Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

Adrian returned the field glasses to Ilya. “Make sure it didn’t. We don’t need any more witnesses.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

A flock of gray-and-black hooded crows swooped from below, then arced skyward. Remi lifted her camera—heavy from the telephoto lens borrowed from the archeological society—to capture their flight, then realized there were three people standing on the hill below them. No doubt that’s what sent the birds flying, she thought, pressing the shutter as the flock twisted into a magnificent pattern against the blue sky.

Instead of the familiar click, nothing happened.

“Did you get the shot of the murder?” Dimitris, a young man in his twenties with an affable smile, olive complexion, and a head of dark hair, stood next to her, staring up at the sky, his hand covering his eyes against the bright sun.

“Murder?”

“Yes, that’s what a group of crows is called. You can thank Homer for the name.”

“Wow.” Remi shook her head. “I’ve heard of a flock, a skein, even a parliament of owls. Never . . .” She looked at the screen on the back of the camera, dismayed to see a MEMORY FULL notification. “Darn it. No.”

“There’ll be others. Fourni is full of beauty.”

Pulling out the memory card, she stuffed it in her pocket, then took out a new card, inserting it into the slot. “Just my luck. Probably could’ve won a National Geographic photo contest with that shot.”

“But you know what you saw.” He tapped his temple, smiling as she took more photos of the sea that shimmered in hues of light to dark turquoise in the early-morning sun.

“You’re right. It was worth the hike up.” The vista, overlooking the Aegean, was—to use a clichéd phrase—picture postcard perfect. To the right, she could see the small village of Chrysomilia. To the left, a partial view of the main village of Fourni, its classic white houses trimmed in blue, terraced on the hills overlooking the port. “The view is amazing.”

“The best in all of Fourni. My friend Denéa always says gods and grapes have the best view.” He pointed. “You can see the island of Thimena over there, and on the other side, Samos, where you took the ferry to get here. When it’s very clear, you can even see Turkey.”

They continued hiking up the steep hill, then stopped in front of a sheer rock face. Dimitris pointed out a carving. It looked like a wreath or a sun about a foot in diameter. Beneath it was an inscription.

“Do you know what it says?” Remi asked.

“I don’t think anyone knows. It’s centuries old.”

Remi took pictures from every angle. Finally, she looked back to where the birds had flown from and saw three men standing there. She distinctly remembered seeing four men and wondered where the other had gone.

After several minutes, Dimitris looked at his watch. “We should get going. I need to drop something off at the post office before we head out.”

They picked their way along a worn goat path of exposed stone that created natural steps down the steep hillside. The melodic tinkling of goat bells carried across in the wind, the animals hidden behind the dense brush of junipers growing in the area. Eventually, they reached the dirt road where Dimitris had left his scooter. Remi slung her tote over her shoulder, then climbed on behind him, holding tight as he drove up to the gate, a trail of dust kicking up behind them, until they reached the paved serpentine road that led back to Fourni.

They parked near the port, then walked along the dock to the Asteri , a twenty-three-meter shallow draft survey boat, where Dimitris had left his satchel. It was only a short stroll from there to the post office, so Remi decided to leave the camera bag on the boat. From the port, the two crossed the street to the narrow, gray-flagstone street, surrounded on both sides with shops, some still closed at the early hour. Many of the shopkeepers sat in chairs out front, some watching over young children running up and down the street, others chatting with their neighbors or simply enjoying the warmth of the sun.

At the post office, a young woman with deep brown hair worn in loose curls about her shoulders looked up as they entered. The moment she saw Dimitris, her dark eyes lit up, and a shy smile played at her mouth.

Curious, Remi glanced at Dimitris, who was busy pulling a large manila envelope from his satchel. He glanced at the young woman and seemed to lose his train of thought. “Zoe . . .”

“You want to mail this?” she asked.

He nodded and handed the envelope to her. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Letha’s sick.” She set the envelope on the scale to verify the weight. “Anything else?”

He shook his head, handing her the money.

She stamped the face of the envelope, glanced past him, and saw Remi. “This is your friend from America?”

“Yes,” Dimitris said. “Remi Longstreet, my friend Zoe Gianakos.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Remi said, shaking her hand.

“Welcome to Fourni.” Zoe turned her attention back to Dimitris, her dark eyes looking worried. “You haven’t seen my grandfather, have you?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just that he’s been acting very secretive these last few days. He took off very early this morning, saying something about a big job that he expected to bring in enough money to buy a new fishing boat.” She glanced at Remi, adding, “He’s known for his tall tales around here. This time it’s about finding Poseidon’s Trident.”

“An old fisherman’s tale,” Dimitris explained to Remi. “Pirates and treasure. A few islanders believe they’re descended from the pirates who stole it.”

“My grandfather included.” Zoe gave a troubled sigh. “I really thought he was over all that. Disappearing for days at a time, searching . . .”

Dimitris took the receipt she handed him. “He’ll be fine. The island’s not that big. He always comes back.”

She nodded, then smiled as she looked at Remi. “I hope you enjoy your visit here.”

“Thank you. So far, I’m enjoying it very much.”

Dimitris started for the door, then looked back at Zoe. “We’re going to Skavos’s for coffee before heading out. Would you like something?”

“No, thank you. Do me a favor, though? Ask if anyone knows what my grandfather is up to?”

“I will.”

As they left the post office Remi asked, “Have you known Zoe long?”

“All my life. She was my childhood sweetheart. Still is,” he said, blushing. “I mean, my girl.”

They walked down to Skavos’s café. Centrally located on the main street with a partial view of the port, the shade-dappled patio was filled with small tables and colorful ladder-back chairs. They ordered two Greek coffees inside at the bar, then sat outside. When Skavos, the owner, brought the coffee, he placed two demitasse cups on the table. Dimitris took the moment to ask about Zoe’s grandfather.

The tall man regarded him for a moment, then stared down into the rich foam at the top of the briki . He slowly poured the coffee into each cup, making sure the grounds remained in the pot. Looking back at Dimitris, he shrugged. “Who’s to say where Tassos goes? Zoe worries, he always comes back.” Remi noted it was said with affection, and he assured Dimitris that he’d keep an eye out.

A half hour later they were boarding the Asteri when Remi noticed the camera bag, which she’d left hung over the seat back, had fallen to the deck. The moment she picked it up, she realized it was far too light. She looked inside and her heart sank. “The camera. It’s gone.”

CHAPTER NINE

Dimitris glanced over as Remi held up the empty bag. “This is Fourni. I can’t believe this,” he said. “Nothing ever happens here.”