Mykonos, Greece
Day Five
Stryker put his pad and pencil down on the patio table. With care, he closed the ancient journal.
“What’s it say?!” Sam demanded. “C’mon, you’ve been at it a while.”
They sat on the concrete deck of a Mykonos hotel, the water lapping at their feet. Although it was full dark and well after midnight, the town’s famous windmills were lit up and dotted the horizon to their left, just beyond the boat-filled harbor. The thump-thump of a dance club resounded in the distance.
They’d had to hustle to catch the last ship off Delos. While Sam had searched for the journal, Dimitri had told Stryker that the temple had been moved up the mountain generations ago, and was tended by a few old priests and priestesses. The guide hadn’t known the journal existed, only that if an
