Templar's Code

CHAPTER 40

Kologameio!

A total butt-fuck!

Sobbing, barely able to pull breath into his lungs, Saviour collapsed on the ground, the tinder-dry foliage crunching beneath him.

Deeply humiliated, he hugged his knees and rocked back and forth. Still able to smell the smoldering nylon jacket that he’d flung aside. Uncomprehending. He’d been on the verge of taking down his quarry when the wounded animal reared up and . . . and the boutso gliftie, the cocksucker, nearly set him ablaze. And while he flapped about like a bird on fire, the Brit and his woman escaped. The two of them jumping into the river.

Angry tears scorching his cheeks, Saviour gave vent to his rage. Kologameio! He pounded the leaf-strewn soil with his balled fist. A moment later, he gulped a deep breath. Then another.

Focus.

He needed to check his emotions at the door and focus.

Christos! There is no door! He was in the dark forest. A forest that reeked of cedar and wild olives. No! That was another forest. On the island of Panos. He’d been so scared. So certain that once Evangelos Danielides’s arrow-riddled body was discovered, the servants would set the Argentine mastiffs loose on him. Terrified, he ran from the archery range and took refuge in the forest that bordered the villa. He hiked through the cedar and wild olive groves to the service dock on the far side of the island. Where the supplies were weekly delivered on a motor launch from the mainland. Evangelos’s Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. Crates of Ouzo. Feta. Tomatoes. Fresh octopus and slabs of tuna. A godsend! He could sneak on board. He didn’t care where the vessel was headed. It didn’t matter. Somehow he would find his way to Thessaloniki.

It took a week of blow jobs and picking pockets on the docks of Piraeus before he could purchase a train ticket.

Afraid he would be hunted for Evangelos Danielides’s murder, he’d kept to the shadows. He became so skittish that he’d physically lurch when he heard a siren or a police whistle. Even a barking dog. To his surprise, there was no mention of the murder in the Greek newspapers. Although he read that an elaborate funeral was held in Athens, the cause of death officially reported as cardiac arrest. A cover-up. He didn’t even shoot the bastard in the heart. Obviously, the powerful Danielides family didn’t want their son’s predilections made public. Nonetheless, he feared that same powerful family would seek revenge for the murder of their only son.

Like a fugitive on the run, Saviour spent his nights roaming the Leoforos Nikis for quick pickups and hiding out in Thessaloniki’s churches during the daylight hours. The last place the guns hired by the Danielides family would look for him. As though it were fated, at the Agía Sophía, the Church of Holy Wisdom, he met his savior, the man who would alter the course of his life in a profound and wondrous way.

A beautiful memory.

Revived somewhat, he used his sweater sleeve to dry his face. He had to get a grip. Another American phrase. Shoving himself upright, he walked over to the stone slab where the English boutso gliftie and his bitch had held court before the attack. In a hurry to escape, they left one of their packs. As well as a small laptop computer.

What are they doing with a computer? he wondered, struck by the oddity of seeing a high-tech device in the middle of the dark forest. He picked up the computer and, with the tap of a finger, took it out of hibernation mode.

Christos!

There on the screen was a reservation confirmation: airline tickets for two to London, including a three-night stay at the St. Martin’s Lane Hotel.

Overjoyed, he threw back his head and merrily laughed aloud.

Truly a gift from the gods.