Black Harvest

CHAPTER EIGHT

The hotel bed was uncomfortable. The room was stuffy, the red drapes on the windows dark and heavy. The thick smog of Athens made her eyes water. She was glad when her plane lifted off and she left the city behind.

Dion was a long way north of Athens, at the foot of Mount Olympus. The nearest airport was Thessaloniki. At Thessaloniki Selena rented a car and wound her way 70 kilometers north to her next hotel. The desk clerk was eager to please. Guests were few, even at this five star resort. The beautiful beach outside her hotel window was almost deserted. A man strolled with his dog. A young couple huddled under a shared blanket against a steady breeze coming off the Aegean.

Her first solo assignment. You're not in Kansas, anymore, she thought to herself. You're on your own. It felt good. It also felt a little scary, without the team around her.

She wasn't armed. This was just a research trip, no different from trips she'd taken in the past to research some point of language or culture. She didn't expect trouble, but Nick's words echoed in her head.

Never think things are what they appear to be. Always watch for the false word, the hidden knife, the gun. Trust no one.

Trust no one.

It wasn't a new thought. It had taken a long time to trust again after her parents and brother died. She'd been ten years old. Then she'd grown into an attractive woman and learned not to trust men. She still didn't trust most of them. Nick was an exception. She'd trust him with her life, that wasn't a problem. Trusting him with her heart, that was another matter. He'd said he loved her. She knew he meant it, in his own way, but that didn't mean it was trustworthy. There were a lot of different levels of trust. She brushed the confusing thoughts aside and considered her mission.

Aetolikos had come home a long time ago. He was related to Alexander, he'd been important. Something might have turned up about him during excavations in the area. The archeological museum in Dion was the best place to start. If that didn't work out, she'd ask around the village. There could be something in local oral traditions.

The hotel restaurant smelled of the sea. It was large and almost empty. She ordered dolmades, a salad, a bottle of mineral water, some bread and oil. A middle-aged man read a newspaper over coffee at a corner table. Four older couples, probably from a tour, sat near the windows looking bored.

Two large men in boxy, dark suits came in and sat down. They glanced her way, then ignored her. They ordered lunch in stilted English, along with a bottle of retsina, the strong Greek drink she thought tasted like turpentine. They began talking business. It took her a moment to place the language as Georgian. Selena couldn't speak it, but she understood the basics. From what she could make out, the men were talking about importing olives. Or maybe they were selling them.

Selena tuned them out and ate her meal slowly, thinking about Nick and what it would be like to live with him. Maybe it would be better to leave things as they were. She finished, signed her bill and walked past the table with the two men. Their eyes followed her out of the room.

It was Saturday, already after noon, and the museum closed at 2:30 on Saturday during the winter months. She decided to go now. She got directions to the museum at the desk.

The day was beautiful and chill, with the clear blue sky and crystalline quality of sunlight she'd found nowhere in the world except Greece. For Selena, it was one of the most beautiful and interesting places in the world. Snow-capped Mount Olympus dominated the spectacular scenery.

Olympus, the home of the gods. She wondered what the gods would think of modern Greece, mired in a sea of opportunistic corruption and impossible debt. Even Ulysses would not have been able to sail those waters.

The museum was modern, two stories high. She paid a modest fee and began exploring. The first floor was given over to artifacts and sculpture. A nice statue of Dionysius, god of wine. A display featuring coins and relics from early Christian and Roman sites in the area. Interesting, but none of it useful. She went upstairs.

The prime exhibit was a hydraulic water organ over two thousand years old. She wondered what the music had sounded like. The rest of the floor dealt with life in classical Dion. Tools. Pottery. A child's toy horse, small statues of the gods, everything displayed in glass cases that ran along the walls or stood on plinths on their own.

Selena came to a new section. The centerpiece of the display was a full scale cast taken from the lid of a tomb. It was perfect, unmarred by weather and time. A young and handsome face was carved on the lid in bas relief, helmeted and confident and haughty, the lips full and voluptuous. Even in the cold white of plaster the face was astounding, beautiful, perfectly proportioned, as if the lips would suddenly open and speak. Selena looked at the inscription engraved below and translated in her mind.