The monk led Dirk down a corridor to their left, which housed a number of austere guest rooms. A pair of small offices occupied the end, where Dirk could see a thin man shaking hands with a monk and then turning his way.
As they passed, Dirk said, “Ridley Bannister?”
“Why, yes,” Bannister replied, looking at Dirk with startled suspicion.
“My name is Dirk Pitt. I just read your last book about your excavations in the Holy Land. I recognized you from the dust jacket. I have to tell you, I’ve enjoyed reading about your discoveries.”
“Why, thank you,” Bannister replied, reaching out and shaking hands. A tentative look then crossed his brow. “You said your last name is Pitt? You don’t by chance have a relative named Summer?”
“Yes, she’s my sister. She’s waiting out front, as a matter of fact. Do you know her?”
“I believe we met at an archaeology conference some time ago,” he stammered. “So what brings you to Stavrovouni?” he asked, quickly changing topics.
“Summer recently found evidence that Helena may have shipped more than just the True Cross from Jerusalem and that these relics may have been lost in Cyprus. We’re hoping to find clues to the whereabouts of a Roman galley that sailed on her behalf.”
The dim corridor light masked Bannister’s sudden paleness. “A fascinating prospect,” he said. “Do you have any inkling where the relics might be?”
“We’re starting with a known shipwreck near a place called Pissouri. But as you know, two-thousand-year-old clues are hard to come by.”
“Indeed. Well, I’m afraid I must be running along. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pitt, and good luck with your search.”
“Thank you. And be sure to say hello to Summer on your way out.”
“I will.”
Bannister, of course, had no such intentions. Walking quickly down the corridor, he reentered the church and found a side exit on the opposite wall. Stepping into the sunlight, he crept cautiously toward the courtyard until spotting Summer studying a wall fresco. Waiting until she turned her back toward him, he quietly scooted across the grounds, reaching the upper stairway without being observed.
Jogging down the stairs, he nearly tripped on the beggar at the base before making his way to his car. He drove quickly down the winding road until reaching the highway, where he pulled to the side, parking behind a cluster of carob trees. There, he sat and waited, watching the road for Dirk and Summer.
Seconds after he sped out of the monastery parking lot, another car started up. The driver wheeled alongside the base of the stairway, then stopped and waited as the mangy beggar rose to his feet and climbed into the passenger seat. Removing his hat, the beggar revealed a long scar on his right jaw.
“Quickly,” Zakkar snapped at the driver. “Don’t let him get out of our sight.”
90
SUMMER WAS STANDING ACROSS THE COURTYARD WHEN Dirk stepped out of the monastery.
“How’s things in the boys’ club?” she asked with a touch of bitterness.
“Not the frat party you might think it is.”
“Any luck?”
Dirk described what he had learned of the church’s history and the display from the True Cross.
“I met with the resident historian, but he had little to add in the way of Helena’s visit to Cyprus. The place has been ransacked so many times, there’s no archival data left. The bottom line is, nobody has any knowledge of relics beyond the True Cross.”
“Did he know anything about Helena’s fleet?”
Dirk shook his head. “As far as anybody knows, Helena arrived and left Cyprus without incident.”
“Then Plautius and his galley must have been attacked before she arrived.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward one of the courtyard walls.
“Come look at this,” she said.
She led him to a trio of large frescoes painted on a linear section of shaded wall. The frescoes looked faded to the point of invisibility, at a quick glance. Dirk stepped closer and studied the first panel. It was a customary Madonna and Child, featuring a haloed infant Jesus held in Mary’s arms. Both figures’ wide eyes and flat dimensions indicated it was a style of art from long ago. The next panel showed a crucifixion scene, Jesus on the cross, his head hung low in agony. Somewhat unusual for the genre, Dirk noted, the two beggar thieves were illustrated hanging from neighboring crosses.