The Lost Labyrinth

IV

It was past midnight when finally a taxi pulled up outside Franklin's house, and the man himself emerged in his dinner jacket, and then his wife, elegant in a pale green gown and woollen shawl. They must have been at Nico's closing banquet. Knox walked towards them, slowing deliberately as he drew close, so that they'd know he had business with them. Franklin's expression clouded when he saw him. 'You!' he said. 'What are you doing here?'

'You know what I'm doing here.'

He licked his lips but said nothing. 'What is it, Claude?' asked his wife, in the nasal tone of deafness taught to speak. 'What's going on?'

Franklin turned to her with a calm smile. 'Nothing, my love,' he assured her, signing the words as well as speaking them. 'Please go inside.'

'But I-'

'Please,' he repeated. 'Go inside. Go to bed. Everything's fine. This gentleman and I just have some matters to discuss.' He watched her go in, the lights coming on downstairs and then up. 'Well?' he asked.

Knox told him. 'I just ran an Internet search on Roland Petitier. Unusual name. Did you know he'd published an article while he was at the French school. More to the point, can you take a wild guess as to who his co-author was?'

'It was a long time ago.'

'It was you, Dr Franklin. You, who told me this morning that you weren't really his friend, that you only shared a house with him for a while.'

'Everything I told you was the truth.'

'But not the whole truth,' said Knox. 'You coauthored an article with him called The Mysteries of Eleusis Revealed. Or didn't you think that was worth mentioning?'

Franklin looked both ways down the street, almost as though contemplating running for it. But then his shoulders slumped a little. 'Let's go inside,' he said. 'I'm going to need a drink for this.'

V

Nadya walked slowly through Psyrri on her return to her hotel. There were queues outside the nightclubs; music boomed from within. Evenings like this, loose with drink, she liked it if a brash young man made a play for her. But there were no takers tonight, not even for a little eye contact. She'd been beautiful once, lusted after; and not even that long ago. But the last few years hadn't been kind.

She reached the quieter, older streets of Plaka. Several middle-aged men were sitting in low-slung canvas chairs around a table. She walked close by them, but they didn't even look at her, so she turned around and came back and gave one of their chairs a little nudge. But all she got was laughter.

Her ankle turned on the cobbles. She went sprawling. It was always a risk to mix vodka and heels. She picked herself up, brushed off her hands and knees, aware she should be embarrassed, yet not. Her left palm began to throb. It was wet and speckled with grit and torn skin. She watched with passive curiosity as the first hints of blood arrived, the sharpness of each pulse.

'Excuse me?' asked a man, German from his accent. 'Are you okay?'

She looked hopefully around, but he already had a woman. 'I'm fine,' she told him.

She took her shoe in both hands, tested the heel. It wobbled a little, so she kicked the other one off too, then carried them as she wandered, uncertain of her way. Her feet grew cold and wet; the streets grew narrow and emptier. She reached a familiar plaza, turned left and saw the illuminated sign that ran down the front of her hotel. There were no black Mercedes outside her hotel, just a few cars and a white van. She wasn't that drunk, not to check. She paused to pull her shoes back on; her concierge was pompous, she didn't want him getting all superior with her. The echo of her footsteps made her realise how empty the streets had become.

The van door opened. A man got out. She knew at once. She turned and tried to flee, but her broken heel betrayed her and she tumbled hard onto the pavement. She opened her mouth to scream, but too late; a hand was clamped over it, holding a moistened pad of some kind. She felt its chemical burn on her lips as she breathed it in, and the strength began draining from her muscles, despite her fear. Then she was lifted bodily and carried to the van; and the last thing she saw was Mikhail Nergadze kneeling beside her, smiling down at her as though he'd just won himself a bet.