Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

He bit into the sandwich, then checked his phone, surprised to see a voice mail from Remi not long after he’d called her last night. He played it, but all he could hear was the hum of what he presumed was a boat motor in the background. Clearly the call was unintentional. He heard someone saying, “He wants us to get on the boat.”

Then after a few seconds, muffled by the sound of the boat, a woman’s voice said, “Do they want money?” He couldn’t be sure if it was Remi’s voice until he heard Remi asking, “Where’s the North Star when you need it?”

Beyond that, he heard nothing but the rev of the engine. The call ended soon after. Curious and a bit shaken, he called her number, but it went straight to voice mail.

“Blake,” he said. “What’s this sound like to you?” He played the message on speaker. “What does it sound like she’s saying?”

“That Remi?”

He nodded.

“Sounds like she’s on someone’s yacht. So call her.”

“Already did. No answer.”

“But what did she say?”

“Something about where’s the North Star when you need it.”

“Stop getting all worked up,” Blake told him. “I’m sure it’s fine. It’s Greece, not some third world country.”

Even so, he called again, trying to think of something witty to say about the North Star and leaving a message for her to get back to him.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. After all, he had told her the North Star would lead him to her. Two hours later, he called her again. This time, a man answered with something that sounded like “ Yes sas .”

“Is Remi there?”

“No. Who is this?”

“I’m a friend of hers. From California. She called me—”

“You heard from her? When?”

The urgency in his voice worried Sam. “Not directly. She left a strange message on my phone. I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.”

There was a long pause, then, “I wish I knew. Dimitris is with her. We found their boat but not them.” At least that’s what it sounded like. The man’s accent was so thick, Sam wasn’t quite sure.

“To whom am I speaking?”

“Nikos Papadopoulos. Dimitris is my son. You say Remi called you? What did she say?”

“I don’t think she was talking to me. If that was your son with her, he said something about getting onto a boat. She asked if they wanted money.”

There was a muffled sound as though Nikos was moving the phone, then a hurried conversation in Greek with someone else. A moment later, “Thank you. I’ll inform the police. I’ll call you once I hear something.”

“Something wrong?” Blake asked once Sam disconnected.

“It’s looking that way.” He stared at the phone, his mind spinning with possibilities, all of them bad.

“She’s an American citizen. Won’t the FBI get involved?”

“Maybe.” While he assumed that the Greek authorities would notify the U.S. that a citizen had been kidnapped, thereby triggering an investigation by the FBI, he couldn’t be certain. He did, however, know someone who would know—his friend Rubin Haywood, a CIA agent—and he immediately called him.

They’d met almost seven years ago at Camp Peary, during covert operative training bootcamp. Sam was there as part of an experimental program as a DARPA engineer. DARPA’s belief was that it was in their best interest to give their top engineers the same real-world, hands-on training that the CIA agents received, which would allow them to design even better technology. As a result, Sam was trained in everything from hand-to-hand combat to bypassing complex alarm systems. While the training had been intense—and definitely worthwhile in its application to designing high-tech gadgets for the various national security agencies—after he left DARPA for civilian life, Sam doubted it was anything that he’d ever personally use.

He was beginning to rethink that with each passing ring of the phone.

Rube finally answered. “Tired of California already?”

“I need your help.” Sam told him about the call from Remi’s phone and then his conversation with Nikos.

“Forward that voice mail to me. I’ll get someone to translate it.”

“Thanks.”

“And Sam? I know you can handle yourself out there, but officially, I’m telling you to stay out of Greece and let the government do its job. It’s possible there’s a logical explanation. Wait to hear what’s going on.”

“Unofficially?”

“Good luck and safe travels.”

The moment Sam disconnected, he opened his laptop, searching for airline tickets.

Blake leaned over, looking at Sam’s monitor, whistling at the price of the last-minute one-way ticket. He shook his head. “That’s a lot of money for a woman you just met.”

“I didn’t just meet her.”

“Oh, okay. Like, two whole weeks ago.”

“A lifetime.”

“Never. What about your investor meeting? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Blake was right. Sam looked at the jumble of paperwork covering the desk, thinking about all the years of work he’d put in just to get his argon laser to the point where he could finally present it as a viable idea. He hesitated at the thought he was possibly giving up what had been a dream of his for as long as he could remember—investors of that type didn’t come along every day.

Then again, neither did women like Remi Longstreet.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Samos, Greece

Life on the smaller Greek islands, Sam quickly discovered, ran at a much slower pace than anywhere else. He was lucky that he arrived in Samos after his flight from Athens in time to catch the one ferry that stopped off at Fourni, since there wasn’t another until two days later. He boarded behind a group of young men and women, all dressed for hiking, following them up the stairs to the outside deck, willing everyone to hurry and the boat to move.

Finally, the ferry pulled out, and he leaned against the railing, the salt-tinged air blowing through his hair as the boat picked up speed. Had he been there as a tourist, he might have enjoyed the sight of the picturesque port of Pythagorio and the masts of the various sailing yachts moored within it. Above him, billowing white clouds in a blue sky accentuated the white houses terraced upon the hill, overlooking the water, where, farther out, several fishing boats headed in with the day’s catch. Sam, however, paid little attention. His mind was on his last conversation with Rube, whose preliminary investigation failed to turn up anything significant—other than confirming that Remi and her friend Dimitris were both missing. The Greek translator had only been able to pick out a few words on the voice recording, one of the men insisting that they needed to hurry. Another CIA analyst determined that the engine heard in the background belonged to a high-powered boat. They all agreed that a woman did say, “Where’s the North Star when you need it?”

None of that was enough for anyone to confirm that a kidnapping had actually taken place, though they had notified the FBI’s International Violent Crimes Unit. According to Rube, Sam’s only recourse was to let the local authorities conduct their own investigation.

Not that he was about to stand by and do nothing. Sam was glad to know Dimitris’s father felt the same. He’d already started his own search and welcomed Sam’s offer to help.

“Excuse me?”

Sam looked up to see a blond-haired woman from the tourist group standing beside him. She tried asking a question in halting Greek.

“American,” he said.

“Sorry. I figured you were a local. The backpack.” She nodded at the bag slung over his shoulder.

Sam nodded toward a small carry-on tucked under a bench. “Quick trip,” he said.