The Alexander Cipher Page 0,108
stain on his honor. He couldn’t. Yet each time he sat up, resolved to do something, his nerve wilted. He wasn’t that kind of man. He was no kind of man at all. And what could he achieve anyway? They had taken his cell phone, his bedside phone, and his modem jack. They had locked his doors and windows and taken the keys. He rose once more, went to his bedroom door, and stood there with his hand on the handle. He returned for his dressing gown, then took three deep breaths for courage before opening his door. Manolis was asleep on a mattress in the corridor outside. Ibrahim stood still, waited for his heart to calm. He reached his left leg over Manolis. A floorboard creaked beneath the carpet. Ibrahim froze.
Manolis’s eyes opened; Ibrahim could see the luminous white rings of his corneas. “What are you doing?” he grunted.
“My stomach,” said Ibrahim. “I need tablets.”
“Wait. I come with you.”
“It’s okay. I—”
“I come with you.”
THE TWO FOUR-BY-FOURS pulled up in front of Nicolas with a screech of brakes and a spray of sand. Bastiaan threw open the back door of the first and hauled two figures out. First was some lifeless stranger half wrapped in a rug, his chest a mess of blood and pulp. Then the girl, Gaille, dizzy and pale, her wrists and ankles tied with rope. She looked around, evidently terrified, and her eyes locked on someone standing behind him. “Elena!” she cried plaintively. “How could you?”
“Because she’s a patriot,” retorted Nicolas coldly when Elena didn’t speak.
Costis was hauling another man from the back of the second four-by-four. He glared up from the sand. Knox! Nicolas felt a little nauseated suddenly, as though he had eaten something that disagreed with him. There was something about the man that made him feel just that little bit helpless. Knox’s gaze slid past Nicolas to where his father was standing. “So!” he said contemptuously. “A common tomb robber.”
“Scarcely a common tomb robber,” replied Dragoumis, unruffled, “as I suspect you know full well.”
“Have you found him, then?” Knox asked despite himself.
“Not yet,” admitted Dragoumis.
“Not yet?” frowned Nicolas. “What do you mean, not yet? There’s nothing there.”
Dragoumis looked sourly at his son. “Have you learned nothing about this man Kelonymus?” he asked impatiently. “Do you really believe he’s the kind to surrender his greatest secret at the first breach?” He pointed at Gaille, then said to his men, “She understands his mind better than anyone. Bring her inside.”
“Don’t do it, Gaille,” said Knox tersely. “Don’t give them anything.”
Dragoumis turned to him. “You know I am a man of my word. So let me make you an offer. If you two help me find what we’re looking for, I vow I’ll let you both go free.”
“Sure!” scoffed Knox. “After everything we’ve seen!”
“Believe me, Daniel, if we find what we’re looking for, the more you two talk, the better it will be for us.”
“And if we refuse?”
Dragoumis gave a small, sorrowful shrug. “Do you really want to put that to the test?”
Nicolas kept his eyes on Knox while he debated his response. It was clear that he was still burning with rage for what they had just done to his friend, that he was only waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge. He turned to warn his father, but his father silenced him with a look, as though he was already five moves ahead, so he shrugged and turned back to Knox. The man was still struggling with himself, with his conscience, but then he glanced at Gaille, her face ashen with fear and streaked by tears, silently pleading with him not to do anything crazy.
He blinked and sighed. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll do what we can.”
“Good,” said Dragoumis. He turned to Costis. “Untie their ankles, but not their wrists. And keep a close eye on this one,” he added, gesturing at Knox. “He’s more dangerous than he looks.”
Costis nodded seriously. “I know,” he said.
IBRAHIM AND MANOLIS walked downstairs together. The carpet was lush, but the soles of Ibrahim’s feet felt icy. He glanced down, almost expecting them to be glistening blue-white, like diamonds. Sofronio was snoring on the couch. When Manolis turned on the lights, he sat up, disoriented with sleep, then cursed Manolis in Greek and covered an expansive yawn.
Ibrahim made a show of looking through his kitchen cabinets, slamming drawers, muttering. He heard the two Greeks conferring. Their Greek was so guttural, he couldn’t understand a word, but the way they