was based in Rome, and, from what Nina understood, Popadopoulos had been in charge of the secret society’s archives there for over three decades. “I really don’t see why you had to force me to come to New York, no, no. There are these marvelous inventions now, telephone, fax, e-mail. Perhaps you have heard of them?”
“Do take a seat,” Nina offered, already wanting to strangle him. Popadopoulos grunted, but sat down. She drew up another chair to sit facing him. “The reason I asked you to come to New York is because I haven’t been able to persuade you to help me by telephone, fax or e-mail. And since my bosses at the IHA and your superiors in the Brotherhood are finally in agreement that my research into the Tomb of Hercules is valid, and since the Brotherhood has agreed to assist the IHA-”
“An agreement made essentially at gunpoint,” Popadopoulos cut in. “It was not as if we had a choice!”
“However it was made, it was made. And I wanted to do you the courtesy of meeting face-to-face to explain why I need to see the texts of Hermocrates-the originals, not copies or photographs.”
“There is nothing in them you cannot already have seen!” protested Popadopoulos, waving his hands. “They have been in our possession for over two thousand years; they have been studied by the Brotherhood’s own historians! If there were any clues to the location of the Tomb of Hercules in there, do you not think we would have found them by now?”
“You had Plato’s other lost works about Atlantis for all that time as well, but you didn’t find it. I did,” Nina pointed out sharply. Popadopoulos looked stung. “Critias says on several occasions in the text of Hermocrates that he will reveal to Socrates and the others the location and secrets of the Tomb, as given to him by Solon, but he never does.”
“That is because the text was never finished!”
“I disagree. In every other respect, Hermocrates is a complete dialogue. The only thing not neatly wrapped up by the end is the matter of the Tomb of Hercules-which would have been one hell of an oversight by Plato if he’d just happened to forget about it!” Nina softened her voice, remembering that she was trying to persuade Popadopoulos to cooperate.
“I’m convinced that there is something else to be found, some clue that isn’t obvious from transcripts of the text or photos of the parchments. Mr. Popadopoulos, we’re both historians-preserving and documenting the past is what we do, it’s our passion in life. It’s what drives us. I honestly believe that if you allow me to see the original texts, I’ll be able to find some clue that will reveal the location of the Tomb of Hercules. We both know why the discovery of Atlantis can’t be revealed to the world, but this is something, a genuine ancient treasure, that can.”
Popadopoulos said nothing, but at least seemed to be considering her words. She pressed on. “Every precaution will be taken to ensure the safety and preservation of the parchments. The only members of the IHA who will see them will be myself and whomever else you authorize; you will have full control over access to them, and the security arrangements will be entirely up to you. The only thing I ask is that I be allowed to view the text here in New York, so that I have access to all my research and the IHA’s facilities. The Brotherhood’s archives are an incredible source of knowledge-please, let me put them to good use. For the benefit of history.”
Nina sat back. She’d said her piece; everything was now in Popadopoulos’s hands. He stayed silent for several seconds, Nina’s anxiety increasing with each tick of the clock. If he said no, she was back to square one…
“I will… consider your proposal,” he finally said. Nina could tell from the resignation in his voice that he was going to let her see the text; knowing that the Brotherhood had already agreed in principle would make it very hard for him to refuse. His “consideration” was just for show. “And I will also need to speak to the Brotherhood in Rome.”
“Take all the time you need,” Nina told him. “Please, use my phone to make your calls.” She gestured at her desk. “I’ll give you some privacy-when you need me, just dial zero to have somebody page me.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wilde.” They both stood and shook hands, then Nina left the room. As soon as she closed the door, she punched the air and mouthed a silent Yes!
Feeling triumphant, she headed for the IHA’s lounge. Coffee wasn’t exactly a celebratory drink, but after the previous night champagne wasn’t high on her list of-
She froze. Farther down the corridor, a man emerged from an office, his back to her, and headed for the elevators at the far end. A man in jeans and a battered black leather jacket.