“Who would bring charges against him? East Germany no longer exists. The Americans wouldn’t want to risk exposure to the fact that they let a bioweapon slip through their fingers. Our government doesn’t want to admit Lenin’s Lullaby was even made.” He shook his head. “No. Until we’re able to prove that Lenin’s Lullaby is still out there and still a risk, we’ll be given no support.”
“‘We’?” Elle echoed.
“I can’t let you attempt this alone and unaided, Elle.”
“What does General Dragovitch say about your participation in this?”
“That I am crazy. That I am exposing myself needlessly. That I should stay home and be content with becoming an old spy.”
“I can—”
“Not be difficult, if you please,” her father interrupted. “Arguing will only waste time and energy for us both. I am going, and that is final.”
“All right. When do we leave?”
“I have someone making arrangements now. We’ll arrive in Turkey, then take a boat over to the Cyclades Islands. The cover identities I’ve been able to arrange are good but will not bear up under close scrutiny. We’ll have to be careful.”
Elle turned her attention to her toast. Despite her father’s obvious expertise, she had misgivings. Klaus Stryker, aka Vasihos Quinn, had already proven himself a dangerous man. It had been a long time since her father had been out in the field in another country.
Vasilios Island
The Cyclades, Greece
“Well?” Adriana asked, smiling hugely. “Isn’t it as breathtaking as I said it would be?”
Seated in the prow of the small sailboat so he had the best view of the small island that was their destination, Joachim had to admit that the sight spread out before him was awe inspiring.
The island was small but crescent-shaped, providing a natural harbor on the lee side sandwiched between two high stone spires. The doors of nine boat garages had been carved into the shore, all of them painted different pastel colors. Above the marina, a house stood tall in the uneven crags. If not for the docks and the dwelling, the island would have looked like nothing more than a rock thrust into the sea.
Nothing grew on the island naturally except for a few shrubs that fought valiantly against the hostile environment, but Vasilios Quinn had employed a small army of landscapers to import sod and trees, flowers and vines to his small kingdom. Olive trees and bougainvillea stood tall and colorful against the gray-white rock, seated in pools of imported grass manicured into interesting geometric shapes.
The house was an alabaster confection of stones two stories tall. Contoured to fit the shape and slope of the tall hill, it was an organized jumble of walls and angles contained within a high perimeter wall made of the same stones. Security cameras topped the walls but Joachim figured that the exposed systems were redundant to others that were hidden and more protected.
Vasilios Quinn was obviously not a man comfortable with taking chances.
So what relationship do you have with a man like Arnaud Beck? Joachim wondered.
Behind the house, the cuff continued to rise another hundred and fifty feet. At the top, a sleek Bell executive helicopter sat on a helipad.
“You haven’t said anything,” Adriana reminded. She sat in the pilot’s chair, guiding the boat with a deft hand.
Four of her friends from the taverna manned the lines and the sails, all of them moving in smooth concert to capture the wind.
Joachim could only sit. He’d never spent much time aboard boats or ships and was at a loss to help with crewing the vessel.
“It is breathtaking,” he agreed. “And expensive. What did you say Quinn does?”
Adriana shrugged slim shoulders. She wore her hair tied back, dark sunglasses and a pink bikini. “He’s an investor. I’ve heard he’s involved with Pharmaceuticals, oil, the stock market.”
Several other boats were already tied up in the marina. Red-jacketed valets hustled along the docks to moor the arriving craft and direct traffic.
Adriana called out commands to her crew and guided the sailboat into a slip in the marina. Joachim tossed the mooring line across to a valet, who tied the rope to a cleat and used a boat hook to pull the sailboat against the rubber tires tied along the dock to act as a cushion.
“Welcome to Vasilios Island,” the valet greeted as he hung a ladder over the side. “Enjoy your stay.”
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LOOK like you’re fishing.”
Lying on her stomach in the prow of the fishing boat on a blanket and wearing a turquoise bikini, Elle said, “Fishing is your cover. As the flighty daughter of a curmudgeonly Russian business owner, I’m sunbathing.”
Her father hesitated. “I’m not entirely comfortable with your choice of covers. In fact, you’re wearing little cover at all.”
They spoke in Russian. None of the Greek crew they’d hired to man the deep-sea fishing boat spoke anything besides their native language and a little English.
“I can’t sunbathe and appear innocuous and flighty in a raincoat,” Elle said.
“I’d prefer that you did.”
Elle looked at him, enjoying her father’s discomfiture probably more than she should have.
Fyodor Petrenko looked like a vacationing businessman either recently retired or on a much-delayed holiday. His khaki shorts hung to his knees, exposing his fish-belly white legs. He also wore an obnoxious flower-print shirt, sunglasses and a fishing hat festooned with flies and lures. A white sunblock protected his nose.
“You,” Elle declared, “look ridiculous.”
Her father smiled self-consciously. “I look the part of a tourist. I’m supposed to look ridiculous.” He paused, frowning again. “If you stay up there, exposed like that, you’re going to get skin cancer.”
“No, I won’t. I’m wearing sunscreen.”
“Well, the men are ogling you. You would not believe some of the things I have overheard them say about you.”
“You don’t speak Greek,” Elle reminded.
“I speak those words,” her father corrected. “Even a deaf man could understand those nudges and winks and nods in your direction. And that braying, obnoxious laughter—” He shook his head. “I have half a mind to find them tonight and beat them within an inch of their lives.”
“Ignore them. I am.” But there was a part of Elle, a small, guilty part, that took pride in capturing the attentions of men. It made her feel good. Just a little.
“I’m your father,” he protested. “It’s hard for me to ignore such crude commentary about my daughter.”
“You’re a spy,” Elle replied. “A professional in your field. You’ve ignored much worse. Now let me work.”
Grumbling, her father returned to the stern, where their hired guide was teaching him the intricacies of deep-sea fishing while the crew divided their time between watching him and ogling Elle.
A gull flew overhead, its shadow skating across the water.
Elle watched the bird as it flapped lazily and rode the wind to Vasilios Island. She studied the marina and the big house atop the hill, watching the steady stream of arrivals walking up the landscaped path leading through the main gate to the gardens around the big house. The party had been set up around a huge pool. Tables and grills filled the area under lights strung from the olive trees. A live band performed rock and roll covers.
She and her father had arrived at Santorini Island from Turkey only that morning and set about hiring the boat to take them out near Vasilios Quinn’s private island. The fishermen had suggested better fishing could be found in other places, but money quieted their reservations.
She picked up the nearby Canon digital camera with its heavy telescopic lens and aimed it at the marina. Through the camera lens, she scanned the boats tying up in the marina. The party area seemed set up for three to four hundred people.
Probably all close, personal friends, Elle thought sarcastically.
Many of them were young, though. While on Santorini I
sland, she’d caught bits of conversation about the party. It was being hosted by Quinn for his daughter Sapphira, a spoiled nineteen-year-old from all accounts.
Raking her studied gaze over the next boat in line, Elle lurched in shock. Six people occupied the sailboat. A pretty, dark-haired young woman piloted the craft, but it was the man in the prow that captured Elle’s attention.
Clad in orange-and-white swim trunks, Docksiders, a loose white shirt left unbuttoned and sunglasses, Joachim Reiter stood in the prow and tossed the mooring rope to one of the valets. Then he held the ladder for the young woman who had steered the sailboat. Joachim watched her as she went up, and Elle saw that the young woman made the most of the moment by accentuating her hip roll as she climbed.
Joachim watched the young woman all the way up.
A troubling bit of anger nibbled at Elle’s conscious mind. She kept remembering how he had guarded her back in Amsterdam, the way he’d smelled, the quick way he’d reacted and the hardness of his body.
If you’re jealous, she thought furiously, then you’re stupid. He’s wanted for murdering a BND agent in Leipzig. He’s a career criminal.
After the young woman gained the top of the dock, she turned and called back down to Joachim. She was all smiles and giggles, and in that moment Elle hated her. Joachim climbed the ladder swiftly. The muscles in his back and shoulders and legs corded and released with supple ease.
What the hell are you doing here? Elle wondered.
She would find out.
Chapter 19
“You look lonely.”
Joachim turned toward the young woman’s voice. He’d heard her heels click against the stone path that meandered through the exotic gardens Vasilios Quinn maintained around the house and pool area.
“Actually,” Joachim said, “I’m here with someone. She went to meet a couple of friends.”
Tall and elegant, her hair a mix of fiery reds and her curvaceous body encased in a white sheer gown that fit her like a second skin, the woman looked at home against the riotous color of the thick vines and foliage behind her. Like some kind of jungle predator that had just stepped from the wild.
Smiling, showing even, white teeth, the young woman said, “She’s a fool to leave you alone and untended. Anyone could come along and make off with you. You’re good-looking. Tall. With just a hint of danger.”
“No danger,” Joachim said. “I prefer a quiet life.”
Stepping closer, her muscles rolling beneath the thin material of the gown, the woman reached out and traced a scar along Joachim’s flat belly. “That is a knife scar.” Her voice was low and seductive.
Joachim felt the heat of her touch and felt exposed. Some of his sister’s friends had left him with the same feeling over the years. He didn’t like it. He almost felt vulnerable.
“An accident,” Joachim assured her.
“And when you turned, I saw something else.” She ran her hand under his shirt and slid it back to expose the puckered scar high on the left side of his chest. Her fingertips tapped the old wound. “A bullet made that.”
“Another unfortunate accident.”
She let her hand wander, sliding down his body. “Have you had any other unfortunate accidents?”
Joachim captured her hand before her fingers reached the top of his swim trunks. He suddenly felt underdressed. “Nothing you would be interested in,” he told her.
She tried to withdraw her hand but Joachim held on to it. She smiled again. “I like a man who is forceful.”
“And I like women who prefer to be chased.”
“English is such a demanding language, don’t you think? In some ways, very limited.”
Joachim looked at her.
“I mean, in English, words sound the same but have different meanings. Did you mean women who prefer to be chased? Or chaste?” She spelled both.
Before Joachim could respond, she leaned into him, molding her body against his. He felt the heat of her plastered against him. When she breathed out, he smelled alcohol on her breath.
“Sapphira,” a voice barked.
A man stood on the path that led back to the pool and party area. He was tall and broad, dressed in a white tropical suit. His gray hair looked silver in the fading sunlight. The blue eyes appeared watery, but there was a cunning viciousness, like the eyes of a wolf, in them. He spoke to the young woman, but he stared at Joachim.
“Hello, Father,” she greeted.
“Who’s your friend?” the man demanded.
Sapphira smiled up at Joachim but made no move to disentangle herself. “Actually, we just met.”
Gently, Joachim separated himself from the young woman. “I’m Joachim. A friend of Adriana’s. She was invited to the party. She brought me along.”
“Some friend,” Sapphira said. “This Adriana left him standing here all by himself.”
“I am Vasilios Quinn,” the man announced.
Joachim thought he detected a hint of a German accent in the man’s words and that made him curious. “You have a very nice garden, Mr. Quinn.”
“Thank you. Who is Adriana?” Quinn asked.
“She works in a taverna on Mykonos Island.”
“Not one of my personal friends,” Sapphira said. “She probably got one of the invitations I had passed out.”
Quinn’s eyes drifted to the knife scar on Joachim’s belly. “You work at the taverna?”
“No. I’m on holiday.”
Quinn switched to German. He spoke it fluently. “How do you like the islands so far?”
Joachim responded in German. “They’re beautiful.” He decided in that moment that playing elaborate games with the man was too dangerous. Knowing that Joachim was of German nationality wasn’t harmful in any way.
Smiling, Quinn said, “I thought I detected an accent. You speak English very well.”
“Thank you.” Joachim pretended not to have noticed the faint German accent in his host’s speech. “You speak German fluently.”
Quinn shrugged. “I’ve had practice. What type of work do you do?”
Joachim thought quickly. Something about him had set off Quinn’s curiosity. The scar on his stomach honed that to a fine edge. “I work in…debt consolidation.”
Arrogant and acting amused, Quinn laughed. “You’re a leg breaker.”
“Some call it that,” Joachim agreed.
“I won’t put up with any disturbances on my island.”
“There won’t be.” Joachim shrugged easily. “I…had a disagreement with my employer.” That was close enough to the truth that it didn’t even feel like a lie.
“Oh?”
“Usually he’s very forthcoming with information. Recently, though, he chose not to give me many details about an assignment. It was very risky. I decided to spend some time away and reevaluate my career.”
“Daddy,” Sapphira protested petulantly. “Enough with the foreign language. This is my party.”
“So it is,” Quinn said in English. Then he changed to German again. “Perhaps, at a later date, we can talk further.”
“All right,” Joachim said.
Quinn nodded and stepped back. “Sapphira, say goodbye to your friend for the moment. I need to introduce you and get this party underway.”
Sapphira hesitated a moment. “Come with me,” she said to Joachim.
“I told my friend I would wait,” Joachim said.
She gave him a pouting look. “You should work on getting new friends. Ones that won’t leave you stranded.” Joachim just smiled.
After a moment, Sapphira trailed after her father.
Now what, Joachim thought, was that about?
“THE WATER IS COLD.”
Seated in the prow of the powerboat she and her father had rented only hours before, Elle pulled on a swim fin. “It is,” she agreed. “That’s why I’m wearing the swimsuit.” She popped the elastic sleeve of the black, formfitting one-piece. “Neoprene. Guaranteed to hold in heat and keep the cold out.”
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Her father showed her a displeased frown. “I’d feel better if I were going with you.”
“Oh?” Elle looked up at him in fake surprise. “Have you suddenly learned to swim? Been taking lessons?”
He scowled. “I was in the army. We did not swim in the army. It was not required.”
“Then the answer,” Elle said as she finished pulling on the other fin, “is no.” She stood and picked up the face mask with the miniature scuba tank affixed at the chin. At best the air supply would give her twenty minutes under water.
Night covered the ocean, turning the water wine dark. A mile away, with all the festive neon lights strung around it, Vasilios Island stood out like a multicolored jewel.
“If you get into trouble, call me.” Her father held up a micro-miniaturized copy of the walkie-talkie strapped to her left bicep.
“A rescue army of one?” Elle grinned. “Doesn’t sound very promising.”
“It will be a very dedicated army of one.”
Moving to the stern railing, Elle lowered herself into the water. Even with the protective suit, the sea was cold. With a final wave to her father, she launched into the long swim.
ELLE CHOSE THE MARINA for her arrival, but security proved too thick there. She supposed it was because of all the boats, all the guests’ private things that were at risk. So she swam another two hundred yards and came up at one of the private beaches just south of the main house.
Tall palm trees blunted the neon lights from the party and draped long shadows over the pale sand. Elle came out of the sea and stood, surprising two lovers who had found the stretch of beach too inviting not to take advantage of. Naked, they held onto each other and didn’t look embarrassed, only startled.
“You’re swimming?” the guy asked, struggling with the words enough to let Elle know he was under the influence of something. The young woman with him didn’t look in any better shape.
“Lost my keys at the marina,” Elle explained, knowing in his state the excuse would sound perfectly plausible. She could have told him she was catching lobsters for the buffet and he would have believed her. “They let me borrow a dive suit to look for them.”
He blinked Wearily at her. “Oh. Cool.” He blinked. “Did you find your keys?”
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