Clive Cussler: Wrath of Poseidon

Sam’s blood turned to ice.

Remi was in trouble.

He scrawled Adrian Kyril’s name on the board, then pointed toward the surface. As they started their ascent, Sam saw two divers silhouetted above. Both carried what, at first glance, looked like metal detectors, something that members of the archeological team might carry.

Except if he was right about Remi’s warning, they weren’t archeologists—and those were not metal detectors.

They were pneumatic spearguns.

He grabbed Nikos’s arm, pulling him back toward the bottom, then pushing him toward a rock about a yard wide. The octopus they’d seen earlier scuttled out and darted across the rounded edge of the platelike object Nikos had been dusting. Sam reached down, grasped the edge, tugging it from the sand. A cloud of silt swept up as he freed the object. It looked like a large round platter encrusted with centuries of buildup.

Sam held it with both hands as one of Kyril’s men stopped swimming, then aimed. The spear shot through the water, hitting the platter. Bits of concretion broke off, floating to the seafloor. The second diver aimed before Sam had a chance to move. He swung his makeshift shield, the water slowing its path. The spear glanced off it, almost knocking the plate from Sam’s hands.

The two men started to reload. Sam, seeing his chance, shoved the plate toward Nikos, then swam toward them. He reached the first diver, who was struggling with his speargun. Sam gripped the end of it, trying to pull it from the man’s grasp. The diver kicked out, then fired, as Sam jerked the barrel upward, the shot going wide. Sam wrested the speargun, dropped it, then grabbed the man by both wrists.

As they struggled, the diver brought up his knees to Sam’s chest, pushing out. Sam kept his hold on the attacker and wrapped both legs around the man’s waist, squeezing tight. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other man, his speargun loaded, aiming it at them. Sam held his thighs around the diver, then, twisting, forced him around. The man jerked, then suddenly went limp, the spear piercing through his side.

A thin cloud of blood drifted outward as Sam let the body go. He saw the second diver toss the now useless gun. The man drew his dive knife and started swimming straight toward Sam.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

Time seemed to fragment as Remi stood on the deck next to Dimitris, counting the minutes after Kyril’s men dove into the water to bring up Sam and Nikos. She knew her husband, knew his capabilities, but try as she might, she couldn’t control her growing fear that, when she’d left him, he had only about ten minutes of air left in his tank, and he’d now been down there for twenty minutes.

Adrian Kyril, gun in hand, paced the deck, every now and then stopping to look over the side into the water. After another five minutes went by, he turned to Remi. “Tell your husband that if he fails to come up, I’ll kill the both of you and everyone on board the Odysseus .”

When she didn’t move, he grabbed her by her arm, forcing her back into the cabin.

He pressed the gun into her ribs. “It doesn’t much matter who I kill first. The choice is yours.”

Hand shaking from adrenaline, she picked up the microphone, and keyed it. “Sam . . . Are you there . . . ?” The several seconds of following silence were punctuated by the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. “Sam . . . ? Come in . . . please.”

Adrian grabbed the microphone from her. A few more seconds passed by. “Why isn’t he answering?”

“I don’t know. Let me try again.”

“I’m done with the niceties.” He keyed the mic. “Fargo? I have your wife. If you don’t make an appearance in the next five minutes, I’ll kill her and everyone on board the Odysseus , too.” He tossed the microphone onto the radio, grabbed her by the shoulder, and pushed her out of the cabin. “You had better hope he comes to his senses.”

With Adrian close behind her, Remi crossed the deck toward Dimitris. Although the late-afternoon sun lit up the crystal clear depths several meters down, the sea was too deep to see where Sam and Nikos had been diving.

“Something’s wrong,” Ilya said. “They should be back by now.”

Adrian moved next to Remi. He peered over the railing, then turned toward Ilya. “What should we do?”

Ilya’s dead gaze landed on Remi. “We wait.”

The Asteri rocked gently as Remi leaned over the side, her focus on the turquoise water, seeing nothing but the sun reflecting off the surface. She knew her husband, knew he would survive. Even so, she worried. Both Ilya and Fayez stood ready to shoot the moment Sam and Nikos surfaced.

Five minutes went by.

They should have been up by now.

Adrian gripped her arm. “Where is he?”

Remi glanced at Dimitris. His expression mirrored her own.

“Look!” Dimitris pointed to a froth of air bubbles.

Someone was breathing down there.

A moment later, two dark forms started to take shape, rising to the surface.

Ilya and Fayez aimed their weapons.

Adrian grabbed Remi’s arm. “No!” she shouted, struggling to pull away.

The divers broke the surface and the men fired. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

Her heart jumped with each shot.

“Enough!” Adrian said.

The two divers floated facedown, Sam’s tank bobbing above on the left, and Nikos’s, with the Fourni logo, on the right.

Remi’s gut twisted, her knees going weak as she stared at the two dead men.

Neither was Sam or Nikos.

Dimitris stared in shock, his gaze moving from the bodies to Remi, undoubtedly realizing the same thing. They’d switched out the tanks. Drawing her gaze from the water, she threw herself against Dimitris, burying her head into his shoulder, trying to appear the grieving wife—until Ilya said, “We can’t leave the bodies there. Evidence.”

“Fish them out,” Adrian said.

That was the last thing they needed. Remi pushed away from Dimitris, facing Adrian. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious about what—if anything—we found down there? Poseidon’s Trident. That’s what you were looking for when you killed Tassos, wasn’t it?”

“Did you really think that’s why I’m here?” Adrian studied her a moment, his brows rising. “I came back for one reason. I want nothing more than to see your husband decaying at the bottom of the sea, and for you to suffer for it.”

Apparently, she and Sam had totally miscalculated Adrian’s lust for that treasure.

Somehow, she was going to have to rekindle it. “The gold was never on the island. The pirates who helped steal it were double-crossed by Pactyes.”

Adrian, about to turn away, stopped. “Double-crossed by Pactyes? What are you talking about?”

“The pirates,” Remi said, “who helped steal the gold from King Cyrus. They thought it was buried on Poseidon’s Trident, but it was on board their ship the whole time.” She pulled the mesh bag from her dive belt, then tossed it on the ground at his feet. “It’s in there.”

He stared at it a moment, as though suspecting some sort of trick. Finally, he bent down, and picking it up, opened it. When he reached in, pulling out the gold piece, and holding it up, his breath caught at the sight of the gleaming golden lion’s head. “You found this . . . down there?”

She nodded. “It’s the gold from Poseidon’s Trident. And there’s a lot more where that came from. But you’re going to need us to find it.”

“She’s right,” Dimitris said. “It’s not out in the open.”

“You truly expect me to believe that? When your boat is anchored almost on top of it?” He smiled, tucking the coin in his pocket.

Ilya’s phone rang. He answered it, listening, his eyes flicking across Remi and Dimitris, then landing on Adrian. “Gianni wants to know how much longer.”