No, if he had to guess, he would have said the Air Force.
Not only was MacDill an Air Force base, it had also paid for his trip to Florida. Maybe the generals wanted to get one more lecture out of him before he returned home.
“What’s up?” Jones asked as he left the restroom. “Did your phone break again?”
“I wish. I had seventeen missed calls. All of them blocked.”
“Fucking government.”
“What about you? Any calls?”
Jones checked his phone. “Nope. Nada.”
“That’s strange.”
“Tell me about it. I’m used to booty calls, day and night.”
He laughed. “I was referring to MacDill, not McLovin.”
“What time did they start?”
Payne scrolled through his screen. “Let’s see. First call was 3:59 A.M. Damn. Maybe my cell phone woke me after all. I could’ve sworn it was the room phone.”
“Any messages?”
He nodded. “Three voice, one text.”
“Start with the text. You can read it now.”
The device looked tiny in his massive hands, yet somehow Payne clicked the appropriate buttons, dancing from screen to screen. The text was tough to read in the Florida sun, forcing him to shield the glare. But in time, he was able to read the message.
It was straightforward and unsigned.
The type of message that no one wants to receive.
This is not a prank. Life or death. Please call at once.
4
The stranger stood on the edge of the cliff and gasped at what he saw. Massive rock pillars sprang out of the earth like giant stone fingers, each of them rising several hundred feet from the valley below. Yet somehow the natural beauty of the scenery paled in comparison with the architectural wonder of Metéora, a site that hovered in the heavens like the throne of God.
He heard footsteps behind him but refused to shift his gaze from the Monastery of the Holy Trinity as the sun slipped behind the Pindus Mountains to the west.
Marcus Andropoulos, the man who approached, spoke with a local accent. “The monks who built this place climbed the rock with their bare hands, then refused to leave until construction was finished. They stayed on top for many months, lifting supplies by rope during the day and sleeping in a cave at night.”
The stranger said nothing, still admiring the view.
Andropoulos stepped closer, tentative. “Eventually, they built retractable wooden ladders that reached the crops they had planted in the fields below. Grapes, corn, potatoes. They even had sheep and cattle.”
The stranger tried to picture the ladders. They must have stretched for a quarter of a mile.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said the Greek. “My name is Marcus Andropoulos.”
“Nick Dial,” he said over his shoulder.
“You’re an American, no? Are you a tourist?”
Dial shook his head. “What does Metéora mean?”
“It is a local word. It means ‘suspended in air.’ Originally there were twenty-four monasteries on the surrounding peaks. Many were destroyed during World War Two. Now only six remain.”
“How old is this one?”
“Fifteenth-century,” he answered, still trying to figure out who Dial was and why he was there. “Are you with the media?”
Dial laughed. “Definitely not. I can’t stand those guys.”
Andropoulos paused, thinking things through. If Dial wasn’t a journalist, how did he get past all the officers on the main road? “In that case, I think you need to leave.”
“Because I hate the media? That seems kind of harsh.”
“No, because this area is restricted. Didn’t you see the signs?”
Dial turned and stared at the man who was trying to throw him out.
Andropoulos was young and lanky, dressed in a cheap suit that was two sizes too small. His hands and wrists hung three inches beyond his sleeves-as though he had recently grown and didn’t have enough money to get a new wardrobe. Or visit a tailor. Or get a haircut. Because his head was covered with dark curly hair that went over his ears and the back of his neck. Like a Greek Afro.
Dial said, “You seem to know a lot about this place. Are you a tour guide or something?”
Andropoulos reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. “I am definitely something. I am the NCB agent assigned to this case. In fact, I am in charge of the investigation.”
Dial smirked, then refocused his attention on the monastery. In this light its beige walls appeared to be glowing. Almost like amber. It was truly a remarkable sight.
“Please, Nick. Don’t make me tell you again. It’s time to leave.”
But Dial wasn’t ready. He picked up a pebble and tossed it over the edge. It fell for several seconds yet never made a sound, swallowed by the chasm below. He whistled, impressed.
In all his years, he had never worked in such a difficult location.
Simply put, this crime scene was going to be a bitch.
Dial picked up a second pebble, slightly larger than the first, and leaned back to throw it. He hoped to test a theory about the valley. But before he could, the young officer grabbed his arm.
“I wouldn’t throw that if I were you.”
“Really? Why not?”