by Joseph Badal
“I’m certified,” John said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Zoë arranged for the scuba equipment at a dive shop in Vathi. Zoë knew exactly what they needed. Her father had schooled her well. She told the shop owner she would call later with instructions as to when he should deliver their equipment to the harbor.
Afterward, they walked back to Christo’s office. It was now 1:00 p.m. The inspector led them to a restaurant named La Calma, where they sat on a terrace built over the water and watched a fisherman on the beach repair his nets. After they ordered a round of beers, broiled fish, and French fries, John asked, “Zoë, you mentioned that Samos has an interesting history. Can you tell me a little about it?”
“It would be a pleasure.” She pulled her chair closer to the table and said, “Samos has been called the Island of the Blessed, or the Blessed Island. Unlike many Greek islands, which have been deforested, Samos has a relatively lush landscape—forests, clear springs, and wildflowers. In fact, Homer called Samos ‘Hydrele,’ the watery place.
“Our island is the closest to Turkey of all the larger Greek islands—we’re less than two miles from the Turkish mainland. Various foreign empires have ruled Samos over the centuries. In 499 BC, Samians revolted against the Persians, and later fought with Athens. During the Peloponnesian War, 431 to 404 BC, the Samians did an about face and allied with Athens.
“Even farther back, in 535 BC, the town of Pythagorio fell to the tyrant Polycrates, who used his fleet to raid ships and settlements in the Aegean until he was captured by the Persians and crucified in 522 BC. His short time in power resulted in what Herodotus claimed were ‘three of the greatest building and engineering feats in the Greek world.’ These included the ancient harbor mole, the Evpalinio tunnel, and the Heraion—the Temple of Hera. When I think about Polycrates’s vision, it makes me wish I could have known the man. Of course, he was probably one mean bastard.”
“The same three sites on your father’s map,” John interjected.
“Correct,” Zoë said. “The Heraion was the largest temple ever built in Greece. It had 133 columns and was one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world. Unfortunately, fire destroyed it in 525 BC. The ancient mole protected the harbor at Pythagorio. A modern jetty replaced it.
“As I mentioned in Christo’s office, the third of Polycrates’s miracles, the Evpalinio Tunnel, is my favorite—probably because it’s the only one of the three still intact. The tunnel is an underground aqueduct constructed with primitive tools and without the assistance of sophisticated measuring instruments. On Polycrates’s orders, Evpalinos of Megara, a hydraulics engineer, put two teams of slaves from Lesbos to work. The teams dug from opposite sides of Mount Kastri and fifteen years later they came together in the middle of the mountain, just a few feet off center from each other.
“The story about the island’s past would not be complete without a mention of the Ottoman Empire which conquered Samos in 1550 AD. It became part of Greece again after the Balkan Wars, 1912 to 1913.”
When the waiter brought their meals, John glanced at Christo and noticed the look of admiration on his face. He was obviously impressed with Zoë’s knowledge.
John barely touched his food. While Zoë and Christo finished their meals, he studied the map. He tried to attack Zoë’s theory about the fourth circle being the key to her father’s death. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t feel there was any symmetry between the three points of the right triangle and the fourth circle that was drawn out on the sea. But he couldn’t come up with a theory about the location.
Christo had been quieter than usual during lunch. “What’s on your mind,” John asked.
“Tell me what you’re about to do. I’m investigating a murder and an attempted murder, and I can’t have you two interfering with my investigation or tampering with evidence.”
“What evidence?” Zoë asked, a rough edge to her voice. “What do you mean ‘tampering with evidence’?”
“Your father’s map is evidence and, by extension, so is whatever might lay at the bottom of the sea within the fourth circle.” He pointed at the map.
“Now that’s a stretch,” John said. “Next you’ll claim any fish we find should be confiscated as evidence.”
Christo gave John an icy look. “What if I told you I was worried about you and I would feel more comfortable if you both were somewhere safe?”
A smile creased John’s face. “That I can buy. Why don’t you come along with us?”
Christo eyed John and Zoë skeptically, then waved off John’s suggestion. “How do you know that where you’ll dive isn’t several hundred feet down?”
“We don’t know that at this point,” Zoë said. “We’ll just have to wait and see. If it’s too deep for scuba gear, then we’ll have to approach the problem differently. Maybe a JIM suit.”
John nodded agreement, but he was not nearly as confident as Zoë seemed about their mission. The memory of the bullet that whizzed by his ear and the pain of being knocked out and hospitalized lingered in his mind. He’d become aware that he had developed the habit of running his hand over the bald spot where his stitches had been every time he felt the least bit nervous or uncertain. There was no way in hell he would allow Zoë to go off on her own, but that didn’t change the fact he continually heard a little voice inside that said, “Dumb ass! Don’t be stupid. You’ve seen too many men killed or wounded as a result of them taking stupid risks.” Her mention of using a JIM suit in case they found themselves in deep water just exacerbated his nervousness. His experience did not include deepwater diving or the kind of equipment used for such dives.
Zoë excused herself to use the restroom, which gave John a chance to talk privately with Christo. “You know, my friend, I’d feel a great deal more confident about this little excursion if you came along.”
“There’s no chance I can get away from the office now,” Christo said. “My superiors in Athens have me on a short leash. I need to continue the investigations into Vangelos’s murder and the attack on you. There isn’t usually a lot of crime on Samos. The bureaucrats in Athens are acting as though what’s happened is all my fault.”
Zoë returned to the table and the three of them walked back to the police station. When Christo went into the building, Zoë and John retrieved her car from across the street. On the drive back to Mytilini, Zoë explained that she needed to find her brother, Nick. “We’ll need his boat and his help,” she said.
“How can you be so sure your brother will want to get involved with some harebrained scheme?” John asked.
She snapped her gaze toward him and glared.
“Whoa, hear me out,” John said. “You have to admit your theory about the markings on the map is pretty thin.”
Her face softened. Then she rocked her head back and forth as though she were considering his point. “You could be right,” she said. “But, in the absence of any other theory, it’s the best one we have.” Then she grinned. “And as far as my brother getting involved is concerned, I just know my brother. And, more importantly, he knows me. He knows I wouldn’t ask for his help unless it was important. Besides, I’m his little sister and he adores me.”
“A bit manipulative are we not?” John asked with a smile.
Zoë shot him a wry grin. “I don’t look at it that way.”
“Let’s hope your brother doesn’t either. I guess I’d better go back to Mytilini and pack a change of clothes for our upcoming adventure at sea. How about you?”
“My clothes are in the trunk of the car. Before I saw the map, I planned to return to Athens.”
John realized that his disappointment must have shown on his face.
She looked at him sympathetically. “My dear John, I do have a job in Athens and I’ve been away for eight days already.”
“I know, I know. But who would I get to drive me around if you left.”
MAY 3-5
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Zoë called John at Taverna Bacchus the next morning—Thursday—to let him know that her brother would not return to Kokkari until Sunday. He’d taken his boat to the south coast of Crete looking for bass.
Disappointed to learn she had to fly to Athens to take care of business there, John agreed to meet her on Saturday for some beach time. He spent the intervening time resting and lending a hand in the taverna.
By the time Zoë showed up two days later, he felt as though he was about ninety-five percent recovered from the concussion and subsequent infection. She picked him up early Saturday.
“I want to show you something special,” she said.
He prodded her for a hint about what she planned without success.
She drove on the main road that meandered around the island. It alternated between being enclosed within the shadows from trees on both sides, to paralleling the coast with breath-taking views of the Aegean. In the middle of a hairpin turn Zoë suddenly braked and the car slid to a stop on a thin strip of shoulder gravel.
She got out from behind the wheel and walked to the rear of the car. John followed. She opened the trunk, rummaged through her suitcase, and pulled out a bathing suit in one hand and a towel in the other. “Well, are you going to join me, or what?” Then she hurried away, cut between two boulders, and disappeared.
John grabbed his swimsuit and a towel from his knapsack in the backseat and followed after Zoë. She was nowhere in sight. A path appeared on the other side of the boulders. It appeared to be one of those strange occurrences of nature, where, for some whimsical reason, the wind, the rain, and the sea conspire to create something usable by man. The base of the path was smoothed rock, as though millions of gallons of sea water had pounded away at it for thousands of years. It literally hung along the side of the cliff, and John had to slow his pace for fear of falling onto the boulder-strewn shore below. He came to a fork in the path, where a left turn appeared to branch off away from the shore. He continued straight and followed the path that overlooked the sea. After about fifty yards, he circumnavigated three boulders that stood like sentries beside the path and narrowed its width by half. Zoë waited there for him.
“Spectacular, don’t you think?” she said.
On the right, the sea crashed against Cyclops-sized rocks sixty feet below. Spray exploded straight up into the air off the rocks and splashed their feet. The Aegean expanse led to the Turkish coast two miles to the east.
“It’s magnificent.”
“As you Americans say, ‘you ain’t seen nothing yet.’ ” Perched on the narrow trail, she took his hand and led him around yet another car-sized boulder. “Look!” she declared
John saw they were at the brink of a horseshoe-shaped cove. Within its sheltering stone walls, emerald-green waves lapped against a pebbled beach.
“This is my favorite beach,” Zoë said. “Few Samians even know it exists, and, thank God, tourists never find it. Those Samians who do discover it find the prospect of the climb down slightly forbidding. You’re the only person I’ve ever brought here, so I expect you to be suitably impressed.”
“Impressed is not the word,” John said. “I’m awed. But how do we get down to the beach?”
“Ah, but that’s the secret. You promise you’ll never tell a soul about this place?”
He drew an “X” on his chest with a finger. “Cross my heart.”
Zoë squeezed sideways through a narrow break in the rock wall beside them. John sucked in his stomach as he followed her. He was barely able to slip through the narrow gap. They took a trail where it descended across the arc of the cliffs until they reached a place where the drop to the beach was only about fifteen feet. A series of cracks and depressions in the rock wall served as steps and handholds for their descent. John handed his bathing suit and towel to Zoë and climbed down first. After he reached the beach, he turned to look across the pebbled surface toward the water. The spot was beautiful, especially in the early morning sun—a fireball rising over the Turkish coast. The water beyond seemed to be aflame. John looked back up at Zoë. The sight of her—long, dark hair ruffled by the slight breeze; eyes that sparkled in the sunlight; her radiant smile—took his breath away.
“I don’t know which is more beautiful,” he said. “This spot, or you?”
Zoë laughed and tossed her head back. Then she gave him a look of mock anger. “What do you mean, you don’t know which is more beautiful?” She tossed their bathing suits and towels down to him and climbed down.
“I must have lost my head there for a moment,” he said. “Of course, you’re more beautiful.”
“That’s better,” she laughed and kissed his cheek.
As she pulled back, their eyes met and time seemed to stop for him. He pulled her to him and they held each other as though their lives depended on it. Then she looked up at him. Their lips met. He could feel his heart pound. He broke off the kiss, but was still hungry for her. He felt himself shake like a teenager, his heart hammered in his chest.
“If we continue like this,” he said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
She gave him the look he’d seen a couple times before—the one that said, “What are you, some kind of idiot?” And then she whispered, “Feels as though you’re beyond that point already. Who asked you to stop?”
He knew he was blushing like a kid.
She smiled and put a hand on his cheek. Then she turned and moved thirty yards to the far side of the beach, to a patch of sand no bigger than a small rowboat, surrounded by an almost perfect oval of pebbles. John dropped the bathing suits and towels from under his arm onto the sand, then embraced Zoë. The scent of her hair made him lightheaded, excited. The feel of her firm body elevated his pulse even more. He kicked off his deck shoes, flinging them against the stone wall of the cove.
Zoë placed her hands on his chest and pushed back from him. She unbuttoned his shirt. He shrugged out of it before she had finished and popped the bottom button.
She giggled, then intensity came to her eyes and her breathing changed while she rubbed his chest. She stepped forward and kissed his neck, his shoulders, his chest. The touch of her lips sent chills up his spine and he shivered as though he were ice cold.
John pulled her blouse from where it was tucked into her jeans. She stretched her arms and he lifted it above her head. There was etherealness about the swell of her breasts, and he bent down and kissed one, then the other. He felt as though his insides had melted. He unhooked her bra and stared dumbstruck at the beauty of her lush breasts. Her dark-pink nipples were erect, pointed upward, as though inviting—no, begging for—his touch. He took one between a finger and thumb and lightly pressed it, and she moaned. It started as a submissive whimper, but grew into a feral, demanding sound.
Zoë reached for his belt buckle, but apparently her hands wouldn’t do her brain’s bidding. John took her hands away and released the buckle. She pulled his khakis down and he stepped out of them. Then he helped her with her jeans. She had a strong, athletic body. He felt a thousand butterflies churn in his gut while he ran his hands over her face, her shoulders, her arms, her back. Then he knelt in the sand in front of her and kissed her stomach. She jerked as though he’d touched her with an ice cube. He gripped the sides of her bikini underpants and slid them down over her legs.
John stood and admired her. Graceful neck, full breasts, flat stomach, tight buttocks and legs. She was his fantasy. His insides screamed with his need for her. He shed his shorts. They came together and attacked each other with scalding kisses. Their lips and tongues clashed. He couldn’t get enough of her. She clasped her arms around his neck and hooked her legs around his waist. John’s hands swept over every part of her while she clung to him.
“I want you,” she said. “Please! Now!
”
He slowly knelt and lowered Zoë to the sand. She was so beautiful. Her skin seemed to glow under the sun’s rays and her hair shone lustrously, spread fan-like on the sand. But it was her eyes that mesmerized him. There was a sensuality in them that further raised his heart rate and made him tremble again with almost uncontrollable ecstasy. Zoë’s touch was electric; the butterflies inside him erupted in frenzy.
He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he ached for Zoë at that moment. And he’d never wanted to please one more. He knelt between her legs.
They came together and John felt her shudder as though a shock wave had gone through her. Time passed as though in a dream. He felt lost in time and consumed with passion. And then he heard Zoë cry out, “John, John, John.” Her cries echoed off the high stone walls.
They held each other as though they would never let go. Her every touch, every kiss made him tingle. John heard the waves lap at the edge of the shore and, at some point, the cadence of the waves matched the slower pace of his heart beat. Finally, Zoë sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She stared up at the sheer walls around them.
“You know,” she said, “this place is like an amphitheater. Perhaps we have just entertained the gods on Mount Olympus. Do you think they enjoyed the show?”
“Maybe they even learned something,” John said.
“Aren’t you the arrogant one,” she laughed.
He shook his head and groaned. “You visualized an audience of Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus while I imagined a satellite taking photos as it passed over us.”
“Oh my God,” she shouted, tossed her head, and ran her hands through her hair. “I hope my hair wasn’t a mess.”
Before he could respond, she jumped up, gingerly ran across the twenty feet of pebbled beach to the shoreline and, like a water nymph, dove into the sea.
John followed and waded into the surf. When the water reached his knees he dove in. The sea floor plummeted twenty feet; pebbles soon gave way to sand.