by Joseph Badal
“Now, my little Kookla,” Peter said. “Zat is how you Greeks say “doll,” nein? You do not look zo beautiful anymore. I can make this stop like zat.” He snapped his fingers. “All you haf to do is tell me about za map your fater made. Or tell me ver za Sabiya is. Then ve vill let you go. See, very simple.”
The woman mumbled something through the gag the blonde woman had stuffed in her mouth.
“Zo, you vish to talk?” Peter shot a satisfied glance toward Tomas. He reached down and yanked the washcloth from her mouth. The woman tried to speak, but her mouth was apparently too dry. “Get some water!” Peter ordered.
Tomas grabbed a pitcher from a bureau and poured water from it into a glass. He handed the glass to Peter, who bent over, tipped the glass, and poured water into her mouth. She coughed, spluttering water over her bruised chin and torn, bloody blouse.
“Now, Kookla, vat do you haf to tell us?”
She whispered something, but her voice was so low her words were unintelligible.
Peter sat on the side of the bed. “Vat?” he said.
She again said something, but it sounded like gibberish.
Peter glared up at Tomas. “If you’ve addled her brain, Leidner will feed you to the fish.” He turned back to the woman and lowered his head to her, his ear close to her mouth. “Vat vas zat? Say it again.”
The woman raised her head a couple inches, whispered sounds that made Peter move even closer. Then she jerked her head toward Peter and clamped her teeth on his ear. Her head whipped back and forth like a lioness tearing meat from its prey. She bit with a fury that severed the man’s earlobe. Then she spat the bloody piece at Peter while he howled and leaped off the bed.
Tomas laughed, “I don’t think your method is any more successful than mine.”
“Go to hell,” Peter shouted. “Sonofabitch!” He touched his ear and immediately jerked his hand away. “Look what she did,” holding his bloodied fingers toward Tomas. Then he stepped back over to the side of the bed, one hand now pressing a handkerchief to his ear. He leaned toward the woman and said in a cold, quiet tone, “You shall be very sorry you did zat.” Then he watched her one good eye follow each movement as he ripped away her clothes. First, her blouse, which he ripped open and then violently pulled from under her. Then he unsnapped and opened the zipper on her jeans, and slid them down her legs. He tossed the bloodied handkerchief away and tore her jeans with his hands, as though they were made of tissue paper. The severed halves of the material draped her ankles. When all she had on were her panties and bra, he removed a switchblade knife from his pants pocket, popped the blade, and sliced the fabric of her bra between the two cups. Her breasts fell loose. He placed the knife on the lamp table beside the bed, bent over the side of the bed, took one of her nipples between his thumb and index finger, and squeezed as hard as he could. He didn’t stop until he could no longer stand the sound of her screams. Then he inserted the washcloth back into her mouth.
Peter turned toward Tomas and pointed a finger at the stateroom door. “Leave us!” he shouted. “I will call you when it’s your turn.” While Tomas opened the door and walked out into the hall, Peter jerked up on the waistband of her bikini briefs, lifting her lower body off the bed until the band snapped and she bounced back on the bed. Now completely naked, she struggled against the ropes that held her to the bedposts. Her good eye seemed to bulge and she made sounds that progressed through a series of octaves and crescendoed into high-pitched moans.
Peter went to the bathroom and found some cotton and tape. He patched up the wound on his ear, then returned to the bedroom. He took his time to undress. He wanted the woman to anticipate the pain and violation. He’d done this before and he knew how fragile a woman could become once she faced the realization of what awaited her. He stripped naked, then moved to the foot of the bed where Zoë could get a clear view of him. He massaged his erection and said, “Now ve vill see vat kind of voman you are, my dear.”
He circled the bed once, enjoying the way she jerked her head to follow his movements. When he reached the side of the bed, he knelt on the mattress and squeezed her breasts. She thrashed her head back and forth.
“Now, now, Kookla,” he said. “None of zat vill help.” He straddled her and ran his hands over her body. “You are gorgeous, you know zat,” he said. “It vould haf been nice to meet under other circumstances. But, it is too late for zat. Far too late.”
When Peter was finished with Zoë, he climbed off the bed, dressed, and then opened the door and shouted, “Tomas, it’s your turn.” When Tomas appeared at the other end of the corridor, Peter waved him forward. They passed each other. Peter said, “Call me when you’re through. I should be ready again by then.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Christo stared at John, open-mouthed, eyes widened to twice their normal size. “I don’t think I heard you right. Tell me again.”
“I want to use the Penelope as a decoy, but I need explosives to make my plan work.”
Christo had heard John correctly the first time. “What! Are you crazy?” he shouted. All conversations in the lobby stopped. Everyone turned to look at them. Christo glared toward his men, who immediately averted their eyes.
“Do you have any idea how many laws I’ve already broken on your behalf?” he complained in a quieter voice. “Borrowed government property and let a foreign civilian use it, gave you a pistol. Now you want me to provide you with explosives? Forget it!” he said and walked out the front door of the hotel.
John followed and joined him on the sidewalk. The evening breeze had turned cool and clouds scudded across the sky, first revealing then obscuring the moon. The two of them stood there with their heads turned skyward, as though mesmerized by the brilliance of the moon and stars. Finally, Christo quietly asked, without turning his head, “What do you want with explosives?”
John explained what he had in mind. Christo didn’t react at all for a while. At last, he said, “What do you know about explosives?”
“Christo, I trained in all types of explosives at the U.S. Army’s Special Warfare School. Hell, I can still make a bomb out of ingredients from under your kitchen sink. I know more about explosives than most terrorists. I assure you I have a profound respect for the stuff and I know how to handle them.”
“Okay, John. But remember—”
“I know, I know. If I get caught with them, I should say I bought them on the black market from some Turk.”
The desk clerk cut Christo’s laugh short when he came out of the hotel and announced, “There’s a man on the telephone who asked to be put through to Mr. Hammond’s room.”
As John ran to the front desk, Christo hurried over to the police communications table and rested a hand on one of the phones connected to the hotel switchboard. He raised the phone receiver at the same time John raised the phone receiver on the front desk.
“This is John Hammond.”
“Ah, Mr. Hammond, how’s your day?”
The voice was clipped, with a trace of an upper class British accent. His accent and obvious arrogance grated on John’s nerves. This was it. It had to be Leidner or one of his cronies. This was the call they’d waited for. John was momentarily elated. The fact that they were calling told him they had been unable to get the information they wanted about the map from Zoë. She must still be alive. “Who am I speaking to?” John asked.
“That is unimportant, Mr. Hammond. What is important is that one of your friends is a guest of ours. She has been quite uncooperative, by the way. She must have a very high pain threshold.”
“You son-of-a-bitch! When I get my hands—”
“Now, now, Mr. Hammond. Let’s not lose our composure. I guarantee that will not help you or your friend. So take a deep breath and listen carefully to what I tell you.”
The condescendingly superior tone of the man infuriated John. He looked across the lobby at Chri
sto and took some comfort from the anger that showed on the inspector’s face. Nick, who had left the lobby for a time, came back at that moment and stood next to John.
“I’m listening,” John said into the phone.
“We have Zoë Vangelos. I believe you have a map you took from her father. I want that map. Unless I get it, you will never see her again.”
John didn’t believe for an instant that the man would keep his end of the bargain. He couldn’t leave a trail of potential witnesses behind. The minute he handed over the map to this man, he would sign Zoë’s death warrant, and maybe his, too.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll give you the map. But I pick the location for the trade. Otherwise, it’s no deal.”
“Fine, Mister Hammond. I see no reason to bicker over any of this. Where would you like to meet?”
He told the man where they’d moored the Penelope and to meet him there, at 10:00 in the morning. He would turn over the map once Zoë was safely aboard the boat.
“And how will I be sure you are on this boat?” he demanded.
“You will send one of your men to the boat to meet me before you drop off Zoë,” John replied. “He can verify my presence.”
“Then why not just give my man the map? He can bring Ms. Vangelos to you. There is no need for us to meet on this Penelope.”
“Oh, but there is. Without my explanation, you will never be able to decipher the code on the map. Only I have the key to that code,” John lied, “and I will give it to you, and no one else. I want to see your face. I want to know who you are, you evil son of a bitch.”
The man actually giggled—as though pleased by the insult.
“Remember, Mr. Hammond, no police,” he said. “If I see one policeman, I will execute the lovely Ms. Vangelos. Is that understood?”
“Yes!” John hesitated a moment. The man’s willingness to trade for the map made no sense. He had to know—or at least guess—that the police already had the original map. Before they turned over the original to Leidner, they would make copies. So what good would it do him to get the map, when there were copies out there? What was the point of getting the map if John had already deciphered the code, knew how to find the boat, as he had just admitted to the man on the phone? And, the police would be waiting for Leidner if he showed up at the site of the Sabiya.
“Leidner, or whoever you are, do you really believe the police will give you the original map and not keep a copy? That they won’t track you after we make the trade?”
There was a pause. John guessed his mention of the Leidner name had surprised the caller. Then the man said, “You let me worry about that, Mr. Hammond.” Without another word, he hung up the phone and left John listening to the dial tone. John replaced the receiver. He stared at his hands. He had to stick them in his pants pockets to hide how badly they shook.
Nick grabbed John’s arm and demanded, “How’s Zoë?”
“Alive,” John said. “But that’s all I know.” He decided not to mention that the man on the phone had implied that Zoë had been roughed up . . . or worse.
“Thank God,” Nick exclaimed.
John and Nick walked over to Christo. “You heard what he said about no police,” John said. “I want your word you will follow his instructions.”
He could see Christo was prepared to argue the point. His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his cheeks twitched, but he caught himself when he realized he had little choice.
“You have my word,” Christo said. “We will not close in until you and Zoë are safe. You realize, don’t you, there is a damn good chance the minute he gets his hands on that map, he will kill both of you. I’ll arrest him and his men, but that won’t be much consolation for you and Zoë.”
“I’m not so sure you’ll get him. This makes no sense. You heard what I said about copies of the map and the police going after him once the trade was made. He wasn’t even fazed. Yeah, I’m convinced he does plan to kill us. But I have no choice. I can’t leave Zoë in his hands without at least an attempt to help her. Do you think you can deliver the explosives and the other gear to the dock by midnight?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Christo said. “In the meantime, I’ll ask the Coast Guard to comb the entire eastern coast of the island. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find Leidner before your meeting.”
John nodded, then turned to Nick while Christo walked away. “I guess I owe you an explanation,” John said.
Nick gave John an “I’m waiting” look.
MAY 9-10
CHAPTER FIFTY
Christo met Nick and John at the dock in Pythagorio Harbor at midnight.
“Everything you asked for is in these two bags,” Christo said and handed them to John.
“Thanks, Christo,” John said. “I know you stuck your neck out to get this stuff. If all goes well, we’ll see you in the morning.”
“Malaka!” he cursed. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll let you two go out to the Penelope alone.”
John had neither the inclination nor the time to argue with him; besides, he knew he could use Christo’s help. The three of them rowed out to the fishing boat like commandos on a night raid.
John led the way up the ladder. Nick started to toss the two bags over the rail. John leaned over and whispered, “Be careful with those. They’re full of explosives and blasting caps.”
Nick gasped.
By the time Nick and Christo were aboard, John had already begun to lay out the contents of one of the two bags. When Nick turned on his flashlight and saw the dynamite sticks and cakes of C-4 on the deck of his beloved Penelope, his eyes opened wide and he groaned.
“Let’s get started,” John said. “Christo, take three of these dynamite sticks. Tape one to the prow, one to the stern, and one under the lid of the cargo hold. Nick, you know the boat better than we do, so I want you to go below to place the remaining sticks. Put them along the spine of the boat and in the engine room. When you two are finished, come back and join me here.”
While Christo and Nick went about their tasks, John prepared the detonators. The control box Christo had gotten for him had eight contact points. Each dynamite stick would be mated to a detonator that would, in turn, be connected by a wire that ran to the control box. The electrical impulse that would set the explosions in motion would come from a remote-controlled detonator. John knew this would be very dangerous. If he misjudged the timing of the detonation, he could wind up killing Zoë and himself. He wiped perspiration from his brow with one hand and then swiped his wet hand on his pants.
Christo finished first. When he came back, John followed him to each of the dynamite locations and inserted the detonators into a dab of C-4 explosive he carefully pressed against each dynamite stick. He attached a wire to each detonator and ran it back to the control box, especially careful to make certain the wires were concealed on the undersides of the deck rails. He repeated the same steps with the explosives Nick had placed. The entire process took almost two hours.
Then they sat on the deck and rested. John told Nick that he wanted him to return to shore. He explained about the boat, supplies, and equipment he’d arranged for through the hotel desk clerk. He emphasized the importance of locating the spot marked “Sabiya?” that he’d drawn on his version of Petros’s map.
“Bullshit!” Nick growled. “I’m not going anywhere. If the bastards who have Zoë come here, then this is where I’ll be.”
John knew he had to handle Nick just right. It was vital that things went as planned. While he had Leidner preoccupied, Nick had to find the Sabiya.
“Nick, I understand your concern for Zoë and your desire for revenge, but unless you do what I ask, her life could be forfeit. This guy Leidner won’t stop until he finds that sunken boat. Unless we find it first and discover whatever it is about that boat that’s worth killing over. Based on the extreme violence Leidner has cause
d, there’s got to be something on that boat that is a huge threat to him. I suspect that if we can discover what that is and then disclose it, Leidner will be done.”
“You hope,” Nick said.
John nodded and handed his version of the map to Nick, who unfolded it. He ran a finger over the mark John had drawn in about a mile offshore from the Heraion.
“You know this could be nothing but a waste of time,” Nick said. “Your idea that my father sent us a clue tied to the Pythagorean Theorem could be totally wrong.”
“Yeah, Nick, I know. But, maybe I’m right, and maybe now you’re not giving your father enough credit. We’ll never know unless you check it out. The hard part of the operation will be using the range finder. Do you think you can do it?”
“Now you’re not giving me enough credit. Unless you were a terrible teacher, I’ll make it work.”
“You’d better move then. You and Christo need to be well away from this boat before the sun starts to come up and Leidner shows up.”
While Christo and Nick went back to shore in the dinghy, John went up into the wheelhouse and started the Penelope’s engines. He steered the bulky old fishing craft through the gap in the reef and positioned it as close as possible to where he and Zoë had dived earlier. It was not critical the boat be over the exact location, as long as he anchored close enough to it to convince Leidner it was situated in conjunction with the fourth circle on Petros Vangelos’s map. He walked over to the bags Christo had supplied and removed two more items—a Ruger 9mm pistol and the original map—the one without the extra triangle he’d drawn. This was Petros’s sucker’s map. He hefted the Ruger to get comfortable with its weight and balance. The fifteen round clip made him feel a little less nervous.