Beck wiped some blood from his boot on the carpet. “What about the others?” he asked August.
“Interrogate them to see if Mitchell is telling us the truth,” replied August.
“And then?”
“Kill them after Muller has moved the treasure. I want you to make it look like a climbing accident. We don’t want the American Embassy asking questions we can’t answer.”
Beck looked at Mitchell and smiled. He snapped his fingers at the black-haired guard. “Take him below with the others; I’ll be down shortly.”
“I can’t wait,” said Mitchell with a straight face.
Beck hesitated for a moment, surprised by his quarry’s defiance. His face turned angry. “Take him below, now!”
Mitchell felt a hand grab him by the arm and haul him back. He kept his eyes fixed on Beck. He knew that for the next three days, they would be subjected to the most barbaric beatings Beck could think of before he slaughtered them. He did not yet know how he was going to do it, but he intended to keep his friends alive and kill the German mercenary if it was the last thing he ever did.
44
The Aurora
“Are you sure?” Sam asked Cardinal.
“I’m positive,” he replied. “I’ve checked from stem to stern. Makris is not on the ship anymore.”
Sam nervously tapped her toe. “Where the hell could he be?”
“Beats me. Perhaps Mrs. Milos asked him to do something for her?”
“Then why didn’t she tell us? While we run messages back and forth to her friend, she has been without a bodyguard for who knows how long.”
“I haven’t heard any helicopters coming and going from the helipad for the past few hours, so I doubt that he has left the ship. We may have to face the possibility that he has met with foul play at the hands of the man he was looking for.”
Sam did not like what she was hearing. “Why don’t I take over watching Mrs. Milos, while you go and alert the head of security that we don’t know where Markis is, and that he may be hurt—or worse.”
“Right about now they’ll all be getting changed for dinner,” said Cardinal. “Mrs. Milos should be in her room.”
“Okay, I’ll check on her there. We can RV back outside her room in thirty minutes.”
Cardinal checked his watch. “Thirty minutes it is.” He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay safe.”
Sam patted her boyfriend’s hand. “You too, Gordon.”
Sam headed straight for Elena’s room. As they suspected, she was readying herself for dinner, changing into a long black evening dress when Sam arrived.
“I thought Makris was with you,” said Elena.
“We haven’t seen him for hours, ” explained Sam. “He thought he saw General Davos speaking with a man who had been killed in action in Afghanistan. The last time we saw him, he said he was going to check if his suspicions were correct.”
“The general has a small close-protection detail; however, I can’t imagine any of them being untrustworthy.”
“Perhaps not, ma’am. The only thing we know for sure right now is that Makris is missing.”
Elena Makris smiled at Sam. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
“I hope so,” replied Sam. “Because if he’s dead, that means we have a killer on board this ship.”
“Mister Cardinal, we don’t have the time or the resources to conduct a search of the ship for your friend,” stated John Francisco, the head of security for the conference. A former Portuguese military officer, Francisco was having enough trouble keeping the Greek and Turkish security personnel from going at one another.
“Sir, he’s not my friend,” explained Cardinal. “He’s Mrs. Milos’ bodyguard, and he’s gone missing.”
“Almost everyone on this ship has a bodyguard. There are probably more security people on this vessel than delegates. Greek, Turkish, Portuguese, American, and private security company personnel like yourself, you’re everywhere.”
Cardinal could tell that Francisco wasn’t the slightest bit interested in looking for Makris. He, however, was not going to give in. “Sir, be that it as it may, a man has gone missing. Shouldn’t you at least alert the ship’s crew to be on the lookout for him? He could be hurt or lying dead somewhere on this boat.”
“Mister Cardinal, I’ll take your suggestion under advisement. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner to keep an eye on.”
Cardinal stood to one side to let Francisco go about his business. He knew that Francisco was not going to help. He and Sam were on their own. He let out a resigned sigh and started to make his way through the crowded passageway to Elena’s cabin. For a second, he let himself hope that by the time he got there, Makris would have reappeared. However, deep in his gut he knew that he was fooling himself; Makris was dead.
Davos stood in front of a tall mirror and adjusted his bowtie. The first day’s negotiations had gone just as he had expected. The distrust sown among the delegates after the murders in Cyprus had all but killed what little goodwill there had been between the two nations. He reached down and pulled on his mess dress jacket. He was ready.
There was a knock at his cabin door. “Yes, who is it?”
“It’s me, sir,” replied his henchman, Drakos.
“Come in.”
Drakos entered the room. He was dressed in a tuxedo to blend in with the dozens of other guards who would be wearing exactly the same attire.
“Have you disposed of your friend?” asked Davos.
“I have.”
“Where did you hide the body?”
“It is in the garbage.”
“What are the chances of it being found?”
“Let’s just say they won’t find the remains until they empty the garbage storage after the conference is wrapped up.”
Davos smiled. “And the private security people, what have you done about them?”
“As per your orders, nothing so far.”
“Did you find out where their cabin is?”
“Yes, sir.”
Davos walked over to a table and poured himself a small glass of scotch. “Have you had the chance to speak with our contact in Lisbon?”
“Yes, sir. I spoke with the deputy leader of the New Portugal Movement just before coming to see you. He assured me that everything is in place. Two nights from tonight, you will get what you asked for.”
“You have done well, Drakos.”
“Thank you, sir. I live to serve Greece.”
“Don’t we all.” Davos shot back his drink and placed the empty glass down. “Come Drakos, I have dinner to attend to.”
Together the men exited the cabin and joined the other people making their way towards the dining room. While many were engaged in pleasant conversation, Davos’ mind was elsewhere. Like a game of chess, he was maneuvering the pieces into position until he was ready to strike and take what he believed to be his, regardless of the cost to the people around him.
45
The Cavern
The first man Beck took to be interrogated was Yuri. He returned an hour later, looking as if he had just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. His face was covered in bruises. He had a fat lip, and his left eye was swollen shut. The instant the door to the room opened, Yuri’s battered body was thrown to the floor. Mitchell and Jackson jumped from their seats and rushed to Yuri’s side.
Beck stood in the doorway and sneered. “Your friend wasn’t too talkative. However, it was a pleasure to teach a dirty Slav like him some manners.”
Mitchell gritted his teeth. If he could have pulled it off, he would have taken his chances with Beck. But he knew it would have to wait; two armed guards stood behind the sadist, with their weapons at the ready.
“I need something to eat,” said Beck. “I’ll be back in an hour or so and this time, I think Mister Jackson and I will have a conversation.”
“If you want to chat, I’m ready, willing and able to go right now,” said Jackson. “Lose the go
ons and we can settle this like men—that’s if you have the balls.”
Beck stared at Nate, his expression smug. “Oh, we’ll settle this, all right,” Beck said as he stepped back. The door was closed and locked.
Mitchell cradled Yuri’s head in his lap. “I hate to say it, Yuri, but you look like crap.”
Yuri opened his good eye, looked up and tried to smile. “They didn’t really ask me any questions. That Nazi bastard just used me as a punching bag.”
“Did they break any bones?” asked Jackson.
Yuri shook his head. “I don’t think so. I understand German better than I speak it. They said that they want this to last for days.”
Jackson took off his jacket, rolled it up and gently placed it under Yuri’s neck. “Just lie still for a while. Your body needs to rest.”
Mitchell and Jackson both stood, and stared at the closed door.
“This ain’t good,” said Jackson. “I’d rather die on my feet than be beaten to a pulp for days until they decide to throw us down the side of a cliff.”
“Attacking the guards would be suicide,” pointed out Mitchell. “There has to be something else we can do. We’ve just got to figure out what it is.”
“Temperature,” mumbled Yuri.
Mitchell instantly, dropped to one knee. “What about the temperature, Yuri?”
“This is just big museum…” replied Yuri, his voice trailing off. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.
“That’s it. Ryan, he’s right, ” said Jackson. “This cave is being used as a museum. In order to preserve the artifacts, they have to strictly control the humidity and the temperature down here. I’ll bet there are air ducts all through this place.”
Mitchell looked up at the ceiling; it was covered in white tiles. He stood, grabbed a chair, and quietly climbed up on it. He placed his hands on a ceiling tile and pushed. It easily gave away. Mitchell stood on his toes and looked around inside the opening into the drop ceiling. He could see several air ducts running over the top of their room. In the dark, however, he could not tell where any of them led. He carefully returned the tile to where it had been and got down off the chair.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said to Jackson.
“Good news first,” Jackson replied.
“You’re right, there are ducts leading who knows where above the ceiling.”
“And now the bad news.”
“You’ll never fit in them,” said Mitchell, feeling as if he had just signed his friend’s death warrant.
“I thought you’d say that. Besides, I’m not going to leave Yuri here by himself. You have to go and get help.”
Mitchell hesitated for a moment. He knew Jackson was right, he just wasn’t ready to admit it.
Jackson placed a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Ryan, you’re wasting time standing there. I figure I can last a couple of rounds with our Nazi friend, and after that, who knows. I’d rather not let it get that far. Now, get your arse up into one of those air shafts and go fetch the cavalry.”
Mitchell shook Jackson’s hand. He got up onto the table, pushed a tile aside and stuck his head inside so he could get his bearings. Just before climbing up, he looked down at Jackson. “Try and keep this open as long as you can. It’s my only source of light.”
“Can do.”
Mitchell reached up, grabbed hold of a sturdy metal beam and pulled himself up into the space between the drop ceiling and the rocky roof. He looked around and chose an air duct that seemed to be heading towards the elevator that led up into the chalet. He moved as quietly as he could, pulling himself along the long iron bar, hoping all the while that there was no one in the rooms below him. Within seconds, what faint light he’d had began to fade. He soon started to sweat. Mitchell wiped his brow with the back of his right hand and kept moving.
It took nearly five minutes before he reached the air shaft. He looked for a spot to lower himself down. Mitchell selected what looked like a couple of robust planks of wood. Gently, he let go of the bar and rested his weight down on the wood. He let out a held breath when the planks did not snap under his body weight. The light coming from the opening was a distant glimmer. Mitchell knew from here on out, he was going to have use his hands to help him see in the dark. Slowly, he felt along the cold metal of the air duct trying to find a vent he could remove and crawl inside. After what seemed an eternity, Mitchell felt the outline of a vent. He edged along the wood supporting him, and outlined the shape of the grate with his hands. He stopped when his fingers ran over a screw. It was then that he remembered that the guards had taken everything from him. He did not even have a coin to try and unscrew the vent with.
Mitchell cursed when he heard voices speaking in German. Behind him, Jackson hurried to put the ceiling tile back where it belonged. A second later, the crawlspace turned pitch black.
The door to the room swung open. From his seat, Jackson turned his head and saw two men standing there with their pistols drawn.
“You, come with us,” said one of the guards to Jackson.
He smiled and quickly moved to the door so the men would not see that there were only two, not three, men in the room. “So, where are we going? I hope it’s to the hotel restaurant, because I’m starving,” said Jackson.
“Walk,” ordered the guard.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Jackson said over his shoulder to Yuri, who was still out cold.
The mercenary jammed his pistol into Jackson’s side. If he expected him to wince in pain, he was mistaken. Jackson shrugged off the man’s foolishness and fell in line with the two guards. He walked with his head held up high. There was no way he was going to give their captors the satisfaction of seeing him flinch when they began their torture. He was going to ride it out, knowing that Mitchell would get away and bring help. Quit was not a word in Ryan Mitchell’s vocabulary.
Mitchell waited until he could no longer hear footsteps or talking coming from the cavern. He placed his thumb against the screw and tried turning it. After a few seconds, he realized that it was not going to come loose that way. He had to find something he could use to unscrew the vent. Mitchell got up on his knees and reached out onto the ceiling tiles, trying to feel for a nail or slender piece of metal that he could use as a screwdriver. After a few seconds, he reached out farther, and was surprised when he felt something move under his fingertips. He scrabbled for purchase, but swore under his breath when the object rolled out of reach.
He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. The last thing he needed to do was grow frustrated with himself. Once more, he leaned out into the dark, trying to find the piece of metal that had escaped his grasp. Mitchell decided to rest his left hand on a tile while he reached out with his right. He reasoned that with his knees on the wood, the tile should be able to support what little weight he placed on it.
He was wrong. It held for a few seconds, before snapping in two under Mitchell’s hand. With his body overextended, he fell forward onto the ceiling tiles, crashing down through them. He barely had time to react. Mitchell brought his arms back to protect his head as he fell. A second later, he landed on top of an unsuspecting guard, who had been sitting at a table, cleaning his pistol. Both men tumbled to the ground.
It was Mitchell who recovered first. In a flash, he hauled back his right arm and sent his fist flying into the stunned German’s face. The man went slack, knocked out cold by the powerful blow. Mitchell hurried to his feet and looked around. They were the only people in the room. He grabbed the man’s pistol and placed it on a nearby table. Next, he tore strips from the sleeping guard’s clothes and used them to tie him up. Mitchell tried on the mercenary’s winter camouflage jacket. It was a bit large, but would help him blend in. The last thing he did was jam a rag into the man’s mouth so he could not call for help.
With the mercenary’s pistol in his hand, Mitchell made his way to the door. He placed his ear against it and listened for a few seconds before opening it a crack so he could
see out. From where he was he could see the elevator. Since climbing around in the dark had proven to be a bust, Mitchell decided he would take the elevator to the first floor and try to get out through the storeroom at the back of the lodge. He opened the door and ran to the elevator. He pressed the up button and waited for the elevator to arrive. A couple of seconds later, the doors chimed and slid open. Mitchell instinctively brought up his pistol to fire. He was relieved to see that the elevator was empty. He jumped inside and pressed the button for the first floor.
In mere seconds, the elevator stopped and the doors automatically opened. Mitchell stood there with his pistol, expecting the worst. Instead, he found the corridor empty. He guardedly stepped out and looked back towards the lobby. He could hear a couple of men speaking German, but he could not catch what they were saying. Mitchell turned and jogged down the hallway until he came to the storeroom. He opened the door and moved inside. It was quiet. He let out his breath and looked for clothing that might help him keep warm in the cold night air.
Climbing down the side of a mountain was difficult enough to begin with, but to do so in the dark was going to require all of his mountaineering skills. One false step and he could end up falling to his death. Mitchell stepped to the back door and opened it a little. A cold wind rushed in from the outside. He could see that it was lightly snowing outside. It would at least help mask his movements, but would make climbing all that more treacherous. Mitchell knew he had to try. He quickly found a woolen toque and a pair of warm gloves to wear.
He moved to the back door and slipped outside. An odd sound caught his ear. With his back against the wall, Mitchell edged his way to the corner of the building and peered around. He could see the cable car making its way up from the valley to the base of the hotel. Instantly, a plan formed in his mind. Why walk when you can ride? he thought to himself. Mitchell crept forward, hiding in the shadows as he went.
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