Authors: Sara Craven
The three of them searched. Ressam was missing, but there was blood on the deck, a trail of it leading to the side of the deck. Eric looked down into the water. Though there was nothing to see but black waves calmly sloshing against the side of the
Angeline,
he knew. “Ressam’s dead.”
“The phone in the salon’s ringing,” Dawn said.
Eric strode past her and went inside. Dawn and Clay remained on deck.
He picked up the receiver and listened. “Kerosian?” a low-pitched voice asked. “Are you there?”
Eric took a deep breath. “This is Jarad Al-Dayal. Are you Quince?”
“Put Kerosian on.”
“He is no longer with us,” Eric admitted. “The poor fellow suffered heart failure and expired despite our attempts at resuscitation.”
A long silence ensued before the voice spoke again. “Then you must complete his task.”
“I am no sailor and have no idea where we are at the moment. I was seriously contemplating ringing up the authorities to come and rescue us.”
Bitter laughter sounded on the other end.
“Unless you have a better suggestion,” Eric said, using his most condescending tone.
“You can guess what must be done, so do the deed yourself, Al-Dayal. No one else must be privy to this arrangement. Dispose of your remaining watchdog. After you are finished, weight the body down and put it over the side. I have infrared and will be observing. And listening.”
Eric pretended to consider it. “And if I refuse? He is a loyal retainer and can be trusted.”
“Not by me. I shall terminate the plans for your visit and you will have no need of sailing experience when you depart. And with regard to your wife…”
“She knows nothing,” Eric assured him, “and will do as I command.”
“Your Aurora is of little consequence other than as a beautiful asset, I know. But I would like her involved in this bit of business on the yacht. If she could be implicated in getting rid of your bodyguard, then she is less likely to report the tale to anyone later, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Leave her out of this. What can a mere woman do anyway?”
“As you said, whatever you order her to. I will ring you again when I see you have done as instructed. You and the woman will take the inflatable and come ashore. If there
is evidence of life on board the
Angeline
after you leave it, you will never return to it or to the mainland. Are we understood?”
Eric hesitated a minute for effect, then agreed. “It shall be done.”
He replaced the receiver and went topside to rejoin Dawn and Clay. “Adil, prepare the inflatable for us and load our bags into it,” he ordered Clay. “We are to go ashore soon.”
Dawn looked at him curiously. He wished he had time to tell her what was to happen, but maybe her natural reaction to it would satisfy Quince. Then Eric wondered if he would actually get the response from her that a woman such as Aurora might give.
To insure that, he muttered to her as he passed her on deck. “Trust what I’m about to do. He has a night scope trained on our every move. Act appropriately.”
Eric stood idly by and watched as Clay prepared the small boat as ordered. Then his friend retrieved their bags from their cabin and put them aboard. “Ready to go,” Clay told him.
Eric beckoned him back on board, then glanced out over the water to the blue-gray island, now barely visible on the horizon. He pulled the nine millimeter out of his belt and aimed.
Clay nodded once, holding up his hands as if pleading for his life. Eric fired, one miss, one hit.
Dawn screamed. “What have you done?” She ran toward the fallen body.
Eric grabbed her arm. “Get something heavy to weight him down!” he shouted.
“No!” she screamed, batting at him with her hands and arms.
Eric shook her and pretended a slap. She recoiled, went
reeling like a practiced stunt woman and screamed again. That one would surely reach the mikes, Eric figured. It probably reached the mainland without a microphone. His ears certainly were ringing.
He leaned forward to help her to her feet and murmured low, as his head neared hers, “Scuba gear’s in that hold over there.” He guided her with a look. “Go in and grab a bedsheet first to disguise the tank. Put on your garb while you’re in there.”
She nodded, then scurried back inside.
Meanwhile, Eric had noted that Clay was not moving. He rushed over to make sure the bullet hadn’t penetrated the vest Clay always wore. “You okay?”
Clay cursed, still not moving. “I
hate
this job.”
Eric snickered, keeping his voice low. “Quit bellyaching, you’re on vacation in Greece, dude. How’s your Houdini act?”
“Rusty. Don’t do the knots too tight or you’ll damn well be on your own.”
“You aren’t bleeding anywhere, are you? Hate to give the sharks a snack.”
“Had to mention them, didn’t you?”
“Hang on to the inflatable and we’ll tow you as far as we can. I’ll veer right as a signal for you to let go. Sun’s about to come up. Great timing. Quince’s infrared will be practically useless in this much light, but it’s still dark enough that a telescope won’t show details. Let’s get you outfitted.”
Dawn returned, properly covered in a dark blue robe and matching head-covering. She deposited the air tank nearby and began to help Eric buckle Clay’s motionless body into it. He was well over six feet tall and as heavy as lead. Eric wondered how the two of them would heft him over the side.
“Catch you later,” Eric said as they managed to drag Clay upright and bend him forward over the rail. Then Eric stepped back and motioned imperiously for Dawn to tip up Clay’s legs and send him into the drink. She grunted with the effort, but performed admirably, he thought.
With a satisfied nod, he guided her down into the inflatable Zodiac. Three bumps on the rubber side of the boat and the appearance of air bubbles told him Clay was good to go. “Let’s do this,” he snapped, and they were off for the island.
Several hundred yards offshore, Eric turned right, ostensibly to approach a better section of the small beach. Less drag on the boat told him Clay was now operating on his own.
The craggy section of rock to the left would provide perfect cover for Clay’s secret insertion. The waves dashing against the rocks worried Eric, but Clay Senate was the ultimate warrior, an excellent swimmer. Now was not the time for a mind link, but Eric gave it a shot. All he picked up was solid determination mixed with a smidgen of annoyance. Or maybe those were his own feelings.
Reluctantly, Eric deliberately quit trying to connect with Clay and concentrated on their own landing.
The welcoming party was well armed with automatics. Eric approached as far up on the beach as possible. Two of the four men slung their weapons’ straps over their shoulders and waded out to meet them. Eric climbed out first, ignoring their greeters. Then he caught Dawn up in his arms to carry her ashore.
“Here goes nothin’!” he muttered in her ear.
“Eric, about what happened between us…” she began. “It was just…”
“Fantastic, I know. Now hold that thought until we get off this island,” he ordered.
She pinched his neck. “I was going to say it was a freak mistake and we ought to put it out of our minds.”
“Okay, go ahead. I can if you can,” he replied without a touch of bitterness.
“Sometimes I could just shoot you, Vinland,” she huffed.
“Yeah, well, you might have to get in line behind those oafs with the Uzis. Now morph into meek mode, will you? We’ve got a job to do here.”
T
here were steps carved in the sloped crags that surrounded the crescent section of beach. Eric deposited Dawn on her feet and left her to follow him. He briefly noted that the men who had dragged the Zodiac ashore were now collecting the bags out of it. The two remaining kept their weapons trained on him. The swish of wet fabric behind him assured him that Dawn was keeping up with his long stride.
He allowed one of the men to run a metal-detecting wand up and down the length of their bodies without actually touching them. It was to be expected. They had left their weapons aboard the
Angeline
since the hardware would have been confiscated anyway.
At the top of the steps, he paused. What a layout Quince had here. A virtual castle of natural stone blended beautifully with the island’s natural vegetation. From the air, it
would probably go unnoticed. Up close, the attention to detail was impressive.
The care with which the surroundings were cultivated proved Quince had good maintenance help. That probably meant a large staff beyond these guards he had sent to meet them.
“This way,” one of the men instructed in Greek, stepping around Eric and pointing to the right.
Eric followed, listening for Dawn’s footsteps on the flagstone path behind him.
When they neared the double doors of the entrance, one panel opened, then the other. A white-coated servant gestured them inside and led the way to the curved staircase. The majordomo, Eric supposed.
The older man smiled. “Madame is to go to her rooms with the baggage, sir. If you will come with me?”
“I will see her to our room.
Then
I will come with you,” Eric announced, at his most imperious.
“As you will, sir. This way.”
The rooms proved to be more than adequate. They were adjoining, large and airy, containing identical king-size beds draped in white gauze. The rest of the furnishings looked antique and very expensive. “This will do,” he said, deliberately exhibiting impatience.
He watched the hirelings deposit their bags. One disappeared with the case containing Eric’s laptop, an expected act.
Then he addressed Dawn, not bothering to lower his voice. “Remain here. Lock the door.
“Out,” he ordered the others and waited until they left. He stopped outside in the hallway and listened for the snick of the lock. With a satisfied nod, he followed the servant who had requested he do so.
A feeling of excitement pervaded his every nerve. Now
he would meet this Quince and see what they were up against. Dawn was probably seething at being excluded from this first meeting, but Eric felt a little relieved that he could scope out the situation first. Then again, he didn’t much like leaving her alone in the event Quince was on to them. Not that he thought Dawn was helpless, but she might be if caught unawares.
Worrying about her could be deadly in itself, preventing him from doing what he came to do. He had to stop that now before he met Quince.
“Here we are, sir,” the servant murmured as he tapped twice on the highly polished door and then opened it. “Mr. Jarad Al-Dayal,” he announced.
Distinguished was the word Quince brought to mind. He reminded Eric of a silver-haired actor he had once seen in the vintage movies he loved to watch. Stewart something-or-other. Piercing gray eyes that held a coldness. Dark, expressive eyebrows, one now quirked as he examined his guest.
He rose slowly from the luxurious leather chair and extended a long-fingered, well-manicured hand. “Greetings,” he said softly. “Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to the matching chair facing the one in which he’d been sitting.
Eric swept his robe back and sat stiffly, regarding Quince with his most imperious glare. “Shall we get to the business at hand?”
Quince smiled. “Patience, my friend. I have always heard that men of your persuasion preferred a bit of social discourse before discussing weighty matters. We have the entire weekend for business. And longer if we need it. Would you care for a drink?” He inclined his head toward the elaborate wet bar that filled one corner of the study.
Eric narrowed his eyes. “You must know that
men of my persuasion,
as you so delicately put it, avoid alcohol.”
“Perhaps a coffee, then?” Quince suggested, oozing hospitality, charm and sophistication.
Eric sat back, tapping his fingers on the arms of the chair. “Orange juice.”
Quince smiled and sat down as he spoke to the servant. “Two juices, Conroy.”
They waited, observing each other without any subterfuge until they had been served. Then Quince said, “We will breakfast in the dining room in a quarter hour, Conroy. Inform the lady and have her join us.”
“She will not,” Eric informed him. He sipped the fruit juice from the expensive crystal.
“Why not relax the rules for the duration of your visit, Al-Dayal? This is a new world, and too much adherence to tradition impedes progress. Come now, I insist. Your wife will be perfectly safe.” His smile was almost a smirk.
Eric returned it in kind. “I meant that she will not come if I do not order it personally. Unless you intend to use force upon her, which I would not advise you to do.”
Quince laughed. “Is that a warning against the lady herself or repercussions from you?”
“Both,” Eric stated without pause.
“Then please, go with Conroy and fetch her. If you do not trust me to share a simple meal with your wife, how am I to believe you would trust me in any important transaction?”
Was that an implied threat? Eric studied the man’s beatific expression but could not see behind it. However, Quince was providing the perfect opportunity to introduce Dawn to him so that Eric could add her reactions to his own. Dispensing with Dawn’s isolation would be convenient. The question was, how would it benefit Quince?
Eric shrugged and took his time finishing his juice.
“Very well,” he agreed. “It is no great concession. My wife was born in the West and is familiar with your customs.”
“Excellent,” Quince said smoothly. “I am happy to see that you yourself are adaptable to Western customs when the need arises, Jarad. I may call you that?”
“Of course, Quince. Or have you a
Christian
name you would like me to employ?” Eric asked with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Quince will suffice.”
Eric left the study, carefully concealing a frown of consternation. Their adversary was Greek, as the identity Interpol had for him indicated. He had learned his English in England, perhaps attended school there. He was absolutely fluent and well-spoken. That didn’t gibe with other indications of his social status, however. Middle-to lower-class Greeks didn’t usually have access to a public school education abroad.