"Why do I get the impression you aren’t interested?"

        "I’m interested. It’s only that, well, I think someone more qualified should handle it."

        "More qualified! Leslie, you’re the best archaeologist on my staff. That’s precisely why I want you to take this important mission."

        I stared at the bright rays of sunlight that spread across the paneled ceiling, a distinct contrast to the dark cloud of fear that had descended upon me. Greece was the last place on earth I wanted to be.

        Somehow I must get out of this assignment, but how? To lie was alien to my nature and to reveal the reason for my fear of Greece would betray a promise I made twenty-two years ago.

        My stomach threatened to return lunch and my heart felt as if it was a tom-tom. A glance across Bill’s desk did nothing to calm my nerves. He had leaned back in his swivel chair and from the arch of his bushy eyebrows, the frown on his forehead and pursed mouth, I saw he was in no mood for lukewarm excuses.

        Since no plausible excuse crossed my mind, I decided to risk my reputation with the Smithsonian and refuse the assignment. Then Bill’s chair suddenly snapped forward and his hands formed a tight grip on the arms. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I can’t imagine why you are hedging on this job. I could have sworn you’d jump at it. Apollonedes is a Greek surname."

        "My father was Greek."

        "I don’t understand your attitude. Would you care to fill me in on what’s bothering you?"

        "No, Bill, I wouldn’t. I’m sorry. It’s complicated and deeply personal."

        "Be that as it may, I strongly advise you to consider this carefully. If successful, not only is this project vital to me personally, it could be decidedly beneficial to the Institute. And, speaking of benefits: It wouldn’t do your position with us any harm either."

        My uncomfortable predicament graduated into terror. The last thing I wanted was to jeopardize my future with the Smithsonian. I had dreamed of working for this national museum since I was in elementary school. Now that the dream had been realized, I was faced with a decision. Do I risk losing the status I had created within the past five years, or do I accept an assignment that could put my life in danger? It occurred to me that the Greek government had recently placed a ban on all foreign archaeological involvement in their country. I glanced at Bill intending to question him about what may have changed that closed-door policy. His fingers were steepled under his chin and his deep-set eyes were formidably focused directly on me.

        Praying was not exactly part of my life, but some instinct caused me to close my eyes and make a frantic appeal for help from whatever source of wisdom that may exist. Seconds later, and without a moments hesitation, I said, "Tell me what it’s all about."

        "What it’s all about is in here." He handed me a portfolio. "Nevertheless, sit back and I’ll give you the story. I think you will find it quite exciting."

        Still bewildered as to what had prompted me to open myself to this case, I leaned back and listened to a tale that would change my life forever.
 
 

        "On an island in the Aegean sea, part of a marble statue has been discovered," Bill said. "The island is Delos, one of the Cyclades. Are you familiar with that area?"

        "I’m not familiar with any area in Greece."

       A look of astonishment crossed Bill’s face. At first it appeared he would comment, but he went on: "Delos is and has been in ruins for centuries. She is one big archaeological site that has been extensively excavated. It appeared nothing of value was left. However, this recent discovery may debunk that theory. It’s the lower half of a female arm. The hand is intact and what it’s holding is most significant, a silver arrow. We’ll discuss its significance in a moment, but first I want to tell you why the artifact peaked our interest. Through the centuries, a legendary tale has passed down about an exquisite statue of the goddess Artemis. Supposedly, it was sculpted in the fifth century B.C. by a famous Athenian, although his call to fame was not as a sculptor. His true distinction was not included in the tale, nor was his name. Most likely because he violated a prevailing law of the land, that no human could pose for any sculpture of a god or goddess. Also, that no artist could place his signature on his work of art. Well, this artist not only placed his name on the plinth of the statue, he had persuaded Aspasia, Pericles’ common law wife, to pose for him." Bill paused here and with a sly grin said, "I suppose you’ve heard of them."

        "Pericles, yes—not Aspasia. She must have been quite a beauty to be asked to pose as a goddess."

        "That she was, but let’s go on. Somehow, Pericles found out about this clandestine action and confronted them with full intent of prosecution, which was exile. As it turned out, when he saw the statue, which was now completed, he was so enthralled with its beauty he pardoned them both. To display the statue in Athens would get them all in trouble and yet he couldn’t bear to have it destroyed. So he had it shipped to Delos. Delos at the time, was luxuriant with temples and all manner of grandiose sculpture. This addition surpassed all others. It was carved of the finest marble in all of Greece and larger than life. Standing at the side of Artemis was a young buck deer with golden antlers and golden hoofs. Gold and silver were often used to enhance statuary in those days. Apparently this one was well enhanced, for Artemis held a golden bow in her left hand and what she held in her right bears the significance I mentioned—it was a silver arrow."

        Bill’s deep blue eyes sparkled as he concentrated on me. He was awaiting my reaction.

        "I don’t understand the significance of the arrow. My knowledge of Greek history is sketchy, but I would imagine most statues of Artemis showed her holding an arrow. Why would this relic be linked to the legend?"

        "Ah! But there are other indicative features. The marble is of the finest quality and the potassium argon test dates it to the fifth century B.C. The arm is also larger than life-size. Now, doesn’t that stir up your archaeologist’s blood a little?"

        "I must admit it sparks my curiosity. If only it had been found somewhere else in the world. Even so, if I’m able, I’ll do as you wish."

        "Good! I need an evaluation of whether it is feasible to excavate for more of the statue. And, incidentally, you are able. My faith in your judgment is unquestionable. Now, first..."

        "Wait. Are you trusting me with this entire evaluation? I’m not that able."

        Bill let out a hardy laugh, "Have no fear. All I want is someone I can trust to act on this right away. If I didn’t have to be out of town for a couple of weeks, I would do it myself. I’ll join you as soon as I get back. Meanwhile, time is crucial. I’ll explain why in a few minutes. But as I was about to say, first you are to examine the relic. It’s in the Bureau of Archaeology in Athens. The director is a good friend of mine—George Drosines. We were college buddies. It was he who called me about this. Contrary to his colleagues, he always believed the legend was a true story and that some day the statue would be found. You can imagine how elated he is."

        "I can imagine, but as a scientist he must realize proof of its authenticity is necessary. And that I find hard to imagine."

        "I agree. No, George isn’t one to lose sight of reality, except that now he has something to go on. Which brings me to why he contacted me and why it is crucial to act on it now. As you know, the Greek government has clamped down on foreigners digging up their antiquity. One can hardly blame them. So many valuable relics have been taken to other countries. They would like to do their own probing and keep their discoveries. However, right now money is scarce. George hopes that if we think the chances are good of finding more of the sculpture we might help to finance the project with them doing the excavation. Our reward would be a chance to exhibit the artifact on an exchange basis. The publicity could be quite beneficial for both countries. Also, if the base of the statue is found, and if it does contain the signature of an historical figure, the event would be monumental."

        "In that case, even if we think excavation is feasible, we wouldn’t be involved in the operation."

        "Not necessarily. George hopes that if we offer to help with financing he can convince the Greek authorities to let us oversee the dig. That of course, remains to be seen. Under no conditions do I want to make waves with the Greek government. As it is, they aren’t too happy with the U.S.A." Bill leaned back in his chair, propped one foot on the edge of the desk and with emphasis on his first word, said, "Now, something to bear in mind: Until you hear otherwise, the entire project is top secret. Only you, me and a few people in Greece are aware of this discovery. Until there is further investigation, George wants to keep it that way. Of course, secrets have a way of not staying secret, so the faster we move, the better."

        "How soon?"

        "You are to leave Sunday. Your plane tickets are in this portfolio."

        "Sunday! This Sunday? That’s only three days from now."

        "I told you time was crucial."

        Suddenly what I had agreed upon struck like a bolt of lightning. The hair on the back of my neck began to bristle and my temples felt as if someone was hammering on them. Then my stomach got into the act. This is it, I thought. Now I will throw up. Over and over I told myself, Get control. Get control. But it wasn’t doing any good. All at once, two hands gripped my shoulders and a voice said, "Are you all right? You’re white as a sheet." It was Bill. In my anguish I hadn’t noticed him come around the desk and stand in front of me. "Take deep breaths," he said. "I’ll get you some water."

        By the time he returned I was feeling somewhat more composed, but acutely embarrassed. As I accepted the water, I said, "Thanks, Bill. I’m fine now."

        "Leslie. I respect your right to privacy, but your reaction to this assignment has me concerned. Won’t you reconsider and tell me what’s troubling you?"

        "It isn’t anything I can’t handle. Truly I can, but thanks for your concern."

        "Well, if that’s what you want. But if you find you can’t, there’s a number in the portfolio where I can be reached while I’m out of town. If I’m not there my secretary can always get in touch with me. I detect a fear of something but please call if you need help."

        I almost said, "your perception is right." Why I didn’t confide in him, I don’t know. Maybe it was because as director of archaeology, Bill Stanford’s authoritative manner had always intimidated me. Even though at that moment there was a softness about him I had never noticed before, I wasn’t about to go into my problem. Only one other person knew what I was worried about—my best girlfriend—and I wanted to keep it that way.

        "I’ll remember that, Bill. By the way, when does my flight leave?"

        "Six P.M. You will have a plane change in London and about a forty-five minute layover, then a four hour flight to Athens. There’s an eight hour time differential between Greece and here. It will be early morning there when you arrive. George will meet you."

        "How will he know me?"

        "Don’t worry. He’ll know you."

        With that, I stood up. "Was there anything else, Bill?"

        "No. You’ll find all the information you need in the portfolio. George will fill in the rest."

        Bill stood up and walked me to the door. "Relax. I think you’ll find this an exciting adventure. It wouldn’t surprise me if one day you’ll thank me for choosing you over the rest of the staff. Speaking of staff—should you be asked about this trip, just say you’re doing research for me in Greece. Nothing more. Actually, it isn’t far from the truth."

        As it turned out, I didn’t have to answer to anyone. When I got back to the department it was five P.M. and the staff had left. Since I was in no mood to be questioned, I was thankful. All I wanted was to get home.

        I dashed across the parking lot. Just as I was about to climb into my car I noticed how the reflection of the late afternoon sun glistened on the towers of the Smithsonian’s first building, affectionately known as the "Castle". A chill was in the air, but a warm glow blanketed my body. Tension began to melt away and suddenly I saw this situation in a different light. Loyalty to my mother was no longer necessary. Now my loyalty belonged to the National Museum. It was the focal point of my life, the place where I buried the anger, bitterness and heartaches of my life. Heartaches over the loss of my father, anger toward my mother for the pressure she placed on me when she made me promise never to go to Greece, and bitterness over a love affair that dissolved less than a year ago.

        As I slid into my car I thought about Mark. We’d met on a field project in Canada. Handsome, charming Mark. Even my usual introverted personality couldn’t resist him. Within days I was captivated and convinced that I was in love.

        When the project was completed, Mark asked for a transfer from the museum in Canada to the Smithsonian. He told me he wanted to be near me forever. What he told the museum, I have no idea. But in two weeks his transfer came through and with my approval, moved into my apartment.

        Within two years we had set a date for our wedding. A wedding that never materialized, because shortly before the momentous day I discovered he had been having an affair with a co-worker. So ended what I envisioned to be the love of my life.

        I was heartbroken, bitter and disillusioned with handsome, charming men.

        Recollection of past events suddenly turned my warm glow into a shuddering chill. I muttered a nasty word to myself for digging up old woes as I slid into my car that third of April, 1981, and joined the rush-hour traffic through the streets of Washington, D.C.
 
 

        The resonant sound of the telephone greeted me as I walked into my apartment. Let the darn thing ring, I thought. I had a headache and was in no mood to talk with anyone. But the blasted thing kept ringing, intensifying the pain in my head. Giving in, I answered it. The cheerful voice of my best friend and co-worker, Cynthia said, "Leslie. I just heard you’re going to Greece. How exciting!"

        "Not for me," I grumbled. Well, that secret was short lived, I thought, but decided not to question it.

        "Good grief! That’s no attitude. I’ll be right over. You need a pep talk."

        "No, I..." was all I got out before she hung up. I should have known. With Cynthia it was pointless to protest, she read me like a book. Besides, she was right; if it was possible to lift my spirits, Cynthia was the one to do it. More than once her positive outlook on life pulled me out of the depths of despair. Although, this time it was doubtful if anyone could get me out of this pit.

        By now, the headache was throbbing with precision, so I set out for the bathroom hoping an aspirin would help. As I was about to open the medicine chest, my attention was drawn to my reflection in the mirror. Was this my face? Lines where lines had never been, eyes that stared with a haunted visage, and a mouth tight with tension. Damn, Leslie! You’ve aged twenty years in a few hours. Instead of thirty-two, you look fifty-two, and not even a healthy fifty-two at that. Perhaps I’ll come down with some rare malady and Bill will have to send someone else, I thought. Who knows how many other bright ideas I may have conjured up, had the doorbell not rung.

        "Cheers!" There stood Cynthia with a big smile and a bottle of wine. With the bottle raised in the air, she said, "This calls for a celebration."

        "Cynth, I don’t feel like celebrating. I don’t want to go to Greece."

        "This could be just what you need to shed that phobia about Greece once and for all. By the way, what is this mission?"

        "Can’t tell you. It’s top secret."

        "Top secret! Say, that is exciting."

        "Not for me. I’m scared stiff."

        "Well now. I see we do need to talk. Let me open the bottle and we’ll hash this out."

        Cynthia glided her tall willowy body into the kitchen, while I dropped onto the couch and watched her deftly open the bottle and fix a snack to accompany it. My thoughts drifted back five years. Bill Stafford had hired us at the same time and almost at once we became friends, proving the old adage, opposites attract. Cynthia remains unruffled about most everything, while my nature leans toward anxiety and causes me nothing but misery. Then there is our appearance: My five-foot-two height, to her five-foot-seven and her short dark hair to my medium, length blonde. Nonetheless, what we have in common far surpasses what we do not. Rarely a weekend passes that we aren’t participating in some sport together. Tennis, skiing, swimming and riding bicycles are favorites with us. And, then there is our profession—we both love it with a passion.

        Sliding a tray onto the coffee table, Cynthia sat next to me.

        "By the way, how did you find out I was going to Greece?" I asked.

        "Oh, that. Bill called me."

        "What did he tell you? To boost my morale?"

        "Well, he did mention you seemed a bit upset, but mostly he wanted me to be prepared to finish that British job you were working on."

        "It should be just the opposite. Me finishing it and you going to Greece."

        "Don’t be silly. He knows what he’s doing. I’ve never known him to choose the wrong person for a mission. Here, have some cheese and crackers with the wine."

        "I’m not hungry."

        "Have some anyway. Your stomach likes company with wine. Now, about this ‘scared’ stuff. Surely, you don’t think that after, what is it, twenty some years, there is still danger for you in Greece? If there ever was. Besides, you don’t really know what happened to your father. Gee, Les, I don’t mean to make light of his loss, but the danger for you in Greece appears to be all supposition to me. Your mother didn’t say how she came to the conclusion that he was killed, did she?"

        "No. But I always had the impression there was something she hadn’t told me."

        "Does Bill know about this fear you have of Greece?"

        "No, and don’t you go and tell him."

        "All right, but I can’t help feeling uneasy about you. That’s a heavy bundle you’re carrying. Knowing you, you could worry yourself sick even before you get there."

        "Actually, I’d hoped some kind of malady would strike me."

        "Yikes! Don’t wish that on yourself. That some kind of malady could turn into some kind of disaster. If you’ll just stop worrying, you’ll be okay."

        "You’re right. Sometimes I think worry is my middle name. If the Greeks don’t kill me, I’ll probably worry myself to death."

        "Ah, cut that kind of talk. My gut feeling tells me there’s an important reason you’re being sent on this assignment. And it isn’t just for the Institute—it’s for you personally. Who knows what it is. But if it lays to rest this fear you’ve lived with all these years, it’s worth it."

        "Yeah. It also could lay me to rest."

        "There you go again. Knock it off! With that attitude, if there’s any danger, you’ll be a magnet for it. I do wish you would confide in Bill. He really is understanding, you know. I’ll bet he would send one of the men on the staff with you."

        "No. Don’t worry, if things get sticky I’ll call for help. Stubborn I am, a martyr I’m not."

        "Okay, have it your way, but don’t forget the word ‘help’. Now if you don’t need me, I’ll take my Socrates hat off and amble home. Paul asked me out to dinner. Are you sure you’ll be all right? I’ll cancel the date if you want me to stay."

        "No. By all means go ahead. Paul? Oh yes, the zoologist you just met. With your love of animals you should hit it off just super."

        "That remains to be seen. So far he’s more turned on by a Bengal tiger than me."

        "Try growling."

        "Hey! Hey! Good thinking. Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor, friend."

        Cynthia hugged me and as I walked her to the door she said, "Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll call you in the morning. And, please try not to worry, Les. Who knows, you might meet a big strong handsome Greek and fall madly in love."

        "I’ll work on not worrying. But the handsome Greek. That is one complication I can do without."

        Halfway out the door, Cynthia turned back and with a wink, whispered, "Don’t work too hard on rejecting the Greek."

        In slow motion I closed the door and with a sigh leaned back against it. A hollow feeling of loneliness crept over me. I did want her to stay, but couldn’t bring myself to deprive her of a date with a man. Cynthia’s love life had not been exactly successful. A marriage ended in a bitter divorce and a few years later a fiancé was killed in an airplane crash. But through it all, she never lost her inner stability and even kept me in balance when needed. Maybe she was right when she said this trip would be good for me. Maybe I’ve leaned too much on her. If I am ever going to learn to stand on my own feet and keep my balance, it better be now.
 
 

Copyright (c) by Aimee Lacombe, 1998