by Rebecca York
“A ruthless bastard who would have driven us over the edge if he could.” Zeke finished her sentence.
While she thought about that, Zeke took out two of the barrels that were still full of olives and set them in the middle of the pavement, along with a red cloth he found in the glove compartment. Then he slowly drove back the way they’d come, repeating the process.
“Do you think Icarus and his men were out for revenge?” she asked. “Is that why they came after us?”
Zeke considered the questions. “The motive could have been revenge. Or they might have been sent to round us up, and when we didn’t stop at the roadblock, they figured it was better to report that we drove over the side of the cliff than that we got away.”
Elizabeth winced.
“I’m still wondering how everything fits together,” Zeke continued. “Every time we turn around, somebody knows just where to look for us.”
She was working on that, when Zeke muttered a low curse.
“What?”
He shook his head in exasperation. “I guess we’ll have to start dodging the guy who’s expecting the shipment of olives. I don’t have enough money with me to pay him for the cargo. I’ll have to wire some.”
“That’s the least of our worries.”
“It’s trivial to us. For him, it’s probably a good chunk of his year’s income. He’ll be cursing the day I walked into that warehouse and bribed his foreman to let me drive the cargo.”
“You’ll make it right when you can.” Scooting to the left, she leaned her head against Zeke’s shoulder. He had plenty of problems of his own, but he still had regrets about involving an innocent bystander.
They rounded a curve, and she could see a mountain village spread out below them. The houses were white, like the ones in town where they’d spent the night. But most of these had gabled red tile roofs instead of flat white ones. Zeke slowed, as they started down the grade. Before reaching town, they came to a place where a dirt track angled toward the left, following the course of a little stream. Zeke turned off the main road.
The stream hugged one side of the rutted lane. Boulders and clumps of bamboo pressed in along both sides, narrowing the passage so that it was barely wide enough for the truck. They bounced along for several hundred teethrattling feet, until they were hidden by a substantial outcropping of rock. Then Zeke cut the engine.
In the sudden quiet, it seemed to Elizabeth that she heard the sound of another vehicle being switched off.
“Did you hear something?”
“What?”
She shrugged. “Another car?”
He pulled at his ear. “No. But then I was pretty close to those gunshots. I’m not hearing perfectly at the moment.”
She strained her ears, realizing her hearing wasn’t up to par, either. “I guess it was an echo from the truck. Where are we?” she asked Zeke, as she looked around at the barren landscape.
“A prudent distance from town.”
When he opened the door and climbed out, she followed. They were in a little clearing several hundred feet above the village—an excellent place to look down on the main square and some of the narrow streets. It must be market day. A row of stalls lined one side of the square, and women with baskets over their arms were haggling with vendors selling a variety of fruits and vegetables, as well as livestock still on the hoof.
Shading his eyes, Zeke stared at the scene below them. “I’m going to find out the address of the house where Irena was staying,” he said. “It’s on the outskirts of town, from what Jason could tell me. As soon as I establish the location, I’ll come back and get you.”
“Okay,” she whispered, feeling a bit uncertain as they stood facing each other. Then Zeke closed the distance between them and folded her close. She felt a tremor go through him. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said in a thick voice. “And not only because you drove the truck. I’m glad you were willing to come on this expedition with me.”
A strange, joyful feeling unfurled inside her. “It means a lot to hear you say that,” she whispered.
“You and I have to talk. But we can’t do it here or now.”
She swallowed and raised her eyes to his, wishing he’d given her a hint of what he wanted to discuss.
His hold on her tightened. “I still don’t think I’m doing you any favors at the moment.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
He gave a short, hollow laugh. “You may change your mind, when you hear the rest of it. Maybe it’s not fair, but I want you to promise me something,” he added, in a raspy whisper.
She braced herself. “Anything.”
He was silent for several heartbeats. “Things keep happening. I could run into trouble. If something goes wrong…will you do your best to get Ariadne back home?”
She felt her throat clog. “We got away from Icarus. What else can happen?”
He shrugged. “I’ve given up trying to make predictions. But I’ll feel better, if I hear your promise.”
“I’ll get Ariadne home,” she agreed, silently telling herself that she was only saying it to relieve his mind.
Suddenly, another voice joined the conversation. “I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible.”
They both whirled. Elizabeth caught a flash of movement and saw a man step into the small clearing. He was slender and of medium height, with dark hair and dark eyes. She recognized him. It was the man who had found them in the restaurant and followed them through the streets last night. Now he was holding a gun—leveled at the center of her chest.
Chapter Fifteen
Beside her, Zeke went rigid. “Who the hell are you?” he challenged.
The newcomer gave a harsh little laugh. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” Zeke countered.
“If you insist on a name, you can call me John Smith.”
“Sure.” Zeke turned one palm up. “Okay, Mr. Smith, I’ll pay you to leave my wife out of this. It’s me you want.”
“I’m already being paid. I doubt you can match the offer.”
“Try me.”
“No! We’re wasting time.”
Elizabeth saw fear in the man’s eyes. Maybe he’d been afraid he’d end up like Sebastian.
“Who are you working for?” Zeke demanded.
The newcomer gave Zeke a parody of a smile. “You’ll be meeting the gentleman soon enough,” he said in an offhand way, yet he wasn’t fooling Elizabeth.
“You were following us,” she accused.
“When I lost you last night, I waited for you on the road. Glad you got away from those murderous sailors.”
As she made a strangled sound, his eyes narrowed. “No more talking!”
He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Tm going to toss these near your feet,” he said to Elizabeth. “You pick them up and put them on your husband. If you try anything funny, I’ll shoot you. You’re expendable.”
A sick feeling churned inside her, as the handcuffs bounced to the ground, clanking when they hit a small rock. She shot a glance at Zeke, silently asking for guidance. “Better do it,” he growled.
Kneeling, she reached for the cuffs. In her imagination, she had expected the metal to feel cold and clammy. Somehow it was worse to discover they were warm—from Mr. Smith’s body heat, she thought with a little shudder, as she clenched her fingers around one of the rings. Shaking off the dust, she turned toward Zeke. His face was set in a rigid mask, which he probably thought was hiding his emotions. But she could see the anger below the controlled surface, and she felt her heart squeeze. He had set out on a rescue mission, and he had doggedly pursued that goal, even when enemies had popped up at every turn to thwart him. He was so close to success, yet it looked as if he had run out of options.
He held out his hands, palms down, but the agony in his eyes made Elizabeth’s stomach knot. She stood rigid, trying not to let her hands shake.
“Do it!” Smith ordered. “Or I’ll shoot your arse
and do it myself.”
“Don’t mess with him,” Zeke whispered.
Teeth clamped to keep herself from screaming, Elizabeth took a step forward, slid the cuffs around his wrists and clicked them into place.
“Move away,” the man with the gun ordered. “Hurry.”
Elizabeth scrambled to obey, watching as Mr. Smith strode forward, a look of relief and satisfaction on his face. He must be feeling confident now, she judged, because his total concentration was on Zeke. She had only seconds to think about her next move. As the man turned his back on her, she edged away, then made a sudden shift to the right, putting a strategically situated boulder between herself and the clearing.
Behind her, she heard feet scuffle, then the sound of a shot. The explosion was so close it made her ears ring, but the bullet only bounced off the rock.
Trying to be both fast and silent Elizabeth turned and ran, taking a twisting path through the outcropping of rock and clumps of bamboo.
“You stupid cow! Come back,” Smith shouted. “I’ve got the gun pointed at your husband’s head. Come back or I’ll put a bullet in his brain.”
Elizabeth froze in midstride.
“You’ve got three seconds to get back here!”
Fighting sick fear, she pivoted and took a quick step in the direction from which she’d come. To her astonishment, she heard Zeke’s voice, loud and strong. “Elizabeth, stay where you are. He’s lying. He won’t shoot me. He’s gone to too much trouble to take me alive.”
Smith dropped the English accent, snarling something guttural in Greek. “Come back!” he ordered again.
“No!” Zeke shouted. The order was followed by a thump and a groan.
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded against her ribs. Ears ringing, she scrunched down behind a clump of bamboo at the edge of the stream. It took every scrap of willpower she possessed to keep from shouting Zeke’s name and giving away her hiding place—or from rushing back to the clearing to assure herself he was all right. Somehow she made herself stay hidden in the bamboo.
Agonizing seconds passed. The gunman cursed again. Nothing else happened for what seemed like an eternity. Then she heard several gruff orders issued in Greek, perhaps so she couldn’t figure out what was being said. Her ears were still ringing from the gunshot, but by listening intently, she made out the sound of two sets of footsteps.
Not being able to see the action almost drove her crazy. She tried to follow Zeke and the other man’s progress down the narrow road, but she lost track of them after a few moments. The next sound she heard was the opening and closing of a car door. An engine started but it was not the truck.
The other car! She remembered thinking she’d heard someone else stop on the road right after they did. But she convinced herself she was only imagining things.
As wheels spun and gravel crunched, she pictured the car backing up and turning around somewhere on the narrow track. Then silence descended, and she was alone. Elizabeth stayed where she was for half an hour. When it seemed no one was looking for her—or more properly when she couldn’t stand hiding any longer—she made her way cautiously down the path toward the clearing. The truck was where they’d left it, with the keys still dangling from the ignition.
THE CAR STOPPED OUTSIDE a spacious white villa, isolated from the other houses in town and sited to command a panoramic view of the rugged mountains.
Zeke had little time to enjoy the vista, however, as he was quickly ushered inside and led into a sparsely furnished reception area. Moments later, a man with iron gray hair and a grizzled face strode in. He stood regarding Zeke with a look of deep satisfaction, before speaking.
“I am Cyril Agnapopolis. And you must be Zeke Chambers. It’s good to finally meet you,” he said, as if he were greeting an honored guest. He had been Zeke’s father’s partner in stealing and selling ancient artifacts from Mythos, but he and Zeke were meeting for the first time.
The pretense at hospitality ended when Agnapopolis pointed toward a heavy straight-back chair, and Mr. Smith pushed Zeke into the seat. He winced, fighting the throbbing inside his skull. The pain was the result of a swift blow to the back of his head—a punishment from Mr. Smith, for shouting to Elizabeth. His hands were still cuffed, and he landed with an ungraceful thud that emphasized his present situation. But at least Elizabeth had been smart enough to get away, he thought. Silently, he thanked God for small favors.
While he tried to look dignified, Agnapopolis settled himself smoothly into a well-padded desk chair. The gentle Mr. Smith stayed by the door with the gun at the ready. Agnapopolis paid him as much attention as a cheap copy of the Winged Victory.
Zeke studied his captor. He might look old, but he moved with the vigor of a man who had kept his lean, wiry body in shape.
“I went to a lot of trouble to get you to Mythos,” he said with a satisfied smirk that deepened the lines around his mouth.
“I thought Sophia’s husband, Aristotle, had that honor,” Zeke answered, keeping his voice easy.
The old man smiled his cold smile. “They were a mismatched couple, don’t you think? But he and Sophia might well have lived out a normal lifespan together, if I hadn’t whispered a few words in his ear about her past-and yours.”
Zeke tried to remain impassive, but he knew from Agnapopolis’s pleased expression that his own face had betrayed his surprise. The realization made him reconsider the wisdom of remaining stoic. It might be more productive to exaggerate his reactions and let the old man feed off them.
“What do you know about me?” he asked, making his voice slightly querulous as he shifted his hands, pretending he was bothered by the handcuffs. Actually, it wasn’t all that much of a pretense.
“Everything,” Agnapopolis answered. “I’ve had private detectives dig up every scrap of available information about you.”
Zeke doubted the revelations had been as extensive as the old man thought. His government work was classified. But he continued with his defensive demeanor. “Why?”
Agnapopolis’s dark eyes bored into him. “I’ll answer that question when I’m ready. There are other things I want you to know first.”
So the old man had been anticipating this interview, Zeke thought. He’d been playing it out in his mind, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice a second of his enjoyment. Good.
Agnapopolis stood, and began to pace back and forth across the marble floor. “I know you started school a year late because your father dragged you along on a dig in Honduras. That was the last time he took you to a working site. After that he began his criminal career. And he didn’t want any witnesses around. Not even his own son.
“I know you spent years in boarding schools. Your family was disgraced when he went to prison,” he went on, apparently hitting what he considered the high points. “You’ve made yourself an expert in ancient and modern Greek. You had an affair with Sophia nine months before her daughter was born. Aristotle was very interested in that piece of information. Apparently, she’d convinced him she was a virgin on her wedding night. He didn’t like hearing he’d been bamboozled.”
“That’s what you told him?”
Agnapopolis answered with a smirk. “His reaction was volcanic, wouldn’t you say?”
“You endangered the life of an innocent child!” Zeke retorted. The only thing that kept him from springing out of the chair and bashing the handcuffs against the old man’s face was his awareness of Mr. Smith and his gun. Smith was listening with interest, and his weapon was trained on Zeke.
“Your daughter got you here, didn’t she? Actually, Aristotle isn’t all that interested in taking out his anger on her. I simply made sure her Aunt Irena thought he was.”
Zeke didn’t bother to hide his shock.
“But I’ll kill her, if you don’t do exactly what I say,” Agnapopolis continued.
Zeke gritted his teeth. If he stayed focused on Ariadne, he would go insane. Instead, he tried to make sense of what had happened over the past few da
ys, in light of these new revelations. “If you wanted me in Mythos, why did you send Sebastian to attack me?”
Agnapopolis’s features darkened. “He wasn’t supposed to attack you, only keep track of you and make sure you didn’t change your mind. Apparently, he was using me to get to you.” He paused and gave Zeke a direct look. “He paid for not following my instructions.”
“Were Icarus and his crew working for you, too?” Zeke asked. He might as well learn as much as he could, while Agnapopolis was in a talkative mood.
The old man rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, they were so well known that both Pappas and I approached them. It seems they were taking my money and his, too. I think they were going to auction you and your volunteer wife off to the highest bidder.”
Zeke sat up straighter. “Let’s get to the point What do you want from me? If it’s information about where my father buried the treasure from the temple of Apollo, I don’t have a clue. So you’ve wasted a lot of time and money.”
Agnapopolis spread his hands. “I told Sebastian I was after treasure, but that was just a plausible story about why I was interested in you. I didn’t need any more money from the deal. My share of the profits was in a Swiss bank. It gathered quite a lot of interest while I was rotting in prison.” As he said the last part, his voice turned gritty.
“I’m sorry your involvement with my father caused you so much grief,” Zeke said with sincerity. “I’ve spent my life trying to atone for his sins. I suppose you know about that?”
Agnapopolis ignored him, continuing his monologue as if he’d never been interrupted. “In prison, I lived to take my revenge on your father. When I got out and found he was dead, I almost went insane. Then I realized you would be his substitute.”
Almost insane, Zeke thought. A genuine nut case, was more like it.
Agnapopolis kept ranting. Zeke found his mind drifting, as he sat across from this man who hated him so much. The strange confrontation put things in perspective. He’d been afraid to tell Elizabeth he loved her, but he should have done it when he had the chance. Last night, maybe, after he had made love to her so frantically. He knew she had wanted to hear it. He had wanted to say it, but he’d been afraid that if he told her, he wouldn’t be able to leave her. Not saying the words hadn’t made any difference. She had taught him the meaning of love, and now he might never get the chance to tell her.