The Lost Labyrinth

II

There was something uncomfortably vault-like about this basement, Gaille suddenly realised. If someone should die down here, and the trap door was sealed, their body might never be found.

'So I've been here before,' said Iain. 'So what?'

'You might have told me,' she said.

'Yes,' admitted Iain. 'Perhaps I should have. But it would only have made you suspicious, when there was nothing to be suspicious about. I mean, look at it from my point of view. When I started doing the research for my book, I found I was consulting the exact same materials as Petitier had already consulted. The exact same ones.'

'You got curious?' suggested Gaille, shuffling fractionally to her right, trying to open up a line to the doorway.

'Of course I got curious,' agreed Iain, stepping sideways to block her. 'Why wouldn't I have done? So the next time he turned up, I kept an eye on him. You should have seen him. Clapping his hands all the time. Cackling. I knew he must have found something good. It was obvious. What was I supposed to do?'

'Inform the authorities.'

'Of what? It's not illegal to do research, you know.'

'So you followed him?'

'He didn't make it easy,' nodded Iain. 'He was paranoid as hell. He kept stopping and getting out and glaring at the traffic behind him. It took me three goes, and I had to use a different car each time. Do you really expect me to have told you that straight out? I'd never even met you before. What if you'd got all holier-than-thou on me and insisted on going to the authorities? It could have killed my career.'

'I gave you the perfect cover, didn't I? A chance to come here and check this out, then blame me if it went wrong.'

'This is absurd, Gaille. You're being absurd. I didn't have to bring you here at all. I could have kept it to myself. You'd never have found out. No one would. But your friend was in trouble, and I thought I could help. Was that really so wicked? Anyway, how come it's okay for you to investigate, but not me? You think you're so special, don't you, you and Knox? You make a couple of lucky finds, and now you think you're entitled. Well I'm a Minoan scholar, I've spent my whole life studying places like these. What's your reason for being here?'

'Augustin.'

'Sure! Nothing to do with coveting glory, I suppose. Do you two even realise the harm you've done to archaeology? I had to suffer through that bloody Alexander press conference with my wife sitting next to me. You and Knox and that fat bastard from the SCA. Knox! This zero of a guy I was at university with; this also-ran! And suddenly he's a global superstar. You should have seen the way the little darling looked at me after that.'

'You're not blaming us for your failed marriage, are you?'

'It should have been me,' he said, his eyes blazing. 'I was always ahead of Knox at university. I was always the destined one. Ask him, if you don't believe me. He was nothing. He was a nobody. I was the one! It was me!'

'You got angry,' murmured Gaille.

'Too bloody right I got angry.'

'That's why your wife left you. She became afraid.'

'That's it! Take her side.'

'You hit her. She was pregnant and you hit her.'

'Don't say that!' said Iain, taking a step towards her. 'Don't you dare say that! I never hit her. I never laid a fucking finger on her.'

'Yes, you did.'

'She was going to take away my son,' he yelled. 'What the hell was I supposed to do?'

'And this was your way to win her back, was it?' asked Gaille. 'To prove you were a somebody after all. That was why you couldn't let Petitier give his speech, wasn't it? You couldn't have him going public before your book came out. So you followed him to Athens.'

He took half a step back in surprise. 'What are you talking about?'

'You're always travelling there. That's what you told me last night.'

'It was a figure of speech.'

'Sure! And that Athens Metro ticket in your backpack. Is that a figure of speech too?'

He stared numbly at her. Too late, Gaille realised how reckless she'd just been. She nodded twice, as if she were the one in charge, then walked for the stairs, hoping he'd be too dazed to stop her. But he came after her when she was barely halfway up, pushed past her and turned to block her escape. 'We're going to talk this out,' he said.

'Talk what out?' She tried to get by him, but he was too strong. They jostled a moment, his forearm accidentally pressing against her breast. His throat coloured; he scowled and shoved her tumbling to the bottom. She landed on her side and winded herself on the point of her elbow. He began walking down towards her, a disturbing mix of resentment, fear and lust in his eyes. She scrambled into the chemistry lab, slammed its door behind her, grabbed the chair and leaned it at an angle beneath the handle.

'Let me in,' he demanded. 'Let me in.'

'Leave me alone.'

'This is crazy, Gaille. You're acting like a crazy person.' He pounded on the door so hard that the wood trembled and the chair ceded a few millimetres. He hit it again and the chair fell away altogether. She threw her shoulder against it and tried to hold him back, but he was far too strong for her, pushing her slithering backwards. She retreated against the work table. He advanced upon her, reached out and touched her breast again, purposefully this time. She crossed her arms in front of her and turned her shoulder. The shelf of chemicals snagged her eye as she did so, all those skull and crossbones labels. She reached out and grabbed a bottle of sodium hydroxide, twisted off its lid and discharged it at his face. He cried out and closed his eyes and flapped wildly at the white powder.

She broke away and ran to the steps and up, slamming the trap door down after her. There was no lock, so she tried to shift the armchair back over it. He was too quick for her, however; the trap-door flew up and slammed onto its back and then he was out, fumbling like some horror-movie zombie. She fled outside, where Argo was barking and jumping against the wire of his pen, sensing she was in trouble. She unbolted the door, went inside, grabbed his leash and tried to buckle it to his collar; but he was too excited to stay still, he kept dancing in wild circles, snatching the buckle from her fingers.

'Come out of there,' demanded Iain, his face reddened by the caustic soda, tears streaming from his eyes.

'Stay away.' She finally clipped on the leash, wrapped it around her fist, then opened the door. Argo lunged at Iain; it was all Gaille could do to hold him.

'Keep him back,' yelled Iain, taking hold of the Mauser by its barrel, wielding it like a club.

She hauled Argo away to her right. It was a battle at first, but then he abruptly conceded and forged ahead instead, snuffling intoxicating scents in the grass, dragging her flailing helplessly in his wake like some out-of-control water-skier. She tried to steer him towards the escarpment, but he was too strong and determined, he wanted to go north.

'Come back,' said Iain.

'Leave me alone.'

'Okay,' he said. 'You're right. I was in Athens. I admit it. I heard Petitier was going to give a talk, and I got angry. I don't know why. I suppose I'd come to think of this place as mine. I went to Athens hoping to talk him out of it. I waited for him in the lobby. When he checked in, I overheard his room number, so I went up to talk to him. But he never showed. He must have spotted me. And, anyway, all those archaeologists there made me realise what a dick I was being. Whatever he's found here doesn't belong to me or to him. It belongs to everyone. He was doing the right thing. So I took the first flight back to Crete. That's when Knox left all his messages and I found out what had happened. Of course I kept my mouth shut. If I'd owned up to being there, the police would have jumped to all kinds of conclusions. You don't know what the Greek police are like. The last thing on earth you want is to be caught up in a murder enquiry here.'

Argo had dragged Gaille to the edge of the yellow gorse, was now following it around. He suddenly turned and plunged into the gorse itself, forcing Gaille to follow. There was a path of sorts, wending this way and that through the prickly labyrinth, but it was so narrow that she had to turn sideways to follow it, doing her best to cushion her sore ankle each time she landed. Argo never hesitated, the scent strong in his nostrils. But it was only when Gaille saw a dried crust of orange peel on the ground that she realised it wasn't just any scent Argo was following.

It was Petitier's.