The Lost Throne by Chris Kuzneski Page A

likes as long as you translate for me.”
    Andropoulos shook his head. “No. He must learn to speak properly. It is the only way he’ll get better.”
    “Yes! I speak good!”
    Dial smiled. “Did you find anything on the tape?”
    “Yes! You like. It is good!”
    Costas hit Rewind until the VCR display matched the first number he had written on his tablet. He double-checked the minutes, then hit Play. “You watch! You like!”
    The video was filmed from an elevated angle in the main church. It focused on the poor box and the wooden table that sat at the rear of the chapel. There was no sound. Dial stared at the screen, hoping to spot something of value, but saw nothing. Five seconds passed, then ten. Finally, after seventeen seconds, he saw a single shadow. It crept along the back wall, then lingered in the center of the frame, just long enough for Dial to study it.
    “Freeze it!” he ordered.
    Costas hit Pause and the shadow froze against the stone wall.
    Dial and Andropoulos walked closer to the television. Both men stared at the image until it was seared into their brains. Dial said, “Something looks wrong.”
    Andropoulos agreed. He reached forward and touched the screen, tracing his finger along the top of the shadow. “The shape of his head. It is too big.”
    “Exactly. Like he’s wearing a hood.”
    “Me hit Play,” Costas blurted. “You see more! You like!”
    Dial glanced at him and nodded. The young cop was excited about something.
    He was anxious to see what it was.
    Nearly a minute later, chaos erupted on the screen. Multiple shadows, one blending in with the next, rushed along the back wall like a bloodthirsty horde. Dial stared at the action, trying to count the shadows, trying to make sense of things, but they moved so quickly it was impossible.
    “Freeze it,” he said.
    But Costas ignored Dial’s order. “Wait! You like!”
    Dial focused on the TV, not sure what he was waiting for. When the damn thing appeared, it happened so Suddenly, that he almost missed it.
    Caught up in the excitement, Costas yelled, “I freeze!”
    Then he hit pause by himself.
    Andropoulos stood still, his mouth slightly agape, as if he couldn’t believe their luck.
    Dial was just as thrilled but didn’t get lost in the moment. Instead, he calmly pulled out his camera phone and snapped a photo of the screen. He wanted a copy of the image just in case the tape was destroyed or he was removed from the investigation.
    “So,” Dial asked, “have you seen one of those before?”
    Andropoulos nodded. “In a museum. Not at a crime scene.”
    “Anything you can tell me about it?”
    “No, sir. History isn’t my strength.”
    “Mine either. What about you, Costas?”
    Costas smiled at Dial and said, “I freeze!”
    “Sorry. He’s confused,” Andropoulos said. He rattled off several questions in Greek, which Costas answered while shaking his head. “He knows nothing.”
    Dial moved closer to the screen, focusing on the image. It was a silver sword, approximately three feet in length. The type of weapon that had been used in Ancient Greece. The handle was a different color from the blade—maybe bronze or gold—though it was tough to tell for sure in the dim light of the church. The same thing applied to the man who held it. Only his hand and wrist were visible, but he looked Caucasian or Mediterranean. Definitely not black.
    “Can you play it slow?” Dial asked.
    “Slow,” Costas echoed as he clicked the remote control.
    The image ticked by one frame at a time, yet nothing new revealed itself. Within seconds, the blade swung out of view as the warrior walked away from the camera.
    “Is that all?” Dial wondered.
    “No!” Costas assured him. “Me hit play. You see more. You like!”
    “Go ahead. I want to see why you’re so excited.”
    Two minutes later, Dial got his answer—one that was completely surreal.
    From the left side of the screen, a muscular man walked into view and stood next to the