Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

“I will.”

“And you,” he said to Zoe after giving her a hug, “take care of Dimitris.”

She nodded, blushing as Dimitris put his arm around her.

Nikos clasped Sam’s shoulder. “I can never thank you enough, my friend.”

“No thanks needed.” He reached into his backpack, pulling out the holstered Smith & Wesson, handing it to Nikos. “For such a small handgun, that thing packed a good punch. I liked it better than I thought I would.”

“You should take it.”

“As much as I’d love to, I can’t accept such an expensive gift. I am honored you trusted me with it.”

“There’s no one else I’d trust more. I’ll mail it to you.”

“Don’t—”

“Too late. Maybe you’ll save another life with it.” He smiled. “Take care. If you’re ever out this way again . . .” Nikos grabbed him in a bear hug. “There are no words. You are my friend and there is always room at our table.”

Sam nodded, started to walk toward the ferry, when Dimitris elbowed Zoe.

“Wait,” she said. “I almost forgot.” She held out a small pouch. “For you.”

“What is it?”

“Some of the counterfeit coins. A souvenir of your time here.” She placed the pouch in his hand, then pulled him into a hug. When she stepped back, her eyes were glistening. “Thank you. For everything.”

—

His arrival back in the States was the exact opposite of his departure from Greece. No one was waiting for him when he walked out of the airport, or when he finally walked into his apartment. There were, however, over a dozen messages on his answering machine. Two from his old supervisor at DARPA, and the rest from his boss at the supermarket, wanting to know when he was coming back. It was the final message, only yesterday, that got to him. Someone from the supermarket chain’s human resources department saying that, since they hadn’t heard back, they were terminating his employment.

He erased them all, took a long, hot shower, then went to bed.

All the while, trying not to think about Remi.

No way was that going to happen. It was as if the stars had lined up, putting them both in the right place at the right time at the Lighthouse Cafe. And then those same stars seemed to conspire against them. If she hadn’t taken her ill-fated trip to Greece, would things have turned out different for them? They would never know.

As much as he wished otherwise, he wasn’t fine with the way things had turned out, Remi going her way, him going his. He kept trying to convince himself otherwise as he finally drifted off to sleep.

Sam was jarred awake to the sound of his cell phone buzzing on his nightstand. He picked it up, saw the R through sleep-hazed eyes, then quickly answered. “Good morning.”

“You have no idea what time it is, do you?”

“Rube . . . ?”

“Who were you expecting?”

He glanced over, saw the late-afternoon sun angling into his bedroom window. “Sorry. Jet-lagged. What’s up?”

“Apparently, you’ve impressed a lot of bigwigs over at Interpol.”

“Trust me. That was the last thing on my mind.”

“Regardless, word gets around. They want you back at DARPA.”

“I know. They left a couple of messages on my machine.” A truck rumbled past on the busy street outside, shaking the windows of his apartment. Back less than a day, and he already missed the peace and quiet of Fourni. “So, why are you calling? Is DARPA that desperate they’re paying you to recruit for them?”

“After all the news came in from Interpol, one of my bosses thinks you should come work for us.”

“The CIA?” Sam laughed. “I may be unemployed, but I’m not desperate.”

“I told him you’d say something like that. He asked me to call anyway.”

“Pass on my thanks. But I’m declining all job offers at the moment.”

“Don’t be so quick to discount the offer from DARPA. You never know. Maybe you can negotiate your own lab time.”

“There’s a thought.” Sam felt a slight vibration in his phone from an incoming text. He pulled it away from his ear, seeing Blake’s message on the screen. “I’ll get back to you. Blake’s texting that I need to call, A-SAP.” The moment Rube disconnected, Sam returned Blake’s call.

“What’re the chances you can get to my club, say, in the next two hours or so?”

“Why?”

“I just got done playing nine holes with three of the guys I was hoping might want to invest in your laser thing. If you can make it here by the time we finish the next nine, I think they’d be willing to listen to your pitch.”

“I’d have to go by your office and pick up the portfolios first.”

“Whatever it takes. Just do it fast. This may be your last chance.”

Sam flung the covers aside as he got out of bed. “I’m on my way.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

Blake met Sam outside the clubhouse, his brows going up at the unusual sight of Sam in a suit and tie. “Don’t screw this up, Fargo. You have no idea how hard it was to convince these guys that, A, you’re not going to flake out on them again, and B, your idea is worth their time and money.”

“It’d be nice to think I wasn’t wasting my time, either.”

“Just go in there and sell it.”

The two men walked in together, Blake moving to a chair in the corner, Sam to the center of the room. Three men in their fifties, all dressed for golf, sat on one side of a long table, watching Sam as he approached. He placed his phone and the portfolios on the table, shook hands with each of them, pulled out the chair, and sat.

The man sitting on the right said, “I understand you’re working on some sort of a laser . . .”

“Argon laser.” He picked up the folders, about to pass them out, saying, “I’ve put together some information—”

“Save it,” the man said. “Just tell us.”

“It detects mixed metals and alloys from a distance.”

“A metal detector?”

“Not exactly.”

“Explain.”

“Typically, the properties and ratios of argon are used to determine the age of rocks. By adjusting the laser that detects argon in the earth’s surface, I’ve discovered that age is only one quality it can detect. The other is the type of metal. For instance, the elements—”

The man in the middle raised his brows. “Type of metal? As in gold?”

“As in any metal. Gold, silver, platinum, palladium.”

All three leaned forward with interest. “Go on . . .” the first man said.

“As mentioned, the gist is that it works from a distance. Whether you’re searching underwater or on land—” His phone screen lit up with a text from Rube: Just received word. Kyril to plead guilty. Will let you know.

“Mr. Fargo?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Where was I?”

“Detecting metal beneath the ocean’s surface. Definitely something I could invest in.”

“Right. The ocean . . .” For some reason, after seeing Rube’s text about Kyril, all he could think about was the conversations he’d had with Remi. She thought he should be building the laser on his own, not teaming up with a bunch of investors.

Which made him wonder why on earth he was rushing into this.

He glanced at Blake, then the three men sitting at the table, and finally at his phone. There was absolutely no hurry. “I’m sorry. I . . . have to apologize for wasting your time.”

They looked at one another, then at him. “Excuse me?” one of them said.

Sam slipped his phone into his pocket and picked up the portfolios. “This was a mistake.”

Blake shot up out of his chair. “Sam—”

“Sorry, Blake. I appreciate all of this. I really do. It’s just . . .” What was he supposed to say? That a woman who had broken up with him felt it was a bad idea for him to put this out to investors? “I’ve rethought the whole thing.”