by Trevor Scott
Now, regrouped and standing at the base of the mountain at the Taormina-Giardini train station, Demetri glanced up the mountain and decided they needed to take a taxi the two kilometers to the top. After being up all night flying from Malta, his men needed a little break. And some food.
“Anyone hungry for some breakfast?” Demetri asked them.
Agreement all around with nods and shoulder shrugs.
Demetri said, “Kyros get us a taxi.”
Their designated driver ran off to grab a taxi out front.
“What about Jake Adams?” Niko asked.
“Now we wait for Zendo in town,” Demetri said. “Get something to eat, some coffee. Then we move on to Messina.”
Out at the curb Kyros shoved a man and woman out of his way and when the man looked like he would fight Kyros, he simply lifted his shirt a little to show his gun. The man and woman drifted away.
Demetri shook his head. That man could mess up a free night with a whore. With a flick of his head, the three men joined their friend at the taxi.
●
Jake followed the directions given to him by Sara Halsey Jones from the little village to a church near the ancient ruins of Taormina, their acquired Fiat sputtering along but still running. He guessed they would have most of the day to drive it before they had to dump it, since the owner had probably driven it to the station and commuted to Catania, where traffic could be a nightmare.
He shut down the engine and turned to Sara. “Before we go any farther, I need to ask you a few questions.”
She looked concerned. “Sure. What do you need?”
“What information did you get from the professor in Malta?”
“Nothing to do with this place in Taormina,” she assured him. “He talked with me about places in Messina and Siracusa.”
“What kind of places?” he asked with more edge than he wanted to.
Hesitating, collecting the right words, Sara finally said, “There’s a man in Messina who works with a new dig outside of the city that dates back to just before a huge earthquake in the late sixteen hundreds. I made it sound like I was very interested in this dig to the Malta professor to throw him off my real interest.”
“Siracusa,” Jake said.
“Right.”
Finally Elisa shifted her body forward and asked, “What is this all about?”
Sara turned to her and said, “It’s complicated. But it’s kind of like Texas poker. Are you familiar with that?”
“I’ve heard about it,” Elisa said.
“Well, with poker you let your opponent think you have a better or worse hand than you do. That way you can either get them to shove more money into the pot or fold their hand, depending on your intent.”
“I understand subterfuge,” Elisa assured her. “But what I meant was why are the Greeks after you? What do they hope to get from you?”
That was a question Jake also wanted to ask.
“I don’t really know,” Sara said. “I’m just writing a book about Archimedes. He’s always been a hero of mine.”
“What do you expect to find here?” Jake asked Sara.
The professor glanced out the window toward the old church, which had seen much better days. The white stone structure looked like someone had peppered the walls with a 50-caliber machine gun. Which could have actually happened during WWII. “This church, the Church of San Pancrazio, was built in the sixth century. It’s Roman Catholic, but it’s built on a Greek temple from before Christ. Saint Pancras was a Greek who died in Sicily as a martyr in forty A.D.” She looked back at Jake. “There are a number of ornate gravestones in the crypt beneath the church. I’ve seen photos but nothing with great detail. I hope to gain some insight into my research here.”
She was still being cryptic herself, Jake thought. The good professor wasn’t telling him everything, but that wasn’t his concern. It was his job to find her, which he did, and now he just needed to get her home to Texas in one piece.
“All right,” Jake said. “Let’s do this.”
Since it was so early in the morning, they were the first to make their way into the church, other than a few actual older women who seemed to be present praying in every Catholic church in every city in Europe.
They found their way down into the cellar, a dark, damp place lit by lights strung overhead. But there were shelves built into the thick walls where candles had been before electricity, and stood by now in case of a power failure.
Sara moved from one tomb and gravestone to the next as if she were looking for just the right one.
Jake caught up to her. “Are you looking for something in particular?” he asked.
The professor kept walking, her eyes scanning. She stopped and had her camera in her hands now with an image visible. “This one,” she said, showing him the photo.
To Jake it looked just like all the others. Elisa nudged in next to Jake for a view, but she said nothing.
Moving deeper into the cellar, it seemed to get darker the farther they went. It was obvious the tombs were getting older. And in this area the gravestones were in their own little rooms with metal bars enclosing them, like they were in an eternal prison.
“There,” Sara said. They had reached the last tomb in the corridor. She stared at the tomb reverently, as if praying, and then she shot a number of photos of the less than ornate stone surface. These were obviously carved by hand.
“How old are these?” Jake asked. “And what language is that?”
Sara seemed to be calculating something in her mind. “It’s Doric Greek.”
“Is this significant?” Elisa finally asked.
“Yes,” the professor said. “It’s the language of Archimedes and the Greeks of this region of Magna Graecia. It reminds me of the Pella tablet from the 4th Century BC made from rolled lead and found in the right hand of a dead man. It contained a magical and ritualistic curse.”
Jake let out a slight laugh. “Right. Now we just need Shaggy and Scooby-Doo and the gang to stroll down this corridor.”
Sara turned on him swiftly. “I’m not saying this is some sort of message or curse. . .”
“I think I know that,” Jake interrupted. “Just trying to lighten the mood here. I’m a little tired and hungry. Need more than just one cup of coffee I got in Catania.”
“I could eat too,” Elisa said.
“Me too,” Sara said. “But first I need to get inside there for a closer look.”
Looking down the corridor, Jake said, “You’re shittin’ me right? You would probably have to get approval of the Vatican to get within two feet of that tomb.”
“Hey, you just stole a car?” Sara reminded him.
“I acquired it temporarily,” he said. “I’ll return it. But this? This would be like grave robbing. I’m talking eternal damnation here.”
“Probably not eternal,” Elisa comforted. “More like the temporal punishment of Purgatory.”
Jake threw his hands up. “Great, just Purgatory.” He felt like his life was already in Limbo anyway after the death of his girlfriend and his recent incarceration in the Tunisian prison.
“I’ll do it,” Sara said. “I haven’t been to church since Christ was an alter-boy anyway.” She grasped the ancient lock on the chain that ran through the metal door and the lock just gave way, falling into her hand.
Glancing upward with his eyes, Jake questioned, “Divine intervention?”
Without saying a word, Professor Sara Halsey Jones entered the small tomb room and took a number of photos close up of the engraved Greek writing from all angles.
Jake and Elisa kept an eye out for anyone coming down the corridor. Within seconds an older couple came around the corner near the stairway to the church above.
“I’ll take care of them,” Elisa said and headed off with authority.
He watched as Elisa talked with the older couple, pointing back toward the staircase, and then Jake turned back to Sara. “You about done in there?”
She
turned and came to the metal door, running the chain and locking it behind her. “This is amazing,” she said. “It’s carved on the other side also. I’ll have to translate it later. You mentioned food? All of a sudden I’m hungry.”
“Desecrating a grave will do that?” Jake said and smiled at her.
“I doubt there’s a body there. This was probably moved here around the time of Christ.”
“All right. Can we leave now?” Truthfully, he wasn’t concerned over the damnation of this feat, but there were still a group of Greeks who wanted to take his head off—or at least kidnap Sara for some reason.
Without saying another word, Sara shoved her camera into her backpack and walked off toward Elisa, who had convinced the old couple to come back later.
After grabbing some sandwiches from a street cart, they got back into the ‘acquired’ Fiat and started back toward Catania. This time the professor piled into the back to try to start translating the Doric Greek text. Instead of going all the way to Catania, Jake pulled into the small parking lot where they had gotten the car, wiped down the inside for prints, and the three of them got out.
“I had no idea you were such a. . .what do they say in America? Boy Scout?” Elisa said as the three of them walked back to the train terminal.
Jake shrugged. “Maybe we need to keep a low profile.”
“Like Kurdistan?” Elisa reminded him.
“Kurdistan?” Sara asked.
Jake shook his head and walked ahead of them into the small terminal with an old-school window with a small hole to pass money and tickets.
Sara relented, “What about Kurdistan?”
Elisa explained what she knew, telling her how Jake had pretty much taken out an entire terrorist cell by himself. Sara seemed impressed. He could hear every word and a wave of embarrassment swept through his body.
Jake turned and handed them each a ticket he’d bought with cash for Siracusa. “What kind of stories are you telling, Elisa?”
“Never mind. Just girl talk,” Elisa assured him.
Moving to a set of chairs against a glass wall, Sara said, “I’m going to upload these images to my tablet and send them to myself by e-mail. I have a pretty good signal here. The tablet will give me a better view of the text from the tomb.”
He wandered around and finally took up a spot with a view of the parking lot, leaning against a stanchion. It was starting to get hot already. Jake felt a slight touch of perspiration under each arm. He wished he could forget all about Kurdistan. And he had not completed that mission all by himself. Not even close. On a good day he was able to forget about those things he’d done in his past—in Germany, in Italy, in Bulgaria, in China, in Russia, and even in Kurdistan. But more than anything, he wished he could forget the image he had of his girlfriend Anna dying in his arms in Austria less than a year ago. Just the thought of that last incident in Austria brought a sharp pain to his synthetic left knee. A bullet had shattered his knee, but the death of Anna had shattered his heart.
When they finally got onto the train, they were able to find a quiet, empty compartment. Sara was still working on her tablet translating the Doric Greek to English on a real tablet of paper, scribbling often with her pencil and making changes.
Elisa sat in a chair next to Jake across the aisle from Sara. “What are you thinking?” she asked him.
Jake was wondering what Elisa’s organization had to do with Sara’s research, or the Greeks trying their best to get their hands on it. He was normally a straight shooter, not holding back unless the mission required him to do so. “I’m a bit confused by why your external security agency has an interest in Sara’s work. I think you know more than you’re telling us. In fact, you’re not telling us anything.”
The Italian woman seemed to be searching for words. Finally she said, “You’re right, Jake. But you have to understand, since you were part of your own Agency for so long. Secrets are the nature of the game.”
“Oh, I understand. But you need to understand that I’ll take my ball and go home if I don’t get some answers from you.”
Elisa smiled. “Is that an American baseball reference?”
“It’s a metaphoric reference to justice,” he explained. “Play by the rules, my rules, or don’t play at all.”
She let out a deep sigh, her eyes shifting about the small compartment. Elisa was obviously weighing her duty to her country with the facts on the ground—in this case, Jake’s willingness to continue. “The Greeks. We are investigating someone who has been collecting ancient artifacts and removing them from Italian soil. This has been a huge problem recently, and it is an affront to our national heritage.”
“Who is this someone?” Jake asked.
“A Greek billionaire named Petros Caras. Have you heard of him?”
“Afraid not. I guess we must travel in different circles. So this guy is buying up all kinds of Italian treasures. How long has your agency been investigating him?”
“Personally just a couple of months. But I understand he’s been gaining more scrutiny from Interpol and other agencies for other underworld connections and actions.”
“Like what?”
“Everything from selling arms to the Palestinians to supplying terrorist groups with safe passage on his fleet of ships. This is very serious.”
Jake could imagine so. “Commercial ships have always been a safe haven of those hiding from their government.” He looked out the window as they slowed down to enter the outskirts of Catania. They would have a few stops in the city before continuing on toward Siracusa. Finally this case was starting to make some sense. Now he would have to make contact with his old friends in the CIA to brief him on this Greek billionaire. That in itself would raise red flags. Enough so that if anything happened to him or Sara Halsey Jones, they would have a place to look for answers to their disappearance. Better than an insurance policy.
15
Toni Contardo paced back and forth in the office of her boss, Kurt Jenkins, the Director of Central Intelligence. She had risen up the ranks with Kurt, only he had always been at least one rung above her at all times. Now, she held the position of deputy director for special projects, a position which she had designed herself. She was a fixer. And her relationship with Jake Adams, such as it was now, continued to bring her great angst. The man seemed to have a penchant for finding trouble. Only he could take on a simple missing person case and end up getting shot at by the henchmen of an international billionaire under investigation for all kinds of bad deeds—too many to innumerate to Jake in a simple data feed by e-mail. Yet, she had sent him what he asked for just moments ago without question. But now she was having second thoughts, especially since her boss had somehow found out about her lapse in protocol.
Seconds later and Kurt Jenkins rushed into his office, a concerned look on his face, and he slumped into his leather chair behind his huge mahogany desk. He simply waved for her to sit in the chair across from his desk.
She waited for him to lay out his concerns, since she wasn’t really sure why he had summoned her.
“Your communication with Jake was flagged by our internal security,” Kurt said.
It wasn’t like she had hid her contact with Jake. “I would hope so,” she said. “He needed info on a Greek billionaire named Petros Caras. Was it a problem that I gave him the quick version?”
The director leaned back in his chair and tapped on the wooden arms nervously. “No. Not really. But there could be a problem with the Greek.”
“What kind of problem?” she asked.
“Our Agency has had a. . .relationship in the past with this man.”
“So. We also had a relationship with Saddam Hussein, Osama Bin Laden, and dozens of other terrorists and despots throughout history. Why is this Petros Caras any different?”
Kurt Jenkins closed his eyes and then let out a long breath of air.
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
He hesitated longer, in deep thought. “We made
this man.”
“Made him?”
“Essentially. In the seventies Petros Caras was a minor businessman in Athens, working for us to obtain information on certain other interests in the country. This was way before either of us joined the Agency. Anyway, the more he helped us in that region, from Athens to Damascus, we made sure he got certain contracts for his business.”
She was dumbfounded. “So we basically turned a snitch into a billionaire.”
“Well, he was more than a snitch,” Kurt assured her. “He was an agent run by our people out of our Athens office. He quickly gained more prominence once he made contacts in Ankara, Damascus and Beirut.”
“So we let him supply guns to terrorists.”
“It’s not that simple,” Kurt said. “Yes, he did sell weapons, but he was also instrumental with inserting allies into these terrorist organizations, including those from The Mossad. So he has been our man in that region.”
“But?” There was always a big fat but with these cases, she knew.
“But, he’s recently been drawing a lot of criticism from our Israeli friends and now our Italian allies.”
“With the acquisition of the antiquities,” she reasoned.
“That and other things. We’re currently weighing his importance to our Agency.”
I would hope so, she thought. She was never a big fan of propping up potential psychopaths. It never ended well. “Can we tell Jake all of this? He has a right to know.”
Kurt Jenkins put his hands together, the tips of his fingers against his lips, in deep thought. “I’m not sure we can divulge this information yet.”
“I thought you and Jake were friends,” she said, truly disappointed.
“We are,” he said. “That’s why we shouldn’t tell him right now. You know Jake. He’s an idealist. If he finds out Petros Caras has been playing both sides, he’s likely to use that as justification to take the man out. I don’t know that we can allow that to happen yet.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. If Jake is already asking about the man, then he knows the guy is a bad apple. He believes Caras has hired these Greeks to follow him and to shadow the professor, Sara Halsey Jones. Not to mention killing the two American investigators sent to find the senator’s sister.”