Sam aimed his binoculars, focusing on the spectacular cliff-top home. A boat dock at water level was secured with an iron gate. One could take a lift up to the house, or take the stairs cut into the cliff. From what he could see, there were three levels. The lowest was a manicured garden, the middle was one long patio with a row of lounge chairs for sunbathing, and the third an infinity pool set in front of a two-story house with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Aegean.
“That family,” Sam said, handing the binoculars to Remi, “has some serious money.”
She peered through the glasses, then nodded. “That is truly beautiful, except for the one . . . no, three guards patroling.”
Sam studied the layout. “Whether we come in by boat or by land, we’re going to have a hard time getting into that villa without being seen.”
Dimitris pointed to the north of the house. “What if we came in from the side? The neighbor’s villa?”
Sam shook his head. The cliff jutted out between both properties, creating a natural rock barrier. “I’d hate to try scaling something that sheer, especially at night.” He signaled for Nikos to motor past. The last thing they needed was to be spotted by one of Kyril’s guards, especially while piloting the same boat that Dimitris and Remi were kidnapped from.
Back at the Fourni archeological office, they returned to the computers. Nikos asked, “If you managed to get into his house, what exactly would you be looking for?”
“That, my friend, is a very good question.” Sam continued looking at the villa. “Those people went to a lot of trouble to make sure Remi and Dimitris didn’t escape. We need to find out why. The question is how.”
“You’re not thinking of breaking in, are you?” Remi asked.
“Only as a last resort.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What if you get caught? In a foreign country? There’s got to be a way to get in legally.”
“I can’t think of any offhand.”
“Door-to-door sales? Pretending to take a survey? Something.”
“First and foremost, it’s got to be safe,” he said as his phone buzzed with a text message. “It’s Rube . . . ‘Selma Wondrash’ . . . ?”
“Who?”
“Apparently . . . ” He read the text. “Someone who works for the Library of Congress’s Special Collections Directorate. I asked him for the name of a good researcher.”
“Researching what?” she asked.
“The Kyrils.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sam called the number Rube had provided. “Ms. Wondrash? A mutual acquaintance, Rubin Haywood, recommended you as someone who was good at tracking down obscure information.”
“Research is a particular passion of mine,” she said, her Hungarian accent thick. “What is it you are hoping to learn, Mr. Fargo?”
“I’m looking for any and all information you can find on someone named Adrian Kyril. Rich businessman, based out of Greece.”
He heard the rapid click of a keyboard in the background as she said, “Olive oil exporter. Lives on the island of Patmos in Greece. And you need this information for?”
“He kidnapped some friends of mine—they’re fine—but we’re worried he may come after them again. I need to find some way to get close to him. Bonus points if I can find a legal way to get into his house,” he added, feeling Remi’s gaze on him. “About payment.”
The keyboard clicking stopped. A moment later, she said, “Twenty dollars an hour. So far, you owe me thirty-three cents.”
“Pardon?”
“Adrian Kyril is hosting a fundraiser for underprivileged youth in two days at his villa. Casino Couples Night. Tickets are seventy-five hundred for singles, and ten thousand for couples.”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“Let me know.”
He disconnected, telling them what Selma had discovered.
Remi looked suitably impressed. “Do you realize that I spent two hours on that computer and came up with nothing? Whoever she is, you should keep her on speed dial.”
“That still doesn’t get us in the door.”
She took a deep breath. “I could ask my parents for the money.”
The hesitant look in her green eyes bothered him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing, really,” she said, making him think it was quite the opposite. “Except that, after the kidnapping, my parents have suddenly become overprotective.”
“Understandable.”
“Let’s just say that they’re very good at getting things their way.”
“Apparently that runs in the family.” He was glad to see the spark return to her eyes. “But asking them won’t be necessary.”
“But, Sam . . . you . . .” Remi started.
Sam quickly said, “I’ve got my slush fund for just such occasions.”
“This fundraiser,” Nikos said. “Even if we do get the money, do you think that’s a good option? It might be dangerous. Perhaps we should rethink this.”
Sam, hoping Remi would be amenable to calling the whole thing off, since it was someone else suggesting it, said, “Good point. We don’t know what to expect.”
“But,” she said, “it’ll be worth every penny if it gets to the truth.”
“It’ll be cheaper if I go alone,” he said, deciding to give one more shot at talking her out of going.
Remi’s expression turned skeptical. “Have you ever been to a high-ticket fundraiser?”
“Never. But I have done my share of required dinners in D.C.”
“Well, then you know, walking in as a couple will be far less noticeable. Especially when at least one of them speaks Greek.” She smiled, trying to calm the waters. But she couldn’t help herself. “Of course, you’re welcome to take Nikos or Dimitris as your date.”
As much as he didn’t want her anywhere close to that house, she presented an almost indisputable argument on why she was the right choice. A couple would blend into the background far better than a single man. “What do you think, Nikos?”
“I agree, going together may be the best way to get in.”
Sam called Selma back, saying, “Two tickets, please.”
“Under what name?”
He looked at Remi. “I suppose we should pose as husband and wife?”
“Quick courtship?” A spark of amusement lit her green eyes. “Sure.”
“Sam and Remi Fargo,” he said into the phone.
Again, the rapid keyboard clicking, then, “Credit card?”
Sam reached into his pocket and read the numbers to Selma.
“Anything else, Mr. Fargo?”
“You could call me Sam . . .”
“I’ll email you the tickets as soon as they come through.”
“Thank you.”
“Glad to help, Mr. Fargo. Call if you need anything else.”
“How to arrive?” Remi asked as he texted Rube with an update. “We can’t take this boat. They’ll recognize it.”
“I have another cousin,” Nikos said, “who owns a water taxi. We can use that to drive you in.”
“Looks like we have everything we need,” Sam said.
“Except clothes,” Remi replied. “You’ll need a tux. And shoes. The whole nine yards.”
“What about you, Remi?” Dimitris asked.
Thinking back to those strappy shoes and that evening dress hanging in the bungalow closet, Sam said, “Oh, don’t worry about Remi. She doesn’t travel light. She has all her bases covered, packs for every occasion.”
She opened up a website on her phone. “Here you go, Fargo.”
He looked at the price, then whistled. One rental tuxedo was by Versace, the other was Ralph Lauren. Where was Jos. A. Bank? Regardless of which one he picked, he’d have to buy the patent leather shoes, dress shirt, a
nd cuff link and stud set. “At least they throw in the bow tie.”
“That bow tie is awful. We’ll have to buy one,” Remi added. “It’s the little things that can’t be overlooked.”
Sam rolled his eyes skyward. “That’ll put a pretty good dent into the slush fund.”
“Half the battle of getting past the gatekeepers is looking the part.”
* * *
—
Two days later, Sam dressed in his rented tux, a Ralph Lauren white double-breasted dinner jacket with a shawl collar, and waited for Remi. When she finally emerged from her room, he stared for several seconds. Her refined elegance, while always there no matter what she wore, shone with a particular brilliance in its simplicity. The hanger certainly hadn’t done the dress justice: an understated, floor-length black gown, with red strap stiletto heels peeking out, and a red envelope purse with a rhinestone clasp. “You look amazing.”
Her smile reminded him of the first night they’d met. “Thank you.”
He held up his bow tie. “I did try.”
“Why is it men can never manage to tie their own bow ties?” With a sigh and a few flips of her wrist, it was perfect. “Time to go, double-oh-seven. We’ve got some super-sleuthing to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sam and Remi rode to the villa in the water taxi, with Nikos at the helm and Dimitris hidden from view. Between them, the only weapon they had was the throwing knife hidden in Remi’s purse.
Before they left, Sam had gone over every eventuality that might come up, including having father and son waiting in the taxi on the other side of the inlet, out of sight of the cliff-top house—just in case anything went wrong. As Nikos motored toward the short pier, Sam repeated the most important direction. “Remember. Three hours.”
Nikos nodded. “If you’re not back, we call your CIA friend.”
* * *
—
Sam helped Remi from the boat, then took her arm in his as they crossed the dock toward the two burly doormen stationed at the arched entry beyond the gate. One of them checked his clipboard as Sam handed over paper tickets printed from the email that Selma had sent.
The man said something in Greek, welcoming them, then handed each a small velvet bag from the basket on the table next to him, while the other opened the massive wood door that led into an arched stone tunnel.
“Our chips for the gaming tables,” Remi said as they entered. They walked across a red Turkish carpet that absorbed their footsteps as they passed through the tunnel to the lift that whisked them up to the top level, where the fundraiser was being held.
When the lift door opened, they stepped out onto a tiled patio. Guests mingled around various tables set up between the house and an infinity pool that overlooked the Aegean Sea. Lights strung overhead added to the festive appearance, as did the soft classical Greek music being played by a small ensemble. Uniformed waiters carrying trays of chilled champagne and ouzo approached as Sam and Remi made their way from the elevator to the party.
Sam took two flutes, handing one to Remi as they made the rounds.
She looked over at him, her expression unreadable. “Shall we start with roulette?”
“Roulette it is.”
They paused by each table, playing a game or two, all so Remi could listen in on conversations, while Sam took in the lay of the villa. The ground-floor level of the house was open to the guests, the massive floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened wide so that they could come and go from a lounge that faced the pool and the sea view. The upper levels, with the main living quarters, were dark, and the staircases on either side of the vast patio and pool deck were blocked off with velvet rope barriers guarded by broad-shouldered men wearing earpieces.
No doubt in Sam’s mind that they were carrying guns beneath the jackets of their impeccable suits.
The soft strains of the classical Greek music stopped, and a moment later, a man’s voice sounded. Sam looked around, seeing a large group gathering in front of the pool house. He and Remi wandered up to the edge of the crowd, though neither could see who was speaking.
Several people applauded.
“What’s he saying?” Sam asked Remi.
“He’s talking about the charity and telling everyone to enjoy the night.”
As the applause died, the group parted, revealing the speaker, a man in his early thirties, his dark hair slicked back, his goatee trimmed short.
Remi’s breath caught. “I’ve seen him before.”
“Where?”
“The morning we were kidnapped. I saw him in my telephoto lens standing with some other men . . .”
A passing waiter stopped in front of them, holding a tray of stuffed grape leaves. “Dolmades?”
Remi declined. Sam took one, biting into the cold, herbed rice hors d’oeuvre, tasting lemon and fennel.
“Excuse me,” Remi asked the waiter. “Who is the gentleman?”
He glanced in that direction. “Adrian Kyril.”
Sam waited until he left, saying, “No doubt Adrian Kyril Jr. A little young to be the patriarch we were reading about.”
“He has to be behind the theft of my camera from the boat. That’s the only explanation. Especially considering we were kidnapped a few hours later.”
“What were the photos of?”
“Nothing memorable. Birds, landscape. The memory card. I changed it right after I saw them.”
“Do you still have it?”
“It was in my pocket when they took us aboard the Mirage. As far as I know, it ended up at the bottom of the Aegean after our mummy dive.”
“I’d say either you caught a photo of something he didn’t want you to see, or they think you did.”
“Certainly the obvious answer, but of what? They were just standing there.”
“Maybe Adrian Sr. was telling the truth. He really didn’t know anything about the kidnapping. Junior, on the other hand.” Sam watched the man a few moments more. “Let’s hope he doesn’t make the connection, should you two cross paths tonight.”
“I’ll definitely avoid him,” she said as Adrian set the microphone on the table, shook hands with a few nearby guests, then started walking directly at them.
Worried that he might recognize Remi after all, Sam drew her to him, leaned down, putting his mouth to her ear. He was captivated by her warmth, the scent of her hair and the desire to never let her go. He whispered, “I swear there’s a good reason for this.”
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling herself tight against him, wishing they were anywhere else. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls you help rescue from kidnappers’ yachts.”
“Every one of them.”
Adrian continued past, stopping when one of the men wearing an earpiece approached him, holding out an envelope. The billionaire’s son looked around, clearly concerned about who might see him. As his glance rested on Sam, Sam lifted Remi’s chin, kissing her. The man’s gaze swept past, and he slipped the envelope into his pocket, dismissed the guard, then crossed the patio toward the south staircase.
Reluctantly, they separated and Sam led Remi to the craps table, telling her what he’d seen. They positioned themselves with a view of the stairs, Sam saying, “Whatever was in that envelope, he seemed anxious to get rid of it.”
Within moments, a light went on in the second-story window to their left. Less than a minute later, it darkened again. When Adrian appeared on the stairs, the guard held aside the velvet rope at the bottom, allowing him to pass. Remi pulled a few chips from her bag, pretending interest in the game. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
“I have no idea. But I’m definitely curious. Are you sure you can avoid him while I get upstairs?”
She looked around, nodding. “There’s enough people here to stay lost in the crowd.”
He put his hand on the
small of her back, looking her in the eye. “No matter what, do not go up. If anything happens to me, get out, find Nikos and Dimitris.”
“Got it. Stay here, go for help if anything happens.”
“Promise me.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Promise.”
He leaned down and gave her the swiftest of kisses. After leaving his untouched champagne flute on a tray, he wandered toward the staircase, grateful to see the guard had moved off to deal with some unknown incident. Sam was about to slip past the rope barrier when two men in tuxedos walked toward him. One said something to him in Greek.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “American.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for a bathroom.”
“This way.” One of the men indicated Sam should follow, then led him to the pool house.
“Thank you,” Sam said. As soon as the man took off, Sam returned to the stairs, hoping something would draw the guard’s attention, allowing him to get by. Prepared to linger in the shadows for as long as it took, he was surprised when Remi approached the guard herself. She said something, laughed, then motioned the guard closer, pointing at the gaming tables. With the man’s gaze diverted, Sam slipped past the rope barrier, then up the stairs, grateful the door leading into the left wing was still ajar.
He walked through a foyer, then down the darkened hallway, stopping in front of the third door on the left. He pulled a pick set out, a souvenir from his covert op training at Camp Peary. Within a few seconds, he was in, closing the door behind him. Moving to the window, he parted a curtain, looking down at the veranda below. Remi was back at the craps table. Adrian was deep in conversation with two men at the roulette table. Dropping the curtain, he turned back to the room, headed to start his search at the carved mahogany writing desk facing the door. There was only one drawer, locked. He teased the pick in and out until the pins lined up, turned the tension wrench, then pulled it open.
No envelope.
What he did find, however, put the Kyril fortune into a whole new light.
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