The Schliemann Legacy Read Free Page A

manipulate him. I am control. Besides, without uncertainty, what is the value of the game?"
    Erhart did not look convinced but made a note on his paper. Remembering a tidbit of information he had received several weeks ago about Duman, a plan flitted across the landscape of his mind. Unbidden, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He dismissed the thoughts as foolish - dangerously foolish. But enticing, so enticing. Handled properly, with finesse, bravado, and intelligence… "If that is all, Monsieur, I will begin immediately."
    As Erhart left, Henri painfully waddled back to the chesterfield. With the thoughts of the coming adventure, the fat man had lost interest in the chess game.
    He would enjoy setting his players in motion and watching their progress. They would fight and claw to attain their goal and, in the end, only the best would survive. All because of him.
    He felt like a god.

Chapter 2 - GREECE

    "With the mood he's in today," the secretary said, "you'd think it was Tuesday."
    George Stamatakes smiled at middle aged woman. Since the Ottoman Turks took Constantinople on May 29, 1453, a Tuesday, the Greeks had considered it the unluckiest day of the week. George paused with his hand on the office door.
    "Mr. Stefandis wanted you to go right in," the woman urged, not wanting her boss further annoyed.
    George ignored the secretary and collected his thoughts. When the Director's summons had arrived, George had made several hurried telephone calls. After the third call, he was cursing aloud. Mardinaud's communications always meant problems and this latest information was no exception. However, his outlook had quickly adjusted when a new thought occurred to him. This mission presented a perfect opportunity to bring Katrina back to active duty. All he had to do was convince Stefandis to acquiesce - something he'd been trying to do for three years.
    George knocked once and pushed open the door to the Director's office.

    * * * * *

    "It's ridiculous," Nikolas Stefandis repeated for the eighth or ninth time in the past fifteen minutes. "Why should I waste time and money on something as unimportant as this? We don't have enough to deal with? But what choice do I have? I have to send someone after it. If I don't, and the damn artifacts turn up... Stupid, damn stupidity!"
    Stefandis kicked at the small wastepaper basket beside his desk. The can soared across the room and crashed into the wall. A portrait of President Sartzetakis slid along the paneling and landed face down on the blue carpeting. The revolving can slowed and came to a stop as Stefandis sank into his chair.
    George Stamatakes walked across the room and scanned the dark paneling for the nail that had held up the large, gold framed portrait. Unable to find it, he leaned the portrait against the wall before retrieving the trashcan. He ran his fingers along the several large dents in the sides. Hiding his smile, he set the can in its place, then lowered himself back into one of the two leather chairs in front of the Director's desk.
    He sat silently, watching the red slowly drain from his boss's face and neck. As Operations Chief, George had seen many such outbursts from the ill tempered Director of Greek intelligence but today's was special - a masterpiece of rage. George had been listening to Stefandis rave for over fifteen minutes but had been told little.
    All he'd gleaned from Stefandis' ranting was that a message had arrived from Mardinaud at the Director's home yesterday afternoon. The message had ruined Stefandis' weekend. In return, Stefandis seemed determined to ruin everyone else's week. Of course, prior knowledge via his own sources did give George the advantage of understanding the rage.
    In the past, information had frequently come unbidden from the grotesquely fat man. In fact, the choicest bits usually arrived unsolicited. Unfortunately, according to the Director, this latest intelligence was both unwelcome and distressing. Mardinaud had