She took a deep breath, then keyed the mic.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Sam, holding the light for Nikos, heard a slight crackle on the radio, then Remi’s voice on his internal speaker. “How’s it going down there?”
He pushed the talk button. “We’re making progress.”
“You need to come up.”
“Is something wrong?”
He heard her clearing her throat. “Nothing. Most of us are here on the Voreio Asteri.”
“Be there shortly.” He checked his air, saw he had about ten minutes left, and signaled to Nikos that they needed to head up.
The older man nodded, then went back to dusting. He’d uncovered at least a dozen more gold coins very near the location where they’d found the first coin that he’d given to Remi, and was, undoubtedly, eager to find more.
That the Samian ship survived the centuries in the Aegean waters at all was a miracle in itself, but not unheard of. The partial hulls of even older ships, from the late fourteenth century B.C., had been found by sponge divers off the Antalya coast of Turkey in similar depths just east of them. Sam thought that this find would possibly rival that, if nothing else due to the historical connection to Cyrus the Great—never mind Pactyes, the man who’d stolen the gold, then hired the Samian ship to carry it from the mainland.
If this was the fabled Poseidon’s Trident treasure, there was a lot more than these few coins to be found. Other than the one Remi had taken up, they weren’t about to remove anything before they mapped it. A site this significant, the government archeologists would continue to keep the location secret, and be living on-site until the wreck was completely salvaged of the important and valuable artifacts.
Unfortunately, as much as Sam—and no doubt, Remi—would love to be involved every step of the way, the entire excavation could take several years. They’d have to leave the majority of that work to Nikos, the Fourni crew, and the governmental archeologists, who were no doubt setting up shop above them even now.
Sam, seeing that Nikos had no intention of stopping, tapped him on the arm, then touched his dive watch, indicating that they needed to return to the boat.
And, once again, Nikos nodded, then continued dusting the artifact. The water clouded as the particles rose then settled away, revealing the curved edge of a rather large object just visible beneath the sand. Nikos ran his finger against it, revealing something long, round, and encrusted. Too large to be a plate, too small to be a shield. Maybe a serving platter.
Finally, Nikos put away his brush, then signaled that he was ready.
Sam hit the talk button. “On our way up.”
There was a click, as though someone quickly grabbed the radio to acknowledge his transmission. For some reason, that brought to mind Remi’s earlier transmission. While there was nothing outwardly wrong, it struck him that something was off. Not her voice—that had sounded normal.
It was something to do with the boat.
Sam’s Greek was far too rusty. He reached out, tapping Nikos, then picked up his slate board, writing: What is “Vorayo Asteri”?
Nikos eyed Sam’s phonetic spelling, then nodded, taking the pen, writing:
“Voreio Asteri. North Star.”
Sam’s blood turned to ice.
Remi was in trouble.
He scrawled Adrian Kyril’s name on the board, then pointed toward the surface. As they started their ascent, Sam saw two divers silhouetted above. Both carried what, at first glance, looked like metal detectors, something that members of the archeological team might carry.
Except if he was right about Remi’s warning, they weren’t archeologists—and those were not metal detectors.
They were pneumatic spearguns.
He grabbed Nikos’s arm, pulling him back toward the bottom, then pushing him toward a rock about a yard wide. The octopus they’d seen earlier scuttled out and darted across the rounded edge of the platelike object Nikos had been dusting. Sam reached down, grasped the edge, tugging it from the sand. A cloud of silt swept up as he freed the object. It looked like a large round platter encrusted with centuries of buildup.
Sam held it with both hands as one of Kyril’s men stopped swimming, then aimed. The spear shot through the water, hitting the platter. Bits of concretion broke off, floating to the seafloor. The second diver aimed before Sam had a chance to move. He swung his makeshift shield, the water slowing its path. The spear glanced off it, almost knocking the plate from Sam’s hands.
The two men started to reload. Sam, seeing his chance, shoved the plate toward Nikos, then swam toward them. He reached the first diver, who was struggling with his speargun. Sam gripped the end of it, trying to pull it from the man’s grasp. The diver kicked out, then fired, as Sam jerked the barrel upward, the shot going wide. Sam wrested the speargun, dropped it, then grabbed the man by both wrists.
As they struggled, the diver brought up his knees to Sam’s chest, pushing out. Sam kept his hold on the attacker and wrapped both legs around the man’s waist, squeezing tight. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other man, his speargun loaded, aiming it at them. Sam held his thighs around the diver, then, twisting, forced him around. The man jerked, then suddenly went limp, the spear piercing through his side.
A thin cloud of blood drifted outward as Sam let the body go. He saw the second diver toss the now useless gun. The man drew his dive knife and started swimming straight toward Sam.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Time seemed to fragment as Remi stood on the deck next to Dimitris, counting the minutes after Kyril’s men dove into the water to bring up Sam and Nikos. She knew her husband, knew his capabilities, but try as she might, she couldn’t control her growing fear that, when she’d left him, he had only about ten minutes of air left in his tank, and he’d now been down there for twenty minutes.
Adrian Kyril, gun in hand, paced the deck, every now and then stopping to look over the side into the water. After another five minutes went by, he turned to Remi. “Tell your husband that if he fails to come up, I’ll kill the both of you and everyone on board the Odysseus.”
When she didn’t move, he grabbed her by her arm, forcing her back into the cabin.
He pressed the gun into her ribs. “It doesn’t much matter who I kill first. The choice is yours.”
Hand shaking from adrenaline, she picked up the microphone, and keyed it. “Sam . . . Are you there . . . ?” The several seconds of following silence were punctuated by the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. “Sam . . . ? Come in . . . please.”
Adrian grabbed the microphone from her. A few more seconds passed by. “Why isn’t he answering?”
“I don’t know. Let me try again.”
“I’m done with the niceties.” He keyed the mic. “Fargo? I have your wife. If you don’t make an appearance in the next five minutes, I’ll kill her and everyone on board the Odysseus, too.” He tossed the microphone onto the radio, grabbed her by the shoulder, and pushed her out of the cabin. “You had better hope he comes to his senses.”
With Adrian close behind her, Remi crossed the deck toward Dimitris. Although the late-afternoon sun lit up the crystal clear depths several meters down, the sea was too deep to see where Sam and Nikos had been diving.
“Something’s wrong,” Ilya said. “They should be back by now.”
Adrian moved next to Remi. He peered over the railing, then turned toward Ilya. “What should we do?”
Ilya’s dead gaze landed on Remi. “We wait.”
The Asteri rocked gently as Remi leaned over the side, her focus on the turquoise water, seeing nothing but the sun reflecting off the surface. She knew her husband, knew he would survive. Even so, she worried. Both Ilya and Fayez stood ready to shoot the moment Sam and Nikos surfaced.
Five minutes went by.
They should have been up by now.
Adrian gripped her arm. “Where is he?”
Remi glanced at Dimitris. His expression mirrored her own.
“Look!” Dimitris pointed to a froth of air bubbles.
Someone was breathing down there.
A moment later, two dark forms started to take shape, rising to the surface.
Ilya and Fayez aimed their weapons.
Adrian grabbed Remi’s arm. “No!” she shouted, struggling to pull away.
The divers broke the surface and the men fired. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Her heart jumped with each shot.
“Enough!” Adrian said.
The two divers floated facedown, Sam’s tank bobbing above on the left, and Nikos’s, with the Fourni logo, on the right.
Remi’s gut twisted, her knees going weak as she stared at the two dead men.
Neither was Sam or Nikos.
Dimitris stared in shock, his gaze moving from the bodies to Remi, undoubtedly realizing the same thing. They’d switched out the tanks. Drawing her gaze from the water, she threw herself against Dimitris, burying her head into his shoulder, trying to appear the grieving wife—until Ilya said, “We can’t leave the bodies there. Evidence.”
“Fish them out,” Adrian said.
That was the last thing they needed. Remi pushed away from Dimitris, facing Adrian. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious about what—if anything—we found down there? Poseidon’s Trident. That’s what you were looking for when you killed Tassos, wasn’t it?”
“Did you really think that’s why I’m here?” Adrian studied her a moment, his brows rising. “I came back for one reason. I want nothing more than to see your husband decaying at the bottom of the sea, and for you to suffer for it.”
Apparently, she and Sam had totally miscalculated Adrian’s lust for that treasure.
Somehow, she was going to have to rekindle it. “The gold was never on the island. The pirates who helped steal it were double-crossed by Pactyes.”
Adrian, about to turn away, stopped. “Double-crossed by Pactyes? What are you talking about?”
“The pirates,” Remi said, “who helped steal the gold from King Cyrus. They thought it was buried on Poseidon’s Trident, but it was on board their ship the whole time.” She pulled the mesh bag from her dive belt, then tossed it on the ground at his feet. “It’s in there.”
He stared at it a moment, as though suspecting some sort of trick. Finally, he bent down, and picking it up, opened it. When he reached in, pulling out the gold piece, and holding it up, his breath caught at the sight of the gleaming golden lion’s head. “You found this . . . down there?”
She nodded. “It’s the gold from Poseidon’s Trident. And there’s a lot more where that came from. But you’re going to need us to find it.”
“She’s right,” Dimitris said. “It’s not out in the open.”
“You truly expect me to believe that? When your boat is anchored almost on top of it?” He smiled, tucking the coin in his pocket.
Ilya’s phone rang. He answered it, listening, his eyes flicking across Remi and Dimitris, then landing on Adrian. “Gianni wants to know how much longer.”
“We’re ready.” Looking at Fayez, he cocked his head at Dimitris and Remi. “I want those two on the Odysseus when we blow it up.”
Fayez pulled several zip ties from his pocket and limped over to the young man, securing his hands behind his back. He moved to Remi, pulling her hands behind her back. As he tightened the strap, they heard a thunk against the hull. Fayez and Remi both looked over the side to see that the current had carried the divers closer to the Asteri, one now right up against it. Fayez was about to turn away, when the tank clunked again. It shifted, turning the body just enough to show the man’s face. Fayez pushed Remi aside, staring for several seconds. “That’s not Fargo. That’s Kostas.” He looked at the other man floating farther out. “And Gregor.”
Adrian strode toward the railing, took one look, then rounded on Remi, his gaze darkening with anger. “Where is your husband?”
“I have no idea.”
He glanced at Ilya. “Call Piers on the Odysseus that Fargo’s on the loose.” Ilya moved off, and Adrian turned to Fayez. “Zip-tie their feet.”
Fayez kneeled with some difficulty. He pulled a zip tie tight around Dimitris’s ankles, then did the same to Remi.
Ilya looked up from his phone. “Piers’s phone goes to voice mail.”
“Fargo.” Adrian rounded on Remi, pushed her to the deck so hard it knocked the breath from her lungs. Pain lanced through her hip and shoulder, but when she looked down, she realized she was just a few inches from the knife she’d hidden beneath her fins. Ignoring the pain, she rolled, reaching behind her until she felt the fins. She slipped her fingers between them, touching the knife, then froze as Kyril looked down at her. Finally, as he turned away, she shifted into a sitting position.
Adrian’s gaze was on the research vessel. “We need to find him.”
“Why don’t we just blow it up now?” Ilya asked.
“Because I want to see his face when I tell him his wife is dead.”
“Wait,” Fayez said as Adrian stepped on the platform behind Ilya. “We’re not taking these two onto the other boat? I thought we were going to blow them all up.”
“No time. Dump them overboard, they’ll drown. I want it to look like an accident.”
Dimitris, glancing over at Remi, saw her working her knife. When Fayez looked at the two of them as though trying to decide who to drown first, Dimitris scooted forward, doing his best to kick at him. “Stay away from her.”
Fayez stepped back, out of reach. “Or what?”
“You’ll see.” He shifted forward, kicking a second time.
Fayez seemed amused. “I’m sure she’ll love to see you die first.” He stepped behind Dimitris, dragging the struggling man toward the ladder. Remi started sawing her knife against the zip tie. The blade slipped from her grasp. She stilled, but Fayez, busy with trying to shove Dimitris into the water, didn’t seem to hear. She grasped the blade, again working it against the thick plastic. She cut through as Fayez pushed Dimitris headfirst into the sea.
With her hands free, she cut the tie at her ankles, then jumped to her feet.
“Fayez,” Remi called out.
He turned and faced her, saw the knife she held and laughed. “You forget. I’ve seen you—”
She hurled the blade.
It struck him below the sternum.
Remi darted forward as he slumped to the deck. Fayez stared up at her in shock. “Practice,” she said, looking past him, seeing Dimitris sinking into the depths. She yanked the knife from Fayez’s chest. Had she not worried that Adrian or Ilya would spot his body, she would’ve left him there. Instead, she shoved him over the edge, then dove into the water to save her friend.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Adrian Kyril, seething with anger, nearly ran into the back of Ilya when the man stopped suddenly on the deck of the Odysseus.
Ilya stood there, one hand on the cabin door, looking in the direction of the Asteri.
“What’s wrong?” Adrian asked, annoyed.
“I heard a splash.”
“Fayez dumping the bodies.”
“Maybe I should check.”
“Leave them. We need to find Fargo. If he’s on board, we’re all in trouble.”
When Ilya hesitated, Adrian pushed past him, pulling open the door. He stepped in, looking around the multipurpose room. Galley on the port side, a couch and two chairs on the starboard side, the room was divided by a long table, where Adrian saw a half-empty coffee cup, an open box of crackers, and Piers’s cell phone. He walked over, touched the mug. It was still warm.
Piers, however, was nowhere in sight.
Adrian’s blood pressure rose at the thought that Fargo might have bes
ted him once again. He’d had over a decade to nurse his hatred for Sam and Remi Fargo. Because of their interference, his mother was dead, their property and assets stolen by the government, and he was left suffering the indignity of living like a pauper, all while the Fargos pretended to be philanthropists, raking in millions of dollars in the process. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself, he eyed the passageway leading below deck.
Fargo would definitely try to save the hostages.
“Check up here,” he said, heading for the stairs. Holding his gun close, he started down, stopping at the bottom to listen, hearing nothing. He reached out, opening the first door, pointing his weapon at the four hostages hog-tied to each other. They looked up in fright as he quickly surveyed the room, closed that door, then crossed over and checked the adjoining cabin, seeing the other four there. And no sign of Fargo.
“I found Piers,” Ilya called out from above.
Relieved, he closed the door and hurried up the stairs, seeing Piers standing next to Ilya. “Where were you?”
“In the head. Too much coffee.”
“Where’s Gianni?”
“Right where you left him,” Piers said, pointing upward. “Keeping watch.”
Adrian, still worried about Fargo, dug the gold coin from his pocket, holding it up. “Half of the treasure to anyone who captures Fargo. I want him on this boat with the others when it goes up.”
Piers’s eyes widened. “Is that thing real?”
“Very.”
Ilya glanced at the coin as Adrian stuffed it back in his pocket. “Half the treasure. You’ll have to reconsider the explosion.”
“You’re the one who said we should make it look like an accident.”
“An explosion will only bring the authorities,” Ilya said. “They’ll find the shipwreck when they send divers to salvage what’s left of the Odysseus.”
Adrian felt his jaw clenching, then forced himself to relax. He strode to the door, pushing it open. “We find Fargo first, move the boat, then blow it up. If he’s not on board, he’s lurking around it. Maybe we can see him from the upper bridge.”
Wrath of Poseidon Page 32