Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

Sam glanced over. “Definitely in the face. But Zoe’s sketch has a head full of hair, not snakes.”

He was right about that. Every one of these faces had thick-corded hair with snake heads at the ends. Curious about the origin of the design, she turned to the boy, showing him the mug. “What is this?” she asked in Greek.

He looked up from his carving, his brow furrowing as he glanced from her to Sam, then back. He pointed to his mouth. “To drink. Coffee? Tea?”

She laughed. “I mean the face.” She looked about the shop. “It’s everywhere. What is it?”

“You like this? Everything here, my mother makes.” He called to someone in the back of the shop.

An old woman holding a broom pulled aside a curtain and looked out. She tapped her broom on the floor. Having overheard the conversation, she knew they were Americans and replied in English. “Gorgons. To ward off evil.”

“Gorgons,” he repeated.

“We should buy one,” Remi said to Sam.

“Why?”

“What if it works?”

“You don’t really believe that stuff?”

“Who knows?” She replaced the mug and picked up a quart-size blue pot with what she thought was a delightfully ugly Gorgon face on the front. “We might be pleasantly surprised. I do like this one.”

Sam looked at her, his brows going up as she pulled money from her shoulder bag to pay for it. “A flowerpot? Why not one of those flat wall plaques? We’re on a motorcycle.”

“This one called out to me.”

“Of course it did.” He glanced out the door, then suddenly stepped away from the opening, backing toward her. “While he’s wrapping it, you mind asking if there’s another way out? And you’d better hurry it up.”

Remi took the shopping bag, apologized for the inconvenience, then asked if there was a second way out.

“Remi . . . ?” Sam said, his eye on the front door as he continued backing toward her.

“I have to be polite.”

The young man, witnessing this exchange, hesitated, then pulled aside the curtain. “Through here,” he said in perfect English.

“Thank you,” Remi said.

Sam took her hand. “Our friend seems to have found us,” he said as they hurried through. The old woman looked up from her sweeping, yelling at them as they rushed past, scattering dust in their wake. They fled out the back door, their footsteps echoing as they raced down the street. Sam paused at an intersection, looking both ways, then started toward the left.

“Not that way,” Remi said.

“We need to go left,” Sam insisted.

They rounded the corner, then hit a dead end.

“Why,” Remi said, “do men refuse to trust a woman’s sense of direction?”

“For the same reason women insist on buying flowerpots at inopportune times.”

They retraced their steps. Unfortunately, as they ran past the intersection, Fayez burst out the back of the potter’s shop. He followed as they took off in the opposite direction. They turned a corner onto a narrow street, then into an alley, where, up ahead, bright pink bougainvillea vines spilled over the top of a high wall. As they raced past it, they noticed the entrance to an open courtyard filled with potted plants and a wrought iron table and chairs. Backtracking, they ducked inside. About ten feet away, on the opposite side of the alley, a boy sat in a doorway, playing with several gray kittens. He picked up one of the tiny creatures, watching warily as Sam and Remi hid behind the thorny vines that grew on either side of the open gate. Remi set her shopping bag at her feet, pressing closer to the wall. Hearing Fayez’s heavy footfalls, she looked at the boy through the bougainvillea leaves and put her finger to her lips.

“Did you see the Americans?” Fayez asked.

The child held out his hand, saying, “You pay?”

Fayez scowled as he dug a coin from his pocket, tossing it onto the ground. It bounced, then rolled along the stones, landing at the boy’s feet.

He picked it up, took a step toward the courtyard, then let the kitten go, shooing it inside. “Hurry!” he said, and darted off down the alley.

Fayez started to follow. The kitten mewed, then jumped onto Remi’s shopping bag, swiping its tiny claws at the handles. Fayez, hearing the noise, retraced his steps, and drew a dagger from a sheath on his belt.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

The moment Fayez stepped into the courtyard, Sam grabbed him by the collar and swung him around. As Fayez lashed out with the knife, Sam caught his arm, the two struggling for control of the weapon. Fayez brought up his other hand, splaying it across Sam’s face, forcing him back into the courtyard, nearly knocking Remi over. Sam pivoted, managed to get his other hand on Fayez’s wrist, and slammed it against the wrought iron table, again and again, until the knife clattered to the ground. Remi scooped it up, then circled around the table.

Fayez threw two quick punches, both blocked. Sam landed a blow to his jaw. The man stumbled back, recovered, then rushed, ramming his shoulder into Sam’s gut. They fell against the table, shoving it back several feet. Fayez wrapped his fingers around Sam’s neck, choking him.

“Sam!”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Remi raising the knife. “Don’t—”

She threw. The handle hit Fayez in the side, then skidded out of reach.

Sam gripped Fayez’s hands. Unable to pry them from his neck, he dropped his shoulder, using the momentum to throw Fayez to the ground.

Rolling over, Fayez saw the knife, toppling a chair as he strained to reach the weapon. He grasped it, then slashed out, the blade barely missing Sam.

With the advantage, Fayez rose like a cat, thrusting and feinting, forcing Sam against the wall. “Too bad I missed you with my car,” Fayez said, his dark eyes gleaming in triumph. “I’ve got you now.”

“You may think so.”

“If I don’t kill you, Zenos will.” Fayez, gripping the knife, took one step toward Sam, then caught sight of Remi’s shadow. She slammed her Gorgon flowerpot over his head. The earthenware broke, blue-enameled shards falling to the ground. Momentarily stunned, he turned to her, lifting his knife. Sam grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, pulled him forward, ramming his knee into the man’s stomach, then shoved him into a chair. As he landed, Sam pushed the chair back. Fayez landed hard, slamming his head on the ground. Stunned, he rolled and turned to one side, trying to right himself. Sam drove his boot down against Fayez’s knee, shifting his entire weight. The bone cracked, and Fayez screamed in agony.

Sam looked down at the broken Gorgon pot as he took Remi by the hand, the two racing from the courtyard. “Guess that thing does ward off evil. Your knife throwing, on the other hand, is definitely not your strong suit.”

“At least I hit him this time.” She looked back as they ran down the alley. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“From somewhere a lot safer than here.” They stopped at the corner. Sam looked around it, and seeing it was clear, he drew Remi out. They reached the main thoroughfare, thinking there were enough tourists to keep them from standing out. Or so he thought until he saw Zenos at the end of the street.

“To your right,” Sam said to Remi. “Our friend from the ferry.”

She glanced over. “How’d he know we’d come back here?”

Sam nodded at their motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the street. “We left a giant calling card.”

“Tell me you have a plan.”

“I might. Depending. There was this time in Cambodia—”

“You’re telling me a story?”

“Not a story,” he said, pulling Remi quickly across the street and handing her one of the helmets before putting on his own. “It’s my plan.”