Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

“Not without me,” Dimitris said.

“Me too.” Remi looked at Sam. Whatever vulnerability he’d seen earlier was now shuttered. “Are you in? You don’t really want to leave the three of us to fend for ourselves?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sam looked at each of them in turn, Nikos, Dimitris, Remi. “If any of you had any idea the sort of danger you might encounter—”

“Considering what Dimitris and I went through, I think we do.”

He doubted that very much. But seeing the determination in their eyes made him realize that if left to their own devices, they were likely to go after Adrian on their own. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to any of them. “Fine. We go together. As long as we do it my way.”

“Really?” Remi said, a smile forming on her lips.

“Why are you so surprised?”

“I was afraid you’d say no.”

“If I had, would it have made a difference?”

“No.” Then, just as quickly, Remi said, “Okay, Fargo, what’s our next move?”

“I think our best bet is to do a little armchair recon. I’ll lay odds that they’ve already made sure any evidence left on their yacht is long gone. Let’s do our research on the Kyrils. Remi, you start online. Niko, Dimitris, hit up any sort of town archives or records you can find.”

The web was filled with article after article on the Kyril family, their olive oil exporting business, and how much they constantly donated to the community from their family charity.

After a couple of hours, Remi closed the lid on her laptop. “If I read one more story on how much the people in Greece love the Kyrils, I’m likely to toss this thing across the room.”

Nikos shook his head. “I’ve lived here my entire life. For as long as I can remember, that family has ingratiated themselves into the community. The Kyrils can do no wrong. They might as well be gods living on Olympus.”

“What we need,” Remi said, “is to find their Achilles’ heel.”

Sam, who’d been using one of the foundation’s computers, leaned back in his chair as he studied the picture of the Kyrils’ cliffside home. “What about a trip to this island? If we’re lucky, one of the locals will know something.”

—

Nikos piloted the Asteri to Patmos, a two-hour boat drive from Fourni. He motored along the west side of the island, then slowed, pointing. “That is Adrian Kyril’s villa.”

Sam aimed his binoculars, focusing on the spectacular cliff-top home. A boat dock at water level was secured with an iron gate. One could take a lift up to the house, or take the stairs cut into the cliff. From what he could see, there were three levels. The lowest was a manicured garden, the middle was one long patio with a row of lounge chairs for sunbathing, and the third an infinity pool set in front of a two-story house with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Aegean.

“That family,” Sam said, handing the binoculars to Remi, “has some serious money.”

She peered through the glasses, then nodded. “That is truly beautiful, except for the one . . . no, three guards patroling.”

Sam studied the layout. “Whether we come in by boat or by land, we’re going to have a hard time getting into that villa without being seen.”

Dimitris pointed to the north of the house. “What if we came in from the side? The neighbor’s villa?”

Sam shook his head. The cliff jutted out between both properties, creating a natural rock barrier. “I’d hate to try scaling something that sheer, especially at night.” He signaled for Nikos to motor past. The last thing they needed was to be spotted by one of Kyril’s guards, especially while piloting the same boat that Dimitris and Remi were kidnapped from.

Back at the Fourni archeological office, they returned to the computers. Nikos asked, “If you managed to get into his house, what exactly would you be looking for?”

“That, my friend, is a very good question.” Sam continued looking at the villa. “Those people went to a lot of trouble to make sure Remi and Dimitris didn’t escape. We need to find out why. The question is how.”

“You’re not thinking of breaking in, are you?” Remi asked.

“Only as a last resort.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What if you get caught? In a foreign country? There’s got to be a way to get in legally.”

“I can’t think of any offhand.”

“Door-to-door sales? Pretending to take a survey? Something . ”

“First and foremost, it’s got to be safe,” he said as his phone buzzed with a text message. “It’s Rube . . . ‘Selma Wondrash’ . . . ?”

“Who?”

“Apparently . . . ” He read the text. “Someone who works for the Library of Congress’s Special Collections Directorate. I asked him for the name of a good researcher.”

“Researching what?” she asked.

“The Kyrils.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sam called the number Rube had provided. “Ms. Wondrash? A mutual acquaintance, Rubin Haywood, recommended you as someone who was good at tracking down obscure information.”

“Research is a particular passion of mine,” she said, her Hungarian accent thick. “What is it you are hoping to learn, Mr. Fargo?”

“I’m looking for any and all information you can find on someone named Adrian Kyril. Rich businessman, based out of Greece.”

He heard the rapid click of a keyboard in the background as she said, “Olive oil exporter. Lives on the island of Patmos in Greece. And you need this information for?”

“He kidnapped some friends of mine—they’re fine—but we’re worried he may come after them again. I need to find some way to get close to him. Bonus points if I can find a legal way to get into his house,” he added, feeling Remi’s gaze on him. “About payment.”

The keyboard clicking stopped. A moment later, she said, “Twenty dollars an hour. So far, you owe me thirty-three cents.”

“Pardon?”

“Adrian Kyril is hosting a fundraiser for underprivileged youth in two days at his villa. Casino Couples Night. Tickets are seventy-five hundred for singles, and ten thousand for couples.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Let me know.”

He disconnected, telling them what Selma had discovered.

Remi looked suitably impressed. “Do you realize that I spent two hours on that computer and came up with nothing? Whoever she is, you should keep her on speed dial.”

“That still doesn’t get us in the door.”

She took a deep breath. “I could ask my parents for the money.”

The hesitant look in her green eyes bothered him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, really,” she said, making him think it was quite the opposite. “Except that, after the kidnapping, my parents have suddenly become overprotective.”

“Understandable.”

“Let’s just say that they’re very good at getting things their way.”

“Apparently that runs in the family.” He was glad to see the spark return to her eyes. “But asking them won’t be necessary.”

“But, Sam . . . you . . .” Remi started.

Sam quickly said, “I’ve got my slush fund for just such occasions.”

“This fundraiser,” Nikos said. “Even if we do get the money, do you think that’s a good option? It might be dangerous. Perhaps we should rethink this.”

Sam, hoping Remi would be amenable to calling the whole thing off, since it was someone else suggesting it, said, “Good point. We don’t know what to expect.”

“But,” she said, “it’ll be worth every penny if it gets to the truth.”

“It’ll be cheaper if I go alone,” he said, deciding to give one more shot at talking her out of going.