Wrath of Poseidon

by Clive Cussler

She glanced down, noting that the bottom of the gorge seemed much farther than it had just a few moments ago. “Maybe I should go back and brave the wild boar.”

  “You already turned down that option.”

  “You’re reminding me?”

  He looped the makeshift harness beneath her arms, double-checking the knots he’d tied. “Try to think about something else,” he said, sounding very calm about the whole thing.

  She was anything but. “Is this the time to mention I had a glamorous life planned out for us?”

  He slapped at a mosquito on his arm, then finished securing her into his makeshift harness. “Doing what?”

  “After I found that Spanish galleon, I was going to write a book about it.”

  He helped her over the cliff’s edge. “A whole book about one Spanish galleon?”

  “It’s the thrill of the hunt.”

  “Off the coast of California? You were there. It’s not exactly what I’d call thrilling.”

  She clung to the rope as he started to lower her. “Regardless, my imagined life didn’t consist of belly crawling through scorpion-infested dirt. Or dangling from a cliff. It was going to be martinis at lunch with my editor, who would send me on a fabulous tour, all while my agent sold the movie rights.”

  “Think how much more exciting this will sound.”

  She reached out with her foot, but it hit air. The movement sent her spinning. “Sam . . .”

  “You’re doing great. Easy peasy.”

  “Sam?”

  And then she was there. As soon as her feet touched solid ground, she stopped turning. Slowly, she moved toward the tree, making sure she had something to balance against while she slipped out of the harness.

  Sam retrieved the rope, wrapped the sling around the base of the tree, threaded the rope through the ends like an S, turning one strand of rope seemingly into three. He grabbed the first and second strands, tested the strength, and backed to the cliff’s edge.

  Her heart constricted in her chest as he jumped, free-falling for a second before planting his feet against the cliff, rappelling down. When Sam reached the ledge next to Remi, he pulled. Exactly like a slipknot, the sling and the rope fell to the ledge, kicking up dust as they hit. Sam had a firm grip on the rope as it started to slide past. Stopping it, he looked over at her. “You okay?”

  “I’m trying to decide if I was scared to death, or exhilarated beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.”

  “You can make up your mind when we get to the bottom.”

  * * *

  —

  Once they were both safely on the ground, Sam led Remi along the base of the cliff. With no idea of who might be working for the Kyrils, and who might simply be there as part of the first harvest, Sam took extra care making sure they kept out of sight of the men and women who were leading the pack mules until they reached the trail leading to the bottom of the hill.

  “We’re going to have to join the caravan to get down to the compound.”

  “We’ll have to pretend to be harvesters.”

  “Easier said than done.” Sam reached over, touching a lock of her red hair. “This might be a bit noticeable.”

  “Says the man with sandy-brown hair. At least I have a solution.” She pulled her scarf from her ponytail and wrapped it around her hair, hiding it from view. “I told you a good scarf comes in handy.”

  “So you did,” he said as they started down the trail. At the next bend, they reached a group of harvesters who’d stopped to rest in the shade. “Keep going,” Sam said. He dropped his backpack on the ground, then kneeled to tighten the lace on one of his boots. When he rose, he grabbed his backpack, along with a floppy canvas hat sitting next to it.

  Sam caught up with Remi and they continued walking behind the workers who were leading the mules down the trail. A number of men and women had moved off the path to rest. Sam and Remi joined them, waiting for their friends to come down the hill. As Zoe and Dimitris approached, Sam slowly stood and blocked their way and quietly identified himself.

  The two stopped, clearly surprised.

  “What are you doing here?” Dimitris asked Sam.

  “Coming to bring the both of you home.”

  “No,” Dimitris said. “Not until we get what we came for.”

  “Come sit down with us. We need to talk this through.”

  “There is nothing to talk about,” Dimitris said heatedly.

  Remi glanced at Zoe, seeing the worry in her eyes. “Dimitris, please listen. Just sit with us and listen. Sam, tell them what your friend from the CIA told us.”

  “Short version, we need to get off the island,” Sam said. “He thinks they’re running drugs.”

  Dimitris dropped his pack on the ground. “We can’t leave.”

  “Dimitris, please,” Zoe said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Sam and Remi are here for us. Maybe—”

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “I just want to get close enough to take some video. I might be able to find something to bring them down.”

  Zoe put her hand on Dimitris’s arm. “Maybe we should listen to Sam.”

  “There’s nothing he can tell me that’ll change my mind.”

  “It’s a lot more dangerous than we thought,” Sam said. “If they are running drugs, they won’t hesitate to kill you or anyone else who gets in their way.”

  “What do we do now?” Zoe asked Sam.

  “We go back to the boat.”

  She turned to Dimitris. “I think he’s right. You know he’s right. We need to go back.”

  He hesitated. “You’re sure that’s what you want to do?”

  “Positive. We should never have come here to start.”

  “But, Zoe, we came here for your grandfather.”

  “I know. But I lost him because of these people. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  He glanced at Sam, then nodded. “Okay.”

  Remi was glad when they all started up the trail, earning a few odd looks from the harvesters, who were all heading down to the port. At the first bend, Dimitris stopped, looking panicked. “I left my backpack behind. The boat key’s in it. I’ll just be a second.”

  Zoe watched him walking down the trail, toward the men and women sitting in the shade of the trees. Dimitris picked up his pack, then stopped to talk to a man who was holding the reins of one of the mules. “This is my fault,” Zoe said. “I’m not sure what I was thinking, coming here. Somehow, last night, when we were talking about how easy it would be to take a few videos, and maybe prove how they’re counterfeiting olive oil, it didn’t seem so crazy.”

  “The important thing,” Sam said, “is that we caught you in time.”

  “Zoe,” Remi said. “Your arm. You’re hurt.”

  She looked down at the dried blood on her elbow and forearm. “I didn’t even notice. I slipped when I was climbing up to the trail from the boat.”

  “The boat.” Remi looked at Sam. “Wasn’t the key in the boat when we found it?”

  “Now that you mention it . . .” They both turned toward the trail, searching.

  Dimitris was nowhere in sight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Dimitris, blinded by his need to exact retribution against the man responsible for killing Zoe’s grandfather, had hoped to find some proof that Kyril was counterfeiting olive oil. His plan had been to blend in with the workers during the harvest, take a few photos, then get out of there with no one the wiser. At least that’s what he and Zoe had told themselves when they’d concocted this idea.

  But now, hearing about the drugs changed everything. Knowing full well that Sam would protect Zoe, the moment Dimitris saw their attention on her hurt arm, instead of returning back up the trail, he slipped down the side of the hill. It was steeper than he’d thought, and he fell twice, scraping his hands and bruising hi
s backside. He earned a couple of odd looks as he weaved his way into a group of men once he reached the lower trail. Twenty minutes later, they neared the warehouses. Here, everything came to a stop as the workers with their mules formed a line, waiting for the scales.

  One of Dimitris’s cousins owned a much smaller olive orchard, which was why he and Zoe thought they could easily blend in. But on his cousin’s farm, harvesting was a family and friends affair. Everyone showed up, picked olives all day, then celebrated at night. This, however, was something completely different. At first glance it seemed as though the Kyrils had simply taken an old-fashioned business and expanded and updated it with modern technology. He looked into the vast, overhead doors of the building where the olives were milled. Large, gleaming stainless steel storage tanks stood just inside, waiting to receive the newly pressed oil, where it would need to sit for weeks to allow the sediment to settle before it was bottled for sale.

  Dimitris looked past the tanks, but didn’t see anything that might indicate any improprieties in production. He turned his attention back to the workers. One was leading a mule, its back loaded with full sacks of olives, toward the scales in front of the two warehouses. Those turning in fruit to be weighed had to produce a key card, which was scanned as they unloaded their bags onto a scale. From there, they were directed to another area, given a slip, which they turned in to a cashier for payment, then herded down a long graveled road out to the port to await a ferry that would return them to one of the larger surrounding islands.

  It was all very impersonal. Big business.

  But now that Dimitris had heard about the possibility of drugs being run, he had a feeling that the key card given to the harvesters was also a way for the Kyrils to know who was where and when. No one except those wearing tan coveralls with the Kyril logo seemed to have access to the milling facility, or the other buildings.

  It wasn’t until he saw the armed guards in their gray uniforms that he began to regret his rash decision to leave Sam and the others to come here on his own.

  But he thought of Zoe. The look in her eyes when she’d come to him after learning that her grandfather had been found at the bottom of the cave.

  Even if he and Remi hadn’t been kidnapped the same day that Tassos had disappeared, he would’ve questioned the police theory that Tassos’s death must have been accidental. Tassos had spent decades exploring every corner of Fourni, and knew it better than anyone there. He would never have put himself in a position that might lead to an accidental fall.

  Dimitris knew it.

  He intended to bring the Kyril kingdom crashing down. Whether he found evidence of drug running or counterfeit olive oil, Dimitris didn’t care. All he needed to do was get inside that other building and find something that proved that Adrian Kyril was breaking the law.

  Dimitris, certain Sam would do the right thing and take Zoe back to the boat, paused at the bottom of the hill. After glancing up toward the trail, not seeing Sam, Remi, or Zoe, he worked his way through the men and women who waited in line at the scales. His eye on the warehouse, he saw one of the overseers exiting through a side door, then stop suddenly, the door landing against his foot as he patted his pant pockets. He started to turn back, apparently found whatever he was looking for, then continued out, the door falling shut behind him.

  It did not, however, completely close—and the man walked off, never once looking back.

  Seeing his chance, Dimitris edged his way out of the line past the hopper, hearing the rattle of olives landing inside it.

  Encouraged when it seemed no one noticed him, he walked toward the warehouse door, unable to believe his luck when he reached it. He pulled it open, then slipped in, taking a quick look out before he closed the door behind him.

  It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark surroundings. The only light inside came from a row of windows high up on the north side of the warehouse, but it was enough to see. This building, apparently, was used for storage. Full pallets of cardboard boxes marked ONE LITER were stacked on metal shelving up to the ceiling.

  To the right he saw an office built into the corner, its window overlooking the interior of the warehouse.

  He decided to start his search there. The door leading into it was locked. He moved around the corner, seeing a window, hoping he might be able to get in. Unfortunately, it was also locked. Cupping his hands against the glass, he looked inside, seeing a desk and chair, file drawers and shelving.

  About to turn away, his eyes caught on the desktop, where he saw what at first looked like pencils with wires sticking out. He knew nothing about explosives, but he was pretty sure that’s exactly what those things were.

  That was the evidence they were looking for.

  Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he opened the camera app, placed the lens side against the glass, and took a photo. He was just about to take a second shot when a motor near the front of the warehouse hummed to life. Light flooded in as the massive overhead door started rolling upward.

  Startled, he backed into a telephone mounted on the outside of the office wall, knocking the handset from the receiver. He managed to catch it, returned it to its place, and ducked behind a pallet stacked with boxes as two men entered. The phone on the wall rang. They stopped, one of the men answering it. “Giorgio . . .” He held the phone out.

  Giorgio took the phone, then listened. “Yes . . . Right away.” He hung up. “They want the tins for the Heibert shipment.”

  The other man climbed onto the forklift parked near the door, turning the key. It beeped as he backed up, then turned, driving it toward a pallet near the first row of shelving.

  “Hold up, Lucas,” the gray-haired Giorgio said. “I’m not sure this is the right load.” Lucas stopped the forklift as Giorgio walked over, pulled a box cutter from his belt, and slit the plastic binding the boxes to the pallet. He cut open the topmost box, pulling out an empty tin with the green and gold Kyril logo. “Wrong one,” he said, dropping it back into the box. He turned and surveyed the row of shelves closest to them, then looked in Dimitris’s direction, seeing the pallet. “Why do they keep moving these things?”

  Dimitris sunk down as far as he could as Giorgio walked over. The man stood just a few feet away, cutting open the cellophane wrapper securing the cartons. He opened a box, pulling out a tin marked simply OLIVE OIL, without the distinctive Kyril logo. He nodded. “Move it out.”

  Dimitris’s heart started pounding as Lucas drove the forklift toward him, sliding the forks underneath the pallet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Sam, Remi, and Zoe moved into the trees. Once out of sight of the curious workers walking down the trail, Sam took out his binoculars to search the grounds around the processing facility.

  “What’s going on?” Zoe asked. “Do you see him? Is Dimitris okay?”

  “I haven’t found him yet.”

  He did a quick scan, saw a couple of men in uniforms running from the scales toward one of the open warehouses. Two men in khaki coveralls stood next to a forklift. When one of them moved, Sam saw Dimitris, kneeling on the floor. The two guards ran into the open bay door. One of them pulled Dimitris to his feet, while the other closed the bay door, blocking all view inside the building. “They have him.”

  “No,” Zoe said, her knees giving way. She sat on the ground, closing her eyes. “This is all my fault.”

  Remi crouched beside her, putting her arm over the young woman’s shoulders. She looked up at Sam. “Don’t worry, Zoe. Sam always comes up with a plan. Right, Sam?”

  When he didn’t answer, she cleared her throat, then stared at him with what he was beginning to recognize as her say something to fix this look. “Exactly,” he said. “I’ve got a plan. A good one.”

  “You do?” Zoe asked.

  “Absolutely. I just haven’t thought of it yet.”

  “Don’t worry,” Remi
said to Zoe. “He’s like that. But he always comes through in the end.”

  Zoe made a feeble attempt at a smile and then took a deep breath and said, “Right.”

  Sam turned his attention back to the compound. “We need to find some way to get into the building without being seen.”

  “Which one?” Remi asked.

  “The warehouse on the left.” There were three main buildings fanned out in a semicircle facing out to a long graveled road that led to the port. About midway down that road, the ruins of an old stone building sat in the midst of some ancient olive trees. Had it been closer, and on the opposite side of the road, they might have been able to approach from there. Searching for another avenue, he turned back to where the harvesters were unloading sacks of olives from the mules. The fruit was placed into a massive hopper, which separated the leaves and branches from the olives on their way to the first pressing.

  Remi followed the direction of his gaze. “Guess we get to be harvesters again.” They slipped into the line of workers and mules coming in off the trail, waiting to weigh their loads. The three of them watched as a couple of men in each group unloaded the heavy sacks from the backs of the mules, placing them on the scale. Once the weight was confirmed, a receipt was given to one worker, and they were directed to pick up their payment from a small reinforced cinder-block building with a steel door and steel shutters.

  Gun laws in the country were strict, but Sam suspected that the amount of cash on hand probably allowed the Kyrils to acquire permits for some of their guards. He noticed several who appeared to be carrying concealed weapons. No doubt they had even more firepower in the bunker—which meant he was severely outgunned.

  Not that he was about to pull out that little Smith & Wesson unless he absolutely had to.

  He eyed the warehouse where Dimitris was being held. The bay door was still closed, and a guard was now posted outside the entry door. When a uniformed employee walked over, trying to enter, the guard turned him away.

  Not a good sign. Clearly they weren’t getting in through the front.