The Lost Throne - By Chris Kuzneski Page 0,151

was talking about. She pointed her flashlight in the same direction and was staggered by the sight.

“Oh my God!” she gasped.

Jones grinned at her reaction. “Do you like my treasure? I saw it first.”

Dial was an expert on body language. From his position in the passageway, he knew his friends had discovered something momentous. The look of sheer joy on both their faces was proof of that. Still, it didn’t prepare him for his first glimpse of the cavern and its bounty.

He rounded the corner and stood there in shock, his massive jaw dropping to his chest.

“Good Lord!” Dial blurted. “I think I have to quit my job.”

Payne was the last one to see the treasure. Taller than the other three, he stood behind them and marveled at the enormity of it all: the cavern, the number of crates, and the effort it must have taken to haul this stuff from Constantinople, which was hundreds of miles away.

“There’s no way the monks carried this stuff by themselves,” he said to no one in particular. “How in the world did they keep this place a secret for so long?”

“I have no freaking idea,” Jones said. “No idea at all. Then again, that’s not what concerns me right now.”

“What does?”

“How are we going to carry this stuff down the mountain?”

The question lingered in the darkness as they rushed forward to open some crates. But Dial decided not to join them. Instead, he turned around and crawled back through the hole.

For the time being, he was still a law enforcement official, and he was still working on a case. Once the smoke cleared and he got back to France, he might have to reconsider his future.

As a director at Interpol, he made a good salary and had a great pension plan, but it paled in comparison with the riches they had found in the cavern. If Payne and Jones figured out a legal way for him to keep a share, he would be tempted to walk away from his career.

But until that day, he had other things to worry about.

Like what was happening on the mountain below.

Coming out,” Dial called to Andropoulos, who was still guarding the mouth of the cave. The last thing he wanted was to surprise the kid and get shot by mistake. “Any trouble out here?”

“No, sir. No trouble at all. How about you?”

“Things are good down below.”

“So,” he asked excitedly, “did they find any treasure?”

Dial smiled at him. “Why don’t you go and look for yourself ?”

“Thank you, sir. I was hoping you’d say that.”

Andropoulos turned to walk away.

“Hold up,” Dial ordered. “Before you go, there’s one other thing I forgot to mention.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Just so you know, it’s been a pleasure working with you.”

Andropoulos beamed with pride. “I was hoping you’d say that, too.”

With a smile on his face, he ran off to see the treasure.

Dial reached behind him and pulled out the radio they had taken from Petros. During their climb up the mountain, Dial had turned it off, afraid the noise might give away their position. But now that they had safely reached their destination, he felt he needed to update the other guards and let them know they were all right.

Several seconds passed before someone responded.

Without mentioning anything about the treasure, Dial filled them in on some basics. “Sorry I’ve been radio-silent for so long. Every time we turned around, we were under attack.”

“Are you all right?”

Dial paused, thinking about Nicolas. Somehow his death needed to be explained without revealing what had really happened. Dial didn’t want to lie. Yet at the same time, he knew he didn’t want to tell the full truth. “We’re fine. We found a monk, though. He didn’t make it.”

The guard said, “We had some losses, too. But we took some Spartans with us. Right now, we’re still searching the grounds, looking for more of them.”

“What about harbor patrol? Did they figure out how the Spartans got here?”

“Yes, sir. They found a boat anchored on the southern shore.”

“Anyone aboard?”

“No, sir. It was empty. But the boat had a name.” The guard paused as he searched for the information. “It was called the Odyssey. It’s a yacht registered in California.”

“California? The Spartans used a boat from California? Did they steal it?”

“I don’t know, sir. We’re still trying to reach the boat’s owner.”

Dial grimaced. “Wait. You know the owner’s name? Is he Greek?”

“I don’t think so, sir. His name is Richard Byrd.”

Payne, Jones, and Allison walked between the large stacks of

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