Wrath of Poseidon

by Clive Cussler

  None of that mattered to Sam. His mind had been on Remi. After she’d left, the cottage, the island, everything seemed far too quiet. It gave him too much time to think about what he might have done to change the way things ended between them, or what he might have said that would have made a difference. He’d called a couple of days after she’d departed, just to check up on her. When she didn’t answer, he left a voice mail asking her to call back. Two days later, after no response, he decided to send a text: Did you make it home?

  She texted back two words: Yes. Thanks.

  His instinct was that he needed to let her be. And so he did. Remi had his number. She’d call or she wouldn’t. The choice had to be hers.

  When the day finally came for him to leave Fourni, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed his carry-on and walked down to the port. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness when he saw Manos, Denéa, Zoe, Dimitris, and Nikos waiting for him on the dock. He shook hands with Manos, then smiled at Denéa. “Thanks for all your help and with Remi.”

  She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll miss her. And you.”

  Dimitris gave a sheepish smile as he held out his hand. “If not for you . . .”

  Sam shook the young man’s hand. “Glad I could be there for you. Take care of Zoe.”

  “I will.”

  “And you,” he said to Zoe after giving her a hug, “take care of Dimitris.”

  She nodded, blushing as Dimitris put his arm around her.

  Nikos clasped Sam’s shoulder. “I can never thank you enough, my friend.”

  “No thanks needed.” He reached into his backpack, pulling out the holstered Smith & Wesson, handing it to Nikos. “For such a small handgun, that thing packed a good punch. I liked it better than I thought I would.”

  “You should take it.”

  “As much as I’d love to, I can’t accept such an expensive gift. I am honored you trusted me with it.”

  “There’s no one else I’d trust more. I’ll mail it to you.”

  “Don’t—”

  “Too late. Maybe you’ll save another life with it.” He smiled. “Take care. If you’re ever out this way again . . .” Nikos grabbed him in a bear hug. “There are no words. You are my friend and there is always room at our table.”

  Sam nodded, started to walk toward the ferry, when Dimitris elbowed Zoe.

  “Wait,” she said. “I almost forgot.” She held out a small pouch. “For you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some of the counterfeit coins. A souvenir of your time here.” She placed the pouch in his hand, then pulled him into a hug. When she stepped back, her eyes were glistening. “Thank you. For everything.”

  * * *

  —

  His arrival back in the States was the exact opposite of his departure from Greece. No one was waiting for him when he walked out of the airport, or when he finally walked into his apartment. There were, however, over a dozen messages on his answering machine. Two from his old supervisor at DARPA, and the rest from his boss at the supermarket, wanting to know when he was coming back. It was the final message, only yesterday, that got to him. Someone from the supermarket chain’s human resources department saying that, since they hadn’t heard back, they were terminating his employment.

  He erased them all, took a long, hot shower, then went to bed.

  All the while, trying not to think about Remi.

  No way was that going to happen. It was as if the stars had lined up, putting them both in the right place at the right time at the Lighthouse Cafe. And then those same stars seemed to conspire against them. If she hadn’t taken her ill-fated trip to Greece, would things have turned out different for them? They would never know.

  As much as he wished otherwise, he wasn’t fine with the way things had turned out, Remi going her way, him going his. He kept trying to convince himself otherwise as he finally drifted off to sleep.

  Sam was jarred awake to the sound of his cell phone buzzing on his nightstand. He picked it up, saw the R through sleep-hazed eyes, then quickly answered. “Good morning.”

  “You have no idea what time it is, do you?”

  “Rube . . . ?”

  “Who were you expecting?”

  He glanced over, saw the late-afternoon sun angling into his bedroom window. “Sorry. Jet-lagged. What’s up?”

  “Apparently, you’ve impressed a lot of bigwigs over at Interpol.”

  “Trust me. That was the last thing on my mind.”

  “Regardless, word gets around. They want you back at DARPA.”

  “I know. They left a couple of messages on my machine.” A truck rumbled past on the busy street outside, shaking the windows of his apartment. Back less than a day, and he already missed the peace and quiet of Fourni. “So, why are you calling? Is DARPA that desperate they’re paying you to recruit for them?”

  “After all the news came in from Interpol, one of my bosses thinks you should come work for us.”

  “The CIA?” Sam laughed. “I may be unemployed, but I’m not desperate.”

  “I told him you’d say something like that. He asked me to call anyway.”

  “Pass on my thanks. But I’m declining all job offers at the moment.”

  “Don’t be so quick to discount the offer from DARPA. You never know. Maybe you can negotiate your own lab time.”

  “There’s a thought.” Sam felt a slight vibration in his phone from an incoming text. He pulled it away from his ear, seeing Blake’s message on the screen. “I’ll get back to you. Blake’s texting that I need to call, A-SAP.” The moment Rube disconnected, Sam returned Blake’s call.

  “What’re the chances you can get to my club, say, in the next two hours or so?”

  “Why?”

  “I just got done playing nine holes with three of the guys I was hoping might want to invest in your laser thing. If you can make it here by the time we finish the next nine, I think they’d be willing to listen to your pitch.”

  “I’d have to go by your office and pick up the portfolios first.”

  “Whatever it takes. Just do it fast. This may be your last chance.”

  Sam flung the covers aside as he got out of bed. “I’m on my way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Blake met Sam outside the clubhouse, his brows going up at the unusual sight of Sam in a suit and tie. “Don’t screw this up, Fargo. You have no idea how hard it was to convince these guys that, A, you’re not going to flake out on them again, and B, your idea is worth their time and money.”

  “It’d be nice to think I wasn’t wasting my time, either.”

  “Just go in there and sell it.”

  The two men walked in together, Blake moving to a chair in the corner, Sam to the center of the room. Three men in their fifties, all dressed for golf, sat on one side of a long table, watching Sam as he approached. He placed his phone and the portfolios on the table, shook hands with each of them, pulled out the chair, and sat.

  The man sitting on the right said, “I understand you’re working on some sort of a laser . . .”

  “Argon laser.” He picked up the folders, about to pass them out, saying, “I’ve put together some information—”

  “Save it,” the man said. “Just tell us.”

  “It detects mixed metals and alloys from a distance.”

  “A metal detector?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Explain.”

  “Typically, the properties and ratios of argon are used to determine the age of rocks. By adjusting the laser that detects argon in the earth’s surface, I’ve discovered that age is only one quality it can detect. The other is the type of metal. For instance, the elements—”

  The man in the middle raised his brows. “Type of metal? As i
n gold?”

  “As in any metal. Gold, silver, platinum, palladium.”

  All three leaned forward with interest. “Go on . . .” the first man said.

  “As mentioned, the gist is that it works from a distance. Whether you’re searching underwater or on land—” His phone screen lit up with a text from Rube: Just received word. Kyril to plead guilty. Will let you know.

  “Mr. Fargo?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Where was I?”

  “Detecting metal beneath the ocean’s surface. Definitely something I could invest in.”

  “Right. The ocean . . .” For some reason, after seeing Rube’s text about Kyril, all he could think about was the conversations he’d had with Remi. She thought he should be building the laser on his own, not teaming up with a bunch of investors.

  Which made him wonder why on earth he was rushing into this.

  He glanced at Blake, then the three men sitting at the table, and finally at his phone. There was absolutely no hurry. “I’m sorry. I . . . have to apologize for wasting your time.”

  They looked at one another, then at him. “Excuse me?” one of them said.

  Sam slipped his phone into his pocket and picked up the portfolios. “This was a mistake.”

  Blake shot up out of his chair. “Sam—”

  “Sorry, Blake. I appreciate all of this. I really do. It’s just . . .” What was he supposed to say? That a woman who had broken up with him felt it was a bad idea for him to put this out to investors? “I’ve rethought the whole thing.”

  “Mr. Fargo,” the first man said. “If you walk out that door now, you’re done.” His expression, like that of the other two men, barely concealed his annoyance.

  Not that Sam could blame any of them. “I realize that. And I thank you for agreeing once again to see me, but . . . Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Blake followed Sam out the door into the hallway. “What the—? Do you have any idea how long it took me just to get those three in the same room as you? I promised them you weren’t going to flake out.”

  “I’m not flaking out. I just don’t want to give up control to a bunch of investors.”

  “Wasn’t that the whole idea? Let someone else front the cash so you can work on this thing?”

  “It was,” he said when they reached the lobby. “But once I do that, it’s no longer mine. It’s theirs. I’m just the guy who’s putting it together. I do all the hard work, they reap all the benefit.”

  “I don’t get you, Fargo.”

  “Nothing to get.” He pushed open the heavy glass door, striding out into the parking lot, Blake on his heels. “I’m going to fund it myself.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve got that empty lot at Goldfish Point. How much can I get for that?”

  “Are you kidding? I could sell it tomorrow for double what you paid.”

  “Do it. Doesn’t get much easier than that.”

  Blake halted in his tracks. “Wait. What about Remi? And the house?”

  “Not in the cards,” he said without stopping. “Might as well put the money to good use. Funding my laser.”

  “Exactly where are you planning to do this?” Blake asked, catching up with him. “I love you like a brother, but I really need my office back.”

  Sam opened the door of his Jeep, tossing the portfolios he’d prepared onto the passenger seat. Sliding in behind the wheel, he looked over at his friend. “The quicker you sell it, the faster I’m out of your hair. And your office.”

  “You’re really going to leave?”

  He thought about that last text from Remi. No hint of a future together. “Can’t think of one good reason to stay.”

  “And go where?”

  Until that moment, he hadn’t really given it much thought beyond that he couldn’t stay here. There were too many reminders of Remi. “DARPA wants me back. I think I’ll give it a go.”

  Blake stood in the way, preventing Sam from closing the car door. “Forget I said anything about my office. Take as much time as you want.”

  “Can you sell the lot or not?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Let me know when it’s done.” He pulled the door closed, then drove off.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Miss Longstreet, Olivia on line two.”

  Remi glanced up at Marla, the blond-haired receptionist standing in the entry of her cubicle. Olivia, no doubt, was calling about the dinner party tomorrow. Covering the mouthpiece of her headset, she whispered, “Tell her I’ll call her back.”

  The young woman gave her a thumbs-up, then left.

  “Lo siento, Señor Gonzales,” Remi said into the mic. “¿Por favor repita eso?” She listened while he repeated the order, double-checking the invoice to make sure the shipment was as he’d requested. Satisfied that Mr. Gonzales had everything he needed, she thanked him, then disconnected.

  Leaning back in her chair, she looked around her cubicle, which, after her time away in Greece, seemed so gray and claustrophobic. As much as she loved the people she worked with, each nine-to-five day felt like a lifetime—and this after only two weeks back.

  With a sigh, she started to pull off her headset, when the phone line lit up. Olivia was clearly impatient. She pressed the button. “Don’t forget to pick up the cake. Wear something nice. Your brother will be there. I know. I know.”

  There was a second or two of empty air, then, “Remi? It’s Sam.”

  “Oh . . . Sam.”

  “That excited to hear from me?”

  “Sorry,” she said, belatedly realizing what she’d just rattled off to him when she answered the call—as though she’d neatly picked up her life, while his was still on hold. “I thought you were Olivia. She’s worried I’m going to blow off this party tomorrow.”

  “With her brother.”

  “It’s a birthday thing.”

  “No worries. How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” Her gaze strayed to her desk blotter and the dozens of scorpion doodles populating it. She and Sam hadn’t spoken since he’d left her at the airport in Samos a little over two weeks ago, and she was unprepared for the jumble of thoughts and emotions that swept through her on hearing his voice. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine, actually. Which is why I’m calling. Good news, in fact. You won’t need to return to Greece for the trial. Adrian Kyril pled guilty.”

  Remi leaned back in her chair. “When?”

  “Apparently yesterday. Rube just called to confirm. He also mentioned that they confiscated the Mirage along with the rest of Adrian’s and his late mother’s assets. Ill-gotten gains from the drug trade.”

  “That’s got to be a blow.”

  “Doubt he’ll find it of much use in jail. Anyway . . . I just thought you might like to know.”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  An uncomfortable stretch of silence was made more noticeable when both tried speaking at the same time. They stumbled over their words, until Sam said, “Go ahead. You first.”

  She decided on a safe topic. “Did you ever reschedule your investor meeting?”

  “Last week, in fact.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “In the end, I decided it wasn’t for me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Besides, I got the idea from you.”

  “What idea?”

  “To try to do this myself without the investors. The good news—for Blake at least—is that I’m finally moving out of his office. He’s having a goodbye shindig for me at the Lighthouse tomorrow for lunch . . . I know it’s a last-minute invite, but if you’re free, you should drop by.”

  “I . . . have that party tomorrow afternoon. Promised I’d help get everything ready.”

  “Right. Olivia’s brother.”

  “I
promised.” It sounded so hollow to her. “Maybe if we finish early enough, I can stop by?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. A bunch of guys drinking a bunch of beer, watching the game. I should probably go finish packing up my boxes before Blake calls off the whole thing.”

  “Well, it was good talking to you.”

  “It was—I mean, talking to you. Take care, Remi.”

  The dial tone sounded and an immense sense of loneliness swept over her. She pulled off her headset, laying it on her desk—trying to ignore the regret and guilt she felt by convincing herself she was doing the right thing in making a clean break from Sam.

  They had completely incompatible lifestyles, a fact she was reminded of when she walked into the kitchen the following afternoon, where Olivia and her brother Keith were discussing the sorry state of college football.

  “I’m telling you,” Keith said, “I could do a better job of coaching and for a lot less money.”

  Olivia laughed. “Don’t quit your day job. You might regret it.” She glanced at Remi, then at her brother. “Look who’s here.”

  “Remi.” The blue-eyed, brown-haired Keith crossed the room, his smile sincere. “So good to see you.”

  “Likewise.” They clasped hands, then kissed cheek to cheek. “How’s the law firm?” she asked.

  “Still there.” He poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the countertop toward her. “I heard a rumor that you were involved in some kidnapping and murder in Greece?”

  “Not a rumor at all.”

  “You’re okay, though?”

  “I am now. I just found out that the man pled guilty. Which means we won’t have to go back to testify.”

  “What happened to the guy you were over there with?” he asked.

  Olivia shook her head, as if to say she couldn’t believe he brought up the subject.

  Remi ignored her friend, saying, “A lot happened in that short time we were together. On the one hand, I’ve never been so scared to death. On the other, I’ve never felt more alive.” She gave a slight shrug. “I guess when it came right down to it, it was just a bit more than I could handle.”