Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

“I knew it,” Remi said, marching over and inserting herself in front of the guards. She bent over, opening her purse with one hand, patting Sam’s cheek with the other.

He opened his eyes, mumbling unintelligibly.

Remi tried to slip him the knife but couldn’t when the guard moved beside her. Instead, she took Sam’s hand, helping him to his feet. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to drink any more tonight.”

He gave a lopsided smile as he staggered alongside her toward the door. “I only had . . . Don’t ’member . . .”

“Let’s get you back to the hotel. You can sleep it off there.”

Unfortunately, as they neared the door, the nonplussed guards regained their senses and started to follow. “Wait!”

Sam put his hand on his stomach, leaning forward. “I—I don’t feel so good.”

“Don’t get sick in here,” Remi said, grateful to see his theatrics had the desired effect. The guards had stopped in their tracks. She led Sam out, then closed the door behind them.

“That was close,” Sam said as they hurried toward the stairs.

The moment they turned the corner, she saw a tall, stocky man with dark curly hair standing near the stairs. He turned around, his gaze hitting Remi.

Fayez, one of the kidnappers, she realized.

He immediately dismissed her as any sort of threat. Instead, he reached for his gun, his attention on Sam. Remi, still holding the knife, opened the blade, then threw it. It hit the wall behind Fayez, clattering onto the tiles at his feet.

He looked down, surprised, then at her. In the second of distraction, Sam stepped forward, blasted his fist against Fayez’s face. His head bounced back against the wall and he slumped to the ground.

Sam grabbed Remi’s hand. “We’ve got to work on your knife skills,” he said, leading her down the stairs.

“Which way?”

“The elevator down to the boat dock.” Sam took out his phone, sending a text to Nikos as they walked.

They were halfway across the patio when the elevator door opened and two men stepped off. “Slight problem,” Remi said, recognizing one of them. “That’s Ilya. One of the kidnappers.”

“Roulette table,” Sam said. “Get lost in the crowd.”

Too late. Ilya saw her, then motioned for a couple of his men to move toward them. To make matters worse, the two guards who’d nearly caught Sam in Adrian’s office came down the stairs, found Adrian on the other side of the gaming tables, then pointed in their direction. Remi moved closer to Sam. “What now?”

“Stay calm,” he said. “There’s a lot of witnesses. I doubt Kyril will do anything stupid.” Unfortunately, the partygoers were more interested in their gambling than anything that was happening on the periphery. No one seemed to notice when Kyril’s men started moving in on Sam and Remi, effectively cutting off their escape by backing them into the corner of the patio near the table where Adrian had made his announcement earlier that night.

Kyril approached, eyeing Remi, then focusing on Sam. “My men tell me you were found in my private quarters. What were you doing up there?”

“Made a wrong turn,” Sam said. “I was looking for the men’s room.”

“Take them down to the dock. You know what to do.”

Remi, worried that once they were out of sight of the guests, they’d have little chance of escape, glanced behind her, saw the microphone on the table. She grabbed it, turned it on, and in Greek, said, “Thank you so much, Adrian Kyril. Is everyone having a good time?”

There was applause.

The guards hesitated, realizing that their group was now the center of attention.

“We’re so glad to hear it,” Remi continued as she and Sam edged their way around the table. “Please, everyone, take a moment and personally thank Mr. Kyril for this wonderful work he’s doing on behalf of the children. And Adrian. If you can give us a few words on what else you have planned?”

More applause as she held out the microphone. The ensemble stopped playing.

Without missing a beat, Adrian took the microphone and waved to the crowd.

The moment he did, Sam clasped Remi’s hand, whispering, “This way.”

With the guests watching, and the guards momentarily at a standstill with all the undue interest focused in their direction, Sam pressed Remi’s elbow, leading her across the patio, hoping to take the stairs all the way down to the dock. Unfortunately, when they reached the lower level, two guards appeared on the stairs below, blocking their exit.

“To the right,” Sam said. Remi kicked off her shoes and hiked up her dress as they raced past a row of lounge chairs lined up along the patio to a small retainer wall built along the cliffside. Sam hopped up, then helped her to the overhang on the other side. He looked down, then at her. “You ever see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ?”

She peered over the edge at the water below. “You couldn’t have picked a different movie? One with a less ambiguous ending?”

“I thought it worked,” he said, glancing back at the guards.

“We don’t even know if they lived after they jumped.”

“We don’t know they died, either.”

“There’re rocks down there.”

“Try to miss them.”

She took a step back. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do you trust me?”

She hesitated, then grasped his outstretched hand. “Yes.”

A gunshot rang out as they leaped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When Adrian saw Sam Fargo and the woman jumping from the cliff, he was close to ordering Ilya to shoot them. Had it not been for the crowd around him, he would have. The majority of guests had found their way to the glass balcony and were leaning over, watching as Fargo surfaced, then swam toward the woman, who was struggling from the weight of her dress.

Just when Adrian was hopeful she’d drown, Fargo pulled her free, and she was able to take a deep breath.

One of the guards raised his gun, ready to take a shot.

“Witnesses,” Adrian said to Ilya under his breath.

“Hold your fire,” Ilya radioed.

Adrian turned back to his guests, smiling broadly as he raised his hands. “I hope you’ve enjoyed our extra entertainment!”

The guests hesitated, their gazes straying out to the water as a motorboat sped in and plucked the two from the sea. Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone signaled the ensemble to start playing, and within minutes they turned back to their gaming.

Relieved, Adrian told Ilya to meet him upstairs in ten minutes, then made a leisurely circle around the tables, stopping to talk, making sure to appear amused at the recent turn of events.

By the time Adrian arrived in his office, Ilya had the video surveillance ready for viewing. He pulled out his chair and sat. “Tell me it’s not as bad as we think.”

“He didn’t get into the safe,” Ilya said.

“What did he get into?”

“I’ll let you see for yourself . . .” He started the video.

Adrian watched, furious at how quickly this Sam Fargo had gotten past his guards, and into his office, by picking the lock. “What do we know about this man?” he asked Ilya, who stood behind him.

“Not a lot. He bought two tickets originating from a computer in the U.S. But seeing this and knowing what my guard observed the night he rescued our hostages, it’s clear he’s had military training.”

Adrian replayed the video, trying to determine the man’s purpose. He was definitely searching for something. “What about the woman? What do we know about her?”

“Remi Longstreet. Other than another American, nothing that we’ve been able to find.”

“Except that she made fools of all of us. She was your prisoner for two days. How is it you didn’t know she spoke Greek?”