Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

He was right, but that didn’t make the news any easier to bear. “There has to be some way we can get rid of these interfering—”

Once again, Phoebe appeared at the door. This time, though, her face was pale, her expression a mix of confusion and fear. “The police are here.”

It was only then that Adrian noticed that someone was actually holding her by her arm. Whoever it was pulled her aside. Four uniformed Hellenic officers stepped in, the two in front pointing guns at him and Ilya.

“Adrian Kyril?” one of them said, looking right at him. “You are under arrest for the murder of Tassos Gianakos.”

The armed officers stepped aside as the other two approached his desk, one to the left, the other to the right. They each took an arm, lifting him from his chair, one slapping handcuffs on him. He looked at Ilya as they dragged him to the door. “What should I do?”

“Say nothing. I’ll call your lawyer.”

—

Adrian refused to make a statement. A parade of investigators came in, each one trying to get him to talk. He wasn’t about to make a statement, demanding he would talk only to his attorney. They left him handcuffed to the table for a couple of hours—as if there was any way he could somehow get out with the door being closed and locked each time they left.

“Is anyone there?” he called out after a while. He yanked at the cuffs, rattling the chain that secured them to the bolt on the table, hoping to draw someone’s attention. “Hello?”

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, an hour or more, when he heard someone turning a key in the lock, then the door opening. The last person he expected to see walked in.

His mother.

An officer stepped in after her, but only to close the door, leaving the two of them alone.

She stood there, her gaze skimming over him, then landing on the handcuffs. A look of distaste crossed her face as she took a step closer. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she said after several seconds.

“Me?” Adrian replied. “All I’ve done is try to protect what is ours.”

“Your reckless and rash actions are putting everything we’ve built at risk. I will not stand by and watch you pull us into ruin.”

“I can fix it.”

“Can you? After everything that’s happened? I don’t see how.”

“I need more money.”

“How much?”

“Enough to pay Ilya—”

“At least he knows how to keep a low profile. You might consider asking him for pointers.” She eyed the chair opposite him, but didn’t sit. “I don’t suppose it even occurred to you as to why I chose to cut off your funds?”

“I can only assume you like to see me suffer.”

“I had hoped that you might discover that if you controlled your impulses, stopped to think about what you’re doing once in a while, you might actually succeed on your own. For that, I partly blame myself. I probably shouldn’t have stepped in and fixed your problems every time you found yourself in trouble. I foolishly convinced myself that you’d outgrow your rash ways.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “I really do think you’ll be better off.”

“In prison? You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” She leaned down, kissed the top of his head, then said in a low voice, “I do hope you’ll own up to all your mistakes and not drag us into this nightmare that you’ve made for yourself. You know your father isn’t well. I don’t think he can handle the stress.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I’d suggest you listen to your attorney.” She knocked on the door. The officer opened it, standing aside for her. She looked back at him, then gave that smile that had infuriated him his entire adult life. “Goodbye, Adrian.”

“Mother!”

She walked out.

“You can’t leave me here!” He rose, trying to follow, but the handcuffs that were bolted to the table dug into his wrists, forcing him back. “Mother!”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Sam stood on the rooftop patio, cup of coffee in hand, looking out over the quiet bay. Although another storm was expected later tomorrow, for the moment, the sky was blue, and the warm sun beamed down upon the colorful fishing boats bobbing in the azure waters.

Not that he was at all interested in the view. The weather aside, it had been a rough couple of days. Remi, unable or unwilling to talk about what had happened on the Kyrils’ island, was having a difficult time navigating the onslaught of emotions. The few times Sam had tried to get her to open up, she immediately changed the subject. If anything, she seemed to be pulling back from him. He knew the emotional toll that a major traumatic event could take on a relationship. It was the rare couple who survived, and usually only because they’d been together long enough to have built a rock-solid foundation.

While he hated to think that their relationship might not survive, Remi’s well-being was far more important. And why he’d invited Zoe and Denéa to stop by this morning. Maybe the change of company would help Remi to open up about what had happened.

He sipped at his coffee, then checked his watch. A few minutes before nine. They should be here any time, and he scanned the shoreline, searching for them. A moment later, he noticed the two young women walking on the sand in front of the Kampi Beach Bar. Zoe stopped by the outdoor tables as Denéa continued on. Eventually, she looked up, saw Sam on the rooftop, and waved. “Good morning,” she called out as she unlatched the small blue gate.

“Remi’s inside. The door should be open.”

She nodded, crossed the patio, knocked on the door, then opened it. “Hey, Remi. It’s me.”

“What a nice surprise. I was just about to make some coffee.”

“Make enough for Zoe. She’ll be along in a moment.”

He heard the sound of water being turned on, then Remi asking, “How’s she doing?”

“Zoe? She’s coming along, thanks to Dimitris and Nikos. We were wondering about how you were doing.”

“Me? I’m fine.”

And though Sam never intended to eavesdrop, he found himself rooted to the spot when Denéa said, “You don’t look okay.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Have you talked to anyone about what happened?”

“There isn’t really anyone.”

“There’s Sam.”

“You don’t understand. I—It’s just that—” There was a strangled sob.

“I’ll get Sam.”

“No.” Remi’s too-quick refusal was gut-wrenching. He stood at the edge of the roof, knowing he shouldn’t be listening, but unable to move away. After a few moments, he heard her taking a shuddering breath, and then her words came out in a rush. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I—I didn’t think we were going to make it back.”

“But you did.”

“And I keep thinking about the man Sam killed. That’s why I can’t talk to him. I can’t make him feel guilty.”

“Guilty? About what?”

“What if that man had a family?”

“Oh, Remi . . .” There was a scrape of a chair, Remi crying, then Denéa comforting her.

That Remi would even think that, spoke to her true character. He doubted the gunman would have given it a second thought had he killed any of them.

“You can’t worry about that,” Denéa said. “From what Zoe and Dimitris told me, you’re all very lucky to be here right now—”

“I know. I have to keep reminding myself of that, if not for Sam . . . It—it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Have you told your parents about any of this?”

“Are you kidding?” She sniffed. “They’re already overprotective. If they had an inkling, they’d be on the first plane out.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, the important thing is, you found Zoe and Dimitris, and you’re all safe.”