The Project 04 - Black Harvest

artifacts."
    "Artifacts?"
    "Treasure from the days of Alexander. He sent it back from Persia."
    "And your investigation brought you here, to Macedonia."
    "Yes."
    He gave Selena a speculative look. "The man you killed had your picture in his pocket. I received bulletins from Interpol last night. The criminals who attacked you are members of a powerful gang based in Moscow. Why would these people have your photograph?"
    Chief Inspector Demetrios walked over to the window and studied the view. "They must believe you have a way to find this missing treasure. If there is any. How much are we talking about?" His voice was casual.
    "We don't know," Nick said. "Maybe a lot. One of Alexander's cousins may have brought part of it here, to Dion. I doubt it still exists. But someone must think it does."
    "Any items related to Alexander would be of the highest historical importance to my country. I insist that you share any information you have with me." Demetrios' voice had taken on an authoritative edge.
    Nick held up his hands. "We need your help, Chief Inspector. We're not treasure hunters, we're investigators. We want the people behind those murders, nothing else."
    He could see Demetrios thinking. Uncovering relics of Alexander might salvage his career. Self-motivation made for good allies. Greed was also a good motivation. Nick suspected Demetrios was thinking as much about gold as his country's history.
    Selena told him about the tomb. Demetrios agreed to arrange a look at the tomb on Monday. He opened the door and paused.
    "Let me be clear about something, Carter. I am in charge, here. You will not act on your own. " His tone was hostile. "You are foreigners in my country. I will investigate why you have permission to carry weapons. You will not leave the hotel without escort. You will not take any action without my express permission. Do you understand?"
    "Perfectly." So much for making allies. Maybe he needed to brush up on his diplomatic skills.
    Demetrios went out. The door closed behind him.
    "Nice to get a warm welcome," Nick said.
    "What the hell were those thugs doing with my picture?" The words spurted out. Selena paced across the room and back again. She was upset.
    "We'll find out. Let's go down to the restaurant. No point in trying to think on an empty stomach."
    "You're impossible."
    "You've said that before. Always eat when you can. You don't know when the next time will be."
    "Is that another one of your damned rules?"
    "Come on, we'll talk about it over coffee."
    In the dining room Nick told Selena what Harker had learned about the men who'd attacked her.
    "They came up on Interpol right away. They belong to a gang in Russia."
    "The Russian Mafia?"
    "Similar. There are about fifteen powerful gangs in Russia. This one is Georgian. The outfit is run by a man named Zviad Gelashvili. The man you kicked in the balls is his brother, Bagrat Gelashvili. Along with the Ukrainians, the Georgians are the worst. That's saying a lot."
    "His brother? Why would a crime boss send his brother after me? Why here?"
    "Gelashvili must know about the tablets. He's probably after Alexander's treasure. He sent those goons to follow up on the same trail we're looking at. That doesn't tell us how he found out about it in the first place."
    "How could they know who I am?"
    "Someone sent him who knows who you are and what you're doing here. It has to be someone who knows about the Project. Plus they have to be able to get someone on the scene here the same day you arrive. That means first rate organization and intel. It could be an Agency. CIA, DIA, someone like that."
    She sighed and pushed her plate away. "Nothing is ever simple in this job, is it?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    "Come."
    The man who entered Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky's office was tall. He wore a dark blue suit. He moved with contained energy, like a controlled explosion. He was handsome in a hard way, with blond hair cropped close to his skull. A small enameled flag of the Russian Federation gleamed on his jacket lapel. There was a small scar on his chin.
    His eyes were cold blue, the eyes of a man who knew what he was and was afraid of nothing. He had the kind of military look found on recruiting posters. A hint of reddish shadow colored his jaw. His name was Arkady Korov.
    He was dedicated and intelligent and lethal, everything an officer of Zaslon was supposed to be. If you wanted a robot there were plenty who could fill that role, but Korov wasn't one of them. He was