Carolyn Keene - Greek Odyssey

Nancy grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “If he is involved with those people, we can’t afford to confront him while we’re out on the open sea.”

“Good point.” Mick took her hand and settled in for the ride.

Nearly an hour later, as they arrived in Mykonos’s harbor, Nancy held up one of the cushions and said to Theo, “These are nice. But what do those letters say?”

“Those are the markings of the Sea Star ,” Theo replied. He threw a line around a wooden stanchion in the marina, then turned to Nancy and traced the handwritten symbols on the cushion. “The name is also marked on the hull of my boat.”

“Do any of the other boats have the same cushions?” Nancy asked him.

“Oh, sure. But not with these markings—at least, they shouldn’t,” Theo said sternly. “I noticed that some of my cushions disappeared a few days ago.” He lowered his voice. “But I think some of the older fishermen here at the marina are playing a joke on me.”

Mick and Nancy exchanged a look that said they both doubted the story. Mick started to say something, but Nancy shook her head, stopping him.

It wouldn’t be wise to press Theo. There were too many questions—about the cushions, about the redheaded woman, about Theo’s presence at Dragonisi, and about the deadly explosives. She needed to investigate on her own before she let Theo know how much she suspected.

The hot sun and excitement had taken its toll on Nancy’s energy, but she wanted to report the incident on Dragonisi right away. Fortunately, there was a police station located on Mykonos’s harbor between a café and a souvenir shop. Inside, Nancy and Mick waited on a bench in a dusty gray room while the desk officer located someone who spoke English.

Finally Officer Rossolatos appeared, with a younger police officer who had short black hair. Nancy and Mick reported the incident on Dragonisi without too much trouble. The only problem was, every time they said something, Officer Rossolatos translated it, and a barrage of conversation—all in Greek—followed. Nancy was dying to know what the men were saying.

She kept hearing one word crop up. It sounded like “ diafevgo .” But when she asked what they were discussing, Officer Rossolatos brushed her questions aside.

“We will send a boat to Dragonisi to look for these people, but please, stay away from that place,” he warned Nancy and Mick. “These people . . . they may be very dangerous.”

“I’m a world traveler once again!” Bess said, waving her new passport in the air as she pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

George and Kevin sat down next to her. “Now at least you don’t have to worry if anyone asks for ID when we go to Naxos tomorrow.”

“Great,” said Nancy. She, Mick, and Zoe were already sipping iced fruit drinks at Kounela, a waterside taverna in Chora. They had left a message at the hotel telling Bess, George, and Kevin where to meet them for dinner.

As soon as everyone settled in, the group agreed to let Zoe order up some traditional Greek dishes that they could all share. Then Nancy got a full report on her friends’ trip to Athens.

“The passport stuff took a couple of hours,” Bess said, taking a sliced orange from the rim of her glass. “Then we got to watch Kevin interview Angelique Seferis! She’s just as beautiful as she looks on TV—and nice, too.”

“I’m glad you girls could come along,” said Kevin. “It made the interview a lot more like fun.”

George smiled at him, but Nancy could see that she wasn’t as ecstatic as Bess. “Watching you in front of the camera reminded me how hard you work,” George told Kevin. “And you’re off to Spain on another assignment in a few days.”

Kevin placed his hand over George’s and gave it a squeeze. Nancy felt a little sorry for George. It had to be frustrating to be in love with someone who was always on the road.

“Everyone set for Naxos tomorrow?” Bess asked, putting aside her menu.

The group gave a chorus of approval. “The hydrofoil is the fastest way to go,” Zoe said. “It will give us more time to explore the island.”

Just then a procession of waiters appeared, each bearing a platter of food that made Nancy’s mouth water. Zoe explained all the dishes, from cubes of roasted lamb, called souvlákia , to spicy meatballs called ghiuvarlakia . There were also platters of dried octopus, fish steeped in olive oil, and grape leaves stuffed with spiced meat.

The platters were being passed around the table when Bess inquired, “How was Dragonisi?”

“Poor Nancy and Mick had a terrible time!” Zoe said, stabbing a grape leaf with her fork.

“What happened, Nan?” George asked, a concerned look in her brown eyes.

Nancy and Mick took turns telling the others about their day. First, Nancy recounted the story of their close call in the cave and of finding the explosives and passport photos. “Hardly standard camping gear,” she remarked dryly.

“It’s an odd coincidence,” Kevin said. “But how could they be connected to the passports that were stolen from the hotel?”

Nancy let out her breath in a long sigh. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but these people are definitely trouble. Maybe they need passports to get out of Greece. They might have found out about Dimitri’s studio and asked him to insert their photographs on the stolen passports.”

“But three passports were stolen,” Zoe pointed out, “and there were only two people in the cave.”

Mick snapped his fingers. “But there were three knapsacks! One guy could’ve been out running an errand or swimming or something.”

“That’s possible,” Nancy agreed. “Someone went through the hotel safe and carefully selected the ID of two American men and one American female—that could match the group hiding in the cave. And Officer Rossolatos told us that American passports are highly valued in the underworld.”

“Wait a minute,” Bess said, swallowing hard. “Are you saying that the woman from the cave is going to escape the police by using my passport?”

“Possibly,” Nancy said. “But she and the others need to have the photo page altered first. That’s why. I think there has to be a talented forger at work somewhere on these islands.”

As Nancy described their trip to the police station, she remembered the word that the Greek police had kept using. “Diafevgo,” she said, turning to Zoe. “I hope I’m saying it right. Can you tell me what it means?”

“It’s the Greek word for ‘flee’ or ‘escape,’ ” Zoe said thoughtfully. “Maybe they were relieved that you and Mick escaped from those people.”

Still not satisfied, Nancy said, “That might be it—but it seemed like something was going on. I wonder if the police have had dealings with those people with the explosives before.”

“Too bad Zoe wasn’t at the police station to translate,” Mick remarked.

“Or in the cave,” Nancy added. “The man in the cave kept saying something . . . shara . What does that mean?” she asked Zoe.

Zoe shook her head. “It’s not a Greek word.”

The table was silent for a moment as everyone considered Nancy and Mick’s close call. Then George said, “Nan, don’t tell me you’re going back to Dragonisi to look for that couple.”

Nancy shook her head. “No way—not with those explosives lying around. I thought it would be wiser to wait for the police to check out that cave. Unfortunately, they didn’t find anything.”

“Nothing?” Bess asked incredulously.

“Hardly a trace,” Zoe put in. “I called the police just before we left the hotel. They found the cave Nancy and Mick described, but the only thing left behind was the remnants of their campfire. They must have moved—and fast.”