slab that was smooth and ten inches thick. All four sides were adorned with carvings of Greek soldiers. Some of them marching, some of them fighting, all of them looking courageous. The slab itself was supported by four legs that resembled ancient swords. But unlike the blades used in the massacre, these were one-sided and topped with intricate handles that were designed for pageantry. The type of swords used by kings, not hoplites.
“Sorry, sir, I’ve never seen it before.”
“And you’ve been to all the local monasteries?”
Andropoulos nodded. “Yes, sir. All six of them.”
“Tell me about their artwork. Do they have any themes?”
“Themes, sir?”
“Does the art have anything in common? Like angels or whatever.”
“Most of the paintings are religious. Like scenes from the Bible.”
“In other words, typical church shit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nothing unusual?”
Andropoulos shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”
“Nothing predating Christ?”
“Sorry, sir, I don’t know much about art.”
Dial nodded in empathy. History and art weren’t his strengths, either. Still, it seemed pretty strange that the public frescoes in the local monasteries showcased religion while the hidden artwork at Holy Trinity—the door, the shelves, the stone altar—featured war.
What did warfare have to do with Metéora?
Furthermore, what did it have to do with the murdered monks?
Obviously, they were slaughtered for a reason. And in all likelihood their heads were severed to leave a message. But a message about what? About religion? About Greece?
Or, as he feared, something he knew nothing about?
Dial shook his head in frustration. How could he catch the killers if he couldn’t put the murders in a proper context? Without context, he couldn’t determine a motive. And without a motive, he couldn’t come up with a list of suspects—unless, of course, trace evidence discovered something unexpected. But at this stage of the game, he wasn’t counting on that.
No, if he wanted to solve this case, he realized he had to learn more about the hidden artwork. And why men of peace would worship war.
25
Kaiser sat on a bench underneath one of the chestnut trees in St. Martin’s Square. A newspaper lay next to him. His manner was calm, completely relaxed. Like someone enjoying the warm weather on his lunch break. As people strolled by, he occasionally smiled and nodded. Sometimes he even waved. Whatever helped him blend in with his surroundings.
Payne and Jones watched him from opposite ends of the square. They scanned all the faces around him, making sure nobody looked out of place. Not because they didn’t trust Kaiser, but because they were about to break the law in a very public place.
And getting arrested was the last thing they needed.
Once Jones was sure the plaza was clear, he signaled to Payne by crouching down and tying his shoe. It meant Payne could approach the bench with caution. From that point on, if Jones repeated the action, it meant trouble was coming and he needed to leave. Just to be safe, Kaiser had a signal as well. If he noticed anything suspicious, he would simply stand up and walk away.
But so far, everything looked fine.
Payne approached from the front just to make sure he didn’t startle Kaiser. For a large man Payne was incredibly light on his feet and had the innate ability to sneak up on people. His grandfather used to call it “walkin’ like an Indian.” Payne realized the expression was no longer politically correct, but “walkin’ like a Native American” didn’t have the same ring to it.
“Take a seat,” Kaiser said.
Payne sat on the bench and glanced across the square. Jones was standing near a bus stop, casually looking for danger. He saw none. “Any problems?”
“Nope. I got everything you needed. Passports and visas are inside the newspaper. They look wonderful. You’ll be impressed.”
“Weapons?”
“In a shopping bag under the bench. Ammo, too.”
“Boat?”
“A fishing boat out of Finland. It looks shitty, but it’ll do the job. Details are inside the newspaper. Word of warning: The captain is something of a character. He was paid for twenty-four hours of service. After that, he’s out of there—whether you’re aboard or not.”
Payne nodded. That’s how most mercenaries worked. “Money?”
“I checked my account. We’re cool. Your transfer went through.”
“Good. The second half will arrive shortly.”
“I know it will.”
Payne smiled. It had taken many years to earn that level of trust through a combination of keeping his promises and keeping his mouth shut. Those two skills went a long way in this business.
“Anything else?”
Kaiser nodded. “Now that you mention it, a couple of things are bothering me.”
Payne glanced at him but