Clive Cussler - Wrath of Poseidon

“Mr. Fargo,” the first man said. “If you walk out that door now, you’re done.” His expression, like that of the other two men, barely concealed his annoyance.

Not that Sam could blame any of them. “I realize that. And I thank you for agreeing once again to see me, but . . . Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Blake followed Sam out the door into the hallway. “What the—? Do you have any idea how long it took me just to get those three in the same room as you? I promised them you weren’t going to flake out.”

“I’m not flaking out. I just don’t want to give up control to a bunch of investors.”

“Wasn’t that the whole idea? Let someone else front the cash so you can work on this thing?”

“It was,” he said when they reached the lobby. “But once I do that, it’s no longer mine. It’s theirs. I’m just the guy who’s putting it together. I do all the hard work, they reap all the benefit.”

“I don’t get you, Fargo.”

“Nothing to get.” He pushed open the heavy glass door, striding out into the parking lot, Blake on his heels. “I’m going to fund it myself.”

“How?”

“I’ve got that empty lot at Goldfish Point. How much can I get for that?”

“Are you kidding? I could sell it tomorrow for double what you paid.”

“Do it. Doesn’t get much easier than that.”

Blake halted in his tracks. “Wait. What about Remi? And the house?”

“Not in the cards,” he said without stopping. “Might as well put the money to good use. Funding my laser.”

“Exactly where are you planning to do this?” Blake asked, catching up with him. “I love you like a brother, but I really need my office back.”

Sam opened the door of his Jeep, tossing the portfolios he’d prepared onto the passenger seat. Sliding in behind the wheel, he looked over at his friend. “The quicker you sell it, the faster I’m out of your hair. And your office.”

“You’re really going to leave?”

He thought about that last text from Remi. No hint of a future together. “Can’t think of one good reason to stay.”

“And go where?”

Until that moment, he hadn’t really given it much thought beyond that he couldn’t stay here. There were too many reminders of Remi. “DARPA wants me back. I think I’ll give it a go.”

Blake stood in the way, preventing Sam from closing the car door. “Forget I said anything about my office. Take as much time as you want.”

“Can you sell the lot or not?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Let me know when it’s done.” He pulled the door closed, then drove off.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

Miss Longstreet, Olivia on line two.”

Remi glanced up at Marla, the blond-haired receptionist standing in the entry of her cubicle. Olivia, no doubt, was calling about the dinner party tomorrow. Covering the mouthpiece of her headset, she whispered, “Tell her I’ll call her back.”

The young woman gave her a thumbs-up, then left.

“ Lo siento, Señor Gonzales, ” Remi said into the mic . “ ¿Por favor repita eso? ” She listened while he repeated the order, double-checking the invoice to make sure the shipment was as he’d requested. Satisfied that Mr. Gonzales had everything he needed, she thanked him, then disconnected.

Leaning back in her chair, she looked around her cubicle, which, after her time away in Greece, seemed so gray and claustrophobic. As much as she loved the people she worked with, each nine-to-five day felt like a lifetime—and this after only two weeks back.

With a sigh, she started to pull off her headset, when the phone line lit up. Olivia was clearly impatient. She pressed the button. “Don’t forget to pick up the cake. Wear something nice. Your brother will be there. I know. I know.”

There was a second or two of empty air, then, “Remi? It’s Sam.”

“Oh . . . Sam.”

“That excited to hear from me?”

“Sorry,” she said, belatedly realizing what she’d just rattled off to him when she answered the call—as though she’d neatly picked up her life, while his was still on hold. “I thought you were Olivia. She’s worried I’m going to blow off this party tomorrow.”

“With her brother.”

“It’s a birthday thing.”

“No worries. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Her gaze strayed to her desk blotter and the dozens of scorpion doodles populating it. She and Sam hadn’t spoken since he’d left her at the airport in Samos a little over two weeks ago, and she was unprepared for the jumble of thoughts and emotions that swept through her on hearing his voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, actually. Which is why I’m calling. Good news, in fact. You won’t need to return to Greece for the trial. Adrian Kyril pled guilty.”

Remi leaned back in her chair. “When?”

“Apparently yesterday. Rube just called to confirm. He also mentioned that they confiscated the Mirage along with the rest of Adrian’s and his late mother’s assets. Ill-gotten gains from the drug trade.”

“That’s got to be a blow.”

“Doubt he’ll find it of much use in jail. Anyway . . . I just thought you might like to know.”

“Thank you, yes.”

An uncomfortable stretch of silence was made more noticeable when both tried speaking at the same time. They stumbled over their words, until Sam said, “Go ahead. You first.”

She decided on a safe topic. “Did you ever reschedule your investor meeting?”

“Last week, in fact.”

“How’d it go?”

“In the end, I decided it wasn’t for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Besides, I got the idea from you.”

“What idea?”

“To try to do this myself without the investors. The good news—for Blake at least—is that I’m finally moving out of his office. He’s having a goodbye shindig for me at the Lighthouse tomorrow for lunch . . . I know it’s a last-minute invite, but if you’re free, you should drop by.”

“I . . . have that party tomorrow afternoon. Promised I’d help get everything ready.”

“Right. Olivia’s brother.”

“I promised.” It sounded so hollow to her. “Maybe if we finish early enough, I can stop by?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. A bunch of guys drinking a bunch of beer, watching the game. I should probably go finish packing up my boxes before Blake calls off the whole thing.”

“Well, it was good talking to you.”

“It was—I mean, talking to you. Take care, Remi.”

The dial tone sounded and an immense sense of loneliness swept over her. She pulled off her headset, laying it on her desk—trying to ignore the regret and guilt she felt by convincing herself she was doing the right thing in making a clean break from Sam.

They had completely incompatible lifestyles, a fact she was reminded of when she walked into the kitchen the following afternoon, where Olivia and her brother Keith were discussing the sorry state of college football.

“I’m telling you,” Keith said, “I could do a better job of coaching and for a lot less money.”

Olivia laughed. “Don’t quit your day job. You might regret it.” She glanced at Remi, then at her brother. “Look who’s here.”

“Remi.” The blue-eyed, brown-haired Keith crossed the room, his smile sincere. “So good to see you.”

“Likewise.” They clasped hands, then kissed cheek to cheek. “How’s the law firm?” she asked.

“Still there.” He poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the countertop toward her. “I heard a rumor that you were involved in some kidnapping and murder in Greece?”

“Not a rumor at all.”

“You’re okay, though?”