❝There are two sides to every city, the truth has but one...❞
The Maps
The Mystery Begins...
Things in Athens are not going as planned. The city hides a dark secret which only few know…
Greece 1932
When a Swiss banker comes to Greece intent on covering up a secret, while uncovering another, a monks curiosity is piqued.
Athens 2009
Ariadne, a young journalist working in Britain, has returned to Athens to interview the Greek prime minister. But everything is not as it seems…
The city of Athens
In a desperate attempt to reveal the truth behind a 3000 year old mystery, Ariadne will not only need to outrun the police, but also travel to ancient archaeological sites and back in time…
Dark Athens
Athens hides a secret in its streets, on its buildings… in its monuments. And in an attempt to save her life, and the life of those she loves, Ariadne will have to discover the secrets her city hides, but also those her family has kept covered for so long…
Dark Athens
Athens hides a secret in its streets, on its buildings… in its monuments. And in an attempt to save her life, and the life of those she loves, Ariadne will have to discover the secrets her city hides, but also those her family has kept covered for so long…
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“YOU’RE LOOKING FOR WHAT?”
“The Peplos,” the stumpy built man repeated as he held a tulip flask of spicy cognac to the
cave of his mouth.
Mahogany boards, hardened with time, jigsawed the floor while the two men took stock of
their situation. A musty smell of damp wall and pungent cigar smoke clouded them. Situated half a
mile above sea level and with the tides smacking into the shore far below, the cabin itself jutted
outwards like a beak while two protruding girders clung like talons on the mountain’s rocky edge.
“I have no idea what it is, let alone where it is,” replied Minos…
The young woman panted as she ascended the hillock, and hid behind a thicket of verdant
wattle shrubs. The evening cold did little to hide her presence as clouds of breath steamed out of
her heaving lungs. The sound of her heartbeat filled her ears like angrily rung zvon church bells.
Only yards away, she could discern the silhouettes of the two figures chasing her. They were
speaking to a policeman.
“Good evening, Minister Tarsos! How may I indulge your senses this bright afternoon?” the waiter asked as the Minister shifted his gaze towards the alabaster staircase in the distance.
“With a Speyside Single malt whiskey in a Waterford crystal glass,” he replied dryly, cutting the air with his hand. “Naked!”
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