The Vault of Poseidon

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“You’re Professor Yannis Demetriou?” Hawke asked.

“Of course, and this is my office. Now I ask again — who are you and why are you here?”

Hawke and Scarlet shared a quick glance before returning their eyes to Demetriou. He looked pretty upset that they had broken in to his personal space and were going through his files. Hawke guessed he wouldn’t exactly be over the moon about Ryan trawling through his home computer back at his apartment.

“We thought you’d been kidnapped,” Scarlet said.

“Kidnapped?” snapped Demetriou. “What are you talking about? There was an emergency at my sister’s house. What is going on here?!”

“I think we need to start again,” Hawke said.

They explained everything they knew about the vault of Poseidon, Hugo Zaugg and even their encounters with Kaspar Vetsch back in New York and Geneva. Eventually, Demetriou calmed down, and asked a member of the museum staff to bring them coffee.

“It’s good finally to meet someone who doesn’t think we’re crazy,” said Scarlet.

Demetriou smiled. “Poseidon’s tomb — or as the ancient writers often called it, the Vault of Poseidon — is a crazy concept in most people’s eyes, but not in mine. I have always had an open mind, and never stopped believing in the existence of the tomb.”

“I still can’t get my head around the fact that Poseidon was real,” Hawke said. “I thought he was a god.”

“But the two terms are not mutually exclusive,” Demetriou replied. “How do we know what god is? How do we know he has not walked among us? This is what Christians teach, after all, so why is is not possible to extend such a thought to the ancient gods?”

“It still sounds like a load of tripe to me,” Scarlet said. “I’m just here to shoot people.”

“No! Our modern Western minds are programmed to see polytheism as an antiquated concept, but the principle is the same. There is no reason why Poseidon, Thor, Mars or any of the other gods could not have been real and walked the earth! Today in Greece we even have the phenomenon of dodekatheism, an attempt to revive the worship of these ancient gods!”

“But gods are immortal,” Hawke said flatly, still finding it hard to accept he was really having this conversation. “And if they are immortal, then why are they not alive today?”

“This depends on your understanding of immortality. It could refer simply to the memory of them living on forever, as history shows has happened. Or, it could mean they are immortal in the spirit world. Others would argue that immortality does not mean one cannot be killed, merely that one would live forever if left unharmed.”

“And what do you think, professor?”

“For all I know, they could still be alive!”

Hawke laughed. “You can't be serious.”

“Why not? They could be walking among us now, out there, on the street. Thousands of years old — maybe millions of years old, endlessly wise, omniscient, omnipotent, and, of course, immortal!”

“And if they were, then their powers would be limitless.”

“But gods know how to wield their powers, Mr Hawke. The same cannot be said for most men.” Demetriou stopped and shook his head in wonder once again. “This is all too good to be true. I have spent much of my life trying to find it, but never got anywhere as close as this. It shames me. Are you saying you actually have some kind of real, concrete evidence of the tomb, at last?”

Hawke produced the golden arc from his pocket and slid it across Demetriou’s cluttered desk.

“Feast your eyes on that.”

His eyes widened like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Where did you get this?”

“In New York, at the Met Museum,” Hawke said. “It was inside the Poseidon Vase. In the base.”

“You mean the irreplacable masterpiece by the Vienna Painter?”

Hawke nodded.

“But how did you get this golden arc out without damaging the vase?”

“That’s not important,” Hawke said, glancing at Scarlet. “What matters is it’s only half the clue — half the information we need. The Vienna Painter broke the location of the tomb into two pieces and hid one in each of a pair of matching vases. The other half of the code is in…”

“In the Amphitrite Vase!” Demetriou said, smiling, turning the gold disc over in his meaty hands. “Which is just up there,” he added, pointing to the first floor above his head.

Then Demetriou saw the inscription on the other side of the golden arc. “Beneath the Highest City, Where The Samian’s Sacred Work Shall Guide. What does it mean?”

“We were kind of hoping you could tell us,” said Scarlet.

Demetriou picked up his coffee and sipped it absent-mindedly as he stared at the arc in wonder. “Clearly there is a reference to an acropolis here — probably the one here in Athens, I suppose, but as for the rest…” he shook his head and looked up at them.

“What?”

Demetriou’s mind seemed to wander. “I have read that the vault of Poseidon contains not only his sarcophagus, but also what is sometimes referred to by the ancient poets as his ultimate power.”

“His trident?”

“Possibly, but more likely they refer to his immortality. I have always presumed the tomb would contain limitless treasure, including his trident of course, but most importantly the source of his immortality. If man were ever to find this…”

“We need to look at the other vase, professor,” Hawke said, “and in a hurry. There are other people on this trail — bad people who want the powers hidden in the tomb. Like we already told you — we thought you had been kidnapped by them, and we believe that your life may be in grave danger.”

“Then let’s have a closer look at the Amphitrite vase!” Demetriou said, rising from his desk and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

Demetriou led them briskly along the corridor from his office and up the stairs, his jacket shuffling as he climbed the marble steps. Moments later they were walking into the section containing all the ancient Greek vases.

Hawke sighed. “I’m getting serious déjà vu.”

“The Met, you mean?” asked Scarlet.

He nodded.

“This way!” Demetriou called over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

They arrived at the correct case and Demetriou beamed with pride when he showed them the vase, almost as sincerely as Mitch had done back in the Met.

To Hawke, it looked almost the same as the other one, except this one featured a woman holding a fish.

“Meet Amphitrite, Poseidon’s wife,” Demetriou said, carefully extracting the vase from the cabinet with a little pear of white cotton gloves. “It is imperative we do not leave grease marks on the pottery.”

Hawke winced at the thought of what had to come next. “You asked a moment ago how we got the golden arc without damaging the vase?”

“Yes?”

“The truth is, the Swiss smashed it out of the base, so…”

“Oh no! Absolutely not.”

“We need the other half of the riddle if we’re going to locate the tomb, professor,” Scarlet said, trying to back Hawke up. “That’s the only way we can prove any of this is real and stop Zaugg, so stop being such a silly little man and hand over the vase.”

“It’s two and a half thousand years old!” Demetriou said.

Scarlet was umoved. “Now, professor.”

Demetriou looked down at the ancient pottery vase in his hands, up to Scarlet and then back to the vase. “But surely we could x-ray it to make sure it contained the other half of the golden disc first, and then perhaps remove the base with special cutting tools — make as little damage as possible, and then…”

“We’re running out of time, professor,” Hawke said.

“I’m not going to let anyone damage this vase,” he said, adamant. “If there is something within it then it will be found using the correct archaeological procedures. Now you have made me aware of its potential value it’s more important than ever that we put it somewhere safer.”

Demetriou shuffled away from them with the vase in his right hand.

Scarlet drew her Sig Sauer and with one well-aimed shot she fired before Hawke could even begin to object.

The gunshot rang out in the silent museum, echoing down the corridors and bouncing off the ceiling, deafening. Smoke drifted from the chrome-lined barrel of her gun. As it rose to her face she blew a whisp of it away from her lips.

Demetriou stood perfectly still, frozen in place by the madness of the last second, his hand no longer holding an ancient vase but now purely its shattered rim. At his feet was a pile of tiny pottery pieces and a heap of orange dust.

Scarlet stepped forward and reached into the little pile, pulling out the other half of the golden disc.

“You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, Professor Demetriou.”

“I…I…you could have killed me you crazy woman!”

“Aww, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Yannis.” She looked at him sternly, the smoking Sig in her smooth white hand. “Now translate this.” She handed him the metal.

“Translate this you say! But… you have destroyed an irreplacable, ancient…” the words trailed away as his attention refocussed on the other half of the golden arc in Scarlet’s hands.

He stared at the Ancient Greek lettering, taking only a second to translate it. “It says The Kingdom Of The Eldest Is Where What You Seek Doth Hide.”

Hawke shook his head in disbelief. “Not another one.”

“At least we now have both parts of the riddle,” said Scarlet, reholstering her gun.

They put the two halves of the golden arc together and formed a perfect disc.

Beneath the Highest City, Where The Samian’s Sacred Work Shall Guide — The Kingdom Of The Eldest Is Where What You Seek Doth Hide.

“What does it mean?” Demetriou muttered.

“It means you have work to do,” Hawke said.

“Then we must get back to my apartment,” Demetriou said. “All my research and files are there.”