Half an hour later the luxury cruiser was slicing through the Aegean toward the port of Piraeus. The Cosmopolis environmental scan had again reported unusual activity in the Acropolis surveillance zone, although they couldn’t pick up anything on their visuals. They would have to go check it out themselves.
The heavy rain had stopped now, but the sky was still a doleful shade of gray, and the wind slowed their progress considerably. This was the worst weather Augusta had seen since beginning her training four months ago. The normally peaceful Mediterranean clouds had turned venomously dark and puffy, and the wind had risen from the south and whipped up the placid water into stiff peaks. It had been a rocky morning. She was glad the storm seemed to be dying down now.
At least we won’t have to spend New Year’s on the yacht, Augusta told herself as they pressed on through the wind and drizzle. Her father had tried to make Christmas festive, but there was only so much you could do aboard a tech-heavy yacht with only a few taciturn crew members for company. They had played holiday music and projected some of her favorite Christmas movies onto a blank wall, but it was a pale imitation of her normal happy holiday at home. No gingerbread cookies, no gift exchange, and only a short phone call to her mother and grandmother. Augusta couldn’t believe her father had lived like this for 20 years. She supposed he’d gotten used to it.
A rocky shoreline appeared through the mists ahead. Augusta had never been so delighted to see anything in her life. Now she knew how those ancient mariners had felt, coming home from their treacherous sea voyages to the open arms of dry land. Terra firma. Augusta promised herself she would never take dirt for granted again.
As they drew nearer to the coast, she could see hills rising up behind a sprawling urban landscape. So this is Athens, she thought, watching as the buildings became larger and the boating traffic denser. They were no longer the only yacht around; dozens of equally sleek yachts, some much larger, were drifting in the sea nearby or anchored along the coastline. Here the Cosmopolis blended in nicely. They didn’t attract any attention at all as they cruised slowly toward a marina glittering with freshly lacquered seacraft.
It was now about midday, although you couldn’t tell by looking at the sky. Low, dense clouds pressed down over the city, obscuring both the sun and the hills in the background. Not the best conditions for seeing this historic place for the first time. Augusta reminded herself that she was here to do a job, not to sightsee. There would be plenty of time later to see all the sights of Athens. Right now she had to focus: unusual activity detected on the Acropolis. That’s what they were here for.
With the yacht neatly parked between two luxury cruisers, Augusta and her father disembarked and headed straight for the parking lot, where a black sedan was waiting. Nicolas opened the door for Augusta and climbed in behind her, greeting the chauffeur with a friendly slap on the back.
“How are you, Kostas?” he asked the driver in Greek. “Acropolis, east entrance.”
“Right away.”
As they merged into traffic on the main road, Augusta turned to her father. “Let’s go over the plan one more time,” she said, in a low voice. This was her first mission as a Cosmopolis agent, and she wanted to get everything right. The butterflies were beginning to take flight in her stomach again.
“There are four large structures on the top of the Acropolis,” she recited to Nicolas, ticking off each building on her fingers. “The Propylaea, which is the entrance gate. The Parthenon, which is the main temple in the center. The Erectheion, which is the multi-tiered temple to the north. And the archeological museum, on the east. Our scan showed unusual activity in the center-north. So we’ll focus on the Parthenon and the Erectheion.”
“Correct,” her father replied. “We’ll split up, but you can connect with me on your encrypted phone. You have your tracking chip sewn into your underclothes, right?”
Augusta nodded.
“Good. That will provide exact coordinates of your location if we get separated. The Cosmopolis will be able to track you and provide your location to me if necessary, as well as your physical condition. I’ll know if your body temperature drops significantly, if your heartrate is abnormally high, if you’re asleep, or if you’re undergoing intense physical exertion. This should help me to determine whether you are in danger and how best to reach you.”
“I’m not sure how much good that will do if they kill me right away.” Augusta was only half-joking.
“I don’t think we are dealing with that caliber of criminal. So far they haven’t demonstrated intent to kill. They’ve stolen historical items and knocked a few people on the head, but the unfortunate Father Ephraim was already in poor health. All it took was a small bump on the head to do him off. Fortunately, your skull is much thicker than that.”
“I hope that’s a compliment,” Augusta said, pretending to be offended.
“Of course,” her father returned. “You’ve had four months of training now. You are accomplished in self-defense techniques, tracking, escape, and you’re in excellent physical condition. But most of all you have learned mental techniques that will enable you to stay calm and think clearly during moments of danger. The most valuable skill of an agent is the ability to adapt quickly and responsively to the situation as it unfolds. To think on your feet, as they say.
“But remember, although your first priority is to stay alive, we also need you to gather intelligence and manipulate the situation in our favor. As long as your life is not at risk, you are expected to do your job, both obtaining information and influencing other operatives to our advantage. You are our most valuable asset, much more than strategically placed cameras or rescue helicopters. Your talent and judgment will enable us to do things no machine ever could.”
While her father spoke, Augusta looked solemnly out the window as hotels, clothing stores, food vendors, and many pedestrians passed them by. A light, misting rain had followed them from the sea, and umbrellas swarmed past as they stopped at a traffic light. It was unseasonably cold. What a disappointing New Year’s Eve, she thought, watching people hurry in and out of shops in the rain. Still, it was better than being tossed around on the sea. Maybe she would come back sometime and see Athens properly—sunshine, ancient ruins, leisurely stroll. But not today. Focus, she told herself. Facts and flow.
Suddenly, through a clearing on the left, she caught a glimpse of the Acropolis. Even in the dismal rain it took her breath away. Towering on a cliff above the city, the famous Doric columns of the Parthenon shot upward into the sky, as if they were literally a part of the heavens. Augusta could see why the ancient Greeks, and the Myceneans before them, had dedicated this land to their gods. It truly seemed like a sacred realm, floating above the everyday concerns of the citizens below.
Everywhere she looked now were signs of Athens’ glorious past. A museum here, another majestic ruin there, marble arcades greeting them at every turn. They were definitely getting close.
Kostas turned off the main road onto a side street and they zoomed toward the monumental bulk of the Acropolis. Low, graceful blocks of apartment buildings lined one side of the street, while on the other a beautifully manicured wood stretched up the side of the hill. There were few cars and even fewer people. Augusta supposed all the tourists were waiting out the rain, safely tucked away in their hotels, or maybe they had already started their New Year’s celebrations. Only a few locals in buttoned-up trench coats hurried by clutching umbrellas. The entire hill seemed calm and at rest.
The black sedan pulled over to the side of the road. As they climbed out, she heard her father tell Kostas, “Wait for us here. I’ll contact you with further instructions.” They began walking casually along the paved path, their coat collars turned up to the rain, trying to look as normal as possible.
The rain had started in earnest now. Paving stones glistened beneath Augusta’s feet as she fell into step beside her father. Nicolas nonchalantly strolled off the path behind a stand of olive trees, where they wouldn’t be seen, then lightly jumped over the black metal fence separating them from the historical site. Augusta followed.
They strode quickly up the path, not stopping to admire the remains of a beautiful amphitheater or the last standing columns of a once-grand temple. The site was almost deserted. Very few tourists had decided to brave the weather, which appeared to be turning nastier by the minute.
The sky had now colored into a bilious greenish-gray, and as they trekked higher along the path, Augusta shivered against the rising wind. Even her specially-engineered outer garments couldn’t keep the rain off completely. She felt the water beginning to soak through onto her neck and back as they reached the entry portal to the Acropolis summit: the Propylaia.
It must have been truly breathtaking in its heyday. Standing sentinel at the edge of the plateau, with a sheer drop-off directly below, the marble portico was the last stop before entering the sacred clifftop world of Athena, patron deity of Athens. Ascending its grand marble staircases, now glistening in the rain, Augusta imagined how the ancients must have felt as they prepared to meet the goddess. The magnificence of the soaring entryway, the vertiginous view to below, and the grandiose deeds attributed to Athena would have been awe-inspiring. She felt only slightly less dumbstruck today as she contemplated meeting the Rumelovs again at the top of the hill.
Passing through the towering colonnade of the Propylaia, they emerged onto the wide-open expanse of the Acropolis. Augusta’s breath caught in her throat. There it was—the Parthenon. One of the most iconic buildings in the world. It hardly mattered that the roof was gone, or that the whole site was littered with the stony detritus of four thousand years of human occupation. The Parthenon was glorious, perfect, its neat rows of columns now supporting the heavy weight of the darkening sky.
She was still staring at the Parthenon, when her father turned to her and spoke quietly.
“Our scans showed something going on up here, but we don’t know exactly what it is,” he reminded her. “We need to be prepared for anything, from a group séance to a terrorist attack. It could be serious, it could be nothing. Or it might not involve the Rumelovs at all. Our sensors often pick up other types of activity that don’t involve us.”
Augusta nodded and looked around, scoping out the landscape. Other than the Parthenon, which was by far the largest structure up here, and the Propylaia, which was now behind them, there were two significant structures. The low-slung Acropolis museum crouched behind the Parthenon, barely visible from where they stood. And the Erectheion, to their left, might have seemed like a grand ruin anywhere else, but beside the Parthenon it looked tiny and barren. At the far end of the plateau, a small circular viewing platform stood, proudly supporting the Greek flag. Everything else was rubble.
“Since this is your first assignment, you take the smaller one, the Erectheion,” Nicolas was saying in a low voice. “I’ll take the Parthenon. It’s much larger, so it will probably take me longer to investigate. When you’re done, meet back here in front of the Propylaia. Signal immediately if you find anything out of the ordinary. I’ll be over right away.”
“Yes, sir.”
Augusta made her way uncertainly down the central path, trying to look more confident than she felt. Rain was now pouring down, driven horizontally by huge gusts of wind. Her clothing was completely soaked, and she hoped that her phone and tracking chip were safe in their reinforced compartments.
The entire site seemed completely deserted. Any remaining tourists had now ducked into the safety of the museum or retreated back toward the Propylaia, heading home. Who would be crazy enough to conduct a crime in this weather? Augusta wondered, bracing her shoulders in the wind. She and Nicolas appeared to be the only people out in the gathering storm.
Taking the path to the left, Augusta made her way toward the multi-layered Erectheion, which had the look of a house that has been added onto multiple times. From her studies she knew it was named after a mythical early king of Athens, Erectheus, and it had been built to honor both Athena and Poseidon. Her father, with his love for Greek myths, had made sure to tell her the story of a competition between the two gods. Both Athena and Poseidon tried to curry favor with the Athenians to become the patron of the city, and each made an offering to the people. Athena offered an olive tree, while Poseidon struck the ground with his trident to create a saltwater spring. Needless to say, Athena won.
As she approached the ancient temple, Augusta could see the Caryatids, the six beautiful young women who formed columns around the Erectheion’s southernmost portico. They carried the temple roof on their heads while gazing forlornly out across the surrounding valleys—trapped, like Atlas, in the perpetual act of holding up the world. Augusta shivered. Somehow their tragic, eroded faces seemed both a plea for help and a warning: Help us! they seemed to call. And at the same time: This could happen to you! Averting her eyes, she turned away from the Porch of the Maidens and hurried around the base of the temple in the other direction.
Stepping onto the wide front portico, Augusta felt the rain ease up under the protection of a solid roof. She wiped water off her forehead and looked around carefully. There was nothing unusual here, unless you counted the complete absence of any tourists. Not a soul around. She gazed through a tall, narrow doorway to the structure’s interior, which was currently covered in scaffolding. Restoration must be underway, but there was certainly no one working today.
Sighing, Augusta knew she would have to climb down into the temple’s roofless interior, where rain poured down freely and sloshed into muddy puddles on the ground. The sky was now so dark, and the marble surfaces so slick, that she had to move extremely slowly. Carefully, she placed one foot behind the other, climbing down the scaffolding to the lower level below. Thunder rumbled overhead as she clambered to the ground.
The moment her feet hit the grass, Augusta felt a skull-splitting blow to the back of her head. The last thing she heard, before collapsing to the muddy ground, was a huge clap of thunder reverberating through the sky overhead.