The Stone of Archimedes (14 page)

“And as soon as they get their hands on the professor, Jake becomes expendable.”

“That's right.”

Kurt Jenkins smiled. “You still have a thing for Jake.”

She shook her head. “As a friend. That's all.”

“Let me guess. You'd like to go over there like you did in Berlin and help him out.”

The thought had crossed her mind. “Not like you might think. I think I should go get close to Petros Caras as a direct representative of the Agency. Lay out the way things will be. Explain that he needs to comply or we'll be forced to end our. . .relationship.” What she really meant was their protection. She needed to give the man her Come to Jesus speech to rein him in.

“You really think you can turn the guy around?”

“Either I can or I can't,” Toni explained. “If I can, we still have an asset we can use in that region of the world. If the man doesn't want to listen to reason, then we'll have to cut our ties.” That would be the man's death warrant, she knew. She continued, “This kind of falls under my job description as a special project.”

Kurt Jenkins placed his hands down onto his desk firmly and rose from his chair. “All right. You've got the green light. Let's see how persuasive you can be.”

She got up and reached across the desk to shake her boss's hand. “I think you already know the answer to that.” She turned and smiled as she walked out of the man's office, knowing she had just persuaded her boss to allow her to enter the fight. What she didn't tell her boss was that if he had said no she would have still found a way to tell Jake through another channel. Now she wouldn't have to tell Jake the true nature of the Greek's activities and his relationship with the Agency unless she was forced to.

●

Cruising slowly down the Sicilian coast in his lavish yacht, Petros Caras sat on the stern deck with a cold beer in his left hand while he peered through binoculars at the city of Messina.

Svetla Kalina wore a bikini and lay on her back with a view of both Caras and the Italian coast. She had not called her contact since they had left the waters off Santorini days ago. Really there was nothing to report anyway. The only curious thing was the fact that they had gone to Malta and not even gotten off the yacht. Now they were back off the coast of Italy. They had crossed through the Straits of Messina on their trip from Rome to Santorini, so she recognized this coastline.

She had caught very little conversation in the past few days. Petros had seemed to get more and more secretive. His attitude toward her had gone from interested sexuality to damn near boredom. She would need to do something to keep him interested in her or he would simply drop her off at the next port with a ticket back to Rome. But how could she force him to desire her when he also kept a crew of young men with hard bodies and harder cocks waiting on him and willing to do what she would not or could not? She could strap one on and give him what he really wanted. That would actually give her much more pleasure than letting him stick that tiny dick of his inside her. And she had inadvertently found his cabinet with his stash of sexual instruments, some of which she had no clue what they were used for.

“Petros, what are you looking for in Messina?” she asked, her tone coming across like a whining wife. Look, notice me.

He set the binoculars on a table next to him and drank his beer. “Nothing at all, Svetla. Just looking at the other boats in port. Seeing if I knew anyone there.”

At least the man had finally learned her first name, she thought. He had been calling her young lady for days.

“Can we go ashore?”

“Why? Don't you have everything you need here?”

He had a point, she knew, but it would have been nice to check out the shops and maybe slip away long enough to make a phone call to her contact.

“A woman has needs,” she said, sitting up and adjusting her sun glasses. “Sometimes it's nice to be seen. To get dressed up. Maybe we could go out to a nice restaurant tonight.”

His head rose up and down in agreement. “All right, my dear. We'll go to dinner. But I also have some business. So you must be patient.”

Patience is all she'd had in the past week. If this man was involved with as much as she'd heard, he sure hadn't shown her much of concern.

She got up from the lounge chair and said, “Fantastic. I'll go take a shower. Would you like to join me?” She smiled but hoped he would say no.

“Not at this time, Svetla. I have to make a few phone calls.” He shifted his head to the side and picked up his satellite phone. “Business. I'm sure you understand.”

Yes, she did. She should have waited a little longer so perhaps she could have overheard his conversation. But now, standing and ready to go below decks, she couldn't just sit down again. Svetla simply smiled and wandered down toward her cabin.

●

Zendo had just caught up with his men in Messina when his cell phone rang. He didn't even have to pull it from his pocket to know who was calling. Only one person had his number—Petros Caras. And he wasn't looking forward to his call.

He was sitting at a small café with a cup of espresso in front of him, Demetri across from him, and the other three at their own table across the outdoor patio devouring pizza and beer.

Picking up on the third ring, Zendo simply said, “Yes.”

“I'm guessing you caught up with your men. Are you still following Adams?”

“We've had a bit of a set-back,” Zendo said as he flipped his long hair away from his right ear to get the phone closer to his skin.

“I don't like the sound of that. Explain.”

Zendo told him about how Jake Adams had made contact with the American professor in Catania, got on the train toward Messina, and then got off before getting there. “I told you Adams was good. He somehow came across one of our men and left him a bit dazed and confused.” No need to mention the man had been humiliated without his pants.

“All right,” Petros Caras said. “Now we'll do things a little different. Let me make a few calls. I should be able to get a location on Adams. Then you can take him out. But make sure you don't harm the woman, Sara Halsey Jones. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. It will be an honor to kill Adams. When can I expect a call from you?”

“We'll meet in person at the Porto Supremo Ristorante in two hours. You know it?”

“Yes. We'll be there.”

“Not you and your men. Just you.”

With that his boss hung up and Zendo shoved his phone into his pocket.

Demetri looked concerned. “What did he say about losing Adams?”

Shrugging, Zendo said, “He didn't seem too concerned. Said he would have no problem locating Adams for us.”

“How will he do that? We already went to the location the professor in Malta said the American woman would go, and there was no sign of her. No indication that she had ever been there or would go there. I believe the professor in Malta lied to us.”

Zendo smiled. “Perhaps not. You said your men were quite persuasive. Maybe this Sara Halsey Jones was smarter than we thought. She must not have trusted the man in Malta completely.”

“You think?”

“It's the only explanation.”

“But how can Petros Caras find Adams so fast?”

That had also bothered Zendo. Perhaps the billionaire had better connections than he initially thought.

An hour later and Zendo and his men moved through the streets of Messina in a rental car that he had gotten at the airport. He had Kyros the driver drop him out front of the restaurant to meet Petros Caras. He got out and leaned back inside. “Go to the hotel and I'll find my way back there. Regardless of what our boss has to say, we'll leave in the morning to get back on the trail.” He started to close the door and thought of one more thing. “And Niko, make sure you have someone change your dressing. You can amputate an arm or a leg if gangrene sets in, but there's no amputating your ass.” He smiled and slammed the door behind him.

The sun was setting slowly across Sicily as Zendo made his way to the front door of the restaurant, where many patrons took advantage of the nice cool breezes on the open veranda with views of the private yachts in the harbor below. He hesitated at the door and looked back himself to see if he could find the yacht owned by Petros Caras. It wasn't difficult to see, since it was the largest one moored in the area beyond the slips. Perhaps one day he could afford such luxury. He swished his long hair behind both ears and then entered the restaurant.

Porto Supremo Ristorante was a place that most normal Europeans couldn't afford, Zendo noticed immediately. The patrons inside seemed to look upon him with derision as he strolled through the place directly toward his boss, who was sitting in the most prominent table a level higher than others. Sitting with him was that Czech whore. Gorgeous, for sure. But he had no respect for a kept woman one step above a street walker. Still, he would have liked to show her how a real man made love. He could only imagine the ineptitude of the older Greek, who Zendo heard was more interested in the four young men who sat at the table below them—like children at a folding table at Christmas dinner.

Petros Caras lifted his chin as Zendo approached. “Glad you could make it,” he said in Greek. “You are five minutes late. You know how I don't like that.”

Zendo knew. But he also didn't give a flying rat what he thought. “Sorry,” he said, standing in front of the large round booth table. “What have you heard?”

“Sit with us and have a drink,” Caras said, lifting a bottle of clear liquid. “All they had was Sicilian sambuca. Hardly a great substitute for our own ouzo. But it's not bad. I hear our waiter is at this minute running down the street looking for ouzo.” He gave a hearty guttural laugh. By now Petros Caras was obviously influenced by the bottle of sambuca.

Sitting at the side of the table with his boss, Zendo tried to keep his eyes off of the beautiful Czech whore. She seemed like one of the Muses, but he wasn't sure which among the nine she resembled.

Petros poured them each a glass of sambuca and they raised it and quickly devoured the shots.

“Your friend doesn't like this drink?” Zendo asked Petros, his eyes shifting toward the woman.

“She likes to let me think she does,” he said, “but she doesn't. She's more of a wine drinker. Besides, I don't keep her around for her drinking ability, if you know what I mean.”

“Obviously she doesn't speak a word of our language,” Zendo said. “Should we get to business, then?”

“First, one more drink.” Petros filled their glasses again and they quickly emptied them. “Now, I have two points of business. First, I know where Mister Adams and the American professor have gone.”

“Good.” How in the hell had he found this out so fast?

“Second,” Petros said, “I have added a factor to consider. Since I knew you and your men could not get there this evening, I have hired some local talent to keep an eye on them for us.”

“Greeks?”

Petros Caras smiled and said, “No. Sicilians. Part of an organization as old as this island.”

Zendo knew exactly what he meant, but he just had to play with his boss a little. “Whores?”

His boss laughed. “No, no. Not that old.”

“Oh, Catholic priests.”

The boss's disposition changed to more serious. The game was over and Zendo knew it. Time to get back on track. “Do we meet up with these men in the morning?” Zendo asked. His men needed to rest.

“Yes.” He pulled out his phone, found something on it, and then sent it.

Zendo heard his phone get a text and he guessed he was about to be dismissed.

“An image of the man you will meet in Syracuse, along with his name and phone number.” Petros Caras sat calmly now.

That was Zendo's cue to leave. He got up and started to turn, when his boss stopped him.

“One more thing,” Petros said. “Remember what I told you. The woman must not be harmed. But you can do as you wish with that other man.”

“What about the Italian woman?”

Petros smiled. “Have fun.”

Zendo turned and left, making it outside into the night sea air and standing for a moment to gaze upon the yacht's in the harbor. Yeah, he would have one of them in the near future. One way or another. He found a taxi and directed the driver to his hotel.

The train ride from Taormina to Siracusa had been uneventful, which was a good thing as far as Jake was concerned. Perhaps they had finally shed the Greek tail. But he also knew that Sicily was a small island, with very few places to hide forever. He would have to make sure that Professor Sara Halsey Jones didn't waste any time finding all she could about her subject.

The three of them had first gone to a number of places dedicated to Archimedes across the city. These were mostly tourist traps, they all found out, but it did give them an historical perspective of the man. More than Jake thought he would ever know. And he had to admit that his knowledge of history before Christ was lacking.

Sara had spent the entire train ride trying to translate the tomb marker from Taormina. She was pretty sure all the words had been translated, but the meaning was still lost somewhere in the ether of ancient Doric Greek.

After an afternoon of walking through these historical sites, Jake found them a mom and pop pension that still took cash, renting two rooms across the hall from each other on the second floor. Although this was the high season, only two of the other ten rooms were rented, and those were down at the end of the hall.

Jake had his room to himself and he lay back on his bed to rest. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he heard was a soft knock on the door. Looking around, it was dark in his room and he was somewhat disoriented as he grabbed his gun from under his pillow and went to the door to look through the peep.