Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

Had the situation not been so dire, Sam might have shared in Valerios’s enthusiasm over what he could only assume was a labor of love. Anyone who knew anything about boats could surely recognize that it had been, a long, long time ago, a thing of beauty.

“Exactly how fast can she go?”

Valerios shrugged. “Eighty? Probably ninety. Who’s to say. I never go that fast. Come, come. I’ll show you.”

Sam hopped in, putting his hand on the cracked leather seat back, hoping to get a look at the engines. But before he had both feet in the boat, Valerios was turning the key. Fully expecting the engine to sputter and die, the twin engines gave a low rumble. Then they roared like a lion.

Valerios clapped Sam on the back. “Like I say, she will fly.”

—

Approaching the Mirage unnoticed in the borrowed old but well-loved cigarette boat had taken Sam far longer than he’d anticipated. The larger vessel was anchored a few miles offshore, the bow facing inland. Two guards took turns making periodic rounds before meeting up again. In the hour that Sam and Nikos had been watching them, both seemed more concerned with looking for threats coming from the island than from the open sea. To make sure their attention stayed toward the shore, Nikos enlisted a few of his friends to drive their boats in a manner that deserved scrutiny so that Sam could approach the yacht from behind.

So far it had worked, and when he was within hearing distance Sam cut the motor, allowing his boat to drift forward until he reached the swim dock at the stern of the Mirage . He tied the boat to the rail, climbed aboard, then made his way up the aft steps, coming out on an upper deck with a Jacuzzi, a bar, and plenty of plush chairs filled with colorful cushions for guests to take in the view.

Hiding behind the bar, Sam waited for the guard to make his rounds. From his observations, the guard made regular ten-minute checks on something located mid-deck on the starboard side. Anything in there warranting that sort of attention was exactly where Sam wanted to investigate first.

He waited for the man to resume his rounds. The moment it was clear, Sam crossed the deck, and headed down the stairs into a narrow hallway. After guesstimating it as the potential location on the boat to keep captives, he worked his way down the hallway checking doors until he reached the last one. It was secured with a slide-bolt lock.

He listened and, hearing nothing, slid the bolt, then partially opened the door, whispering, “Remi . . . ?”

The room was dark and Sam opened the door wider to investigate. He whispered again, “Remi.” From the corner of his eye, he saw something large and square flying down at him. The object squarely struck his head, then exploded. Cans burst out, clattering to the floor, and he right along with them. At the same time, someone came at him from the opposite direction. Dazed, his hand shot out, blocked the blow, catching Remi by her wrist, holding tight. “It’s me,” he said.

She stared in shock. “Sam?”

Dimitris threw on the lights. “Who are you?”

“It’s Sam! Sam? Sam, it’s me, Remi. You can let go.”

“Remi?” He looked from her to Dimitris, then to the open door. “Get the door closed before anyone comes down the hall. We must have made a racket.” Dimitris pulled the door shut while Remi kneeled beside him.

“Is it you? Where did you come from? It is you.”

“Geez, Remi,” Sam said, rubbing the bump on his head. “You did say the North Star.”

“Wait.” Dimitris stared. “Is this the guy from the bar?”

“I can’t believe it. Oh, where are my manners? Dimitris, this is Sam. Sam . . .”

“Really, Remi. This is no time for small talk.” Sam looked up. “Nice to meet you, Dimitris.”

“I can’t believe it. You got my call.”

“Yes, now help me up. We better get going before someone decides to investigate all this noise.”

“Sam, I can’t believe it. It’s you. The North Star. It worked.”

“Is she always like this?”

He took Remi by the hand and led her and Dimitris out. Then he bolted the door behind them, hoping that’d be enough to make the guards think their prisoners were still inside. He’d already used up too much time recovering from the attack and corralling Remi. “Okay, now, quickly and quietly,” he said, directing them to the stairs. So far, no one was coming. “To the right. All the way down, then to the right again. Hide behind the bar.”

He waited until they were safely past before he followed, rounding the corner, coming face-to-face with one of the guards.

The startled guard reached for his gun. Sam stepped in, drove his right fist into the man’s gut, then shot his left hand out, catching the guard’s hand as he frantically tried to draw his pistol. When he couldn’t free it, he headbutted Sam. The blow knocked Sam back into the bar. Blindly reaching behind him, he grasped a full bottle of alcohol. As the guard drew, Sam brought the bottle crashing against his gun hand. The weapon fell. Sam swung again, slamming him in the jaw.

He slumped to the ground, groaning, his eyes fluttering. Sam recovered the gun, then searched the guard in case he was carrying a backup weapon. Finding zip ties tucked in his pocket, he secured the man’s hands behind his back, then his feet together at the ankles. As they dragged him out of sight, he came to. Sam grabbed a washcloth from beneath the bar and shoved it into his mouth.

“Someone’s coming,” Remi whispered, ducking behind the bar with them.

Sam pressed the gun barrel against the guard’s temple, and Dimitris kneeled on his legs to keep him from moving. He struggled against them.

“I have a Plan B,” Remi said. Then, pulling a slim object from her pocket, she held it against the guard’s neck, saying something to him in Greek.

The man suddenly stilled. As the footsteps neared, Remi pressed harder. His gaze widened.

Curious, Sam leaned over, saw Remi pressing toenail clippers against the guard’s carotid. Sam couldn’t help but smile and turned back, aiming the gun, grateful when the footsteps passed by without incident.

When it was clear, he motioned Remi and Dimitris to head down the stairs. Sam took the clippers from Remi and kept them wedged against the man’s neck, buying them precious seconds to get away. Sam waited until they were on the stairs before following them down.

“What’d you say to him?” Sam asked once they reached the lower deck.

“That I had a very sharp knife and if he made one noise, his throat wasn’t the only thing I’d cut.” She glanced at Sam as they climbed over the railing into the cigarette boat. “I let his imagination do the work.”

Dimitris untied the rope and pushed off as Sam started the engine, then immediately opened it up, full throttle. Sam hoped the old boat was up to the task, but Valerios had said that her twin inboard engines could do at least eighty miles per hour.

There was no doubting the moment their escape had been discovered. He looked back, saw the internal dock door open. Within moments, a searchlight swept across the water, over them, then backtracked, lighting up their vessel.

Sam concentrated on steering the boat.

They were midway to shore when he glanced behind him, saw the muzzle flashes coming from the speedboat chasing them. “Guns!” he shouted.

Remi and Dimitris ducked.

He drove in a zigzag pattern, worried they’d be overtaken before they reached the shore. He looked over at Remi, shouting, “How good of a swimmer are you?”

“Why?”

“A wild idea,” he called out. “You two jump off the back. I draw them away. Keep to a breaststroke. They won’t see you in the dark.”

“How?” she asked. “We’re going too fast.”