The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 35
‘Oh hell,’ exclaimed Bennet, as the distance narrowed alarmingly.
‘Are we after them … or they after us?’ asked Newton.
The Black Sea Princess, engine roaring, was coming right at them, gunmen now visible on the bow and top deck.
‘We coulda always ram dem,’ suggested Enrico enthusiastically. ‘Always wanted to do dat.’
The superyacht began to edge out to port, and out of their path, its powerful turbines raising a massive wake as it began to skirt around the Olympias.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ bellowed Enrico, slamming the rudder hard over. ‘Everyone, grab something anda hang on.’
The Olympias began a laborious turn to starboard, her fearsomely painted bow reaching out hopefully for the €1,000,000,000 superyacht as it slashed around them.
On board the Black Sea Princess, Dima’s gunmen were waking up to the threat, correctly identifying the Purgatorians upon the trireme’s deck as their combatants from the Labyrinth a day earlier. As the yacht sought to surge out of range, they opened up, bullets raising splashes in the azure water or chipping splinters off the Olympias’ woodwork.
‘Come on!’ yelled Enrico, willing the old warship around. ‘Come on!’
It wasn’t to be.
With more than enough margin and going like a bat out of hell, The Black Sea Princess surged past the Olympias and kept going, unrammed. When they weren’t gesturing obscenely, Dima’s men were laying down a storm of gunfire upon the wallowing Purgatorians.
‘Get down!’ shouted Newton, grabbing Gabby and Viv and shoving them via a small ladder into the darkness below.
‘It’s not over!’ shouted Bennet, firing his tiny Beretta at the back at the fast-disappearing superyacht. ‘You hear me? It’s not over!’
*****
‘If you are going to kill us,’ said Helena. ‘Get on vith it, and stop vasting our time.’
‘Oh, we’re not going to kill you,’ replied Andronicus, in his best Russian accent. ‘This old gentleman and I have been chatting. We have decided to spare you.’
‘Oh, so you work for these people now, do you?’ snarled Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘You duplicitous blind bastard.’
‘Dr Kraakenhausen, please,’ soothed Andronicus. ‘There is no call for that. Our Cretan friend is a man possessed of great knowledge. We must respect him. Under his guidance, I have changed my plan. I had intended to travel to Cyprus and announce our discovery without you. However, after much discussion, I have decided to give you a second chance.’
‘You have?’ asked the surprised archaeologist.
‘I have indeed,’ continued Andronicus. ‘You are a proper archaeologist, after all, and I … I am little more than your paymaster. What do I know of such things? It is you who discovered the Labyrinth, you who found the fragment of the True Cross. Therefore, it should be you who receives all the accolades.’
‘Really?’ marvelled Dr Kraakenhausen, not quite believing his change in fortune.
‘Don’t trust them, Papa,’ urged Helena. ‘It’s too good to be true. It’s some kind of trick.’
‘No trick,’ insisted Andronicus. ‘It’s simply the fair thing to do. Why, … you can announce your discovery at the Archaeological Museum in Athens … for maximum public effect.’
‘Himmel!’ exclaimed Dr Kraakenhausen.
‘Are you … ok, Comrade Boris?’ asked Dima, caught off guard by the unfamiliar leniency in his leader.
‘Absolutely,’ replied Andronicus. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Vhy this change in heart?’ demanded the suspicious Helena. ‘I thought you said ve’d betrayed you?’
‘Simply a heat of the moment outburst,’ said Andronicus, waving it away with his hand. ‘Nothing more. You would have told me in good time, I am sure.’
‘Yes … yes, I vould!’ the archaeologist assured him. ‘I just vanted to be sure.’
‘I can see that,’ agreed Andronicus. ‘You were just being professional.’
‘Exactly!’ said Dr Kraakenhausen.
‘Are you sure you’re ok?’ asked Dima. ‘It’s just that –’
‘Silence … you … er … dog!’ snapped Andronicus, attempting to be Nahrapov’s old self.
‘Sorry, sir!’ answered Dima, pleasantly reassured.
‘I’m sorry about Stalingrad,’ offered the general suddenly, trying to help.
‘Oh, shhhh,’ said Andronicus soothingly. ‘Water under the bridge.’
‘What do you need me to do?’ asked Dr Kraakenhausen.
‘We go to Athens,’ explained Andronicus, ‘where you will hold a press conference. There, you present your findings on the Labyrinth to the academic world and gain the recognition you deserve, by personally handing the fragment of the True Cross over to the representatives of the Pope.’
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Dr Kraakenhausen, his vanity on fire. ‘Wunderbar!’
‘What’s the catch?’ asked Helena, doubtfully.
‘No catch,’ answered Andronicus. ‘An archaeologist of your father’s calibre is far too useful to our Consortium to end up as fish food. It can only be the two of you though, I’m afraid. The general will need to stay here on the boat. We don’t want anyone getting suspicions about his … origins.’
‘Alles klar. That’s fine,’ agreed the general. ‘It’s hellish hot in Athens.’
‘Exactly. We’ll keep you nice and “cool” here on the yacht … you’ll see.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dr Kraakenhausen, as the handcuffs came off. ‘I’ll start preparing my presentation immediately.’
Chapter 27
Museum Piece
The wind had come from the south-east, whipping up the flat azure waters into first little, then impressive white caps. The Olympias, once crawling along on its undersized motor, now had its solitary sail deployed, the billowing canvas pushing the trireme along at a more appropriate speed. As Viv and Gabby slept on in the cabin below, Newton and his fellow Purgatorians stayed at their stations, urging the Olympias forward.
‘Dat’sa more like it!’ enthused Enrico. ‘Nothing like a bit offa da old-school winda power.’
‘The Bonetaker says the wind is making tracking a trifle difficult,’ shouted Bennet from the bow. ‘But he’s still pretty confident they're headed north-west-ish.’
‘What’s north-west-ish from here then?’ asked Newton.
‘Athens,’ replied Vasilakis. ‘There are plenty of islands in the way, of course, but I doubt they are interested in those. Has to be the capital.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Newton. ‘Anyone on the ground?’
‘Some,’ said Vasilakis. ‘It is the tourist season, though. A lot of our people will be away working on the islands now. It is the way of things.’
‘Isn’t it just,’ nodded Newton. ‘Can we at least get some eyes on the ports and marinas?’
‘I make enquiries,’ promised Vasilakis, pulling out his phone. ‘I will be back shortly.’
‘No rush,’ remarked Newton, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s not like it’s urgent or anything.’
‘Dere you go again,’ said Enrico, his long hair flowing wildly in the freshening wind.
‘There I go again, what?’ asked Newton gruffly.
‘Getting all hot anda bothered. Gonna maka yourself ill.’
‘Tell me,’ invited Newton, not in the mood for psychoanalysis, ‘what exactly is the stoical response to a race against time, eh? Tai chi?’
‘It’sa question of intensity, innit? We are doing alla we can for now, I think. Might as well justa kicka back and enjoy da ride.’
‘You heard Eric the Insufferable,’ replied Newton. ‘If this Consortium of theirs goes public with what they know, it will mean a world of pain … for all of us.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it will notta be datta bad,’ said Enrico, smiling contentedly. ‘He’s justa trying to motivate everyone.’
‘I don’t need motivating. I’ve met these people before. They need to be stopped before they blow the Purgatorian world wide open.’
‘Sì,’ agreed Enrico. ‘But dere’s no need to be so intense about it. Personally speaking, I’m having a lotta of da fun.’
‘Well, you would,’ huffed Newton, ‘wouldn’t you?’
‘I didn’t realise how much I missa da open sea,’ said Enrico. ‘It’s inna ma blood.’
‘And what blood might that be?’ asked Newton. ‘You’ve been dead for centuries.’
‘Now, come on,’ replied Enrico reproachfully. ‘Donna spltta da hairs. You know what I mean. Once da sailor, always da sailor.’
‘Pirate,’ corrected Newton. ‘You told me you were a pirate.’
‘Pirate, sailor … same thing.’
‘Ok. We have news,’ announced Vasilakis, returning to the bridge. ‘The Black Sea Princess just entered the harbour at Piraeus. They have arrived at the capital.’
‘Looks like you were right about Athens,’ remarked Newton. ‘I wonder why they doubled back?’
‘Who knows? Maybe they have friends there,’ offered Bennet.
‘I guess we’ll find out. How soon can we be there?’ asked Newton.
‘A day,’ said Enrico. ‘Iffa da wind keeps up.’
*****
Nahrapov’s superyacht, now under the flag of Andronicus the Terrible and his blind charge, slipped into Piraeus harbour and killed its engines.
‘Are we there yet?’ demanded the aged Cretan.
‘We are,’ confirmed Andronicus, emerging from the master bedroom in a lurid kimono. ‘What’s the plan, then?’
‘Be ready to travel to the museum,’ replied the blind man. ‘The Kraakenhausens, one or two of Dima’s men as protection, and the two of us.’ He closed his milky cataracted eyes and sighed the deepest of sighs. ‘Oh, Athens … fateful Athens. It’s been too long.’
‘Local boy, eh?’ asked Andronicus, returning to the bedroom with the old man and rummaging through a drawer for someone else’s underwear. ‘I thought you were from Crete.’
‘I … am from everywhere,’ replied the blind man. ‘But Athens is important to me, as it is important for all Greeks. Athens is important for all humanity.’
‘I heard it was a dump,’ said Andronicus, choosing some silky green boxers. ‘All stray dogs and beggars.’
‘Athens is the furnace in which the civilised world was forged,’ replied the blind man. ‘Show some respect.’
‘I think you’ll find nothing beats Constantinople,’ snorted Andronicus. ‘You know … there are women there who are happy to –’
Dima knocked loudly on the cabin door.
‘We have transport ready, Comrade Boris,’ he announced. ‘Two cars, as requested.’
‘Remain with the boat,’ ordered Andronicus. ‘And give me two of your best men. Have the Kraakenhausens meet us on the quayside.’
The early morning drive into town dissolved into classic rush hour Athens. The city was a jumble of concrete sprawling right up to the traffic-plagued highways, clouds of dust and diesel drifting through the air as a mass of vehicles jostled for the right to move at little more than a crawl.
‘Describe it to me,’ demanded the blind man, as they edged through the gridlock.
‘Well, … if I’m honest, it’s a bit ugly.’
‘Ugly!?’ shrieked the old man. ‘But this is Athens.’
‘Just speaking as I find,’ continued Andronicus. ‘It’s very … bland. I thought it would be a bit more classical, somehow. Not classical now, I can tell you. They’ve really let the place go. And these horseless chariots are everywhere.’
‘This was the birthplace of modern civilisation,’ wailed the blind man. ‘This is where Socrates taught philosophy, where mathematics, language, medicine and architecture were born. What has happened? Where are the temples?’
‘There’s a big one up there,’ said Andronicus, pointing out of the window. ‘On a hill.’
‘The mighty Acropolis!’
‘The roof’s gone,’ remarked Andronicus.
‘No!’ lamented the blind man. ‘It cannot be so!’
‘Trust me,’ said Andronicus. ‘It’s a mess.’
‘The fools!’ sneered the blind man. ‘How could they let Athens come to this?’
‘Told you it was a dump,’ laughed Andronicus. ‘Constantinople, on the other hand ….’
‘Constantinople is a new town!’ snapped the blind man. ‘Athens is an ancient city. No one is interested in your Roman overspill.’
‘Whatever,’ retorted Andronicus. ‘I like it. And I’m going back there someday. Gonna take back what is mine.’
‘Destiny needs us here,’ insisted the blind man, slapping the trim for emphasis. ‘Right now. Your petty vendettas will have to wait.’
The traffic, locked rigid for the last twenty minutes, suddenly and mysteriously unlocked, allowing them to move forward again, the incessant horns fading as they slid along the highway into central Athens.
‘Museum is ahead, Mr Nahrapov,’ said the driver. ‘We’ll drop you off, then park up nearby.’
‘Da, Comrade!’ replied Andronicus, trying to sound extra Russian. ‘Wait for our call, then come back and get us.’
‘As you wish,’ answered the driver.
Andronicus and the old man exited the lead car. Behind them, the vehicle carrying the Kraakenhausens and the two heavies was pulling up.
‘You ready?’ asked Andronicus, leaning in through the open window.
‘Ja,’ replied the archaeologist, looking up from his notes. ‘And you have nothing to vorry about. I vill stick to the script.’
‘You’d better,’ replied Andronicus, trying to appear as menacing as possible. ‘Or else!’
‘He knows vot he is supposed to do,’ said Helena sternly. ‘You have our verd.’
They opened the door, climbing out into the polluted sunshine.
‘The museum director vos very reluctant to see us,’ explained Dr Kraakenhausen, as they sat down in the waiting room. ‘I had to be most insistent. Ve know each other of old, you see. There is bad blood there; our relationship has been not so good. The man hates me.’
The museum director did indeed dislike Dr Kraakenhausen. It was written all over his face as he opened his door and reluctantly ushered them in.
‘Well, well, Dr Kraakenhausen,’ he said, looking suspiciously across the desk at the would-be archaeologist. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here again.’
‘Nor did I, Herr Direktor,’ agreed Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Not after the last time. You ver most unpleasant about me in the press, I recall.’
‘That was entirely on your shoulders, Kraakenhausen,’ snorted the director. ‘The last thing the world needs is another Heinrich Schliemann running amok.’
‘Schliemann is mein hero,’ cried Kraakenhausen defensively.
‘That does not surprise me at all,’ commented the director, ‘given your so-called digs. It is a blessing to us all that you are no longer in the field.’
‘Ah,’ said the archaeologist. ‘The thing is, I have been in the field.’
‘What?’ exclaimed the director. ‘But ….’
‘Not only that,’ continued Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘But I have found something.’
‘Not in Greece, I hope!’ said the director, slapping the desk. ‘It is forbidden for you. You have no permit! We would never grant you one.’
‘I can’t tell you vhere,’ replied Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Not yet. This is a major discovery, a find of international importance; my colleagues and I insist that it is announced in the appropriate manner, in the presence of academics and government officials.’
‘Preposterous!’ exclaimed the director. ‘To hell with you, Kraakenhausen. You can’t just barge in here and tell me what to do. You’re not even a proper archaeologist.’
‘I don’t care vot you think of me,’ answered Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘My discovery is so monumental, so immense, that I am beyond such negativity. But I am determined that no vun vill take it avay from me. The Kraakenhausen family have been dragged through the mud too many times for that. This is vhere I finally take mein proper place in the archaeological community und restore our family reputation.’
‘Ok, Dr Kraakenhausen,’ conceded the director, sitting back and folding his arms. ‘If indeed you even are a doctor. Let’s say I play along with you for a moment; what do you want exactly?’
‘I vish to present my findings here … at the museum,’ declared Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘Und I vant senior representatives present from various government departments, including antiquities, finance, transport and tourism.’
‘And the military,’ added Andronicus.
‘Ja, also das military,’ said Dr Kraakenhausen.
‘That’s a tall order,’ replied the director, raising all his eyebrows. ‘Considering I don’t even know if you are telling the truth. The whole thing could turn out to be a humiliating farce. I could make this museum look very foolish, gathering so many important people for some wild goose chase.’
‘It is not ein goose chase,’ insisted Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘You have mein verd.’
‘I will need more than the word of a man who, let’s face it, is a serial liar,’ scoffed the director.
‘I had nothing to do vith the Hitler diaries!’ exclaimed Dr Kraakenhausen. ‘That has been proven … in court!’
‘Yes, well, I need something tangible before I could even consider such an event,’ continued the director. ‘And that’s all there is to it.’
‘Helena,’ said Dr Kraakenhausen, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Show him … the samples.’
Helena bent down to pull a pouch from her rucksack. Standing then leaning forward, she placed it carefully upon the desk before the director.
‘You vill open the bag, bitte?’ suggested Dr Kraakenhausen.
Intrigued, the director warily leant forward. Placing his reading glasses on, he carefully lifted the canvas flap.
Caught in the sun as it streamed through the Venetian blinds, the gold exploded with yellow light, dazzling the room. Unable to stop himself, the director drew a sharp breath.
‘Oh … my …,’ he exclaimed between gasps. ‘Such workmanship! Such … beauty!’
He held the necklace up, the light dancing off of lapis lazuli and exquisite disks of pure gold.
