The Alexander Cipher Page 0,32
the intruder would step out. Only now did he realize what a death trap this apartment was. The fire escape, elevator, and main stairs were all outside the front door. Other than that… There weren’t any other balconies to leap onto, or any ledge to inch along. He gripped the rail tight and leaned out to look six stories down to the unyielding concrete of the parking lot. He could conceivably drop down to the balcony directly beneath his own, but if he mistimed his release… His toes went numb just thinking about it.
Inside Augustin’s apartment, the coughing was growing worse. A strange intruder to break into an apartment only to stand there hacking away. He risked a quick glance through the glass doors but saw nothing to alarm him. Another cough, then some hissing, and finally he understood. He went back in, shaking his head at his paranoia, to find Augustin’s percolator spluttering out the last few drops of coffee. He poured himself a cup and toasted himself mockingly in the mirror. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing, not least because he found confinement hard to bear. Already he could feel a kind of cabin fever building, a slight cramping in his upper arms and the backs of his calves. He longed to take a brisk walk, burn off some nervous energy, but he dare not show his face outside. Hassan’s men would surely already be showing his photograph at train stations, hotels, and taxi companies, scouring parking lots for his Jeep. Knox knew he needed to lie low. But still . . .
Augustin had rushed off first thing to inspect some newly discovered antiquity. By Christ, he wished he were down there with him.
IBRAHIM FELT DEEPLY APPREHENSIVE as he, Mohammed, and Elena ascended the spiral stairs back into daylight. He had to make a report to Nicolas Dragoumis, and he was all too aware that more than his excavation funds rested on the outcome; Mohammed’s hopes for his poor daughter did, too. He squeezed the big man’s forearm to reassure him as best he could, then walked a little way off and dialed the Dragoumis Group switchboard, gave his name and business, and was put on hold.
“Well?” demanded Nicolas, picking up.
“It’s a fine site,” said Ibrahim. “There are some wonderful—”
“You promised me a royal Macedonian tomb. Is it a royal Macedonian tomb or not?”
“I promised you something that looked like a royal tomb,” said Ibrahim. “And it does. Unfortunately, it seems to be the tomb of a shield bearer, not a king or noble.”
“A shield bearer?” sneered Nicolas. “You expect the Dragoumis Group to spend twenty thousand dollars on the tomb of a shield bearer?”
“The shield bearers were Alexander’s elite,” protested Ibrahim. “This man Akylos would have been—”
“What?” interrupted Nicolas. “What did you say his name was?”
“Akylos.”
“Akylos? You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Is Elena there?”
“Yes.”
“Put her on. Now! I want to speak to her.”
Ibrahim shrugged and passed her his phone. She walked a little distance away and turned her back so he couldn’t overhear. She spoke for a good minute before returning his phone. “You have your money,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” said Ibrahim. “What’s so special about this man Akylos?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Mr. Dragoumis wants to be kept fully informed.”
“Of course. I’ll call him myself whenever we—”
“Not by you. By me. He asks that I be given unrestricted access.”
“No. I couldn’t possibly agree to—”
“Mr. Dragoumis insists, I’m afraid.”
“But those weren’t our terms.”
“They are now,” said Elena. “If you want his continued support . . .”
Ibrahim glanced at Mohammed, twisting his hands as he waited. “Very well,” he sighed. “I’m sure we can arrange something.” He nodded at Mohammed to let him know he’d got his money. The big man closed his eyes and sagged in relief, then walked unsteadily to his office, no doubt to make phone calls of his own.
Mansoor emerged from the stairwell and walked over to join Ibrahim. “Well?” he asked. “Do we go for it?”
“Yes.”
“Destructive or nondestructive?”
Ibrahim nodded thoughtfully. A good question. In a fortnight, if the hotel group got their way, tons of rubble would be bulldozed down the stairwell as a makeshift landfill site; its mouth would be sealed and a parking lot laid over the top, so that no one could ever get down there again. If that were to happen, then they first needed to remove everything of value, including the wall paintings and sculptures and the mosaic from the rotunda floor. It was perfectly