The Alexander Cipher Page 0,50
was no spark, and he didn’t fall. He simply absorbed it with that offensive smirk of his and carried on staring at her. “Please leave,” she said. “I have work.”
But he didn’t leave. He just stood there, his back to the window. “I’ve booked a table,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to hurry you, but—”
“If you don’t leave,” she said coldly, “I’ll call security.”
He nodded. “You must, of course, do whatever you think best.”
She felt flutters in her stomach as she pulled the phone toward her. It was one of those old analogs. She dialed the first number, expecting that would be enough for him. But he made no move. He just stood there with that same damned conceited smile on his face. The dial made that low metallic purr as it returned to its starting position. She dialed the second number. The handset felt cool against her cheek. She put her finger in the hole to dial the third number, but then her arm just seemed to die on her, as though all her muscles had atrophied at once.
He walked across and plucked the handset from her, resting it back in its cradle. “You’ll want to freshen up,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs.”
“WE’VE FOUND HIM,” said Nessim.
There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the phone. After so many disappointments, Hassan seemed rather thrown. “Are you sure?”
“Hosni spotted him,” said Nessim. “He’s staying in a friend’s apartment. I drove up here as soon as I got the call. He came out fifteen minutes ago, not a care in the world. He must think we’ve stopped looking. But it’s him, all right.”
“Where’s he now?”
“In a taxi. Heading towards Ramla.”
“You’re following?”
“Of course. You want him picked up?”
That silence again. Then, “Listen to me: this is what I want.”
KNOX WAS SURPRISED and gratified by the warmth with which Gaille greeted him that evening. “Perfect timing,” she enthused. “Ibrahim’s asked me to do a show-and-tell on the antechamber paintings tomorrow. I need a victim to practice on.” She led him back to her room, defying the toxic glare of her concierge. Her balcony doors were open to a cacophony on the street below: youngsters talking and laughing excitedly in anticipation of their evening, a distant tram clanking on its rails like an overworked kitchen. Her laptop was open on her desk, her screen saver painting weird patterns on the monitor. She nudged her mouse, and a colorful wall painting of two men sprang up.
He leaned in, frowning. “What the hell? Is this from the site?”
“The side walls in the antechamber.”
“But… they’re just plaster. How did you get them to look like this?”
She grinned with pleasure. “Your friend Augustin. He told me to use water. Lots of water. Not quite as much as you pumped in this morning, maybe, but . . .”
He laughed and softly smacked her shoulder in reproach, triggering an unexpected spark of contact that gave them both a little jolt. “You’ve done a great job,” he said, pulling himself together. “It looks fantastic.”
“Thanks.”
“You know who these guys are?”
“The one on the left is Akylos. The occupant of the tomb.”
Knox frowned. The name Akylos was strangely familiar. But why wouldn’t it be? It had been common enough among Greeks. “And the other?” he asked.
“Apolles or Apelles of Cos.”
“Apelles of Cos?” asked Knox incredulously. “You don’t mean the painter?”
“Is that who he is?”
Knox nodded. “Alexander the Great’s favorite. Wouldn’t have his portrait made by any other artist. He often dropped by his studio to bore everyone silly with his views on art, until finally Apelles told him to shut up, as even the boys grinding the colors were making fun of him.”
Gaille laughed. “That took some courage.”
“Alexander liked people with a bit of brass. Besides, Apelles knew how to flatter as well as mock. He painted Alexander with a bolt of lightning in his hand, just like Zeus. Where is this? Does it say?”
“Ephesus, as far as I can make out, but you can see the lacunae for yourself.”
“It would make sense,” said Knox. “Alexander went there after his first victory over the Persians.” He reached past her, closed the file, and brought up another: soldiers wading through water. “Perga,” he said. He glanced at her. “You know about this?”
“No.”
“It’s on the Turkish coast, opposite Rhodes. If you want to head south from there, you can hike over the hills, which is hard work, or you can go along the coast. Trouble is, you can only manage this route when