Templar's Code

CHAPTER 32

Unnerved, Saviour peered over the edge of the stone slab. Into the frothy, white-capped river below. Catching sight of the pickax hooked onto a jagged rock, he frowned. Baffled.

“Den katalaveno,” he muttered. “I don’t understand. Where did they go?”

It made no sense. None whatsoever. How could they have vanished into thin air?

Noticing the abandoned knapsacks in plain view, he walked over to them. The packs suggested that the pair were planning to return.

But, again, from where?

He squatted onto his haunches and riffled through the packs. The first contained a small computer, cell phone, notebook, water bottle, and a bag of nuts. The second pack held miscellaneous digging equipment, more water, and a flare gun. In case the little lambs got lost in the woods.

Hearing an incoming call on his Bluetooth ear hook, he tapped the Talk button. It’d been thirty minutes since he last checked in with Mercurius, his mentor understandably curious. Hopefully, he could provide insight into this strange development.

“They’ve disappeared,” Saviour said without preamble.

“From sight or—”

“From the face of the planet,” he interjected, worried that he might be blamed for losing the sheep. For being an inattentive shepherd. “I am standing on the riverbank where they left their knapsacks. The woman mentioned a cave as well as—”

“A cave?” There was no mistaking the excitement in Mercurius’s voice. “Are you certain this is what you overheard?”

“With the parabolic dish, I can hear a rabbit fart three hundred meters away. Yes, I am certain. Hooked onto the edge of the stone slab is a pickax with a length of rope tied to the end. The entrance to the cave must be hidden beneath the river rocks, but . . . it is invisible to the naked eye.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Saviour didn’t have to see Mercurius to know that the other man had lightly grasped his chin in his right hand and that he was now slowly tapping his index finger against his lips. Lost in thought.

“Do you want me to follow them into this underwater cave?” Saviour prayed the answer was no.

“Be patient, my love. They will return. Find yourself a suitable hiding place. But I want you to contact me the moment they appear. I want to know if they have retrieved anything from this cave.”

Hearing that, Saviour exhaled a gusty sigh of relief. Although loathe to admit it, he had a dread fear of caves. They were too much like the grave. Or a dark, eerie house.

And he knew all about living in the dark house.

When he first arrived on Panos Island, he’d been an impressionable eighteen-year-old who couldn’t believe the blessing that had been bestowed upon him: He’d caught the eye of Greek shipping tycoon Evangelos Danielides. And had literally been whisked off the streets of Thessaloniki to a pampered, luxurious idyll on a sun-kissed private island in the Aegean.

A dream come true.

He’d tried to act cool, but in truth, he’d been utterly dazzled. By the thousand-acre isle with its turquoise lagoons ringed with cedar and wild olive trees. By the opulent marble villa with its cadre of obsequious servants who would draw his bath. Clip his fingernails. Massage him with sweet-smelling oils. Was he not a prince among men? And, of course, most of all, he’d been dazzled by the man himself, Evangelos Danielides.

At the dawn of the twenty-first century, the booming economies of China and India had created a whole new generation of Greek tycoons who made massive fortunes transporting the world’s goods. But unlike the more famous youngbloods, Evangelos Danielides maintained a low profile, disdaining the jet set. To Saviour’s surprise, Evangelos had a laid-back style. When not attired in bathing trunks, he wore loose linen trousers paired with a white T-shirt. He drank ouzo rather than champagne. Although he did have one curious affectation—he smoked Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. Which lent a sexy rasp to his already deep voice.

Those first weeks on Panos had been a heady experience, almost too much for Saviour to absorb. Which is why he always looked forward to the end of day when he and Evangelos would lounge beside the infinity pool, the setting sun turning the blue Aegean a fiery red.

And then things turned very ugly very quickly.

It started one day at archery practice, Evangelos—justly proud of having been on the 2000 Greek Archery Team—was instructing him on how to improve his draw. Standing directly behind him, crotch firmly planted against his ass, he’d whispered in his ear, “Pull with your shoulder.” As he spoke, Evangelos slipped a hand between Saviour’s legs. Suddenly disinterested in archery, Saviour turned his head to kiss his beloved. “I said pull with your shoulder, bitch!” Evangelos hissed in his ear as he roughly squeezed his testicles. Saviour bit back a whelp of pain, tears flooding his eyes. Uncertain what he’d done to incur the vicious outburst.

In the days to come, Evangelos took to slapping him. Kicking and shoving. Then punching him in the face. One morning he presented Saviour with a studded metal collar and a leather jockstrap. His new uniform. What had been a life of idle luxury became one of degradation. Pain and humiliation. There was no one he could turn to for help; the servants turned a deaf ear to his screams. Trapped on the private island, Saviour was Evangelos Danielides’s chattel. A piece of ass that the shipping tycoon owned. A possession. No different from his yacht. Or his prized Argentine mastiffs. His to do with as he pleased.

Or so he thought. Never imagining that his meek little lamb would turn into a vicious, snarling wolf.

And just as Saviour had done to Evangelos Danielides, he would do to the Brit when he emerged from the cave.

Readjusting the straps on his hiking pack, he headed toward an overgrown patch inundated with evergreen shrubs some fifty meters from the riverbank. An excellent place to wait for his quarry.