The Emperor Awakes Page 10

  He looked up at John in time to catch John’s expression in the split second before John’s miserable attempt at changing it. James was amused, but chose not to comment. The two men exchanged a knowing look indicating they were, probably, thinking along the same lines. James took the plunge.

  ‘I think we should speak with Giorgos in Athens. It’s his specialist field and I bet he’d be very interested in seeing this too.’ John nodded in agreement.

  James dialled Giorgos’ Athens number. While waiting for Giorgos to answer, James’ mind wandered to his old friend. They had been at university together and had been like brothers ever since. Although they ended up separated by an ocean and a continent, their bond remained strong.

  They had shared dangerous experiences, climbing peaks and rock faces around the world that would have defeated lesser men. And they had saved each other’s lives too numerous times to count during those risky expeditions.

  Theirs was a bond without petty jealousies or squabbles. Any chinks or scratches inflicted on each other’s armour quickly healed, as they were the result of humour or honesty.

  James greatly admired this archaeologist who he knew was worth twenty times all of his rival archaeologists put together. He was glad that Giorgos was down to earth and did not share the pretensions that many of his rivals had adopted, behaving as they did with an academic arrogance that was not justified by their lack of vision and achievement out on the field and on the ground, and with no intention of belittling activity outside fieldwork, the real frontier of archaeological endeavour.

  Giorgos had thick skin, which stood him in good stead, as he very often was the target of rival archaeologists’ unfair criticism and mockery. The seasoned and upstanding members of the archaeological establishment somehow could not resist the impulse to rush to deride him, his work and his opinions, without even properly analysing his findings, a reaction, James had no doubt, born of jealousy for this upstart who threatened to upstage them at every turn, and perhaps permanently stand above them, if he made that great discovery he was so obsessed about.

  Those knee-jerk reactions and attacks on Giorgos was proof, if any was needed, that his rivals were genuinely afraid of his brilliant mind and relentless pursuit of his theories, which were always backed by meticulous research.

  James was devastated and helpless to intervene when Giorgos had to abandon the Cappadocian expedition and return to Athens, resigning himself to a cushy desk job, a mundane life of hard graft teaching at the University, day in day out.

  He had since then pestered him not to give up or give into the lazy routine of the daily life he led lately. He was much too talented to waste himself like that. Just because an expedition went wrong due to no fault of his, it was unacceptable for him to give up his life-long dream.

  He only wished that Giorgos would chew this one up to experience and move on. Being young and ambitious meant he still had not acquired the cynicism that came with age and kept seasoned archaeologists sane. Then again, how many archaeologists of a certain age and experience had he met who had lost their mind waiting for the big discovery that never came?

  He had noticed his spark snuffed out, nothing left to ignite his ever present adrenaline rush, that signature infectious energy gone up in smoke, a defeated man, aged beyond his years.

  He could not remember the last time he heard warmth in Giorgos’ voice, the last time he heard that laugh that could melt anyone he met. He now hoped that Giorgos had kept the small flame of his dream alive.

  Finally the phone was picked up eight thousand kilometres away. James felt a clutch at his heart as he immediately detected the mechanical note in his friend’s voice.

  James decided to avoid pleasantries. The only way to drag Giorgos out of his slumber and trigger his interest was to get straight to the point.

  ‘Giorgos, it’s James.’

  ‘Hi, James. How’s your entombment in that most famed of institutions?’

  ‘Keeping me young and fresh, thank you very much dear Giorgos.’

  ‘The air is thin there, my friend. You should get out whilst there’s still time and you are still young. There’s hope for you yet, but running out of its hourglass faster than you think.’

  James laughed. He would not let Giorgos get away with that. ‘Look who’s talking. I’m following your glorious example.’

  ‘Have you considered that I may actually enjoy what I’m doing?’ Giorgos sounded defensive and he knew it. And he had no doubt that James had picked up on it and would punish him for it.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you are; going through the motions and whiling away the time filling young minds with your knowledge and wisdom and pandering to an ungrateful and sclerotic academic bureaucracy instead of being out there chasing your dreams, trusting your instincts and taking chances on your brilliant theories and at the same time raising two fingers to the sceptical and conservative rival archaeologists mocking you for your wild and bizarre ideas. If it were not for archaeologists, both trained professionals and amateurs, following through on their wild goose-chases, many of the greatest archaeological discoveries of all time would never have seen the light of day. Giorgos, you are lying to yourself and you know it.’

  James finished, fixed his eyes on Giorgos and waited. He hoped that something of what he had just said would get through to Giorgos. It was time for him to come to his senses.

  As soon as the words about enjoying his work left Giorgos’ mouth, he knew they sounded hollow. He did not need James’ outburst to starkly show him his grim and sad situation for what it was.

  Who was he trying to fool? James was right. He had seen through Giorgos’ words, which were more full of self-denial and delusion than fact. Hell, he didn’t believe them himself.

  However much he had tried, Giorgos simply could not bring himself to show passion and optimism for his current job. There was no denying the fact that he was in a professional and personal dead end, his life put on hold, frozen until the Great Ice Age passed, which left what? Another few thousand years to go, which in his case, being human, as things stood, with no end of the mundane in sight, meant for the rest of his life.

  His friend’s silence since his outburst was telling. James was clearly waiting for him to come clean, and briefly roll in his last bout of self-pity and constructive introspection, before recovering spectacularly, the real Giorgos reborn.

  ‘When are you going to follow your dreams instead of preaching to the unconverted?’

  Giorgos’ question was so unexpected when it came that James was suddenly lost for words, a rare occurrence indeed. For a brief moment he felt disappointed that he had failed to wake his friend from his one-hundred-year sleep, but when he saw the amusement in Giorgos’ eyes he realised that he had broken through the shell that Giorgos had so diligently built around him since the failure of the Cappadocian expedition. The question was pure Giorgos taking his revenge by throwing James’ own words back at him.

  James directed his steely gaze at Giorgos in a fake reprimand. ‘I am actually enjoying my job which is more than I can say about you. You seem content to allow yourself to slowly waste away.’ James paused. He was a disciple of the school of tough love for those about whom he cared deeply. ‘Anyway, I didn’t call you to exchange commiserations. I found something that may interest you. Do you still believe your Palaiologos theory has legs? I think I’ve got something that may help you prove it.’

  ‘I doubt it could be anything that important.’

  Whatever hint of excitement James believed he had engendered in Giorgos was well past its expiry date. Whatever flame James thought he had lit, seemed to have been just as quickly snuffed out.

  To James’ chagrin, the resigned-to-his-mundanefate Giorgos’ was still there. What would it take to get him to snap out of it, damn it? James was losing patience with his friend, but he believed he held an ace up his sleeve and couldn’t wait to play it.

  ‘Well, I’m no expert on Byzantine history, that’s your field, but I’d li
ke to think that I’ve gleaned something from you, that something’s stuck, and even with my limited knowledge I can tell this is big.’

  Giorgos was intrigued. ‘I should’ve known this was no courtesy call. Come on, don’t torture me. What have you found?’

  ‘I’ve got John Halland here with me. You remember him, our specialist icon restorer. I think he’d better explain. I’ll put him on speakerphone.’ James pressed the button.

  ‘Hi, Giorgos.’

  ‘Hi John. What have you got for me?’

  ‘I found a ring inside a hidden compartment in an icon I was restoring. The ring carries what looks like the Byzantine double-headed eagle. From historical accounts I’ve read, it is a match for the Imperial ring worn by the Palaiologos dynasty.’

  ‘Could it be a fake?’

  ‘No, I took the liberty of dating it. It is at least about six hundred years old. I know about your interest in the last Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos. I would be venturing into speculative territory, but it is possible that it could be his. Chronologically and design-wise, at least, it fits. But I cannot find further proof. Maybe together we could crack it.’

  ‘You want me to come over.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me see it. Get onto skype.’

  ‘James is connecting as we speak.’

  Giorgos accepted the invitation and they were connected. James was stunned by how haggard Giorgos looked, a lot worse than he had expected. He chastised himself for his disappointment. He should not expect a complete change overnight.

  He was comforted by the thought that he had at least got Giorgos hooked on something other than his self-inflicted misery and that was a start. He said nothing and hid his worry for another time, when they would be alone together.

  John held the ring in front of the laptop’s camera lens. Giorgos gasped and for a few seconds was rendered speechless.

  ‘John, show me the icon.’ Giorgos studied the icon. ‘Look at the bottom right-hand corner. That looks like a figure of an Emperor. Is there any inscription to give us a clue as to his identity?’

  ‘No. But I’ve only just started the cleaning of the icon. It will be another two days before anything that maybe there is revealed.’

  ‘Perfect. It will take me a day to wrap up things here and fly over.’

  ‘James came in front of the lens.

  ‘Giorgos, it’s all been arranged already. I’ve booked you on tomorrow’s 6.20 American Airlines evening flight to New York. Your ticket will be waiting for you at their desk at Athens Venizelos International Airport.’

  ‘Mr Calvell, how dare you assume that, because you want me to, and assuming I could, I would drop everything at a moment’s notice and travel halfway around the world just to give you an expert opinion? Should I feel flattered and humbled that there is no other suitable expert in the whole of the United States?’

  It was a cheap shot, but Giorgos was only feigning hurt. Inside he was beaming and the smile breaking across his face was proof of that.

  James couldn’t be happier. ‘There’s just too much love between us. What did you think? That I would let you stew and wallow in self-pity for the rest of your life? God knows I’ve tried everything I could think of to get you out of your stupor. My efforts went unrewarded, but my prayers seem to have been answered. This could be the breakthrough you have been waiting for. Look at this as your lucky break, the chance that you should not let get away.’

  Giorgos was very glad for this life-changer that James had thrown his way. ‘You rascal. You know me better than I know myself. Thanks, James. I owe you one. See you tomorrow.’

  Even after the skype connection was severed James continued looking at the display for a little while longer, smiling to himself, a glorious sense of achievement rippling through his whole body. He was happy for the transformational effect his phone call had had on his friend.

  When he looked up at John Halland he saw from his amused expression that he knew what had just happened and shared his feeling of elation for a job well done.

  * * *

  It only took Giorgos a phone call to take five days leave from his job and fifteen minutes to pack when he got home that evening. He would be going to the airport straight from work the next day.

  CHAPTER 16

  New York

  Present day

  It was just after two a.m. on a moonless New York night. The city’s strikingly-lit skyline was advertising its wares to all and sundry, engrossed in its frenetic rhythmic dance.

  The Metropolitan Museum on Fifth Avenue was asleep, journeying from dreams to nightmare and back, dreaming wild dreams, dreams that took it through each of the periods represented in its gilded belly. A figure was moving silently through its dark and veiled venerable halls.

  The Museum’s sophisticated security system was no match for such a skilled predator. It responded to the touch of the exquisite figure cajoling it and dug deeper into its dreams. The figure slowed its pace as it was approaching its destination, deep inside the bowels of the building.

  The figure found what it sought. It could not resist the impulse to briefly admire, under the sparse light of its torch, the object the beauty of which overcame immovability and screamed its presence. The figure chided itself for resigning itself to its weakness for beauty.

  With a deft movement, the glass case was violated and the object of its affection was in its hands. There was not the slightest blink from the lasers that the figure could see with its thermal vision.

  The figure took the time to savour the moment and the texture of the object, and, caressing its back, the figure removed a panel and checked inside. Hidden in one corner was a piece of paper folded numerous times.

  The figure took it out, unfolded it and, concentrating the light on it, examined it and read its contents. It smiled in the dark, a smile wasted with no witness.

  She would be pleased, the figure thought to itself.

  And then in an instant the figure was gone. It disappeared as silently and as quickly as it appeared. The ghostly figure was consumed by the night, blending with it as if it never existed as a corporeal being.

  In a flash it landed on the soft ground of the bog of Marathon, near Athens, and was then carried underwater, deeper and deeper, until it reached the underground city, its own personal refuge and secret base of the Ruinands’ power.

  CHAPTER 17

  New York

  Present day

  Giorgos landed at New York’s JFK Airport and took a cab straight to the Metropolitan Museum where James and John were expecting him.

  Within half an hour he was seated in the office of a nervous, angry and clearly ruffled James. John looked positively despondent. Giorgos immediately forgot the usual pleasantries and anything else he was planning to say.

  ‘What’s happened? You both seem to be wearing the latest in fashionable funereal expressions. Has somebody died?’

  ‘The ring and the icon were stolen sometime between 8 o’clock last night and 7 this morning.’ James was crestfallen.

  ‘But how? How the hell could it have been taken under your own nose like that?’

  ‘I’m sorry Giorgos. However, all is not lost. I have taken precautions.’

  ‘You’ve taken photos of it.’

  ‘No, it’s better than that.’

  ‘Come on, James, don’t keep me in suspense.’ Daggers were shooting out of Giorgos’ eyes.

  James put up his hands as if in a gesture of surrender. He could never resist the temptation of winding up Giorgos who right now looked positively livid and murderous, foaming at the mouth and fuming with anger. James saw a jerk of a movement from Giorgos who looked as if he was about to hit him and decided to stop playing games.

  ‘I’ve had them both copied.’

  ‘But how? In two days?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy, but john here is a master of his craft.’

  ‘Let me see them, please.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. It’s bette
r than that. I’ve got the originals.’

  Giorgos’ jaw dropped, but he recovered quickly.

  ‘Smart guy. Show me.’

  James went around to his desk, put a finger under it and pressed a button. The fireplace revolved, revealing a secret passage.

  ‘Follow me.’

  ‘Of all the ….’

  * * *

  Once back in James Calvell’s office, Giorgos was very excited.

  ‘That is Konstantinos XI Palaiologos on the icon as we suspected. You know what this means. That ring could have been his. It could of course have been taken from his body during the looting that followed the fall of Constantinople. But how did it end up in here? Can you imagine the journey it must have had? This is big.’

  Giorgos was a child again. James could see it and smiled. Welcome back to the land of the living, Giorgos, he said to himself. John was smiling too. He could see now what James meant when he talked about Giorgos’ infectious enthusiasm for his passion that was his work.

  He could see the Giorgos that James had told him so much about. John had only met Giorgos briefly once before, but through James he knew more about Giorgos that an introduction could ever merit. Giorgos was impatient and fidgeting. He turned to James.

  ‘James, do you know how the museum came by this icon? That may give us a clue as to its history and tracing its source may provide us with useful information relating to my search.’

  ‘Well, I did a quick check and it appears to have been a donation by a collector who wished to remain anonymous. And apparently it was a very obscure and minor item and certainly not a very valuable piece which, considering that the thief could have had his pick of any number of very valuable, small and easily transportable pieces, makes the interest in this particular item all the more intriguing. Nothing else was taken. The thief knew exactly what he wanted, where to find it and how to get it.

  ‘The whole theft was completed within thirty minutes which is the time between rounds that it takes the guard to pass by the restoration room, where the icon was kept overnight. The guard has stated that he saw and heard nothing and we have to believe him, assuming, of course, that he was doing his job properly and was not snoozing somewhere, oblivious to anything going on around him. Interestingly, none of the security systems was tripped. We only found out about the theft this morning when John went into the particular restoration room.’