The Forty Column Castle

by Marjorie Thelen

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  His hair was slicked back from his forehead accentuating the breadth and strength of his brow. Drops of water glistened in his eyelashes, and the sun reflecting on the water made his eyes bright and his tan deeper. His face could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. The lines were clean and strong.

  “Yes, you?”

  “Yeah, but I’m heading in.” He turned and swam to shore with those long, determined strokes. On the beach he stood to dry off, and I got a glimpse of all of him. Breathtaking.

  I stumbled out of the water, sweeping the hair from my face. He caught my elbow and pulled me against him. My lord, he felt good. I discovered I wanted him as bad as he wanted me. Right then and there we satisfied our desire for each other, standing on that deserted beach with the heat of the sun beating on us, the waves lapping at our feet.

  What a swim.

  Eight

  “What about you and Yannis?” Zach asked.

  I blinked out of my post-coital haze. We were on the highway, speeding south toward to Pafos.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, don’t you two have something going?” Zach stared straight ahead, eyes on the road.

  “No. He’s a dear friend, and our relationship has stayed that way all these years. He gets jealous, but it doesn’t mean anything. He has plenty of women to comfort him.”

  Zach was silent. We were testing new ground after the interlude on the beach at Lara Bay. I hoped I wasn’t getting into one of those sicko arrangements where nice girl falls for kidnapper. I never bought those stupid stories, but I might be living one now.

  “Will you pull over at that tourist store up ahead?” I asked.

  He glanced over with a puzzled look.

  “I need a disguise like a big hat, bigger sunglasses, long pants, loud shirt. After all, the police are looking for me. Probably wouldn’t hurt if you looked more like a tourist, too.”

  He cracked a grin and swung into the dusty parking lot.

  The Park ‘N’ Buy was like hundreds of little tourist stores all over Cyprus. You could buy anything from drinks to snacks to T-shirts to reproduction pottery with ancient Greeks doing obscene things around the sides. Everything was open air. Hanging shirts and purses were blowing in the warm breeze.

  I picked out white Capri pants and a pink blouse with Pafos scrolled across the pocket. A floppy black straw hat caught my eye with Cyprus written across the band in red italics. I found big black rimmed sunglasses with black lenses and a cheap gold chain necklace with Saint Christopher medallion that appealed to me. I needed all the help Saint Christopher could give.

  Zach picked out boat shoes, tan Bermuda shorts, multi-hue floral shirt, and a panama style straw hat with a black band. His day’s growth of dark brown beard with sun streaked brown hair gave him a trendy look.

  The feeling between us had changed. I wasn’t sure who he was or what would happen, but I was enjoying today better than yesterday.

  I changed in the car as we drove down the highway with Zach exhibiting an extraordinary amount of interest as I pulled off my top, replacing it with the blouse and shimmying down my shorts and pulling on the longer pants.

  “Nice legs,” he said. “Nice breasts. You ever been a model?”

  “Not yet, but it might be my next career if I ever get out of the fix I’m in.”

  He grinned and pulled out a cigar. A long, fat cigar.

  “You don’t smoke cigars,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It goes with my tourist image.” He glanced at me. “I won’t light it. Just chew on it,” he said and grinned maliciously.

  “Are you really NYPD?” I asked. Something I couldn’t put my finger on made me ask that question.

  He nodded. “Really am.”

  “Where’s your badge?”

  He fished in his pocket and pulled out the pile of loose cards he carried, flipped through them while alternately watching the road, and passed one over.

  The man looking back at me from the badge had a beard, dark hair, looked thirty pounds heavier and wore no uniform. But it had New York Police Department on it and his name, Zachariah Bronsen Lamont. It wasn’t a police badge. It was one more like tech geeks wore around their necks.

  “This doesn’t look like you.”

  He shrugged and chewed on the cigar. “I’m in disguise, and I was a little heavier then.”

  He flashed me another grin.

  The man in the photo resembled Zach, but the thought occurred to me that he said he had three brothers and what if one looked a lot like him and was NYPD. A niggling doubt. The man in this photo might not be Zach Lamont, although the name said it was. Forgers could remedy that. I handed it back.

  We hit the outskirts of Pafos and more tourist stores. Hotels and restaurants increased in number and intensity. Most buildings were two story stucco types, white with archways, some with balconies, a style found all over the world in countries with warm climates.

  Zach turned into the car rental agency. It was just opening. “Wait here. Even though you have your disguise on, we don’t want to arouse anymore suspicion than necessary.”

  I nodded. I had fixed my hair into a knot on top my head and with the floppy hat, my hair and forehead were totally covered. The big sunglasses hid a good part of the rest of my face.

  Zach went in to the small building that served as an office. The cars on the lot were in various stages of disrepair. This was not Hertz. The blue Maruti looked like it could have come from here. He came back out with a barrel-shaped man sporting a bushy black mustache who pointed like he was giving Zach directions. Zach nodded and they talked, the man making a waving gesture over his collection of cars. Zach pointed to one of the Honda SUVs on the lot, a muted green color with hardly any dents. They shook hands, and the mustachioed man went inside.

  Zach came over to my side of the car and leaned in. “Get your stuff together and put it in the Honda over there. We’re changing cars.”

  I sighed. I rather liked this luxurious Land Rover, but I guess a fugitive had to be more careful than comfortable. Zach came back out with keys and moved his stuff and the supplies in the back that included a heavy duffle bag.

  I didn’t want to know what was in it.

  As we pulled out, he said, “The man says the American couple have rented the Maruti for a month and gave me directions how to find the address they listed on the rental agreement. We’ll pay them a visit. He also said the police had been here and asked him about the same Maruti.”

  I stared at him. “The police? Geez, Yannis must have told them about the Maruti.” The thought that the police were closing in gave me an attack of claustrophobia.

  The house we sought was at the end of a dead end street. Zach made a U-turn at the end and parked on the opposite side of the street a few houses away. He pulled down both sun visors.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, as he settled down to chew on his cigar.

  “This is called a stake out. Take your hat off but keep the eyewear on.” He took his hat off and laid it on the console between us.

  I did as requested. “What are we staking out?”

  “We’re going to watch the activity around this house and on the street for a while. If we become too obvious, we’ll drive away. I want to see who is staying in the house, what they do, where they go. Unfortunately, the Cypriot police might have the same idea, so keep your eyes peeled for another stake out car.”

  I laughed to myself. How would I know what a stake out car looked like? But I didn’t want to appear that unversed so I put on my best stake out face. We waited. And waited. I nodded off at some point for lack of sleep and the creeping heat of the day. I started awake at the touch of Zach’s hand on mine.

  “I’m going to walk to the back of the house and look around. Can I trust you to stay here?”

  I looked at the ignition.

  He smiled. “I’m taking the keys with me.”

  �
��Then I won’t be going anywhere, will I?” I closed my eyes again and leaned my head against the seat.

  He squeezed my arm. “You’re supposed to stay awake and watch the house.”

  “Okay, chief. Will do.” I sat up and tried to appear alert.

  He put on a navy blue NY baseball cap he had bought at the Park ‘N’ Buy and eased out of the car. Very clever disguise. No walkers, no runners, no residents out for a stroll or going to the store. If my memory served me correctly, it should be Tuesday. Most Cypriots would be working. It was getting on toward noon, so the tourists had probably drifted away to the beach or sightseeing. If the American couple were tourists, then they were probably at the beach or sightseeing. Or maybe they were helping with the archaeological dig at the Castle of Forty Columns, since they were supposed to be part of the team. If they were, Zach and I should walk over there since it wasn’t far to walk to the dig by the beach road.

  My thoughts wandered to the guy holding binoculars and looking at us on the cliffs above Agios Georgios. Was he driving the blue Maruti that the American couple had rented? Why had two guys pursued us through Pafos? Had they been watching Yannis’s house? If so, why had they followed me to the Coral Bay, unless they were watching the Coral Bay or vacationing there and didn’t have anything better to do and decided to follow me.

  I mulled over something that was bothering me. The first time we saw the Maruti was on the cliff at the beach. Zach and Yannis were with me. The second time was Monday morning at the Coral Bay. Zach was staying there.

  They were following Zach. Why?

  Who were those guys? Did they kill Max and Irene? No, they couldn’t have killed them. They were following us, and we lost them on the other side of Pafos. They were behind us. Then who killed Max and Irene and why? My partner wasn’t offering any explanations, but I could ask him again.

  And here he came looking like he was trying to hold a run to a walk. He jumped into the car and took off flying to the intersection and hung a right without stopping. Thank all the Greek and Roman gods, no traffic was coming.

  “What happened? What’s the rush?” I said, as I clutched the hand hold to keep from flying through the window as we careened around the corner.

  “I found the Maruti.”

  “Where?” I looked around, bobbing back and forth, trying to see through the traffic behind us.

  “It was parked in the drive behind the house, accessed through a narrow alley at the end of the dead end.”

  “So?”

  “You see anyone following us?” Zach looked in the rear view mirror.

  I checked. “No blue Maruti, if that’s what you mean. Would you please tell me what is going on?”

  “I slipped in the back through the sliding glass doors.”

  “Great, breaking and entering we add to the list.”

  “No, that’s not breaking and entering. I was just visiting friends if anyone asked.”

  “Then what?”

  He slowed down, made a series of right turns, pulled over into a crowded parking lot in front of a downtown restaurant advertising the world’s best seafood, found a parking space, and cut the engine.

  “Slide down in the seat,” he said, and I, being the obedient slave that I was, obeyed.

  “Will you please tell me what is going on?”

  “Two guys were in a room upstairs. It’s packed with communications equipment, computers, routers, radios. Maps on the wall.”

  “What would they be doing with that?”

  “Fomenting terror, maybe. That’s what I’m here to find out. I’ll go back when they aren’t there and check out the computers.”

  “They didn’t see you?”

  “I don’t think so, and I don’t think they followed us. But let’s wait here for about five minutes just in case.”

  We waited. It got miserably hot in the car real fast. I had a better idea. I was hungry.

  “How about we wait in the restaurant and get something to eat while we do?” I asked.

  “All right. Walk as quickly as you can but don’t look like you’re being pursued.”

  It was awfully complicated being in law enforcement, I was beginning to find out. I waltzed into the restaurant with Zach right behind me.

  “Table for two?” the waiter asked.

  “Please,” said Zach. “How about the booth in the corner?”

  “Certainly, sir. This way, please.”

  Our table was private, even intimate. White table cloth, white cloth napkins, bud vase with single, plastic pink rose. We looked out on the parking lot.

  “What will you have?” asked Zach.

  “A glass of red wine.”

  “Anything beside?” He arched an eyebrow.

  I could see his eyes again since he had taken off the sunglasses along with the Panama hat he laid on the seat beside him. I took off the sunglasses but opted for leaving on the black, floppy hat with wide brim.

  “Want to split a bottle wine?”

  He shook his head. “I’m driving. I’m having a beer and steak.”

  “This is a seafood restaurant.”

  “It says here they have porterhouse steak, and I’m having one.”

  The waiter came to our table, looking expectant in crisp white shirt and black trousers. Zach gave him our drink order.

  “You know what you want?” Zach said.

  “I’ll have fish kebab and chips.”

  He gave the order, and the waiter walked away, humming.

  The restaurant was noisy and packed with the mid-day lunch crowd, more Cypriot than tourist. We stood out, but maybe I was being paranoid.

  The waiter came back with our drinks. I held my glass up for a toast.

  “To a quick end to the smuggling caper.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Zach. We clinked bottle and glass.

  He slouched back against the booth and ran a hand through his hair. He looked smooth and unruffled. His floral shirt gave him a laid back tourist look. I wish I could feel like he looked.

  “You have anybody back home?” Zach asked.

  He caught me off guard. I took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”

  “You married?” he asked.

  “No.” I snorted, real unladylike, but I couldn’t help it. “After this morning you think I’m married?”

  “Some women don’t make a distinction.”

  “I’m not married.” That gave me pause. He might be. “You married?”

  “No.”

  “Ever?”

  “Yep, didn’t work out. A life in law enforcement is hard on marriage. You have anyone waiting back home for you?” He certainly was being persistent.

  “Not anymore,” I said and left it at that.

  I looked away. He was trying to figure our relationship and so was I. I wasn’t real comfortable with the subject, since I hadn’t figured out if this was a pre-jail fling, vacation dalliance, seduction of Mata Hari, or what. So I changed the subject.

  “The men in the Maruti are after you.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “I thought they were after me.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  He looked at me like he was trying to decide what he could and couldn’t say and for good effect looked over his shoulder and around at the people dining near us. Everyone jabbered away in Greek as far as I could hear.

  “NYPD had a tip that a terrorist cell was forming on Cyprus. It is my job to find out if that is true. What I saw this morning looks like I might have found it.”

  “Do you know who they represent?”

  He shrugged. “Not yet. But I will.”

  “Where do Max and Irene fit in?”

  He blew out a breath, looked out the window into the glare from the parking lot. “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I’m getting closer to the terrorists, they’re getting closer to me. They are well-organized, well-funded, and have sophisticated communications equipment. Cell phone
s are easily monitored. You don’t see me with one, do you?”

  I shook my head no.

  “I make calls from public phones when I need to and only when I need to. Max and Irene have been at that house for a while. It was a matter of time until someone figured out who they were. I’m sorry they thought killing Max and Irene would solve anything. But then these are people that blow themselves up to take a lot of other people with them. They use airplanes as weapons. They’re insane.”

  Our meal arrived on that cheery note. I was once again famished. Along with our entrees the waiter placed before us a salad of tomatoes, green peppers, black olives and cabbage drizzled with olive oil and feta cheese.

  We spent a few moments in silence as we demolished our food. I sighed in contentment.

  “Your kebabs okay?” Zach asked.

  “Delicious. How about your steak?”

  “Perfect.”

  I waded in again. “What about my aunt? You can’t possibly believe she fits into this terrorist thing, do you?”

  “She might have inadvertently wedged herself into the smuggling shoe along with the terrorists. That’s how they finance a lot of their operations. They’ll smuggle anything from potsherds to F14s. You wouldn’t believe the smuggling market worldwide. It’s probably double the size of the legitimate market.”

  “That’s incredible. You don’t think my aunt’s in any danger, do you? The terrorists wouldn’t be interested in an eccentric old lady, would they?”

  Zach put down his knife and fork. His eyes met mine.

  “Claudie, terrorists don’t stop at eccentric old ladies. They stop at nothing. Your aunt could be anywhere. This is the first time she came up on my radar screen. I have to follow any lead that might help me crack this case.”

  I looked out the window and pushed my sunglasses back on, not wanting him to see me tear up. I was surprised myself at my reaction. He still thought of my aunt as a suspect. I had to prove him wrong. In doing that I’d clear myself of the cloud hovering over me. I willed myself to calm down and think level headed.

  I guess it was good I had a partner like him to help me find her. Unfortunately, he was into something much deadlier than smuggling a few small statues. I didn’t want to get involved in terrorism. But by association, I already was. I had to depend on him whether I trusted him or not.