The Project 04 - Black Harvest

and accents of yellow under a red roof.
    The museum was closed.
    "Where to now?" Nick said.
    "The National History Museum. It was next on my list."
    They'd rented a GPS along with the car. It guided them through the confusion of Sofia traffic and indecipherable street names until they found the National Museum.
    The building was modern in a 70s way, low and clean, a study in simplicity. The central foyer was cool and light. The floor was of polished gray stone. A wide flight of stone steps led up to the second and third floors. Exhibition galleries branched off on the sides. Selena consulted a guide printed in English and Bulgarian. The Greek antiquities were on the second floor.
    The room with the Greek and Roman exhibits was to the left. White platforms of varying height supported glass cases for the displays. The floor was tiled with more broad squares of polished stone, under a ceiling with repeating squares of dark wood.
    The room was quiet and cool. They were the only visitors. Selena walked among the cases looking for anything relating to Erinys or Demeter. The exhibits were arranged chronologically. She moved through the centuries and stopped in front of a case about three feet tall, set at waist height.
    "Here's something."
    The case contained statues and pottery.
    "That's Erinys." She pointed at a damaged statue of a woman in a flowing robe wearing a braided wreath. The sculptor had given her strong, unforgiving features. The corners of her mouth were pulled down. She was looking at something and wasn't happy about it.
    Selena read the card below the figure.
    "This wasn't found in Sofia. The card says it was dug up in Bankya at a temple dedicated to Demeter."
    Nick studied the statue. "Could fit the inscription. Where's Bankya?"
    "I don't know."
    In the car they consulted the GPS.
    "It's about ten kilometers from here." Nick looked at his watch. "Getting late. Let's save it for tomorrow."
    They headed back to the Hilton.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

    Zviad lay naked on his back, Bedisa on top of his huge belly. Both were slick with sweat. Zviad had his eyes open. He was thinking. Usually after one of their sexual bouts he would fall into a short sleep. Not sleep, really. More like a ten minute escape from reality. A ten minute escape for her.
    Not today. Bedisa waited. She knew better than to say anything. Her body rose and fell with Zviad's breathing.
    "Iosif called."
    She waited.
    "The Americans went to Bulgaria, to Sofia. Iosif has gone after them."
    "Why Bulgaria?"
    "Who knows?" He pushed Bedisa roughly onto the bed and stood.
    He pulled on one of the red satin robes he favored. She watched in relief as the robe covered his massive buttocks. It was getting harder to pretend. Zviad's body disgusted her. He smelled. His skin had a greasy quality to it that made her feel dirty. His large penis was about his only redeeming physical quality as far as she was concerned. Iosif wasn't as well endowed, but he could be manipulated in ways impossible with Zviad. If all went well, she wouldn't have to put up with Zviad much longer.
    She felt her abdomen where the baby was forming. It would show, soon. Zviad didn't know she was pregnant. Bedisa was sure the child was Iosif's. If Zviad suspected it wasn't his, he would kill her. Before he killed her he would cut her open and rip the child out of her womb. Zviad would know it wasn't his, once the baby was born. He was too clever not to know. It was the reason she had decided to speed up her plans.
    "There's talk in town."
    "What talk?"
    She chose her words carefully. "You know I go to the salons. One of the women I know is married to a man who works for Rokovsky."
    Rokovsky was Zviad's principle rival, boss of the Russian gangs in Moscow.
    "Fuck Rokovsky. Rokovsky's mother sleeps with diseased beggars who drink slops from the brothels. What talk? Women are always talking."
    "She enjoys trying to needle me. She doesn't know I allow it because I learn things useful to you." Zviad was growing impatient. She hurried. This was the dangerous part.
    "The Russian thinks you are becoming weak. Bagrat's death has not been avenged. Rokovsky thinks you are afraid to do what has to be done."
    Zviad's face grew dark with blood.
    "Rokovsky thinks when a man's family is attacked it is a matter of honor. A man who cannot avenge his brother's death is not a man. She was saying you are not honorable. Or a man."
    Zviad turned and drove his fist into the wall, smashing through the plaster. "This