Black Harvest

CHAPTER TWELVE

Arkady's flight landed on time. He took a room in the Plaka, the neighborhood below the Acropolis. His contact ran a shop here that catered to the tourist trade. There were always tourists in Athens. Arkady's passport identified him as Wilhelm Wimmer, a German architect on holiday. No one would think it unusual for an architect to visit Greece. Classical Greek architecture was still admired around the world.

Arkady found satisfaction in buildings like the Acropolis. The neat rows of columns, the perfect proportions, the folly of humans reflected in the actions of their gods. Korov had a genuine appreciation of history and Greek culture. He considered himself an educated man, though most of his education had been in the art of war.

The Russian adventure in Afghanistan was over by the time Arkady received his commission as a Junior Lieutenant. There was no shortage of other conflicts. He'd been recruited into Spetsnaz while serving in Chechnya. After that, things got interesting. Counter-terrorism in Tadzhikistan and Uzbekistan against the Islamic militant subversives. Special Advisor duty in Syria. He'd never married and everyone else was gone. His unit was his only family.

It was night in Athens. The Acropolis was bathed in light on the hill above his window. Tomorrow he would get his weapons and rent a car to drive north. Bagrat Gelashvili was being held under close guard at a hospital in Thessaloniki. His injuries were severe.

They were going to get worse.