“Oui, I know. That is why I called. Just to wake you. My entire day revolves around Nick. Bonjour, bonjour, bonjour!”
Dial grinned at the sarcasm. “Let me guess. You’re mad about yesterday’s message.”
“Message? You left me a message?” Toulon put a cigarette in his mouth and desperately wanted to light it. “Sorry, I heard no message from you. I was too busy taking a nap and drinking wine in your office. Then I ate some stinky cheese, just to improve the smell.”
“Wow. You’re really pissy today. Do you want to talk later?”
“No,” Toulon said. “I want to talk now. I want to get this over with.”
Dial grimaced, not sure if Toulon was mad at him or not. Then again, it was too early in the morning to actually care. “Did you get my e-mail? I sent it from my phone.”
“One moment. Let me check.”
While Toulon checked his computer, Dial climbed out of bed and walked across the tiled floor of his spacious suite. Somehow Andropoulos had booked him a great room in the Divani Metéora, a luxury hotel in Kalampáka. It was so close to the monastery, he could stare at the towering cliffs from his private balcony.
“Oui. I found it. Give me a moment to read it.”
“Take your time,” Dial said as he wandered into the bathroom.
Toulon spoke again a few minutes later. He was staring at his computer screen, trying to make sense of the two images that Dial had sent to him. “What am I looking at?”
“Pictures of the killers.”
“You are teasing, no? How did you get these?”
“The monks had a nanny cam.”
Toulon spat out his cigarette in disgust. “I hate those damn things! I have been caught with too many nannies.”
Dial laughed, realizing that Toulon wasn’t joking. “Sorry to hear that, Henri. But in this case, we really lucked out. It’s the biggest break we’ve had.”
“This is quite helpful. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I am an expert on Ancient Greece.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re an expert on everything.”
“Oui, this is true. I am quite good.” Toulon ran his fingers over his gray hair, which was pulled back in his trademark ponytail. He certainly didn’t look the part of an Interpol officer. But his brilliance more than made up for his attitude and attire. “What do you want to know?”
Dial picked up hard copies of the two photos. “Let’s start with the sword.”
Toulon clicked on the first image, then enlarged it until the sword filled the screen. He focused on the details, searching for the nuances that would define the weapon. It didn’t take long for him to reach a conclusion. “This is a xiphos. It was used by a hoplite.”
“A what?”
“A hoplite. An infantryman from Ancient Greece.”
“How can you tell?”
Toulon sneered. “Do not insult me! I can tell with a single look because I am an expert. If a doctor said to you, ‘Nick, you are dying of a brain tumor,’ would you say, ‘How can you tell?’”
“Definitely.”
Toulon paused. “Yes, you are right. I would ask him, too. That is a bad example.”
“Come on, Henri. Stop goofing around.”
“Fine! I will just tell you.” He mumbled a few curse words in French before he continued his lecture. “Look at the style of this sword. It is simple. It is plain. No fancy hilts. No fancy pommels. This is the blade of a soldier. Not an officer.”
Dial scribbled some key phrases on a piece of paper. “Go on.”
“Now look at its length. It is a short sword. Maybe one meter long. It is perfect for close combat. Very sharp. Very strong. The kind they used in the phalanx.”
“The phalanx?”
“The wall of soldiers at the front of an attack. The hoplites.”
Toulon leaned back and put the cigarette in his mouth. He still needed his morning fix. With a cautious eye, he glanced around the office, searching for anyone who outranked him. When he saw no one, he decided to light up. Rules be damned.
Dial said, “I know it’s just a picture, but can you give me a time period?”
“Maybe if I held the blade, but not from this photo.”
“Come on, Henri, take a wild guess. Are we talking Russell Crowe in Gladiator or Harry Hamlin in Clash of the Titans?”
Toulon blew smoke into the air. “We are talking Nick Dial in Clueless.”
“Be nice,” Dial warned him, “or I’ll fine you for smoking.”
Toulon coughed, practically swallowing his cigarette in the process. How did Dial know he was smoking? He looked around again. Maybe the sneaky bastard had a nanny cam.
“That is insulting,” Toulon said. “I would do no such thing.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Now answer my question. How old are we talking?”
“The second one. Harry Hamlin.”
Dial smiled. He loved making Toulon think in American terms. It was one of the simple joys in his life. “But this weapon is a replica, right?”
“Tell me, Nick. Do you know when Ancient Greece flourished?”
“Before Christ.”
“Several centuries before Christ. Now look at this picture. Does this sword look that old to you? Of course not. Therefore this sword is a replica.”