The man shot him a good-natured smile. “Call me Jason.”

  All the hair stood up on the back of Eymen’s neck. The man was an academic—he expected him to have soft hands. These hands were hard and calloused. Eymen looked down to see the man’s fingernails were stained. These were not the hands of a person who spent his life indoors. He looked up into Hobbs’s face. He would have expected a pale face, but the man’s face was tan with deep lines, signifying he had spent much of his time in the sun. Even the loose jacket was unable to hide the bulging biceps.

  Realization hit Eymen like a ton of bricks. This was not Professor Hobbs.

  Without further word, he sprinted up the steps from the bottom of the Bouleuterian.

  Another man appeared at the top of the steps and made to block his way. Eymen took advantage of the group of tourists that appeared, veering around them and sprinting for the Prytaneum. He knew his way around the boulders.

  Eymen wanted to run in the other direction, but he risked a glance over his shoulder and saw five men now following him. He had to stick with the tourists. He had no doubt the men would shoot him if he ran for the solitude of the rocky hills. Right now, he thought he would be safe so long as they didn’t lay hands on him. He deftly ducked around the boulders of the Prytaneum and headed for the Pollio Fountain in the Temple of Domitian. The scaffolding was still over the Pollio Fountain, but that was of no help to him.

  His breath was coming in rapid bursts, but at least he was heading downhill from the top to the bottom of Ephesus. As he approached the ancient Curetes Street, he ducked behind the sculptured figures on the columns of the Memmius Monument to catch his breath. There were no tourists here.

  Eymen had no idea what he could do. A rudimentary plan to save himself took form in his terrified mind. He sprinted away, heading for the Hercules Gate. The glare from the sun momentarily blinded him, but he knew his way.

  Eymen figured if he left the briefcase, they might leave him alone. He ran past the two pillars on which were carvings of Hercules. He took a deep breath and flung the briefcase high in the air so his pursuers would see it. Eymen then took off at a straight sprint down Curetes Street, taking care not to trip over the paving stones. It wasn’t until he reached the Fountain of Trajan that he ducked behind one of the columns and peeked out. He could have cried with relief when he saw the five men crowding around the briefcase.

  Maybe they wouldn’t chase him now. They had what they wanted, but Eymen wasn’t prepared to take the chance. He looked up at the hill and the sparse bushes behind the Fountain of Trajan. No, he needed to stay closer to people, and the bushes didn’t afford any cover. He took off at a fast walk toward the Temple of Hadrian, figuring if he walked rather than ran he would be less noticeable.

  Eymen knew he had to find a hiding place, and quickly. Just behind the Temple of Hadrian was a mosaic footpath that led to the terrace houses at Ephesus. He had been in there before, although they had opened to the public only a few years earlier. He paid the fee and slipped inside. Today, he did not look at the beauty of the original paintwork or at the writing etched on the walls. He passed the ancient shopping lists and the prices of vegetables and meat scrawled on the walls and headed down to the living quarters. There, he sat on a magnificent floor mosaic surrounded by frescoes and clutched his arms around himself.

  Eymen reached for the phone in his pocket, but it must have fallen out. He shut his eyes tightly and wrapped his arms around his knees, willing the men not to find him. Maybe he should go back and ask someone to call the police for him. Still, he was reluctant to bring the police into it. The police would ask him why the men were chasing him, and the copper scroll had to be kept secret. He could no longer trust anyone. He had trusted Professor Hobbs, but this man was not Hobbs. For all he knew, Hobbs was already dead.

  Eymen heard a sound and looked up.

  There, framed by modern scaffolding and incongruous against the intact mosaics in their original setting, was a man. The man was pointing a gun at him.

  Eymen wondered why the gun was so thick and then realized it had a silencer.

  A shot rang out, but Eymen didn’t hear it.

  5

  PENNSYLVANIA

  Abigail clung to the sides of the seat as the dark SUV rammed them again. She shut her eyes tightly. Abigail’s head collided hard with the window as Riley swung the wheel to the left. “Sorry about that,” he said. She opened her eyes to see a blur of the landscape whizzing past. A wave of nausea hit her.

  Abigail was flung this way and that as the car skidded and then swung. Abigail realized they were heading away from the town, away from the safety of people, and wondered if that was a good idea. Still, Riley knew what he was doing.

  They passed a phone shanty, used by Amish people to make calls. Abigail knew the road they were on bypassed an Amish community. She hoped they wouldn’t pass any Amish buggies, as their speed would surely frighten the horses.

  When Abigail risked a look back, she saw they had gained some ground over the pursuing SUV.

  When they reached the outskirts of town, Riley turned hard down a dirt road, kicking up a trail of dust. Once more, Abigail wondered about the wisdom of such a plan, as the trail of dust would be visible for miles.

  Riley suddenly swung the car to the left. The car bounced along down to a creek until he brought the car to a sudden stop. “Stay down and keep the doors locked,” he barked at Abigail.

  She was only too happy to do as he said. After a few moments, she craned her neck and saw Riley running back up toward the road.

  Abigail felt awfully vulnerable sitting out there as a decoy despite the fact the car was bulletproofed. If only she were armed, but then again she would not know what to do with the weapon.

  It wasn’t long before she heard a car roaring toward her. She clutched her throat and shut her eyes tightly. What if Riley didn’t come back? She couldn’t sit in the car forever. But if Riley didn’t come back, that would mean he was hurt—or worse. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes.

  There was an exchange of gunfire. Abigail clutched her throat. She planted her hands over her ears and trembled.

  It seemed like an age before the gunshots stopped. Abigail looked up in fright as someone banged on the window.

  It was Riley. He opened the door and jumped inside. “Are you all right?” he asked, her searching her face.

  Abigail did her best to put on a brave front. “Fine,” she said. “And you?”

  Riley simply nodded. “I didn’t expect them to be here so fast.”

  With that, he sped off. Abigail had been hungry, but now the thought of food made her stomach churn. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and she tried to slow it. “They won’t follow us?”

  “No, they won’t.” His tone was grim.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Selcuk.”

  Abigail was incredulous. Surely she hadn’t heard him properly. “What? Selcuk? In Turkey?”

  Riley nodded. “Yes, we’re flying there at once.”

  “But I don’t have my passport.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Abigail regarded him with narrowed eyes. Had the government given her another identity for this mission? And on the subject of missions… Abigail looked over at Riley. “What’s the mission?”

  “You will be briefed on the plane. Try to relax as best you can.”

  Relax? Was he mad? Abigail shook her head. Clearly, Riley was used to such goings-on, but she certainly wasn’t. The one and only adventure she’d ever had in her life was when agents who were working against both the government and against Vortex had captured her. They had tried to force her to solve a puzzle in an attempt to retrieve the stones on the ancient High Priest’s breastplate hidden in a cave in Greece for centuries. It had almost cost her life, and Riley’s life for that matter. When Riley had said the government wanted her to work for them, she had thought it would be simply translation work from then on. She shook her head at herself in disgust.

  Riley drove at a high speed out of town for over an hour until they came to a military airport. He gave his credentials to the guard and was ushered in immediately. For some reason, Abigail had thought they would be flying in a passenger jet. She certainly had a lot to learn about covert operations. In fact, her own naïveté was beginning to worry her.

  Riley drove the car directly to a black plane sitting on the runway. The two men standing by the stairs stared at Abigail as if she was some type of rarity, making her uncomfortable. They didn’t say a word, merely stood back for Abigail to board and then closed in behind her. It was most unnerving.

  When Abigail walked inside the plane, she was surprised to see it wasn’t as she imagined. Instead of rows of seats on either side, two chairs faced another set of two chairs and a polished burr walnut table sat between them. The chairs were armchairs rather than the usual airplane fare. To the left, was a long table either of walnut or mahogany. Abigail didn’t know much about timbers, apart from the fact that the ancient Macedonian sarissas, the long heavy spears introduced by Phillip of Macedon, were made of cornel wood.

  Riley indicated Abigail should sit in the window seat. He sat next to her and buckled his seatbelt. She followed suit. The two men sat opposite her. They were studying her, so she took the opportunity to study them.

  The one directly in front of her had a hawk-like appearance. He was tall and slim and looked at her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. The man sitting opposite Riley had a boyish look about him. He had a round face and twinkling blue eyes. He offered Abigail an easy smile, while the other man simply grimaced. Abigail wondered if they were going to sit in silence the entire trip to Selcuk, or wherever the plane would land. She had no idea of airports in the vicinity.

  It wasn’t until they were off the ground and ascending that Riley spoke. “We were under fire at the college and we lost them, but then they came after us. I took care of them.”

  Both men nodded knowingly. “Abigail, this is Ellis and Thatcher. Guys, this is Dr. Abigail Spencer.”

  “Call me Abigail,” she said, wondering if those names were Christian names or surnames.

  Thatcher smiled at her, but Ellis narrowed his eyes. Abigail thought perhaps he objected to her presence.

  “So can you tell me what this is about?” Abigail finally asked.

  Riley nodded. “Professor Jason Hobbs was corresponding with a man from Selcuk by the name of Eymen Bulut, a jeweler. He’s lived in Selcuk all his life. He corresponded with Hobbs saying he had a copper scroll, handed down to him by his father. The scroll mentioned the location of the Croesus treasure.”

  Abigail gasped. “You’re kidding! But that seems too much of a coincidence. That’s what my upcoming paper is about.”

  Riley waved one hand at her in dismissal. “It’s not so much of a coincidence as you think. You are, of course, aware that Hobbs published a paper on the Croesus treasure?” Without waiting for Abigail to respond, he pushed on. “That was the catalyst. Bulut told Hobbs he had been keeping an eye on the journals for any mention of the Croesus treasure because he was protecting the copper scroll.”

  Abigail interrupted him that point. “So this guy actually has a copper scroll that tells the location of the Croesus treasure?”

  “Well, that’s what we’re going to find out, but it seems so.”

  “And you need me to translate it or see if it’s genuine?”

  “Precisely.”

  “You mentioned Jason Hobbs’s dying words?” Abigail winced when she thought of her friend’s death.

  “Yes, he said, ‘Tell her, Revelation Two, Verse Two.’”

  “That’s a reference to the Bible,” Abigail said.

  “Obviously,” Ellis, the narrowed-eyed man said. Abigail didn’t know if he was being sarcastic. “What does it say?” he continued.

  “I’d have to look at the passage to be certain.”

  “I don’t happen to have a Bible on me,” Ellis said. Now his tone was overtly snarky.

  Riley shot the man a look. “We can simply look at an online Bible.” He picked up the iPad lying on the table and tapped away at the screen for a few moments before handing it to Abigail. “What does it say? Does this mean anything to you?”

  “It’s in English,” she protested.

  “What do you mean?” Riley asked.

  “I assume if Jason left a message for me, then it was something to do with the Greek meaning, otherwise he would have just stated what he wanted to say. I mean, since he went to the trouble of leaving a puzzle in his message, surely it wouldn’t be something that would be easily seen in an English translation.”

  “Good point,” Ellis said grudgingly. “Riley, can you get the ancient Greek translation up online?”

  “Never mind. Let me see what it says.” Abigail reached out her hand for the iPad.

  She searched quickly and then read aloud.

  “‘I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those who are evil, but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not, and found them to be false.’”

  After a few minutes, she said, “I’d like to see the Greek.” She pulled up the Perseus Online Library and found the Greek in question.

  “I think I know what Jason meant,” she said urgently. “This isn’t good!”

  6

  EPHESUS

  The shooter left the body sitting there. It was just on closing time and that worked in his favor. He pulled his jacket around his shoulders and slipped back into the crowd looking like any other tourist.

  The others were waiting for him outside, pretending to study travel guides. They hurried in the direction of the northern car park, the tallest man hanging tightly onto the briefcase. He had flung his jacket over it, lest the briefcase attract attention.

  “This had better be the right copper scroll,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The man standing next to him let out a grunt of displeasure. “Of course it’s the right one. How many are there? Bulut thought he was meeting Hobbs. He had no reason to be suspicious.”

  The man hesitated in his stride and turned to the other. His gray eyes were cold, menacing. His very pores exuded danger. “Never underestimate the enemy, Number Five,” he said, his tone icy. “That’s what will get you killed.”

  The other man rolled his eyes. He had heard it all before. “Take the worst case scenario and work back from there.”

  “We’ll take the bus to Kusadasi,” the leader said. “We can’t risk going back to Selcuk. That is, of course, unless this isn’t the correct copper scroll.”

  The other four men exchanged glances.

  The timing once more worked for them. They tumbled onto a bus with a group of tourists, the leader making sure he kept the briefcase hidden. If anyone had noticed the victim carrying a briefcase, then the police would question tourists as to whether they had seen anyone else carrying a briefcase. The leader wasn’t someone who took chances.

  And Vortex wasn’t forgiving.

  When they got off the bus in the main shopping area in Kusadasi, the leader sent the man he considered rather dim-witted to buy the most nondescript luggage he could find. He and the other three men sat at an outdoor café away from the main street on which was CCTV.

  It was getting dark and the café exterior area was not well lit. The man returned faster with the luggage than the leader expected. He set aside his chicken kebab, opened the largest piece of luggage, placed the briefcase inside, and snapped the latches shut. It was only then he allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction.

  The men were following the plan and so far everything was going well, but the leader knew better than to rest on his laurels. He left the other four men at a hotel and moved onto the next one. He paid cash and gave his fake name using an Oxbridge accent he had perfected over the years. He barely glanced around the lobby, only to take in any potential threats and to check the exits. He was certain they hadn’t been followed.

  The reception area was dark, just how he liked it. He shoved aside two half-dead ivy plants to hand over a wad of lira to the clerk, an impossibly thin man with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth.

  As soon as the leader entered his hotel room, he locked the door behind him and then searched the room before crossing to the window to look behind the curtain. There was nothing suspicious in the street: pizza restaurants, bars, shops, and people scurrying this way and that.

  The hotel could have been any one the leader had stayed in over the years: heavy timber furniture, dark cream walls, and white crumpled linen on the bed.

  The room smelled faintly of cheap tobacco and whiskey with an overlay of pine disinfectant. He let himself back out and locked the door before looking for the exits. In long strides he reached the end of the corridor and opened the fire escape door which was at the opposite end to the elevator. The corridor swung to the left, and to the right was a glass door leading to a small concrete balcony. He pushed the doors open and looked outside. A tall brick fence blocked the view from the street and it was only a short drop to the roof of the next-door building. The leader smiled to himself as he strode back along the corridor.

  It was only when he was back in his locked room that he made the call.

  The leader was eating takeout pizza, when there was a knock on the door.

  “Are you in there, Enzo Petros?” the voice said.

  That was the code word name, but even still, the leader was suspicious. He popped the last few onion rings from the pizza in his mouth, adjusted his gun which was already neatly concealed, and opened the door carefully.

  He recognized the man, Number Nine. With him was another man he didn’t recognize.

  The leader locked the door behind them. Number Nine wasted no time coming to the point. “You have it?”

  The leader opened the briefcase. Number Nine nodded to the other man who pulled his reading glasses from his pocket along with some white gloves. “We shouldn’t look at it under these conditions,” the man complained as he pulled on the gloves in what seemed to the leader to be an overly fastidious manner. “It could easily fall apart.”