The Stone of Archimedes (16 page)

He couldn't wait for the guy to get up and go to the bathroom. Instead, Jake sucked down half his beer and then got up to go there himself, his beer in his right hand. As he got close to the man, he tripped and dumped the beer on the drunk young man. Apologizing profusely, Jake helped the man wipe the beer from the guy's clothes. Then he gave the man twenty Euros to clean his clothes, and Jake walked out of the bar.

He looked at the keys he'd taken from the drunk and saw they were for a Fiat. He hoped it was nicer than the last one he acquired at the train station. Glancing about the street, Jake saw five potential Fiats. But when he pressed the button on the key only one flashed its lights. Nice, a Punto sedan in aqua blue, not the flashy red. Perhaps he was doing the drunk a favor.

Jake got in and drove around to the other side of the park, where he left the car running as he collected the women. By now Sara Halsey Jones was awake somewhat. Enough to be confused and groggy. They got into the car and Jake drove off toward the outskirts of town. He had no idea how the Polizia would respond to the death of two men, but he had to guess they would set up roadblocks on the autostrada.

“This is much nicer than the last car you got us,” Elisa said.

He ignored her. “Did you explain the situation to Sara?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sara said from the back seat. “I feel hung over.”

“It's been a long day,” said Elisa.

“Yeah, that's it.” Jake shook his head and smiled. He turned to Elisa and asked, “Do you know where we can go and hide for a few hours?”

“I don't know. Somewhere out of town. Someone will report this car stolen.”

Jake guessed that might take a while, since the owner was really drunk and wouldn't want to admit he was going to drive it right then. “I think we have a little time on that front.”

He just continued to drive until he found a deserted road that led up into the mountains to the northwest. Finally he found a narrow farmer's road that ran along the edge of a vineyard. He drove up until he was sure they would be out of view from the road below and then shut down the engine and lights. From up there they could view the city of Siracusa below in the distance.

He turned to Sara and said, “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I'm just a little confused. Why would this man hire men to kill us? I thought he wanted something from me. My research.”

Elisa took this. “Perhaps these men were only supposed to find you and kidnap you. Maybe they acted without thinking.”

Strange, Jake thought. It was like Elisa was apologizing for the Mafia men. He quickly pulled his gun and aimed it at Elisa's chest. “What the hell's goin' on?”

Elisa was shocked.

Sara yelled from the back, “What are you doing, Jake?”

“You immediately concluded the men were Mafia,” Jake reasoned. “Why is that?”

The Italian woman's head dropped to her chest but she refused to answer his questions.

“You think you can screw me and I'll somehow lose my edge?” he asked, his jaw tight.

“Wait,” Sara said. “You two are doin' it? Now I really feel left out.”

“It was nothing,” Elisa said, turning to Sara in the back seat. “Just a distraction.”

Jake poked the gun into Elisa's ribs. “Yeah, it was nothing three times. What the hell do you know and are not telling me?”

“Put the gun away.”

“Yeah,” Sara agreed. “Put the gun away.”

“Not until she answers my questions.”

They all sat in silence now.

Finally, Elisa said, “I just found out after our little adventure that the Greek had hired some local Mafia men to find us. But according to my contact they were not supposed to hurt Sara. I don't believe they care about me.”

“What about me?” Jake inquired.

“Our friend with the long hair, Zendo, was given the green light to kill you. As long as he didn't hurt Sara. I'm sorry. I swear that I just found out after you already went to bed.”

“From your contact close to Petros Caras,” he said. “You have an agent in his organization.”

Elisa hesitated, searching for the right words. “Not really in his organization. A woman.” She left it at that.

But Jake understood. “She's with the Hellenic National Intelligence Service.”

“No,” Elisa said. “We thought this man would know most of the players there. Or his men would. So we found an outside source.”

“From where? CIA?”

“No. Petros Caras isn't fond of American women. He likes the Slavs.”

“So,” Jake said. “She's Czech like you.”

“How did you know?”

He smiled and put his gun away. “You just told me.”

“Just a minute,” Sara said. “I'm confused.”

Elisa said, “Petros Caras is under investigation. . .”

“No, I get all that. I'm thinking about the two of you having sex. I mean I understand the attraction. You're both gorgeous. If I went that way, I'd probably do the both of you at the same time. But you're both supposed to be working this case.”

“Ask her about that,” Jake said, pointing his thumb at Elisa. “I was just taking a little nap until she came in and raped me.”

“Oh, right. Like I forced myself on you.”

“You showed me those nice flotation devices,” he said. “What you think would happen after that?”

“He has a point,” Sara said.

“Well, that massive erection started before I lifted my shirt.”

Sara cleared her throat. “Massive? Well, he does have huge hands.”

Embarrassed somewhat, Jake said, “Can we get back to the case at hand? How much more work do you have here in Siracusa, Sara?”

“Really? You want me to transition back here from massive erection to Doric Greek dealing with Archimedes?”

Jake looked at the professor in the rear view mirror. “That would be nice.”

Hesitating, Sara Halsey Jones finally said, “All right. The translation is complete. But now I need to get into the catacombs. Somehow I believe there's more information down there.”

“I was there years ago,” Jake said. “There wasn't much to see, though. It was picked over by grave robbers a long time ago.”

“Those are the ones open to the public,” Sara said. “The most famous to tourists is the Catacombs of San Giovanni, with some twenty thousand tombs under that Norman church. Originally they were used by the Greeks for a couple centuries before Christ as aqueducts. Saint Paul the Apostle preached on that site, so it's considered holy ground. But I'm more interested in the catacombs that are not open to the public. And there are dozens of them around the city of Siracusa.”

“Then how do we choose?” Elisa asked.

Jake turned to see a smiling professor.

“That was part of the translation,” Sara explained. “I have a virtual underground map of a specific set of catacombs.”

Great, Jake thought. Now they just had to survive the Greeks and the Mafia long enough to gain the information she needed.

By the time Zendo and his men got to Siracusa early in the morning after their 125 kilometer drive from Messina, he was in no mood to hear what he was hearing from the Italian Mafia men. There were just two of them, since one was shot and killed the night before. He didn't know the names of these two men, and he knew not to ask. Regardless, Petros Caras would not be happy. If he found out. Since the American professor had not been injured in the shooting, perhaps he wouldn't have to tell Petros Caras anything. Even though none of this was Zendo's fault, he had seen far too many simple messengers feel the wrath of that crazy billionaire. Worse yet, perhaps, was the fact that these Sicilians had a long memory and wanted nothing more than to find the bitch who shot their partner.

They sat now at an outside park a few blocks from the waterfront. Two of his men, Niko and that other one, leaned against their car nearby and Kyros sat behind the wheel smoking a cigarette. Standing a few feet away from the park bench was Demetri. The other Italian stood back by a tree, his right hand behind his back.

“Are you sure the woman shot your man?” Zendo asked the Mafia man in Italian, their only common language.

“Si. But it wasn't for a lack of trying on the part of that man you speak of. Jake Adams.” The Italian drew in a long puff on his cigarette, bringing the tip to a bright orange. Then his eyes narrowed as he let out a stream of smoke.

“Did you not understand that you were only supposed to observe until we arrived?” Zendo asked, his jaw tight, but trying not to anger the Italian. After all, Zendo was on their turf.

He hunched his broad shoulders. “We took the initiative.” He flicked his ashes in the grass.

Part of that was admirable, Zendo thought. But orders were orders. He saw Demetri shake his head slightly. “Well, from now on we need to play by my rules. You understand?”

“Si.”

“We need the woman safe.”

“The one who shot my man?” the Italian asked, confused.

“No. The other woman. You have a picture of her?”

The Italian checked his phone and found the image he had been sent. He dropped his cigarette into the grass and didn't bother to rub it out. “This one?”

“That's her. Our employer needs her. Don't ask me why. Because even I don't know that for sure.” Not entirely true. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”

“Not far,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“The Polizia and Carabinieri set up road blocks all around the city almost immediately.”

“People have been known to get through those.”

“Sure, we can. But not outsiders. Once the Polizia showed up last night, my man came around and gave a good description of the three people involved with the shooting. He said they took off on foot.”

“Is that right?” Zendo asked.

“Si. Then the Polizia gave us a tip a few hours ago. A man had his car stolen from that bar across the park.” He pointed off to a nondescript building that could have been a small food market, a coffee shop or a night club.

“How do you know this Jake Adams stole the car?”

“Two reasons. First, nobody steals a car in Sicily unless we know about it.”

“And second?”

“I showed the picture of Jake Adams to the man an hour ago. Even though he was still smelling of alcohol, he said that man spilled beer on his pants in the bar last night and he must have pulled his keys at the same time.”

Great. The legend of Jake Adams continues. “Do your men have any idea how to find them now?”

“We know exactly where they are,” the Italian said with a smile. “GPS. They're parked outside a restricted set of catacombs. Two of my men are waiting for us there.”

“Call them right now and tell them to wait for us,” Zendo demanded.

The Italian hesitated, obviously not used to taking orders from outsiders. Then perhaps, calculating the amount of money they would make from these Greeks, he pulled out his phone and called his people. When he was done he said, “We're good. Still there.”

“All right. Let's go. We'll follow you.”

●

Sigonella Naval Air Station, Sicily

The Gulfstream G650 banked around Mount Etna, which showed a little life with smoke drifting from its caldera, and then drifted down to a direct approach to the runway at the Navy base.

Toni Contardo was nudged by a young man with a scruffy beard, one of six men who had shared the private flight from DC to Sicily. She opened her eyes and yawned. Somehow she had managed to sleep most of the way.

“We're getting ready to land, ma'am,” the man said to her with a thick Texas accent. The men never said who they were or what they were doing flying a government aircraft across the Atlantic, but they didn't need to tell Toni they were a SEAL team. She knew special forces when she saw them, and especially SEALs.

“Thank you. I won't ask you where you're going, but thank you for your service.”

“I'm guessing we're on the same team, ma'am.” He smiled and took his seat.

They landed and taxied toward the operations building at the base of the air traffic control tower. The SEAL team hung back and let her gather her bag and walk toward operations. Maybe they were simply dropping her off, refueling and heading to their final destination. Probably somewhere in the Middle East.

A man came out and met her on the tarmac wearing a flight suit, introducing himself as Lieutenant Max Stevens. “Welcome to Italy.”

Toni smiled but didn't give him her name. “Thanks. I understand you met an old friend of mine the other day.”

“Sure did. Jake Adams. He's quite the stud.”

“You got a man crush?”

“Maybe a little. But that woman he was with was quite the looker.” He shook his hand as if he'd just learned the universal Italian salute to hot women.

Toni had read a briefing on Elisa Murici, the officer with the Italian External Intelligence and Security Agency. Based on her file photo, he guessed the lieutenant was right. “I understand you might have some more transportation for me.”

“Yes, ma'am. Got that Seahawk over there.” He pointed across the tarmac to an SH-60 helicopter painted Navy gray with subdued U.S. insignia. Two sailors were prepping it for flight.

Just then the six men from her Gulfstream flight walked past them carrying huge deployment bags. The one who had woken her said, “You have a good one, ma'am.”

She smiled and said, “You guys take care.”

He nodded and they headed inside the operations building.

“Friends of yours?” Lieutenant Stevens asked.

“No, just a Navy volleyball team.”

“Right.”

“You got a location on our destination?”

“We're tracking it now. Last had it heading southwest at twenty knots, twenty miles off the coast of Sicily.”

That made sense. “Any idea where they're heading?”