CHAPTER 3

       Ariadne

      The waters of the Aegean are choppy, as they often are in winter, and the caïque rocks a little as we make the crossing from Piraeus to Heraklion. But after more than 48 hours cooped up in a train compartment, it’s a pleasure to be out in the open air. I only wish my homecoming were under different circumstances.

      Manos Theodorakis is at the helm of the Amphitrite, and as we motor, he talks to me and Cassandra about the civil war that has been waging in Greece for the past four years.

      “I think we are nearing the end,” he says. “Now that Stalin has withdrawn support from Tito, the Communists will not be able to maintain their positions. Already they are calling for Vafiadis to be replaced. It’s only a matter of time.”

      Ianthe Pavlou, who is sitting at the small table in the cabin with me and Cassandra, takes one of the pieces of the weapon from the box that sits open in front of her, and inspects it. “If the rest of the country had fought the way Cretans did against the Germans, the war would have ended much sooner.”

      Ianthe is talking about the Battle of Crete, which occurred in the summer of 1941, when the Nazis sent paratroopers to invade the island in an attempt to secure it as a seaport. They were met with fierce resistance from the local population—most of whom are of the Minoan line—who defended their ancestral home and defeated the invaders. Cassandra and I were only 10, but we had already been training for several years, and we assisted the older fighters by acting as scouts and relaying information back and forth. Ianthe, who is older than we are by 15 years, killed a dozen soldiers herself, and has a thick scar running down the left side of her face as a reminder.

      She sets the piece in her hand back in the box and stands up. “I need a break,” she says. “Ari, want to come outside for a smoke?”

      I can tell that she wants to talk to me alone. I nod and follow her out of the cabin and onto the deck. Ianthe leans against the rail that runs along the side of the boat. She takes a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and taps one out. She offers it to me, but I shake my head. She puts the pack away, places the cigarette in her mouth, and cups her hand around it as she strikes a match and touches it to the tip. When it takes, she tosses the match into the sea and blows out a cloud of smoke.

      Even though it’s winter, the temperature is warm and the skies are blue. The change from Berlin is remarkable. I realize how much I’ve missed Greece after more than half a year away. I look out over the seemingly endless expanse of the sea. We’ve been motoring for only a few hours, so Crete is not yet visible, but I search the horizon for its familiar hills anyway. At the bow, dolphins break the surface, swimming alongside us, and it feels as if they’ve come to escort me home.

      I should be elated. The weapon is in our hands, and it could change everything about how Endgame is played. But the worry that began when I first saw my sister in the museum has slowly grown into a feeling of dread. During the train trip, Cassandra acted as if everything was fine, catching me up on the news from home. Never once did she ask about Boone, or for details about what occurred in Berlin. Rather than being comforting, this lack of questioning has only made me more wary. It’s as if she is trying too hard to make me feel at ease, which has had the opposite result. Equally distressing is that when I asked her why and how the council had decided to send her to assist me, she said only that she didn’t know their reasons, and that I would have to ask them myself.

      “How was the journey from Berlin?” Ianthe asks.

      “Uneventful,” I tell her.

      She laughs. “You mean boring,” she says. “I imagine it was, after everything.”

      She’s watching me. She knows something. I wonder how much. I decide I might as well find out. “What have you heard?”

      She takes a drag on her cigarette before replying. “Four dead,” she says.

      I nod. What is there to say to this? Again I wonder how everyone knows what happened, when I’ve made no report myself. But I don’t want to appear anxious, and so I say, “I hope what’s in that box is worth it. Can you tell anything?”

      Ianthe is a scientist, like Sauer. Her specialty is ancient civilizations. She shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “But there are items in our collection that might be of some assistance. Things we’ve found over the years. We’ll see.”

      She’s being evasive. I can tell by the way she turns away from me and pretends to be looking at something in the water. I don’t know if she really doesn’t know anything, or if for some reason she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what she thinks. I stand beside her and look at the water too. It flashes in the sunlight, and the smell of salt and fish tangs the air around us.

      “There’s going to be an inquiry,” Ianthe says, her voice almost a whisper. She doesn’t look at me. “I thought you should know.”

      So that’s it. Now I know why Cassandra was sent to Berlin. Someone thinks I’ve done something wrong, made mistakes. That I’ve failed as the Player. I’m not surprised. It’s what I’ve been most afraid of. Having it confirmed doesn’t make me feel better, but at least now I know what’s waiting for me when we reach the island.

      There’s no point in asking Ianthe any questions. She’s most likely told me everything she knows. She’s not part of the council, and therefore not privy to their discussions. Probably she’s heard the rumor from someone else. She’s only told me now because of our friendship.

      Now she turns to me and smiles. “I wouldn’t worry,” she says. “It’s routine when there are deaths.”

      I nod. She’s right. However, the knot in my chest isn’t loosening. There’s something more going on. What it is, I won’t know until I’m standing before the council. I expect that will happen shortly after our arrival in Heraklion. They will want to talk to me while the details of the past week are fresh in my mind. Not that I’m likely to forget them.

      “If you two stare at that water much longer, Poseidon himself will rise up and claim you as his brides.”

      I turn to