Pulse

THIRTY- NINE

Flying as civilians meant a flight first from Raleigh, North Carolina, to Boston, then to London, and south to Greece, where they landed at Athens International Airport — Eleftherios Venizelos. Rook had done his best not to complain, but on the flight to Greece, after already spending eight hours on a plane, decided to start practicing his American tourist cover by complaining that the seats were too tight for his bulk. To his surprise, he and Queen had been moved to first class mid flight and given a bottle of champagne. Apparently, Greece wanted loud, obnoxious tourists… and they wanted them drunk and spending money straight away. While neither Rook nor Queen imbibed the spirits, Rook did save the bottle, stowing it in his very American, Boston Celtics gym bag.

They checked into their hotel posing as a vacationing couple, which drew looks of pity for Queen as she was dressed in a f orm-fitting navy blue top that accentuated her eyes and a flowing black skirt that matched her stylish sandals and highlighted her taut tan legs. She spoke the language fluently and short of her blond hair, fit in with the locals. Rook on the other hand, dressed in high-top sneakers, tight blue jeans, and a sports jacket, was easily spotted as a stereotypical American tourist. The looks they received from everyone, including the cabbie, the hotel doorman, and the checkout clerk all asked the same question of Queen: Why are you slumming with this clown?

After checking in at the Electra Palace Hotel and, like a perfect gentleman, carrying Queen's bags to their room on the tenth floor, Rook dropped the bags on the room's king-sized bed and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I swear if I hear any Beauty and the Beast jokes in English or Greek I'm going to snap."

Queen opened the shades looking out over the Plaka, the oldest and most prized neighborhood in Athens, the white buildings glowing orange in the light of the setting sun. The streets had long ago been blocked off to cars, though delivery men on speeding mopeds weren't uncommon. Locals and tourists mixed and mingled on the ancient streets lined with cafes, shops, and restaurants. Scents of coffee, ouzo, and flaming sausage wafted up from below. But most impressive was that the small neighborhood's prime real estate was located at the base of Athens's most famous landmark, the Acropolis, upon which stood a symbol of the ancient world's glory, the Parthenon. The site was breathtaking. Another time. Another life. Queen would have enjoyed this little trip…butthere was work to do.

She turned to Rook, tried not to laugh at his outfit, and asked, "Care for a gelato?"

"That's like ice cream, right?"

"Better."

"I'll believe that when Ben and Jerry start selling gelato at four bucks a pop." Rook opened the door, leaving behind their bags, which held clothing they never intended on wearing but helped to complete their cover story. Getting stopped at customs with an empty bag on vacation could have drawn attention. And Rook would be more than happy to leave the awful clothes behind. He'd questioned the need for such an elaborate cover, but it wasn't known whether or not Pierce had given Manifold the same information. Until they knew otherwise, they had to watch their backs — unarmed — and play the part of an American odd couple.

"So when are you and Bishop going to patch things up?"

"When he stops acting like a prick we'll be golden."

"And if he doesn't?"

Rook stopped and looked at Queen. "The guy won't talk to me or anyone else. He looks on the verge of snapping someone's head off. I'm just going to give him space and hope he comes around. We all should. He'll work it out on his own. Always does. Let's talk about something else. This subject is too distracting."

Rook continued walking.

Queen decided to drop the subject. Rook was right. Preoccupation with personal issues compromised the mission.

On the streets of the Plaka, Rook found it easier to forget the trouble with Bishop… and his awful outfit. There were enough loudly dressed tourists talking it up with crisply dressed locals that he and Queen fit in. The hum of vehicles faded as conversations in a variety of languages filtered out of the street-side cafes. As they walked by a restaurant with tables spilling out onto the street, a maitre d' took Rook's arm and spoke perfect English, "Sir, you absolutely must try our giant shrimp!"

Rook pulled his arm away. "Maybe later, chief."

"Our dishes are the best in the Plaka. Moussaka. Pastitsio. Souvlaki. You can't go wrong."

Rook's impatience neared its end. The short maitre d' was about to get an earful when Queen ribbed Rook with her elbow and said, "Parakalo agnoiste to filo moy. Einai toso trahys oso einai omorfos. Tha epistrepsoymegia na epileksoyme ta piata sas argotera apopse."

The maitre d' chuckled. "Oraios?"

Queen gave the man a look that could kill. "Nai."

The man bowed with a smile and let them continue on their way.

"What'd you tell him?"

"That we would be back later. For supper."

"What's 'oraios' mean?"

Queen took a side street. "This way. We're almost there."

The street led uphill and ended at the tall wall of the Acropolis. The back street narrowed as they climbed the hill, becoming little more than a t hree-foot-wide path between gleaming white homes staggering up the hill. The old stone homes were decorated with pots of flowers that filled the air with a sweet fragrance that fought for olfactory dominance with Athens's summertime smog.

They entered the Anafiotika, a group of small homes that spent a large portion of every day in the shadow of the Acropolis. With the sun now setting, this portion of the city was already cast in darkness. It was here that the search for Agustina Gallo truly began. The archaeologist had made her home in the world's most celebrated archaeological site, in the oldest part of the city — three thousand years old — surrounded by archaeological sites like the Tower of the Winds, the Mosque of Mehmet, not to mention the Parthenon itself. The city was the birthplace of Plato's Academy and Aristotle's Lyceum and had done more to advance democracy in the ancient world than any nation, including America, could claim to have achieved in the modern. But what brought archaeologists to Athens, even more than the ancient sites, were the modern institutions. Athens University and Archaeological Society along with several prestigious museums — the National Archaeological Museum, the Epigraphic Museum, the Byzantine Museum — and more could be found here. Two archaeology laboratories, seventeen archaeological institutes, and fourteen archaeological libraries completed what Rook called an archaeologist's wet dream. And at its core was the home of a woman who may or may not have something to say about the symbol George Pierce had drawn in blood before falling into a coma.

After walking up a series of steps leading between two homes, Queen found the number she was looking for. She approached the small white home's maroon door and knocked.

Rook stood behind her, trying not to look too foolish while he scoured the path up toward the Necropolis and back toward the Plaka for signs of trouble. Finding none, he turned back toward the door as it opened and nearly fell back as one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on in person smiled at them. From her straight black hair and deep brown eyes, he took her as a local, but when she spoke English with a sweet southern drawl as out of place in this ancient city as Rook's clothing, he had to work hard to keep himself from dropping to one knee and proposing.

"Ya'll lost?" she said.

Agustina Gallo?" Queen asked.

"The one and only."

Queen squinted at her. "How did you know we spoke English?"

Gallo nodded at Rook. "Captain America here was a dead giveaway. Hey, you're not friends of Chris Biggs, now are you? He's always sending folks my way. Like I have time to give personal tours of the Plaka."

Actually," Queen said. "We're friends of George Pierce."

The woman seemed taken aback, then fearful. "George? Is he okay?" "I'm afraid not. Can we come in?"

She looked unsure. "You have something to do with all the answering machine hang-ups from an unlisted U.S. number?"

Rook nodded. "Haven't checked your e-mail yet, have you?"

"I just got back from a weeklong stint at an excavation I'm covering for George while he's gone. I've only just arrived home."

"Agustina, we're with the U.N.," Queen said. She felt bad lying to the woman, but just because Pierce seemed to trust her didn't mean she was truly trustworthy. "George has gone missing. We really need to speak to you."

Gallo stepped back inside the house. "C'mon in."

As they stepped inside the house, following Gallo into a quaint sitting room, Queen gave Rook a taste of the old evil eye. "Close your mouth. You're drooling."

They sat in comfortable chairs around a coffee table. The room, built like a roofed atrium, was decorated with a mixture of small Greek statue reproductions and oil paintings of flowers. Queen noticed the paintings were signed in red, by Gallo. Apparently she was a painter as well.

Gallo sat across from them, lines of concern still etched into her forehead. She flattened her skirt over her legs several times, chasing wrinkles that didn't exist. Pierce apparently meant something to this woman. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands wringing together. "What's happened to George. He wasn't attacked again, was he?"

Despite Gallo's beauty distracting Rook from the impending interview, a single word caught his attention.

Again.