Like an ancient Greek amphitheater, Thessalonica rose from the head of the Thermaic Gulf on the slopes of Mt. Hortiatis. Huddled hillside homes and former Byzantine walls were sets for thousands of daily dramas starring the energetic and industrious people of the city. Tragedies, comedies, morality plays—all swirled around the city’s glorious Byzantine churches producing the humdrum routine that was the heart of the city’s life. The most enticing seats in this giant theater were to be found in the front row along the seafront, where on a cool evening, as the light dimmed over the gulf, the devoted gathered in cafés to gaze across to Mount Olympus silhouetted against the brilliant sunset.
“I don’t think he likes me,” said Michelle, ignoring the heavenly spectacle. Over the legendary residence of the gods. She had an odd habit of sticking the tip of her tongue into the rich Turkish coffee before sipping it.
“I don’t think he really dislikes you,” said Ritter. Staring across the darkening blue water into the fading light, he rubbed a hand over his sandy hair. He was glad he had worn a sweater. “He just hasn’t gotten a chance to know you. You should give each other a chance. You might find he’s the nicest Greek-Lebanese you ever met.”
“You don’t like him either.” It was neither a statement nor a question. Almost an indictment.
“He’s okay,” said Ritter evasively. Inwardly he still had a bad feeling about Khoury. It was the same feeling he got the first time he had met the minister in Barbados who made them pay a large private fee for expediting their diving permission. But he wasn’t going to confide that to Michelle. Things were already difficult enough. “Not my type, as I’ve said. But we get along all right. We’re going to find the gold together—possibly make each other rich. That can go a long way toward easing personality conflicts.”
“I couldn’t believe how cool he was toward me when we met at the airport. Then he deliberately sat away from us on the plane. I don’t think he’s said ten words to me in the past two days. He regards me as an intruder, probably feels a woman is out of place in a situation like this. Typical Middle Eastern reaction. Maybe I shouldn’t have come along after all.”
“Don’t be so sensitive. He wasn’t … well really expecting you. That’s all. He needs to get used to you. You’ll find out he’s not so bad. He handled himself very well today when we bought the camper.”
“I must admit, arguing about the price the way he did was very convincing. All the consulting about money. Counting the traveler’s checks and looking over his checkbook. The business about being tourists on a low budget was a good touch. The dealer seemed convinced.”
“It was very good. If anybody takes an interest in us, that performance certainly won’t hurt our case. By the way, how was the museum?”
“Not bad, if you like museums. Not much about the war. But there’s not much to tell anyway. The British skipped out as soon as they heard the shooting start. Anyway, I figured out why everything in this city is so tacky, so old-fashioned modern.”
“Why?”
“Thessalonica burned in 1917 except for the walls and the heavy stone buildings like the churches. Most of what you see has been built since.”
A horn beeped. They looked up to see a shiny apple-green Volkswagen camping van roll into the square.
“Here comes your friend.”
“Hmmmm, lucky.”
Khoury parked the van, stepped out, and strolled over to them. He wore a long sheepskin coat and a noncommittal expression. Without invitation he pulled up a chair. “All set,” he said.
Ritter moved his head in acknowledgment.
“Oil changed and a full tank of gas. Tires okay. Also purchased a few digging tools. We can get moving in the morning.” He waved at a waiter and in Greek ordered a coffee.
“Think I’ll freshen up before dinner,” said Michelle, standing up.
“See you in the room,” said Ritter.
She looked at Ritter, glanced briefly at Khoury, and sauntered off toward the hotel, her flowing blond hair bouncing on the back of her head.
“Don’t think she likes me,” said Khoury.
“You haven’t exactly given her cause.”
Khoury treated the remark as if it had never been spoken. “I recommend we get moving as early as possible. Dawn would be best. No sense wasting time.”
“Getting up early has never been a biggie with me, particularly on holiday,” said Ritter. He stretched out his arms and legs and pulled back his shoulders as if to emphasize the point.
“We’re not on holiday, my friend.”
Ritter had always been uneasy with people who used the term too loosely. But he let it float past him. “We’re supposed to look like we are.”
“With your working student along, we’ve got a good reason for wanting to get a good look at the countryside.”
“Then maybe we also ought to be having a good time. Hardly looks like a holiday when two members of a group are barely speaking to each other.”
“Okay, Brian, you’ve made your point. Perhaps I have been a bit, shall we say, distant with her. I admit I didn’t want her along in the first place. But she’s here now. And maybe she will prove to be useful. To both of us. I agree, it will look bad if we’re not all getting along. I’ll change that. So you can relax.”
“I want to tell you something, Elias. I’ve always enjoyed my work in the past. The fun was somehow just as important as the money. You may find that difficult to understand, but never mind. The point is, give the girl a chance. You might actually like her. She’s really got it all together. After all, it’s not her fault she’s along. It’s mine.”
Khoury released a condescending chuckle. A bit of the old massage. “Ah, Brian. You have a wonderful way about you. Let’s have a real drink. Enough of this coffee.” He signaled a waiter and asked for something in Greek. “Ouzo, a Greek liquor that helps to set spirits right. In Lebanon we call it arak. We will toast the beginning of our adventure. So far everything is going well. Even the weather is behaving itself.”
A waiter brought two glasses of ouzo, already milky from the ice cubes.
“To a successful hunt,” said Khoury.
“Amen,” said Ritter.
“Brian, I’ve been thinking.”
“Hmmm,” murmured Ritter. Don’t strain yourself, he thought.
“You know we’re doing all the work on this hunt. Taking all the risks. It’s not just.”
“Just what?”
“You know, it’s not right.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“When we get the treasure out of the ground, we three will be the only ones who know about it.”
“Thompson will know.”
“That’s the point. He will know only what we choose to tell him.”
“Look, Elias, I don’t know exactly what you’re driving at. I’m not sure I want to know. But we’ve got a deal with the old man. I intend to carry out my end of the bargain. I hope that’s clear.”
“Of course. Of course it is, Brian. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean anything serious. I was just thinking what a joke we could play on Thompson. Tell him we didn’t find anything, then surprise him with his share.”
“We’ll worry about the jokes when we find the gold.”
“Naturally. It was silly of me to be thinking so far ahead.”
“This stuff’s not bad,” said Ritter. “Tastes like licorice. The Spanish call it anís.”
“Same wonderful potion. Loved all over the Mediterranean.” Khoury was staring across the square. The streetlights were just coming on. The illumination was dim and uncertain, but he thought he saw a familiar face.
“Brian, excuse me. There’s someone I know. I’ll meet you and Michelle at dinner.”
Khoury stood up and walked across the square to the opposite café. It was only by chance he had seen Dimitri Metaxas. It would be a moment fraught with major implications for all of them.
* * *
“Do you think my breasts are too small?”
“I’ve handled bigger.”
“What does—?”
“But not nicer.”
“Saved yourself.”
She snuggled against him. The gentle sound of splashing waves across the street on the seafront drifted through the window with a light spring breeze. The spacious room characterized by its old-fashioned elegance wore its age with grace and dignity. As a result, the Mediterranean Palace was still the city’s most comfortable and preferred hotel. The room certainly was a welcome improvement from the Spartan settings of their London efficiencies.
“Brian?”
“Hmmm?” He was drifting off to sleep.
“Why was Khoury so different tonight?”
“Different?”
“You know. He actually talked to me at dinner. If I didn’t know the other side of him, I would have been tempted to find him charming.”
“I told you he wasn’t all that bad. He’s getting to like you. I told you he would.”
“There’s more to it than that. What did you say to him in the café after I left?”
“Nothing. He told me he was sorry he had been ignoring you. Said it had been a mistake. I may have made some comment about cutting losses.”
“I don’t believe you, entirely.”
Ritter shrugged. “Let the events speak for themselves.”
“You must have said something to him.”
“Wasn’t necessary.”
“It doesn’t matter. I still don’t like him. Or trust him. There’s something greasy about him. In French we would call him visqueux.”
“My French isn’t so hot. But that doesn’t sound like a very nice word coming from a lady.”
“Be careful, Brian. He is not to be trusted.”
“Don’t worry. He’s not going to do anything dumb. He wants the gold as badly as anyone. Maybe more so. Khoury is a crafty, shrewd man, above all—commercial. He won’t do anything to endanger getting his share. He knows he is going to need us. And I am certain we are going to need his talents in the coming days equally as much. It’s a marriage of convenience, if you like. But sometimes those are the most successful.”
“Just remember what Euripides said.”
“That was?”
“Put not thy faith in any Greek.”
“What did he know?”
“He was Greek.”
“So you’re putting faith in what he said?”
“You’ve been warned. Be vigilant.”
“Don’t worry, Michelle. This will work out. Let’s lean back and enjoy it. It might be years before we have a chance to dig up another treasure in Greece.”
“I’ll let you know in a few days whether I’m going to be good for more than one.”
Ritter wrapped a muscular arm around her. It was a gesture that comforted him as much as it was meant to reassure her. “Can I ask you a personal question?” he said.
“It depends.”
“How’d you get this far without, uh, getting attached?”
Silence. Ritter sensed he had bared a sensitive nerve. She countered with a question. “What about you?”
“Never got around to it, I guess,” he said. “I’ve thought about it a few times. I’d love to have a kid, a son. But I’ve rarely met a woman I wanted to settle down with. It’s usually fun for a while, and then I start getting claustrophobic.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“During the war I met a girl. Greek, and very young. We had a very torrid week or so together. If we’d had more time, perhaps it could have become serious. The last I saw her she was surrounded by Germans as I took off for Cairo. I’ve often wondered whether the Germans killed her. And now I’m going back….”
She was silent for a long moment, nuzzling his arm. Then: “Do you ever worry what will happen when you get old?”
“Don’t think about it much. I’ve got a brother with a real-estate agency in San Diego. I suppose at some point I’ll go back there and work for him. Who knows? Maybe by then I’ll have found enough money so I won’t have to worry about it. With one big hit I can put away enough so I’ll be set permanently. This one could be it.”
“If it’s not?”
He shrugged. “I’ll go on to the next hunt. My partner is pressing for a big one in Barbados. You know, I had an uncle who was a fairly well-known figure in the old west. Scotty O’Shea, one of the last gunfighters. When I was still in school I went out to Arizona to visit a relative who lived near where he had lived. One day we ran into an old-timer sitting outside a general store and asked him if he had ever heard of Scotty O’Shea. Christ, it was as if someone had stuck an electric cattle prod up the old man’s ass. ‘That son of a bitch,’ he shouted. ‘Scotty O’Shea was the dirtiest fighter I ever knew. Woulda cheated his own mother playing cards and then stomped her if she said anything. Why’d ya ask?’ Just wondering, I said. Old Scotty must have been a rough one. My mother has a picture of him at home in the family album. He was a mean-looking bastard. Never did settle down. Must be a bit of that in the family blood.”
“I treasure my independence,” she said. “Whether loneliness will get me at some point is hard to say. But right now I just want to come and go as I please.”
“Being alone gets all of us from time to time. I had a married friend of mine once tell me he was the loneliest person in the world. You know something? I find I’m least lonely when I’m by myself underwater on a dive unable to communicate with anyone except the fish.”
“Do you think Khoury ever gets lonely?” A light question to break the sober mood.
“Only when he’s not on the trail of money.”
Two rooms down the hall. Elias Khoury lay quietly staring at the dark ceiling. The acrid smoke of a Gauloise cigarette drifted up and over his upper lip, lingered outside his nostrils, and then quickly disappeared into his lungs as he inhaled. The sign on the wall next to him said “Danger. No smoking in bed.”
Khoury was tired but he couldn’t sleep. The excitement of the hunt had triggered his adrenaline. He was finding it difficult to clear his mind.
Metaxas had been a real coincidence. He hadn’t realized Metaxas lived with his family near Thessalonica. He had given Khoury his phone number and invited him to dinner. Khoury explained he was on holiday with friends and would have to leave early in the morning. He would accept the next time he was in the area.
Ritter had remained curiously detached. He had to admit, Ritter had the coolness of a professional, a man who had done it all before. Khoury almost had the impression Ritter didn’t care as much about finding the treasure as having a good time. But the suggestion of cutting Thompson out had touched a nerve. He wouldn’t bring it up again.
The girl. She was charming at dinner. Her smile had warmed him considerably. He had been too harsh in his initial judgment. Ritter was not dumb. She would be enjoyable to have along. As long as she didn’t interfere with his share, it wouldn’t be bad. Still, there was more to her than met the eye. He couldn’t place it, but she had something extra. Her tight-fitting jeans showed it. She had an exceptionally appealing derriere.
* * *
The frail old man inside couldn’t recall it, but another gray-haired coffee-shop veteran rocking back and forth on the terrace, his eyes clouded over with glaucoma, had not forgotten.
“Communists,” he whispered, rolling his head around as though he could still see. He knew where his ideological bread was buttered. “Waited till most of the others had gone off to attack a German train. Hit the rest of us thinking we weren’t expecting it. Bombed several houses over there.” He pointed the cane toward the hills behind the town. “Finally chased ’em off with their tails between their legs. Haaa. Got one of them myself. Was a pretty good shot in those days. Still would be if it weren’t for my eyes.”
“What about the American?” prodded Ritter gently. Khoury was translating.
“Oh, yeah. He was in the village when the Communists attacked. Think there were some others with him, but never saw ’em. He got it up near the top of that hill there. Helped bring down his body myself.”
“You buried him?”
“In the church cemetery.” He waved his cane. The wood was as gnarled as the figures on his hands. But he could still see the town as clearly as if he had his eyesight.
Ritter found the grave in an out-of-the-way corner of the community burial ground. A small stone marker said in Greek, “American soldier. Died September 30, 1943.”
Ritter leaned down and touched the stone. He wanted to speak: Hello Whip. It’s been a long time. I … He settled for a brief touch. The only sound was the wind that had whistled over the grave marker for the past 32 years.
Ritter turned, kicked a small rock in the yard, and walked slowly back to the camper where Michelle and Khoury waited. They still had a long drive to Kozani.