Wednesday 7:38 P.M.

"Michael! And Eva! Again, after so long. _Pos iste!_ What a surprise!"

The old Greek's sunburned face widened into a smile, his gray mustache opening above his last good teeth. "_Parakalo_, you must come in for a glass of _raki_ and some of Adriana's _meze_. She would never forgive me."

They'd dropped by the hotel, then come here. Although Zeno's small taverna was in the center of _Iraklion_, its facade was still country style, covered with an arbor. A bare electric bulb hung incongruously in the middle of the porch, penetrating the dull glow of dusk now settling over the square called Platia Eleftherias, where the evening's _volta_ was just beginning. Once the chaste promenade of eligible young women, it was now a deafening flock of motorscooters, with girls in tight jeans riding on their backs. And the watchful mothers of old were conspicuously absent. Times had indeed changed since his last time here.

"Zeno." Vance shook his hand, then accepted his warm embrace. As he was driving, he'd been wondering what the old Greek would think about the sudden reappearance of Eva. They hadn't been here together since that last trip, well over a decade ago. "Still pouring the meanest _raki_ in this town?"

"But of course. Never that tequila you like, Michael." He chuckled with genuine pleasure, recalling that Vance could down his high-potency version of _ouzo_ like a native. "Ah, you know, Michael, your father would never touch it. You, though . . ."

He beckoned them through the _kafeneion's_ doorway, leading the way with a limp. The interior was dark, redolent of Greek cigarettes and _retsina_ wine. Overwhelming it all were the smells of the kitchen-- pungent olive oil and onions and garlic and herbs, black pepper and oregano. Although lighting was minimal, around the rickety wooden tables could be seen clusters of aging Greeks drinking coffee and _raki_ and gossiping. The white clay walls resounded with the clacks of _komboloi_ worry beads and _tavli_, Greek backgammon.

"But then," Zeno continued, "that last trip, your birthday present to him. On his retirement. Do you remember? When we three were sitting at that very table, there in the corner. He called for a bottle of my _raki_ and shared a glass with me. We both knew it was our good-bye."

His eyes grew misty with emotion. "Yes, coming here finally with his famous son was a kind of benediction, Michael. He was passing the torch to you, to continue his work."

This last was uttered with a slightly censorious tone. But it quickly evaporated as he turned and bowed to Eva, then took her hand in a courtly gesture. The old Greeks in the room would have preferred no women save an obedient mate in their male sanctuary, but traditional hospitality conquered all. "It is so good to see you two back together." He smiled warmly as he glanced up. "Welcome once again to our humble home."

She bowed back, then complimented him in turn, in flawless Greek.

"So beautiful, and so accomplished." He beamed. "You still are the treasure I remember. You are a goddess." He kissed her hand. "As I've told Michael before, you could well be from this island. No, even more.

You could be Minoan. You bear a fine resemblance to the '_parisiennes'_ of the palace. Did he ever tell you?"

"Not often enough." She flashed him her sexiest smile. "But then he never had your eye for women."

"Ah," the old man blushed, "I have more than an eye. If I were thirty years younger, you and I--"

"Zeno, before you drown Eva in that legendary charm, let me bring her up to date," Vance laughed. "She is now in

the presence of the man who has probably become the richest tavern owner in all of Crete."

It was true. Zeno Stantopoulos had indeed become a wealthy man, in many ways. His father had once farmed the land on which now stood the unearthed palace at Knossos. The handsome sum Sir Arthur Evans paid for the site was invested in bonds, which he then passed on to Zeno just before the war. Zeno had the foresight to convert them to gold and hide it in Switzerland during the German occupation of Crete. After the war, he used it to purchase miles and miles of impoverished olive groves in the south, which he nursed back to full production. These days oil went up, oil went down, but Zeno always made a profit.

His real wealth, however, was of a different kind. Zeno Stantopoulos knew everything of importance that happened on Crete. His _kafeneion_ was the island's clearinghouse for gossip and information.

"Don't listen to him, madam." He winked and gestured them toward the wide table in back, near the kitchen. It was known far and wide as the place of honor, the location where Zeno Stantopoulos held court. It had also been the nerve center of the Greek resistance during the Nazi occupation, when Zeno had done his share of killing and dynamiting. The limp, however, came from the fifties, when he was imprisoned and tortured by the right-wing colonels for organizing popular resistance against them.

"Come, let us celebrate with a glass of my _raki_." He turned again to Eva. "I should remind you. You once called it liquid fire."

He clapped for Adriana, who squinted through the kitchen door, her black shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders. When she finally recognized them, she hobbled forward, her stern Greek eyes softening into a smile.

"Neither of you has changed." Eva gave her a hug. "You both look marvelous."

"Time, my friends, time. That has changed," Zeno went on. "I use a cane now, for long walks. The way Michael's father did his last time here.

When I saw him I thought, old age must be God's vengeance on us sinners. And now it has happened to me." He smiled, with a light wink.

"But I will tell you a secret. Ask Adriana. I do not yet need a cane for all my exercise." He nodded affectionately in her direction. "I can still make this beauty wake up in the mornings singing a song."

It was true, Vance suspected. Adriana had hinted more than once that every night with him was still a honeymoon.

"Ah, Michael," he sighed, "I still miss seeing your beloved father on his summer trips here. Together you two inspired our soul. The ancient soul of Crete."

At that point Adriana bowed and announced she must return to the kitchen, where she was putting the final touches to her proprietary version of _kalamarakia_, fried squid.

Her peasant face hid well her peasant thoughts. Almost. Vance had known her long enough to read her dark eyes. She didn't quite know what to make of Eva's reappearance yet. Speaking passable Greek, it was true, which counted for much, but she still wore no wedding band. _Adinato_!

"Michael, don't let Adriana stuff you." Zeno watched her disappear, then turned. "To your health." He clicked their small glasses together.

"_Eis hygeian_."

"_Eis hygeian_." Vance took a sip, savoring the moment. Seeing old friends again, real friends, was one of life's most exquisite pleasures.

"And tell me, how long will you two be visiting with us this time?"

Zeno's Cretan hospitality flowed unabated. "Perhaps longer than the last? Have you finally decided to come back to stay, maybe make us famous all over again?"

"Can't speak for Eva, but I've been asked to look in on the new German excavation down at Phaistos. A project to try and restore the palace there, the way Evans reconstructed Knossos." He glanced over. She was now sipping the tepid _raki_ with the gusto she normally reserved for ice-cold Stolichnaya. "Tonight, though, we're just tourists. Here to see you two again."

At that moment, Adriana reappeared from the kitchen bearing an enormous oak tray. With a flourish she laid before them fried squid and goat cheese and stuffed grape leaves and octopus and wooden bowls of _melidzanosalata_, her baked eggplant puree flavored with garlic, onions and herbs, not forgetting her speciality, pink _taramasalata_ made of mullet roe and olive oil.

"Incidentally, we were just out at Knossos, the palace, this afternoon." Vance took a bite of _kalamarakia_ while she looked on approvingly.

"Ah, of course, the palace," Zeno smiled. "I love it still. I probably should go more myself, if only to remember the days of my childhood, during the restoration. But with all the tour buses. ..." He chewed on a sliver of octopus as he glanced out toward the music in the street.

"Perhaps it should be better cared for these days. But, alas, we are not as rich now as King Minos was." He shrugged and reached for a roll of _dolmadakia_. "Still, we are not forgotten. Today, perhaps, we count for little in the eyes of the world, but your book brought us fleeting fame once again. Scholars from everywhere came--"

"Hoping to prove me wrong." Vance laughed and took another sip of _raki_.

"What does it matter, my friend. They came." He brightened. "Even today. Just to show you. Today, there was a man here, right here, who was carrying your famous work on the palace. He even--"

"Today?" Vance glanced up. Had he been right?

"Yes, this very day. Outside in the arbor. He even sampled some of Adriana's _meze_." He nodded at her. "I did not like him, and only our friends are welcome inside, book or no book."

"Was he going out to Knossos?" Eva interjected suddenly, staring. "To the palace?"

"He asked about it. Why else have the book?" He shrugged again, then examined the octopus bowl, searching for a plump piece. "You know, Michael, I could never finish that volume of yours entirely. But your pictures of the frescoes--" He paused to chew his octopus, then smoothed his gray mustache and turned again to Eva, "the frescoes of the women.

I love them best of all. And every now and then I see a woman here in life who looks like them. Not often, but I do. And you are one of those rare

creatures, my Eva. I swear you are Minoan." He turned back. "Look at her, Michael. Is it not true?"

"Zeno," Eva reached for his gnarled hand. "It's not like you to forget.

My people are Russian, remember. From the Steppes."

"Ah, of course. Forgive me. But you see, that only goes to prove it."

He nodded conclusively. "The Minoans, we are told, came from central Asia thousands of years ago. The 'brown-haired daughter of Minos' was an oriental beauty, just as you are. I'm sure of it. Look at the frescoes."

"Zeno, tell me." Vance reached to pour more _raki_ into their glasses.

"The man you mentioned just now. Was he Greek?"

"No, he was a foreigner." He chewed thoughtfully. "I've never seen anyone quite like him. He had a strange way of speaking. In truth, Michael, I did not like him at all. Not a bit."