panic swept through Alec, increasing his heart rate, making his palms sweat. Would his life ever return to normal again?
He’d promised Klingerman he’d finish the global warming piece. He had most of the research done, but would he have time to complete it?
Four hours to work on the plane, then what? When could he find the time? He had to, or CNN would be lost to him.
But, if he didn’t pursue his current course of action, Eleni would be lost to him, too. Perhaps forever.
Chapter 12
The Village Gate Mall, a former warehouse on Goodman, fit the kind of place that would appeal to Stephanos and his crowd. The unique shops didn’t pander to today’s trendy stores, and Alec had to admit, the place suited him as well.
He had no trouble locating Grecian Antiquities on the second floor, next to the Bop Shop, a popular local music store specializing in collectible vinyl records.
Two ornate plaster columns stood on either side of the faux marble entrance to Grecian Antiquities. Faint strains of string instruments accompanied by a light-hearted flute issued from somewhere inside the specialty shop.
A short, rotund man wearing a white toga burst from the back room. The sheet-like robe fastened over one shoulder, revealing an obscene amount of curly chest and arm hair; not exactly the kind of uniform that inspired trust. As the man hustled around the front counter, Alec had the fleeting hope the man wore underwear. “Zorba?” Stephanos had provided the contact’s name, but little else.
“Like my father before me and his before him.” The man clasped his pudgy hands together. “At your service.”
“Stephanos sent me.”
Was it his imagination or did Zorba’s face light with excitement? “Are you one of his men?”
He was no one’s man and intended to stay that way. “I’m new.”
“Yes, yes. He must think you have the gift.” Zorba struck a dramatic pose. “Can you guess my ancestor?”
Alec didn’t want to insult the stout man, but suspected Zorba’s forefather must have had something to do with food or ale. Which god was that?
“I’ll give you a hint.” He rubbed his stomach.
Alec shook his head. “Sorry.”
A smile split Zorba’s broad face. “No matter. You don’t know the ancestors yet, but you soon will.” He dropped his pose. “So, what are you in the market for?” Circling, Zorba seemed to be examining him from every angle. “No. Wait. Let me guess.”
He opened his mouth.
“Don’t say a word. I’ll only be a minute.” The man disappeared into the back, then emerged with a large, dual-edged axe. He offered the antique to him.
Alec hefted the weapon. Damn, the thing was beautiful, but heavy, its handle made of solid mahogany, the blade of fine steel, an intricate design etched along the center of the blade.
“A fine weapon, to be sure, but—”
“Not a descendent of Ares.” Zorba frowned and took the axe back. “Let’s see.” He dropped the axe to the floor with a dull thud, then leaned the handle against the wall.
“I’m looking for a bow and arrow.”
The man’s face fell.
Alec felt a stab of guilt at having put an end to Zorba’s game. Chances were he didn’t get many customers coming into such a unique shop. A thought struck him. “Are all your customers descendants?”
Zorba shrugged. “I get some people who are curious about the culture. A couple teachers who buy books and small replicas for use in the classroom. That pays the rent. As for the weapons, uh, wall decorations, they’re strictly reserved for the descendants.”
Alec clamped his mouth shut to keep it from falling open. He’d stepped out of his normal life as meteorologist Alec Andrews into a world he didn’t recognize as his own. How could such a sub-culture exist without becoming public?
“You’ll need to come with me.” Zorba gestured toward the back of the dimly lit shop.
He hesitated. What if this were a trap?
Zorba laughed. “No need to be afraid here. If Stephanos
He’d promised Klingerman he’d finish the global warming piece. He had most of the research done, but would he have time to complete it?
Four hours to work on the plane, then what? When could he find the time? He had to, or CNN would be lost to him.
But, if he didn’t pursue his current course of action, Eleni would be lost to him, too. Perhaps forever.
Chapter 12
The Village Gate Mall, a former warehouse on Goodman, fit the kind of place that would appeal to Stephanos and his crowd. The unique shops didn’t pander to today’s trendy stores, and Alec had to admit, the place suited him as well.
He had no trouble locating Grecian Antiquities on the second floor, next to the Bop Shop, a popular local music store specializing in collectible vinyl records.
Two ornate plaster columns stood on either side of the faux marble entrance to Grecian Antiquities. Faint strains of string instruments accompanied by a light-hearted flute issued from somewhere inside the specialty shop.
A short, rotund man wearing a white toga burst from the back room. The sheet-like robe fastened over one shoulder, revealing an obscene amount of curly chest and arm hair; not exactly the kind of uniform that inspired trust. As the man hustled around the front counter, Alec had the fleeting hope the man wore underwear. “Zorba?” Stephanos had provided the contact’s name, but little else.
“Like my father before me and his before him.” The man clasped his pudgy hands together. “At your service.”
“Stephanos sent me.”
Was it his imagination or did Zorba’s face light with excitement? “Are you one of his men?”
He was no one’s man and intended to stay that way. “I’m new.”
“Yes, yes. He must think you have the gift.” Zorba struck a dramatic pose. “Can you guess my ancestor?”
Alec didn’t want to insult the stout man, but suspected Zorba’s forefather must have had something to do with food or ale. Which god was that?
“I’ll give you a hint.” He rubbed his stomach.
Alec shook his head. “Sorry.”
A smile split Zorba’s broad face. “No matter. You don’t know the ancestors yet, but you soon will.” He dropped his pose. “So, what are you in the market for?” Circling, Zorba seemed to be examining him from every angle. “No. Wait. Let me guess.”
He opened his mouth.
“Don’t say a word. I’ll only be a minute.” The man disappeared into the back, then emerged with a large, dual-edged axe. He offered the antique to him.
Alec hefted the weapon. Damn, the thing was beautiful, but heavy, its handle made of solid mahogany, the blade of fine steel, an intricate design etched along the center of the blade.
“A fine weapon, to be sure, but—”
“Not a descendent of Ares.” Zorba frowned and took the axe back. “Let’s see.” He dropped the axe to the floor with a dull thud, then leaned the handle against the wall.
“I’m looking for a bow and arrow.”
The man’s face fell.
Alec felt a stab of guilt at having put an end to Zorba’s game. Chances were he didn’t get many customers coming into such a unique shop. A thought struck him. “Are all your customers descendants?”
Zorba shrugged. “I get some people who are curious about the culture. A couple teachers who buy books and small replicas for use in the classroom. That pays the rent. As for the weapons, uh, wall decorations, they’re strictly reserved for the descendants.”
Alec clamped his mouth shut to keep it from falling open. He’d stepped out of his normal life as meteorologist Alec Andrews into a world he didn’t recognize as his own. How could such a sub-culture exist without becoming public?
“You’ll need to come with me.” Zorba gestured toward the back of the dimly lit shop.
He hesitated. What if this were a trap?
Zorba laughed. “No need to be afraid here. If Stephanos
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