The Grecian Manifesto (15 page)

Ostia, Italy

Thanos’s driver parked the car outside a small cafe on one
of the quieter streets of Ostia. The coastal Italian town was known as one of
Italy’s favorite vacations spots. Being a borough of Rome made it extremely
appealing for Romans who needed to get away from the craziness of the city. The
only problem was that so many of them seemed to have the same idea.

On the journey there, Thanos allowed himself a few moments
to enjoy the view of the rolling countryside. He watched farms, trees, homes,
and occasional remnants of the Roman Empire blur by. Thanos was always on the
clock, always working, constantly considering his next move; a mindset that had
kept him alive during times when others would likely have faltered. He took the
map out of his pocket several times and looked over it to make sure that they
were heading in the right direction. Based on the location indicated by the
document, they would find the relic somewhere on the coast. He assumed there
would be a cave, or rocky cliff there. Such an area would have fewer visitors
and lend itself to a more private search. The last thing they needed was some
idiot with a metal detector snooping around.

That thought brought up another potential problem. What if
they needed tools to perform an excavation? He’d never been a part of anything
like that before and was unfamiliar with the process. He would figure it out.
How hard could it be? A few shovels, maybe a pick, and they’d be good to go.
They could purchase those things at a local hardware store if need be.

His mind drifted to the future. He’d made his bed with
Dimitris Gikas because Thanos was all about putting himself in the best
position to succeed. He knew what Gikas had been planning and had wanted in
from the start. The way Thanos saw it, he was betting on the best horse in the
race. And his employer had rewarded him substantially. He was completely
satisfied with being the right-hand man. It was all about survival. Well,
survival and the occasional carnal pleasures that he so enjoyed. Thinking about
it brought back the possibilities with the Spaniard being held captive back in
Gikas’s island compound. He forced himself to suppress his excitement. It had
been quite a while since he’d been afforded a little private time. The last was
a young Asian girl he’d left under a pier in Taipei. While he was there to
procure investments for his employer, Thanos had taken a few hours to walk the
streets one night. The prostitute had been exactly what he needed. When he was
done with her, he squeezed the life out of her and dumped the body. The memory
caused his heart to start pumping hard again, and he pulled out the map once
more to take his mind off the distracting thoughts. Fortunately, they arrived
at their destination a few minutes later and he could refocus his energy.

Thanos got out of the car and scanned the area. Hotels,
shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants abounded. Holidaygoers laughed happily as
they walked by on the sidewalk. Thanos ignored all the revelry and pulled a
sheet of paper out of his pocket. It was the map he’d retrieved from Cagliari’s
home. He looked closely at it, comparing it to a map of Ostia he’d procured on
his smart phone. According to the analysis, they were close to the spot marked
on Cagliari’s map. Something, however, didn’t add up.

Ostia is historically famous for its ancient Roman ruins,
gardens, and a world-renowned Roman theater. While many Italian citizens visit
for the beaches, the town thrived on the backs of international tourists.
Foreign money brought in tens of millions every year. Rome would always be the
most popular tourist destination for people anxious to see into the history of
the long-lost empire, but Ostia was for those who wanted to get a little off
the beaten path and get a more personal, up-close glimpse into this growing
borough.

When Thanos had realized where Cagliari’s map pointed, it
made perfect sense. Julius Caesar had been a sailor at heart. It would make
sense that the emperor would hide his most prized possession next to the thing
he loved the most, the sea. Ostia also seemed like the right location due to
the amount of history surrounding the area. Sure, it had become a modern town
like anywhere else, but with so many millennia-old cemeteries and buildings,
Thanos had been certain the seaside town was the final resting place for the
Eye of Zeus.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

The other two men got out of the car while the driver
remained behind the wheel. “Stay here,” Thanos ordered. “You two come with me.”

The driver nodded and kept his eyes forward while the
other two subordinates fell in line behind the bald man.

Something wasn’t right. His pace quickened as he strode
down the sidewalk, staring at the sheet of paper and comparing it to the image
on his phone screen. His shoulder plowed into a young man in a blue tank top
and Wayfarer glasses, but he kept going, leaving the drunken beachgoer swearing
something at him in Italian.

Thanos turned right at a breach between two buildings and
headed through the shaded alley. On the other side there was another small
piazza, featuring a huge fountain in the middle of a pedestrian roundabout. The
fountain’s sculpture of a man holding a spear and shield represented a great
Roman soldier, perhaps someone the city revered. Thanos didn’t care. He needed
to get to the spot on the map.

He led his men around the fountain and through the square,
heading toward the sea, as far as he could tell. Through the crevasses between
the smaller buildings ahead he could see that his assumption was correct. Beach
umbrellas came into view, along with thousands of beachgoing tourists in
bathing suits, bikinis, and sundresses, all soaking up the rays of sunshine
from the cloudless sky. The sounds of the people were drowned out by the waves crashing
on the edge of the sand.

Thanos slowed his steps. A terrible feeling crept into his
mind. He glanced down at the map again, though this time he didn’t need to. He
walked through another shorter alleyway and onto the sandy beach. The hot sun
beat down on him in his black suit jacket, making the irritation inside him
swell to boiling point. His right hand involuntarily crumpled up the sheet of
paper and dropped it on the ground.

 
“What is the
problem, sir? Where does the map say to go?” one of his assistants asked.

The bald man didn’t say a word for a moment. He simply
stood there, taking in the scene. All of the people going about their day,
enjoying the sunshine and the water, had no idea what was going on. He let a
few seconds slip by before turning around and heading back the way they came.

The two subordinates looked at each other with a worried
glance. One shrugged at the other and mouthed, “I don’t know.”

“Sir,” the shorter one said, catching up to his boss who
continued walking without turning around. “Where are we going? Didn’t the map
say this was the spot?”

“Yes. It did,” he answered, keeping his face forward and
his stride long.

The answer did nothing to satisfy the underling’s
curiosity. “So, why are we leaving?”

Thanos stopped in the middle of the piazza, near the
fountain they’d walked by a few moments before. A vein on the side of his head
pulsed visibly in the late afternoon sun. A bead of sweat formed on his
forehead and rolled down his face, past his eye and off his cheek. “The old man
tricked us.”

Chapter 30

Rome, Italy

“I still can’t believe we are going to see an arms
dealer,” Tommy said in a derisive tone. “You know what? I can’t believe you
even know an arms dealer. You used to work for the United States government,
Sean. Aren’t the arms dealers the bad guys?”

Sean laughed as he pulled the car into an empty parking
space. The two had dropped off their driver at the hotel, deciding it might be
better if they go the rest of the journey alone. Sean reasoned that he would
rather not make his shady friend nervous. The driver was more than happy to
take the rest of the day off. He was getting paid no matter what. After a day
full of high-intensity intrigue, the guy probably needed a break anyway.

“Marek is not a bad guy. It’s not like he deals with
nuclear weapons or nerve gas. He mostly peddles small arms.” Sean could tell
his explanation did little to calm Tommy’s nerves.

“So you’re on a first name basis with this goon? Oh, so
what, he’s a black market weapons dealer with a conscience?”

Sean took a deep breath and removed the keys from the
ignition. “Look, we need guns. Marek has them. Don’t make this weird. Okay?”

Tommy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the last
comment. “Weird? Do you know what’s weird, Sean? That we are buying guns
illegally, in a foreign country, from an underground dealer!”

Sean opened the door and exited the vehicle. “Try to keep
your voice down. This is a suburban neighborhood. I don’t think Marek wants the
residents’ association knowing his vocation.”

“Oh, you think?”

Once they’d dropped off their driver at the hotel, the
drive to the Balduina section of Rome had only taken twenty minutes. It was one
of the quieter neighborhoods in the city, home to many expats and those looking
to be close to the culture of Rome but not always in the middle of it. Sean had
been somewhat surprised to find that Marek had relocated to Balduina. When the
two initially met, Marek was an avid clubgoer and in constant party mode. The
suburban residence community was a far cry from the club scene in Prague.

Apparently, the Czech had become somewhat reclusive.

Sean scanned the area for a moment, taking in the modern
homes and apartments that contrasted the more historic parts of the city. Some
of the houses even had large terraces, and he imagined the views must have been
impressive since Balduina sits atop one of Rome’s many hills. The Vatican
wasn’t far from their current location. Sean figured getting there on foot
wouldn’t take long, and many of the rooftop patios almost certainly had a clear
line of sight to the famed dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.

There was a significant decrease in foot traffic in the area,
too, probably a result of it being almost purely residential. Unlike in the
center of the city, the sidewalks lacked the shops, cafes, and bars that drew
so many cars and pedestrians. The more Sean thought about it, the more he
realized that Balduina would probably be where he would settle down if he lived
in Rome.

It actually made perfect sense that Marek lived there now.
Who would suspect an arms dealer living in a quiet little neighborhood like
this? It was unlikely that any of the retired Americans or local families even
gave the Czech a second glance. To them, he was probably just another foreigner
who had fallen in love with Rome but wanted to have a little quiet distance
between himself and all the activity of the busy town center.

Tommy must have been thinking something along the same
lines. “What kind of arms dealer lives in an area like this?”

“Exactly,” Sean said, effectively ending the discussion
and leaving Tommy befuddled.

He led the way, walking across the street into a small
commons area filled with green shrubs, decorative trees, and a palm tree
standing in the center. The brick sidewalks wound their way through the space,
leading to the six or seven homes wrapped around it. Sean and Tommy passed the
first two, both cream-colored, Mediterranean-style houses, and stopped at the
third, a modern three-story building painted a burnt yellow. Sean could see a
railing on the top floor, indicating that the home had a deck. He was usually
afraid of heights, but a few stories never bothered him much.

“And you’re sure this guy is expecting us?” Tommy
interrupted his thoughts, staring at the door with a nervousness about him.

“Yes, he’s expecting us. Are you sure you’re okay?” Sean
stared at his friend as if he had eyeballs growing out of his arms. “You can
wait in the car if you want.”

Tommy forced himself to settle down and took a long, deep
breath. “I’m fine. Just not used to associating with criminals.”

The door opened just as he was finishing the sentence.
Inside, the pale man with cropped brown hair raised an eyebrow. “Criminal?” he
said in a mild, Eastern European accent.

“Marek,” Sean interjected, “it’s good to see you again, my
old friend. How have you been?”

For a second, Marek stared at Tommy as if he were about to
answer the question, but once Sean stepped in the way he forgot all about the
comment.

“Where have you been, Sean? I don’t hear from you for
years except the occasional text message you send me on my birthday.” The Czech
reached out with both arms and wrapped them around Sean in a big hug.

Marek had clearly been in better shape during the earlier
part of his life. His arms wore signs of once being strong and lean. Now they
had softened over time, along with his midsection. Still, Tommy figured the man
was no one to mess with in a fight. Marek’s stubbly beard was still dark, which
belied his age as still being somewhere under forty.

Sean let go of his old acquaintance and introduced his
companion. “Marek, this is Tommy Schultz. You two play nice,” he joked. “Tommy
is one of my oldest friends. And I trust him with my life.”

Marek’s suspicions eased visibly. “Very well. Any friend
of Sean’s is welcome in my home.”

“Thank you,” Tommy offered. “It’s just that…well, I’ve
never met an arms dealer before. Especially not at his home.”

A thunderous laugh erupted from Marek’s mouth. He leaned
back and slapped his knee as the laughter kept coming for a good twenty
seconds. Sean chuckled a few times, uncertain if he should be laughing or not.

“Tommy, I assure you, my home is completely safe. I mostly
deal with police, former military, teachers, those kinds of people. I don’t sell
guns to drug dealers or terrorists…not that I know of.” He gave a quick wink to
Sean and started laughing all over again. Tommy joined in the laughter this
time, though hesitantly. “Please, come in. Let’s have a drink to old times.”

Sean held up a dismissive hand. “Maybe some other time, my
friend. We are kind of in a hurry, and time is running out. We need to get a
couple of guns from you and be on our way.”

Marek didn’t attempt to mask his disappointment. “That is
unfortunate. I was hoping we could talk for a while. Are you in some kind of
trouble?”

“Not at the moment,” Sean said, glancing around to make
sure no one was nearby. “A friend of mine is, though. She needs our help.”

“A woman? Sounds like you have a soft spot for her, old
friend.”

“I do. Can you help us?”

Marek’s face beamed with pride. “Of course I can help you.
Please, come in.”

Inside, the home was much neater than Tommy would have
expected. Everything was in perfect order and immaculately clean. A wide, flatscreen
television hung over a gas fireplace on the far side of the living room. Dark
ceramic tiles covered the floor, balanced by deep, hunter-green walls. There
were a few pieces of furniture: a sofa with tan fabric, a few leather seats,
and a pale wooden coffee table. A picture on a glass end table featured a
picture of Marek and his wife, a woman with remarkable almond skin, curly dark
hair, and brown eyes the color of coffee.

Sean pointed to the picture frame with his thumb. “She the
reason you left Prague?” he asked cordially.

Marek had stepped into the kitchen for a moment. The sound
of hands rustling through papers and miscellaneous drawer objects echoed
through the huge home. “My wife?” he asked from out of sight. “She was
certainly a big part of why I came here.”

“What was the other part?” Sean asked, meandering over to
the television. He peeked out of the nearest window through one of the blinds.
There was no activity outside, for which he allowed himself a moment of
gratitude.

The noises in the kitchen ceased, and a second later Marek
reappeared in the archway between the two rooms. “Let’s just say things were
getting a little too crazy back home.”

Tommy entered the conversation by asking, “Crazy?”

Marek shrugged. “People I didn’t trust started asking for
favors. Random customers were showing up at my door at all hours of the day.”
He held up a finger to emphasize his point. “I don’t sell to people I don’t
trust. And I don’t trust random customers.”

“Marek’s business is 100 percent referral,” Sean
explained.

“That’s right,” their host agreed. “But when the referrals
start making referrals, things get a little shady.”

Tommy resisted the temptation to point out that the man’s
profession was shady, for which Sean silently commended him.

“I would rather make less money and have less trouble than
have a pile of cash and a pile of problems,” Marek finished making his point.

“Makes sense,” Tommy nodded.

The Czech smiled. “So you need guns? Right this way.”

Sean and Tommy followed the arms dealer down a wide
hallway and into a study. The room was only a few hundred square feet and
looked like it had been decorated exclusively from the IKEA catalogue.
Everything had been designed to maximize space and functionality.

Next to the door, a closet with wooden folding doors
spanned eight feet from the corner of the entryway to the exterior wall. Marek
pulled back one of the doors and reached into the closet. The sound of an
electric motor suddenly whirred to life beneath the small computer workstation.
Something was coming up out of the floor. Sean watched with a wide grin as the
secret compartment continued to rise in front of the bookshelf. The six-foot
long cabinet had been topped with tiles to match the floor so that any casual
observer wouldn’t even think there was anything underneath. It had worked,
since neither Sean nor Tommy had noticed it.

The machine stopped its task, leaving the showcase on full
display for the three men. Attached to it were over twenty different handguns,
and two HK-5 submachine guns.

“Now,” Marek said, stepping in front of the two guests,
“as I recall, you were a Ruger man the last time I saw you. Right?” He ran his
finger along the second row until it stopped on a brand new Ruger .40 caliber.

“I was,” Sean corrected him. “I’ve been liking the Springfield
lately. Bought an XD not long ago. It’s a great piece.”

Marek raised an eyebrow. “Croatian guns, huh? Well, I have
to admit, they do make a fine weapon. And I just happen to have one right
here.” He reached over to the third row from the top and pulled out the black
weapon. “Like this?” he asked and handed it to Sean.

“That’s the one,” Sean said, smiling. He pulled the slide
back and checked the chamber to make sure it wasn’t loaded.

“Magazines are on the back side of this display. I only
have two for that gun. Hopefully you won’t need more than that. If you do,
you’re in a war that would require more than one gun anyway.” Sean chuckled at
the comment.

The Czech turned his attention to Tommy. “What about you,
my good man? Any preferences?”

“That Sig 9 will work,” Tommy answered confidently.

“Ah, that is a fine weapon,” Marek said, removing the gun
from its holster on the wall. He passed it gently over to Tommy, who copied
Sean’s habit of checking the chamber.

“How much do you want for them?” Sean asked after looking
over the weapon more thoroughly.

“Please.” Marek put his hands out in a gesture that
suggested Sean’s question was ridiculous. “You take these guns and go help your
girl. Don’t worry about paying me for them. I have plenty of money.” He
motioned to the home by waving a hand around. “Does it look like I’m hurting
here?”

Sean insisted. “You have to make money on these. You’re
running a business.”

Marek put both hands up, ending the conversation. “Please,
it is my pleasure to help you out, Sean. I won’t take your money. You helped me
out when I needed it the most. You were the only person that offered. I will
never forget that.”

Sean took a deep breath, knowing that there was no way he
was going to end up being able to pay anything for the guns. “Fine. I’ll take
them. I won’t forget this, though,” Sean pointed at him, sending a fake warning
with his eyes.

“I’m glad I can repay you, my friend,” Marek said. “Are
you sure you can’t stay for one drink?”

Sean glanced out the window at the sun sinking farther
into the afternoon sky. “Afraid we have to decline for now. It’s going to be
dark when we get up in the mountains, which is going to make things difficult
enough.” Then Sean had another thought. “You wouldn’t happen to have any
flashlights would you?”

Marek grinned again. “Of course. But you’ll have to pay
for those.” He winked and began booming with laughter again. “I kid. I think I
have a few you can take.” The Czech stepped over to a bureau and pulled open
the second drawer. He produced a few aluminum-cased flashlights and placed them
in the palms of the two Americans. “These are top of the line, very bright. You
should do fine with these.” He paused for a moment, seemingly pondering
something. “If you don’t mind me asking, Sean, what kind of trouble is your
girl in?”

Sean sighed before speaking. “I wish I knew. We think a
man named Dimitris Gikas took her. He’s from Northern Greece, near the border
of Albania. Have you heard of him?”