The Lost Labyrinth (3 page)

‘This is Boris Dekanosidze,’ said Sandro. ‘My head of security. I wanted you to meet him because you’re going to be working together over the next few days.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re leaving for Athens tonight. Directly after this meeting, in fact.’

‘I’m doing nothing of the sort,’ retorted Edouard. ‘I thought I’d made it clear that I won’t accept any more commissions until you honour your—’

‘You’ll accept whatever commissions we tell you to accept,’ said Ilya.

‘There’ll be plenty of time to complete the transfer of the cache once you return,’ added Sandro, in a more emollient tone. ‘But right now, we have an urgent situation, and we need your help.’ He nodded to Boris, who slid a manila folder across the polished rosewood. Edouard opened it reluctantly, then read through the correspondence inside with growing bewilderment. ‘This is a joke,’ he said finally. ‘It has to be.’

‘My grandson Mikhail is going to see the item in question tomorrow morning,’ said Ilya. ‘You will go along with him.’

‘But you don’t even have a grandson called Mikhail,’ protested Edouard.

‘Do I not?’ asked Ilya.

‘Boris will be with you too,’ said Sandro, into the ensuing silence. ‘He’ll pay for this item once you’ve authenticated it.’

‘
If
I authenticate it, you mean,’ said Edouard.

A look of profound irritation clouded Ilya’s face. ‘Please don’t persist in telling us what we mean.’

Another silence fell. Somewhere deep in the house, a burst of uproarious laughter was timed so perfectly that Edouard couldn’t help but think that Nergadze’s guests were watching him on CCTV. Not for the first time, he realised how inconsequential he was to these people. Their presidential campaign was in full swing, and Ilya was making good headway in the polls. Nothing else mattered to them. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to authenticate a fake,’ said Edouard.

‘It won’t be a fake,’ observed Sandro. ‘Not once a man of your reputation has verified it.’

‘It would ruin me. I won’t do it.’

‘You
will
do it,’ said Ilya.

Edouard forced and held a smile, aware he wouldn’t get anywhere by confrontation. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’d like to help. Really I would. But I can’t. Not this weekend. My wife is already furious about how much I’ve been away recently. She issued me with an ultimatum, as it happens. We spend this weekend together, or else. You know what wives are like.’

‘Don’t worry about your wife,’ said Ilya.

‘But you don’t understand. I gave her my word. If I fail to—’

‘I said, don’t worry about her.’

There was something in his voice. ‘How do you mean?’ asked Edouard.

‘I mean that your wife and your daughters will be very well looked after while you’re away. And that charming son of yours too.’

Edouard kept a family photograph in his wallet. He liked to take it out whenever he felt low. It came unbidden to his mind now: himself looking rather portlier than he’d like, yet undeniably grand in his chartreuse suit and yellow cravat, a quiet protest against the black worn by almost every other adult male in Tbilisi, as though their whole nation were in mourning. Nina in her gorgeous blue velvet dress. The twins Eliso and Lila in matching cream blouses and ankle-length black skirts. Kiko in the white-and-red rugby shirt signed by the Georgian national team. ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

‘They are to be my guests,’ said Ilya. ‘Just until you return from Athens.’

Edouard dropped his hand to his pocket, felt the contour and weight of his mobile phone against his thigh. A phone call, a text message, telling Nina to put the kids in the car, take them away somewhere, anywhere.

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ said Ilya, reading his
thoughts. ‘They already
are
my guests. My grandson Alexei is taking them to my Nikortsminda estate as we speak.’

‘They’ll be very well looked after,’ Sandro assured him. ‘We’re having a family get-together this weekend. It will be a holiday for them. Fresh mountain air, riding, sailing, good company, delicious food. What more could anyone want?’

‘And you won’t have them on your mind, this way,’ added Ilya. ‘This way, you’ll be free to concentrate all your energies on the
successful
conclusion of our project.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

Edouard felt himself sag. Nina had begged him not to get entangled with these people. She’d
begged
him. The only time in their marriage that she’d gone down on her knees to him, taken his hands, kissed them and wept imploringly into them. But he’d gone ahead anyway. He’d known better.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Perfectly clear.’

Omonia Police Station, Central Athens

Chief Inspector Angelos Migiakis was not in a good mood. He rarely was when forced to defer afternoon visits to his mistress because of a call of duty. Even less so when that duty was to sort
out yet another mess that threatened to engulf his crisis-plagued department. ‘So what did Loukas say?’ he asked.

‘He backed up Grigorias,’ replied Theofanis. ‘He says that this man Augustin Pascal attacked Grigorias for no reason, that Grigorias was only defending himself.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘Because Loukas is lying, that’s what.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’ve known him fifteen years. This is the first time he won’t look me in the eye.’

‘Shit,’ muttered Angelos. He picked a glass tumbler up from his desk, made to hurl it against the wall opposite, checked himself just in time. Anger was a problem for him; but he was doing his best.

‘I think I can get him to tell me the truth if I push him,’ said Theofanis. ‘But I wanted to speak to you first. I mean, the last thing we need right now is another scandal.’

‘Yes,’ said Angelos caustically. ‘I’m aware of that.’ He put the tumbler back down, then looked across at Theofanis. ‘So what do you think did happen?’

‘Who can say?’ He nodded at the statement lying on the desk. ‘But for my money it’s like this guy Knox told me. Grigorias gave the woman a grope. The Frenchman saw it and got mad. She’s
his fiancée, after all. Then Grigorias went crazy on him.’ He gave an ugly grimace. ‘You should have seen what he did.’

‘Not good?’

‘Not good at all.’ He took a long breath then added: ‘And I can’t even say I’m that surprised, the way Grigorias has been acting since his girl left him. I did warn you we should take him off the street.’

‘So this is my fault now, is it?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You know how understaffed we are.’

‘Yes.’

Angelos slapped his desk with both hands. ‘That fucking imbecile! That
fucking
imbecile!’ He took a deep breath, waited for the calmness to return. ‘Well, we’ll just have to hold the line, that’s all. They’re foreigners, aren’t they? No one will take their word against ours.’

‘They’re also archaeologists. They’re here for some kind of conference. So they don’t exactly fit the usual profile of troublemakers, do they? And this man Knox, the one downstairs, he’s the one who found the lost tomb of Alexander the Great, remember? And who brought down the Dragoumis family. He’s a national bloody hero.’

‘Christ!’ scowled Angelos. ‘I’m going to skin that
malakas
Grigorias.’

‘Not until this is over.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You say this Knox is downstairs now?’

‘Yes.’

‘And is he a reasonable man? Can we come to some kind of understanding?’

Theofanis considered this a moment. ‘He’s angry,’ he said. ‘But he’s scared too. For himself, yes, but more so for his friend Pascal. If we could offer some kind of guarantee of good medical care…’

‘How the hell am I supposed to do that with our fucking hospitals?’

‘Then I don’t know what to suggest,’ shrugged Theofanis. ‘Maybe you should meet him yourself.’

Angelos pushed himself to his feet. ‘Maybe I should,’ he agreed.

The Conference Pavilion, Eleusis

Nico Chavakis had learned to recognise the symptoms of an incipient attack, the accentuated heel-and-toe cadence of his heartbeat, the hot sticky flush of his cheeks and forehead, the nausea low in his gut and throat, and then, most unpleasant of all, that sudden light-headed rush that had toppled him more than once. He loosened his tie, popped his top button. ‘A chair,’ he said.

The girl Gaille Bonnard didn’t hesitate, bless her. She hurried over to the massed ranks of wooden folding chairs in the pavilion, grabbed the two nearest and returned to place them side-by-side behind him, then helped lower him onto them, a buttock upon each. He sat there with his legs spread and his hands upon his knees and breathed
as he’d been taught, deep and regular, expanding his lungs, letting time do its usual nursing.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he assured her. ‘Just give me another minute.’

‘I’ll get you a doctor.’

‘No need,’ he said. It was true enough. He was still in the tunnel, yes, but the darkness was lessening, he could glimpse the other end; and the last thing he wanted was to make himself conspicuous in front of all these people, as they sipped their drinks at the back of the conference pavilion. ‘Your news came as a shock, that’s all.’ No understatement there. Tragedies for Augustin Pascal and Roland Petitier, of course; but not so good for him either. Shameful to acknowledge such self-interest so soon after dreadful tidings, but he was only human, after all, and he had a conference to run. ‘My two main speakers for tomorrow, you see.’

All sympathy instantly left Gaille’s expression. ‘So?’ she asked tersely. ‘You’ll just have to cancel.’

‘You don’t understand.’ He looked bleakly up at her. He knew all too well what would happen if he did. The delegates would sympathise with his predicament, sure, but he didn’t need their sympathy, he needed their money. Those who hadn’t yet coughed up never would, and everyone else
would demand refunds—to which, unfortunately, they’d be entitled. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I just can’t.’

She winced as though she’d read his mind. ‘You’re not bankrolling this yourself, are you?’

He closed his eyes. ‘You know what things are like. My sponsors pulled out. No one else would step in. What was I supposed to do? Call it off?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve never had a failure,’ he said. ‘My reputation is all I have.’

‘Look,’ said Gaille. ‘I’m really sorry, honestly I am, but I only came over to pass on what Claire told me, so that you can do what you have to about tomorrow. But I have to head back to Athens now. It’s not just Augustin—Daniel’s been arrested. Claire says they’ve put him in gaol, the bastards. So I really have to go.’ She touched the back of his hand. ‘You do understand?’

Nico was only half listening, his mind already working on contingency plans. He could take Petitier’s slot himself. He’d been intending to give his talk on grain-goddess iconography anyway before Petitier had got in touch. It would be simple to resurrect. That left Augustin’s talk. He looked up at Gaille, still standing there, waiting for explicit permission to leave. ‘They’ve put Knox in gaol, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘My sister-in-law’s a criminal lawyer,’ he said.
‘The finest in Athens. All the police here are terrified of her. She’s exactly who he needs right now. I’ll call her if you like.’

‘Would you? That would be fantastic.’

Another little thump of his heart. He held up his hand to ask her to wait it out with him, then kept it up to pre-empt the indignation to which she’d be entitled, once she’d heard what he was about to say next. ‘There is one thing,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ll call Charissa anyway, even if you say no…’

‘Say no to what?’

‘Augustin’s speech and slides are already loaded onto the teleprompter,’ he told her. ‘All it really needs is someone to read it out. Someone familiar with the topic. Someone who knows Alexandria well enough to have credibility with the audience and to answer questions intelligently. Someone the delegates will accept as a suitable replacement.’

‘
Me
?’ asked Gaille in surprise. ‘But I don’t know Alexandria anything like well enough. Honestly, I don’t.’

Nico stared blankly at her for a moment. The equality of women was a part of modern life he’d never quite got used to. ‘I wasn’t thinking about you so much,’ he said carefully. ‘I was thinking more about Knox.’

Her expression flickered, as though she’d read his mind; but then she nodded. ‘Get him out of
gaol tonight and he’ll do it for you. You have my word.’

‘And you can speak for him, can you?’

‘Yes,’ said Gaille emphatically. ‘I can.’

There was a boiler in the top corner of the police interview room. Every so often it would click on and start heating up like a kettle, and its pipes would rattle and clank for a few moments before it abruptly switched itself off again. What with the only window painted shut, the room was unpleasantly humid and the walls were sweating like a fever. Knox, too, could feel moisture prickling all over him, disconcertingly like guilt. He rocked back in his chair and flexed his fingers together, striving to keep his memories at bay. But it was no use, they came at him like frames in a slide-show. Augustin on the hotel room floor, blood oozing from his scalp; the paramedics strapping him to their stretcher; Claire’s wails and ravaged face as she’d clutched his hand.

Knox had first met Augustin ten years before. The Frenchman had arranged a drinks party in honour of Richard Mitchell, Knox’s old mentor, inviting all of Alexandria’s leading archaeologists and citizenry. Richard, typically, had been waylaid
at Pastroudi’s by a gorgeous young waiter with fluttery eyelashes and a slight lisp who’d kept bringing them pastries they hadn’t ordered, so he’d sent Knox on ahead to make his excuses. Augustin’s eruptions of Gallic temper were legendary, so Knox had feared for his eardrums; but it hadn’t been like that at all. He and Knox had got on from the start, one of those rare friendships that arrives fully formed, which they’d both known even then would endure. Any time Knox had been in trouble since, it had been to Augustin he’d turned first; and never once had he been let down. So what did it say about him that Augustin had taken such a savage beating while he’d just stood there and watched?