Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

She glanced down, noting that the bottom of the gorge seemed much farther than it had just a few moments ago. “Maybe I should go back and brave the wild boar.”

“You already turned down that option.”

“You’re reminding me?”

He looped the makeshift harness beneath her arms, double-checking the knots he’d tied. “Try to think about something else,” he said, sounding very calm about the whole thing.

She was anything but. “Is this the time to mention I had a glamorous life planned out for us?”

He slapped at a mosquito on his arm, then finished securing her into his makeshift harness. “Doing what?”

“After I found that Spanish galleon, I was going to write a book about it.”

He helped her over the cliff’s edge. “A whole book about one Spanish galleon?”

“It’s the thrill of the hunt.”

“Off the coast of California? You were there. It’s not exactly what I’d call thrilling.”

She clung to the rope as he started to lower her. “Regardless, my imagined life didn’t consist of belly crawling through scorpion-infested dirt. Or dangling from a cliff. It was going to be martinis at lunch with my editor, who would send me on a fabulous tour, all while my agent sold the movie rights.”

“Think how much more exciting this will sound.”

She reached out with her foot, but it hit air. The movement sent her spinning. “Sam . . .”

“You’re doing great. Easy peasy.”

“Sam?”

And then she was there. As soon as her feet touched solid ground, she stopped turning. Slowly, she moved toward the tree, making sure she had something to balance against while she slipped out of the harness.

Sam retrieved the rope, wrapped the sling around the base of the tree, threaded the rope through the ends like an S , turning one strand of rope seemingly into three. He grabbed the first and second strands, tested the strength, and backed to the cliff’s edge.

Her heart constricted in her chest as he jumped, free-falling for a second before planting his feet against the cliff, rappelling down. When Sam reached the ledge next to Remi, he pulled. Exactly like a slipknot, the sling and the rope fell to the ledge, kicking up dust as they hit. Sam had a firm grip on the rope as it started to slide past. Stopping it, he looked over at her. “You okay?”

“I’m trying to decide if I was scared to death, or exhilarated beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“You can make up your mind when we get to the bottom.”

—

Once they were both safely on the ground, Sam led Remi along the base of the cliff. With no idea of who might be working for the Kyrils, and who might simply be there as part of the first harvest, Sam took extra care making sure they kept out of sight of the men and women who were leading the pack mules until they reached the trail leading to the bottom of the hill.

“We’re going to have to join the caravan to get down to the compound.”

“We’ll have to pretend to be harvesters.”

“Easier said than done.” Sam reached over, touching a lock of her red hair. “This might be a bit noticeable.”

“Says the man with sandy-brown hair. At least I have a solution.” She pulled her scarf from her ponytail and wrapped it around her hair, hiding it from view. “I told you a good scarf comes in handy.”

“So you did,” he said as they started down the trail. At the next bend, they reached a group of harvesters who’d stopped to rest in the shade. “Keep going,” Sam said. He dropped his backpack on the ground, then kneeled to tighten the lace on one of his boots. When he rose, he grabbed his backpack, along with a floppy canvas hat sitting next to it.

Sam caught up with Remi and they continued walking behind the workers who were leading the mules down the trail. A number of men and women had moved off the path to rest. Sam and Remi joined them, waiting for their friends to come down the hill. As Zoe and Dimitris approached, Sam slowly stood and blocked their way and quietly identified himself.

The two stopped, clearly surprised.

“What are you doing here?” Dimitris asked Sam.

“Coming to bring the both of you home.”

“No,” Dimitris said. “Not until we get what we came for.”

“Come sit down with us. We need to talk this through.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Dimitris said heatedly.

Remi glanced at Zoe, seeing the worry in her eyes. “Dimitris, please listen. Just sit with us and listen. Sam, tell them what your friend from the CIA told us.”

“Short version, we need to get off the island,” Sam said. “He thinks they’re running drugs.”

Dimitris dropped his pack on the ground. “We can’t leave.”

“Dimitris, please,” Zoe said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Sam and Remi are here for us. Maybe—”

“We’re almost there,” he said. “I just want to get close enough to take some video. I might be able to find something to bring them down.”

Zoe put her hand on Dimitris’s arm. “Maybe we should listen to Sam.”

“There’s nothing he can tell me that’ll change my mind.”

“It’s a lot more dangerous than we thought,” Sam said. “If they are running drugs, they won’t hesitate to kill you or anyone else who gets in their way.”

“What do we do now?” Zoe asked Sam.

“We go back to the boat.”

She turned to Dimitris. “I think he’s right. You know he’s right. We need to go back.”

He hesitated. “You’re sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Positive. We should never have come here to start.”

“But, Zoe, we came here for your grandfather.”

“I know. But I lost him because of these people. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

He glanced at Sam, then nodded. “Okay.”

Remi was glad when they all started up the trail, earning a few odd looks from the harvesters, who were all heading down to the port. At the first bend, Dimitris stopped, looking panicked. “I left my backpack behind. The boat key’s in it. I’ll just be a second.”

Zoe watched him walking down the trail, toward the men and women sitting in the shade of the trees. Dimitris picked up his pack, then stopped to talk to a man who was holding the reins of one of the mules. “This is my fault,” Zoe said. “I’m not sure what I was thinking, coming here. Somehow, last night, when we were talking about how easy it would be to take a few videos, and maybe prove how they’re counterfeiting olive oil, it didn’t seem so crazy.”

“The important thing,” Sam said, “is that we caught you in time.”

“Zoe,” Remi said. “Your arm. You’re hurt.”

She looked down at the dried blood on her elbow and forearm. “I didn’t even notice. I slipped when I was climbing up to the trail from the boat.”

“The boat.” Remi looked at Sam. “Wasn’t the key in the boat when we found it?”

“Now that you mention it . . .” They both turned toward the trail, searching.

Dimitris was nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Dimitris, blinded by his need to exact retribution against the man responsible for killing Zoe’s grandfather, had hoped to find some proof that Kyril was counterfeiting olive oil. His plan had been to blend in with the workers during the harvest, take a few photos, then get out of there with no one the wiser. At least that’s what he and Zoe had told themselves when they’d concocted this idea.

But now, hearing about the drugs changed everything. Knowing full well that Sam would protect Zoe, the moment Dimitris saw their attention on her hurt arm, instead of returning back up the trail, he slipped down the side of the hill. It was steeper than he’d thought, and he fell twice, scraping his hands and bruising his backside. He earned a couple of odd looks as he weaved his way into a group of men once he reached the lower trail. Twenty minutes later, they neared the warehouses. Here, everything came to a stop as the workers with their mules formed a line, waiting for the scales.