Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

As Sam was studying the layout, he heard the rumbling of heavy aluminum panels along with the hum of a motor as the large overhead bay door started rolling up. Light spilled out onto the loading dock as one of the guards walked out, hurried down the stairs, then over to the flatbed truck parked in the middle of the complex. He backed the vehicle against the dock while another guard started the forklift, lifting a pallet stacked with boxes. A steady beep sounded as the forklift backed up, then turned, moving the load onto the truck bed, while the third guard directed the pallet as it was being lowered in the center of the bed.

The three guards climbed onto the back of the truck, two on their hands and knees, examining something at the base of the load. Whatever it was, they resolved the matter, got off the truck, and moved to the loading dock. One walked into the warehouse, turned off the lights, and shut the bay door. A moment later, he exited through the side door, and the three men walked over to the bunker house, two of them lighting up cigarettes.

“Let’s go,” Sam said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He eyed the women as they rose, moving behind him. Had he any choice in the matter, he’d insist they remain hidden here in the ruins. As it was, he was going to need them both to get into the building.

They crossed the gravel road, then ducked behind some low bushes. Sam moved into the trees near the front of the warehouse, and was about to signal for Remi and Zoe to follow, when one of the guards looked in their direction. The man inhaled, the tip of his cigarette glowing orange in the dark. As he blew out a plume of smoke, he pointed to the load on the bed of the truck. The other two men laughed at whatever he said, then all three continued toward the bunker house.

Sam waited a second longer, waved Remi then Zoe over, and they picked their way along the side of the warehouse to the back.

Their plan was simple. Remi and Zoe would boost Sam up to the open window. He’d climb in, free Dimitris, and bring him out.

Remi examined the open window about ten feet above them. “What if there’s an alarm?”

“As many times as they’ve been in and out,” he said, holstering his gun and dropping his backpack to the ground, “I doubt it. And if there is one, it’s probably turned off.”

She nodded, then looked at Zoe. The two women created half a human pyramid, their backs against the warehouse, their knees bent. Sam gripped their shoulders, stepped up onto Remi’s thigh, then Zoe’s. “Ready?” he asked.

Zoe nodded. “Yes.”

“Try not to miss,” Remi said.

Balancing, he looked up at the window, gauging the distance, and jumped.

CHAPTER FORTY

Sam pulled himself up and into the window, then dropped down on the other side. Moonlight angled in, casting a blue glow across the concrete floor and the rows of floor-to-ceiling industrial shelving. The pallets of cardboard boxes wrapped in cellophane filled the majority of them.

Sam paused, listening.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A clock high on the wall somewhere to the left counted off the seconds. Other than that, all was quiet.

He followed along a row of shelving toward the sound of the clock until he reached the chain-link enclosure. A padlock hung in the hasp, securing the gate. Dimitris was, as Remi had described earlier, tied to a metal support beam in the center of an otherwise empty storage area. Blindfolded and gagged, he didn’t move. Sam took out his pick and popped the lock open.

Dimitris shifted, bracing himself for whatever might come.

“It’s me,” Sam whispered. He removed the blindfold and gag.

“Where’s Zoe?”

“Safe. With Remi.”

“I know what they’re doing,” Dimitris said as Sam moved behind him to cut the ties. He nodded to the shelves just outside the bullpen. “They’re smuggling the heroin out with the olive oil. I have photos of—”

The metallic jingle of keys hitting the door at the front of the warehouse startled him.

“Someone’s coming,” Sam whispered. He picked up the blindfold and pulled it over Dimitris’s eyes. “ Don’t move. I’ll be right out there.” He left the bullpen, closed the gate, and hung the padlock on the hasp, hoping whoever was coming wouldn’t look too close and notice the lock wasn’t actually secured.

A door near the front opened. The lights went on as Sam moved behind the next row of shelving, his knee knocking against an open box filled with small glass vials as he crouched. The glass tubes rattled as the guard’s footsteps echoed across the concrete floor as he headed for the office. Sam aimed his gun as the guard paused, then walked back to the bullpen to check on Dimitris. Apparently satisfied that all was as it should be, he returned to the adjacent office space, unlocked the door, then walked past the window that overlooked the warehouse. Less than a minute later, he exited, locked the office, and left. The moment Sam heard the exterior door closing, he returned to the bullpen, freed Dimitris, and the two hurried out the back.

Zoe threw herself into his arms the moment he stepped out the door. “I was so worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Sam stood in the doorway. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about the heroin?” Dimitris asked.

“Forget the heroin. If they come back and find you missing, we’re all in trouble.” He started to push the door closed.

“Wait,” Dimitris said. “I know how they’re getting the drugs out. They’re smuggling it in those unmarked olive oil tins.”

“What tins?” Sam asked.

“They took out a pallet full of them. I heard them saying it was for the Heibert shipment. It was going out tonight.”

“Heibert?” Remi looked at Sam. “That’s the name Rube mentioned.”

“Regardless,” Sam replied, “the last thing he’d want is for us to step in the middle of an Interpol investigation.”

“What about the explosives?” Dimitris asked.

Sam, about to shove the door closed, thought about the two Interpol agents who’d been killed because of an IED on one of the Heibert ships. “What explosives?”

“This,” he said, accessing something on his phone screen, then showing it to Sam. “I couldn’t get in because the office was locked, but you can see them laid out on the desk. Four of them.”

Sam took the phone, enlarging the photo. Though slightly out of focus, there was no doubt that he was looking at an assortment of detonators—not what he expected to see in an olive oil production plant. It was, however, something that might come up in the heroin trade. Especially when looking for a way to eliminate any evidence, should one of their shipments fall under suspicion by the authorities.

Zoe eyed the screen. “Those seem awful small for bombs.”

“They’re detonators,” Sam said, then to Dimitris, asked, “Did you see any other explosive devices?”

“No. Just these. But won’t that help prove the Kyrils are guilty?”

“Not necessarily.” If they had the actual explosive material used to make the bombs, Interpol could test the chemical composition to see if it matched the residue from the incendiary device that killed their investigators. An identical chemical signature would be almost impossible for the Kyrils to explain away.

Had he been by himself, he wouldn’t hesitate to go back. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

This time, when he tried to close the door, Remi stopped him. “We can’t leave now,” she said. “What if this is what finally brings the Kyril kingdom down?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Sam said. “It won’t do any of us any good if we get killed looking for it.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” Dimitris said, holding on to the door, refusing to let Sam close it. “It’s the only way to stop the Kyrils.”