The Hunt for Power

Chapter 1

***DISCLAIMER***

This is only a sample of the full novel.  If you would like to read the complete story, you can find it on Amazon in paperback and ebook.

Thanks,
Joe

Athens, 1957

Rex didn't know how he was going to get out of this one. All he wanted to do was have a drink after a long day and then slowly work his way back to the rooms he was renting. Not likely now.

Just my luck, he thought as he backed up and raised the chair he was holding a little higher. Unfortunately, he was backing away from the door and into a corner.

"Look, fellas, let's all calm down and talk this out," he said warily. "How about a round of drinks on me?" He doubted if his charm could help him out this time. These didn't look like the type of people that a smile and a kind word would sway.

The three enormous men kept advancing on him, eyes blazing, and hands bunched into fists. They were all armed, angry, and now very wet. Also, apparently none of them spoke English, so Rex's words had little effect on them. He had tried Greek, but he was more versed in ancient Greek than modern. And these gentlemen didn't look like the type that read Plato. Luckily, none of them had drawn the daggers that hung at their waists. Not yet, at least.

Rex was debating his next move when the door to the dank bar burst open and a large, jovial man entered with a laugh. In his hands were several chickens, hanging by their feet and clucking softly.

"Ha ha! I told you I would find them! Even at this time of night! You owe me a drink," Zidan bellowed. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked from his friend in the corner to the three men now staring in his direction, confused by his sudden entrance.

Rex didn't hesitate, though. In their moment of distraction, he threw the chair he was holding at them, grabbed his lucky cane off the table, and sprinted for the door and salvation.

As Rex ran through the doorway, he shouted back, "Come on, Zidan!"

Zidan batted one of the men back with the handful of chickens, overturned the nearest table into their path, and turned to follow Rex, slamming the door in the face of their pursuers. He and Rex ran across the street to Zidan's jeep, jumped in, and sped away from the bar. The wet, angry men shouted Albanian curses and shook their fists at the departing vehicle.

When they were several blocks away, Zidan turned to Rex. "What was that all about?" he asked as he unceremoniously deposited the chickens in Rex's lap. The streets of Athens were narrow and Zidan needed both hands to navigate the jeep through them in the dark.

"Just a misunderstanding. One minute I'm drinking, minding my own business, and then I hear someone mention Schliemann." He saw Zidan's brow furrow at the name. "I suppose I might have been startled and knocked the server, and her tray full of drinks, onto those guys. Still a bit jumpy, I guess," Rex explained. He breathed in the cool night air to calm his nerves.

"Do you still have it?" Zidan asked, slowing the jeep to a manageable speed.

"Of course." Rex pushed the chickens onto the floorboard and lifted the flap of his satchel so Zidan could see the glint of gold and delicate designs of the artifact securely held inside. "After what we went through, I'm not letting those goons have it."

Two months ago, Rex had learned through his back-channel connections that Andromache Schliemann, daughter of the famed archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann, had intended to sell the Mask of Agamemnon on the black market. The mask was a funeral covering made of pure gold, dating to around 1500 B.C., and was found in one of the grave circles of Mycenae. While there was nothing directly tying it to the legendary Greek king mentioned in the Iliad, it was obviously adorning the grave of a person of nobility and wealth. Besides, the "Mask of Agamemnon" had a better ring to it than "the Mask of a King from the Late-Helladic period." Once christened as the Mask of Agamemnon by Heinrich Schliemann, the name stuck. It was considered a national treasure in Greece and nearly priceless.