The Cylon Curse Page 3

  Then the guards appeared. They didn’t interfere, they merely followed. As word spread throughout the city, and more of the authorities’ security forces appeared, and the support they were counting on didn’t solidify, he knew he was going to fail.

  But failure wasn’t an option.

  He and the others had openly defied the archons, and treason such as this warranted death, no matter his position. He, due to his name, and the power of his father-in-law, might survive the day, but his supporters? They would surely die.

  It made no sense.

  The prophecy had been clear. He was to take power.

  Yet that wasn’t to be.

  What had she said?

  “Your family is one of honor, you are a hero of the people, and should you act wisely, you will succeed in unifying the people of Athens.”

  Didn’t that mean he was to take power? How could it be interpreted any other way? Yet as he looked around him, the excitement and confidence of his followers wiped away, it appeared that the people of Athens were united against him.

  “You will succeed in unifying the people of Athens.”

  Had he fallen into the trap so often set by Pythia and others like her? Had he been so blinded by his ambition, that he had seen the answer he had wanted in her words, ignoring the other possible interpretations?

  Her words suggested that unity would only occur if he acted wisely, and he was rapidly becoming convinced that he hadn’t. Basileios had been right. They should have waited. Three weeks would have given them time to organize, to build support. But two days? Clearly it hadn’t been enough.

  He had been a fool.

  In his arrogance, he was certain the day honoring the great Zeus was the opening of the Olympics, because he had been so self-absorbed that he was convinced the gods were taking him into account in their plans for the people of Athens.

  “I am an arrogant fool.”

  Basileios looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Look at the people. We have failed.”

  Basileios frowned, unable to deny the truth that surrounded them, no matter how much Cylon was certain his friend wanted to. “What are we going to do?”

  “They’ll execute us all, for sure.”

  “Or worse. I’d rather die with a blade to my stomach, than to spend a day in their prisons.”

  Cylon nodded. “True, but I wonder if there’s a way for us to avoid both.”

  Basileios shook his head. “I can’t imagine how.”

  Cylon rubbed between his thumb and forefinger the amulet given him by the high priestess, closing his eyes as they continued down the cobblestone street. The jeers outnumbered the shouts of support at least two-to-one, an optimistic estimate at best. Now, all he sought was a way out of this for his friends, for those who had committed themselves to this foolish venture.

  Athena!

  Surely, she would grant them protection, and her temple was sacred and nearby. The archons wouldn’t dare touch them if they were under her protection. It would give them time for things to settle down, for cooler heads to prevail, and perhaps for a negotiated peace that would spare the others. And should it become necessary, he would sacrifice himself to save his friends without hesitation.

  “To the Temple of Athena!”

  He thrust his sword high in the air and broke out into a jog, his supporters following, the crowd parting for them, none willing to challenge the armed warriors.

  “I take it you have a plan?”

  He glanced over at Basileios. “We’ve lost the day. All that we can hope for now is to survive.”

  “A lofty goal. Might I inquire as to how you think you’ll manage it?”

  Cylon laughed. “We’ll seek shelter in the temple. While there, the archons will try to negotiate our surrender. I will offer my life in exchange for the rest of you.”

  Basileios frowned. “Your plan is wise, in that they won’t dare shed blood on holy ground. But it is foolish if you think any of us will agree to you sacrificing yourself for us.”

  Cylon slowed slightly. “If there was one person whose support I thought I could count on, it was you.”

  “You will always have my support. But don’t think for a minute I will allow you to sacrifice yourself for me. You must survive the day, so that you can fight again. Athens needs you, even if these fools don’t realize it. Athens doesn’t need me. There are hundreds that will take my place.”

  “I can think of none who could replace my friend.”

  Basileios smiled. “Don’t make me weep on an occasion such as this. I have a reputation to protect.”

  Cylon tossed his head back, laughing. “I hate to tell you this, on what might be our last day alive, but your free-flowing tears are a secret to no one.”

  Basileios’ eyes narrowed. “I wonder who told them?”

  “Perhaps the countless women you have used those tears on to win their hearts?”

  Basileios frowned. “Perhaps that wasn’t so wise.”

  Cylon pointed ahead, the temple now in sight. “We’re almost there! Everyone inside! They can’t touch us on holy ground!”

  His supporters broke into a sprint, the panic they were feeling now evident. He had failed them, and he had failed Apollo.

  He had interpreted Pythia’s prophecy incorrectly.

  And now her words he had ignored echoed in his head.

  “To not heed this warning will result in a tragedy that will haunt you until the day you depart this plane of existence, and journey on to the next.”

  Thankfully, that day was likely today, and he wouldn’t suffer long the tragedy about to befall him and his closest friends.

  7 |

  Outside Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

  Present Day

  “There’s something I want. An artifact that came onto the market just last night.”

  Alexie Tankov glanced over his shoulder at Sheik Khalid bin Al Jabar, sitting in his gold and bejeweled throne in the center of the room, the platform able to rotate as desired to take in the spectacle that surrounded them—the actual fabled Amber Room, thought lost near the end of World War Two, but found by two annoyingly persistent archaeologists only months ago.

  And liberated by his team.

  For a substantial profit.

  He had to admit, seeing it now for only the second time assembled, it was impressive. Gaudy to no end, but impressive. Some estimates had its worth at nearly half a billion dollars, though that meant little to men like the sheik. They wanted it for the prestige, not the value. Tankov had little doubt that this room had been shared with a select few to elicit envy, and provoke admiration and respect.

  It was the type of existence most could never imagine, where one had so much money, it could be thrown around by the hundreds of millions without even a second thought let alone a first.

  It was a world that had made him and his team of former Russian Spetsnaz Special Forces operatives very rich.

  Though with a price that he was no longer so comfortable living with.

  The blood of innocents on his hands.

  He returned his attention to the intricacies of the walls surrounding them. “And what is this artifact?”

  “Something that belonged to Cylon himself.”

  Tankov’s eyebrows narrowed slightly. “Never heard of him.”

  “He was involved in one of the first recorded events in Greek history. He attempted the violent takeover of Athens.”

  This caught Tankov’s attention, and he turned toward Sheik Khalid. “Sounds like an interesting man.”

  “He was. And from what I’ve heard about this artifact, it is something I must have.”

  Tankov waved a hand at the half-billion-dollar room. “Don’t you have enough?”

  Khalid smiled. “The world isn’t enough.”

  A James Bond theme played through Tankov’s head as he wondered if the man in front of him had any idea that he had just quoted the family motto of the Bond clan. “For some people, I suppos
e. You know my fee. Where is it?”

  “In Greece, a suburb of Athens. In your dossier, there will be a recording of a conversation between my contact and the person on the inside. She explains everything.”

  Tankov’s eyebrows rose. “She?”

  “Yes, she. This troubles you?”

  Tankov shrugged. “I’ve met a lot of bad women in my time. One more means nothing to me.”

  “Good. As I was saying, she explains everything. The item is extremely valuable.”

  “Why? Is it made of gold or something?” He gestured at the room surrounding them. “Hardly something you need more of.”

  Khalid laughed. “No, it’s a mystery.”

  “In what way?”

  “Nobody knows what’s inside it.”

  Tankov’s eyes narrowed. “So, it’s some sort of container?”

  “Yes.”

  Tankov’s eyes narrowed further. “Then why don’t they just open it?”

  Khalid shook his head. “They can’t. They just found it, and they’re waiting for the funding to do it properly.”

  Tankov frowned. “And you have the equipment to safely open it?”

  Khalid’s eyes shot wide. “I’d never open it!”

  “Then why get it?”

  “Just to have it. The mystery is the fun of it.”

  Tankov sighed. “You people and your oil money. It’s ridiculous.”

  Khalid shrugged. “I’ve known no other life, so I have nothing to compare it to. I do highly recommend it, however.” He leaned forward in his throne, his mouth curling into a smile. “And I’ve paid you quite handsomely over the years, enough to know that you too are very rich.”

  Tankov grunted. “I am.”

  “Exactly. Yet here you stand, criticizing me, while taking on yet another job for me, that will make you even richer. Why? Why keep working?”

  Tankov chuckled. The man had him there. He was rich. Approaching nine figures rich. And so were his men. Though he was in charge, the rule was that anyone who survived split the payday evenly. That way everyone did what they were best at, rather than jockeying for a part of the job that would get a greater share.

  It wouldn’t do to have some of his team driving Porsches while others rode Peugeots.

  He regarded the sheik. “For the thrill, I guess.”

  “Exactly. You get your thrills by stealing things. I get mine by possessing things. Like this room.”

  “So, you want this artifact. Why not just buy it if they’ve got someone on the inside?”

  “I did, but she can’t get it out without being caught. We need to go in and take it. She’ll tell us when and where.”

  Tankov felt something in the pit of his stomach, and when he did, it almost always meant things were about to get difficult. “Where exactly is this?”

  “At the Phaleron Delta Necropolis.”

  His head bobbed. “I’ve heard of it. It’s a large site. I’m assuming it’s guarded.”

  “Of course, though not heavily. You might have to kill some guards, though probably not many.”

  Tankov frowned. “I don’t want any innocent people being killed.”

  Khalid’s eyes narrowed as he stared at him. “You never had a problem doing it before.” He gestured at the room. “In fact, you didn’t when you stole this for me.”

  Tankov sighed. “Yes, and we went too far. I’ve changed my perspective on things. In the end, we succeeded, and we could have done so without the violence, or at least the killing.”

  “So you say.”

  “Yes, so I say. I don’t mind killing bad people, but I’m not going to kill some poor son of a bitch just because he was there, doing his job.”

  Khalid regarded him, tapping his chin. “A thief with a conscience. How quaint.”

  “My team is good at what we do. The best. We can get your artifact without anybody getting killed.” He stepped closer to the sheik. “Do we have the job?”

  Khalid stared at him for what felt like minutes, then shook his head, leaning back in his throne. “No, I don’t think so. This new philosophy you have disturbs me. It makes me think you might turn completely, and perhaps reveal who your clients are to the wrong people.”

  Tankov’s chest tightened. “There’s no chance of that. We’d be going to prison for life for what we’ve done. There are no deals for ex-Russian Special Forces.”

  “Still, I think our business is done. I need a team that doesn’t have the scruples you now appear to.”

  Tankov bowed slightly. “That is your choice. I guess we’ll part ways.”

  “I guess so. But be careful about making any hasty decisions. Not doing business with me means not doing business with any of my, shall we say, friends. You would effectively be out of business.”

  Tankov smiled. “When the others you hire botch the job and create too much heat, you’ll be calling me.”

  “What makes you think they won’t succeed?”

  “There are not a lot of people who do what I do, and I already know you’ve been talking to the Suqut Brigade. You are aware they are an offshoot of ISIS? That they help steal and sell plundered artifacts to finance the cause?”

  “I am.”

  “Then you are aware that they have no boundaries, and people like that leave messes that result in questions, and those lead to answers that might include this little oasis you’ve built yourself.”

  Khalid stared at him, his face devoid of emotion. “As I said, our business is concluded.”

  Tankov nodded. “Very well. As a courtesy, you will never be mentioned again. I expect the same shown to me and my team.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  Tankov leaned in closer. “And I’ll give you one piece of unsolicited advice. Whatever you do, don’t bring your new business partners here.”

  “Why?”

  “These are dangerous men, who take what they want, and don’t care who they kill to get it. They just might take a liking to this room, and are the types of barbarians who would just melt it down for the gold and amber, destroying a piece of history, which is something neither of us want.”

  Khalid’s head bobbed slowly. “Sage advice. I shall be sure not to ignore it.”

  Tankov bowed. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Likewise.”

  Tankov left the room, wondering how many days it would be before he heard from the sheik, begging him to sort out the mess created by his new partners.

  Perhaps it might be best to plan ahead.

  8 |

  Temple of Athena, The Acropolis

  City of Athens

  632 BC

  “Cylon, the archons are here!”

  Cylon, huddled with the others around the statue of Athena, glanced over his shoulder to see one of his supporters pointing beyond the columns surrounding them. He recognized the leaders of the city as they clustered in a group, no doubt assessing the situation.

  A situation not in his favor.

  There were hundreds gathered, surrounding the temple, perhaps even a thousand. Yet most were there out of what he now assumed was morbid curiosity. They weren’t here to support him, but instead to see what would happen to him and his followers.

  Exactly what he had been discussing moments ago.

  They needed an exit strategy.

  Though most were aristocrats, the masses wouldn’t recognize them, yet the archons would. At least most of them. It was too late for them to slip away and claim ignorance later if questioned. He had urged them to go home, but they had all to a one steadfastly refused.

  He loved them for it.

  And damned himself for their loyalty, for it would cost them their lives should things go poorly.

  He smiled, deciding to test the resolve of the clearly worried archons. He approached Archon Eponymous Megacles, the senior of the group.

  “Have you come to support us, Megacles?”

  A broad smile spread across Megacles’ face. He gestured at the sparse crowd. “If I have, then
I am one of but a few.”

  “We had little time to organize a following, but it will come in time. Pythia herself said it was my duty to take control and save our great city.”

  Megacles frowned. “Knowing Pythia, she no doubt said something that could be interpreted in multiple ways. Surely, if you had interpreted her words correctly, you wouldn’t be seeking sanctuary in the Temple of Athena, surrounded by our guards.”

  Cylon suppressed his own frown, for Megacles was correct. He was certain of it now. He should have waited for the Festival of Pandia, not the opening of the Olympics. It would have given them the time to garner a following, a following that would be with them now, their numbers too large to resist.

  He regarded Megacles and the other archons. “I take it then that you will not support us?”

  Megacles shook his head. “How can we, when not even the people follow you?”

  “That will come.”

  “Perhaps, but until it does, Athens would be weakened, and made vulnerable. It may even fall into factions, a civil war breaking out that could leave us defenseless against outside invaders.” Megacles sighed. “I’m afraid, my friend, your attempt to become tyrant has already failed. It is time for you to acknowledge the fact, lay down your arms, and accept your fate.”

  “And what fate might that be?”

  “For these treasonous acts, there can be only one punishment.”

  Cylon nodded slowly, glancing over his shoulder at his friends, all standing silently within the temple walls, awaiting word, their expression a mix of hope, fear, and resignation. He turned to Megacles. “Would you see it in your hearts to forgive those who have foolishly followed me? To allow me to accept the punishment for all?”

  Megacles shook his head. “I’m afraid the time has passed for mercies such as what you ask.”

  Cylon tensed as his strength threatened to leave him, then a spark of anger flared and he sucked in a deep breath, swelling his chest. “If your offer is for us all to die, then you leave me no choice. We will remain in the temple, under the goddess Athena’s protection, and as we do so, word will spread of our plight, and our mission, and our supporters will increase in number.” He leaned closer to the much smaller man. “Before this day is out, I, Cylon, will rule Athens, and lead it into a bright new future!”