African Ice (38 page)

“Let's try Davis Perth once more before we leave,” Samantha said as she finished packing. She snapped her suitcase shut and dialed the New York number for Gem-Star. Again she was informed that Mr. Perth was sailing in the South Pacific and incommunicado. When pressed for the CEO's projected return date, his private secretary was tight-lipped. The best Sam could get from her was to try back in a few days. She hung up and shrugged. “I'm not getting a warm fuzzy from that bitch,” she said. Reaching Davis Perth and cutting off Kerrigan's ties to the United States was important in alienating the man. And it wasn't going well.

They checked the suite to ensure they had everything, then checked out, paying cash for the tab. The island was small, just forty miles long by twenty-five miles wide, and they still had almost two hours until their flight left. Paradisi, the town next to the airport, was on the windward side of Rhodes, and they asked the cab driver to take the seaside road rather than the shortcut inland. The drive was spectacular.

The Mediterranean was a shimmering veil of teal, its color alternating between luminescent blue and tortoise green. The shoreline was rocky and barren for long stretches, punctuated with sandy alcoves, sheltered and private. Mostly the shoreline was void of people, just the sea and sand. Samantha snuggled close to Travis as they drove, wishing their visit to Rhodes was for different reasons.

The taxi crested the northeast tip of the island and continued along the windward side of Rhodes. The surf was more prominent here, whitecaps rolling in relentlessly on the rocky, scrub-infested shores. Paradisi was only a few miles down the coast and they pulled up to the airstrip twenty minutes before their flight was due to depart. Travis paid the driver and tipped him well, thanking him in Greek for the safe journey. The baggage handler for Delphi Airlines stowed their luggage in the underbelly of the twin prop plane and they were just about to board when Travis felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, instinctively grasping the wrist just above the hand and twisting. He stopped the motion as he recognized the man. It was the pilot who had ferried them across to Nicosia a few days prior.

“Sorry about that,” he said as the pilot grimaced in pain and rubbed his wrist. “It's Ari, right?” The man nodded. “I thought you said you seldom flew as far as Greece.”

“Very seldom. But I have some very exciting news for you two.”

“What would that be?” Samantha asked.

“It's good news and bad news. I just flew in with a man who is trying to locate you. I initially flew him to Nicosia, and when we found out from the other charter service which island you had flown to, he hired me to fly him over immediately.” He turned to face Samantha as he spoke. “He told me that your Uncle Everett had passed away in New York six days ago. They're holding off reading the will until he finds you. One provision of the will is that you be present. He thinks you're in for a large inheritance.”

“Uncle Everett is dead?” Samantha said haltingly. “This man, what did he look like?”

“White guy, quite tall, over six feet. He's about thirty-five to forty with short blond hair, military style. Very muscular.”

“What did you tell him? About us?”

“Just that you were staying at the Lindos Mare. You must have just missed him. I only landed twenty minutes ago. He rented a car and I saw him drive off, that way.” He pointed inland, away from the coastal highway they had taken.

“Thanks, Ari. We'll contact the hotel and give them a forwarding address so he can reach us.” Travis watched the man depart, then searched out a phone and called the hotel. He told them that they were to release no information to the man who was about to show up, especially their telephone logs. The hotel manager assured him that their privacy was guaranteed. The man would be provided with no information whatsoever.

They boarded the plane and buckled in. The flight was about half full and left on time. They rose to a cruising altitude of six thousand feet, leaving Rhodes behind, a jewel amidst the sparkling brilliance of the Mediterranean. Travis glanced over Samantha's shoulder and out the small window. How had he allowed them to get so close not only once, but twice? They had stayed too long in Cairo and that mistake had cost Alain Porter his life. Three days in Lindos had given Kerrigan's network enough time to track them and send in an assassin. But how? They hadn't used credit cards or showed their passports other than for entry into Cyprus, then Greece. The ports of entry were tiny and unsophisticated. He could scarcely believe that the border guards had entered their names into a computer at any point. The only way that happened was at major border crossings or international airports that were equipped with bar scanners. No, Kerrigan had tracked them some other way.

He felt a familiar sensation tingle along his spine as the danger levels heightened. If they had driven directly from Lindos Mare to the airstrip, they would have arrived earlier and been waiting when Kerrigan's man chartered in. They wouldn't have recognized him, but he surely would have known who they were. There was one positive aspect to this, he thought. They knew what Kerrigan's man looked like. And in that, another thought occurred to him. Knowing how capable they were at protecting themselves, Kerrigan had sent only one man after them. Who the hell was this guy?

Travis mentally calculated the time frames. By the time the hired killer reached Lindos, found out they had left and returned to the airstrip, it would be too late for him to fly into Rome and intercept them. That gave them clear passage to London. But Travis was positive Kerrigan would track their movements from Rhodes to London in no time, so they would have to disappear quickly and stay invisible for three or four days. The logistics were getting ugly. They needed Basil's magic box in their hands and working in a maximum of four days. That would be difficult. And they needed Davis Perth. Without the CEO of Gem-Star on their side, Kerrigan had the United States to turn to for refuge when things heated up. And if Kerrigan still had a free reign after they humiliated him in Antwerp, then all was lost. His financial empire would still be standing and he would eventually find them.

Travis stared out the window at the beauty of the Mediterranean Sea, and saw nothing. He preferred a fair fight, not this. Things that were far beyond their control would decide their destiny, and he knew that it was the uncontrollable variables that often killed a mission. And if this mission were to die, so would he and Samantha.

Garret Shaw was ready to reach out and snap the woman's neck, but he controlled the urge and asked her the same question again. “Did they leave a forwarding address?”

“I'm sorry, sir, the hotel is unable to give out any information on our guests.”

“Could I speak with the manager, please?” He managed to keep civility in his tone, but his anger was building quickly. The desk clerk informed him that the manager would only reiterate what she had told him, then left to find her boss. A few minutes later she reappeared with a well-dressed, dark-skinned man in tow. He greeted Shaw and stated Lindos Mare's policy, just as the woman had.

“This couple is not who they appear to be,” Shaw started, withdrawing a false set of identity papers from his vest pocket. They identified him to be a field agent with the Central Intelligence Agency, operating out of Langley, Virginia. The hotel manager scrutinized the ID for a minute, then handed it back. “They are wanted in the United States for treason and espionage. They are extremely dangerous and will kill on a moment's notice to stay outside the reach of justice. You and your staff are quite lucky no one died while they were here.”

The manager was trembling as he responded. “I really wish I could help, sir. If you request that the local police get involved and they obtain the proper warrants, I would be glad to help you. Until then . . .”

Shaw snapped the leather ID holder shut and nodded to the man. “I understand,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance.” He left the hotel and began the drive back to the airstrip. Something wasn't right with the way the hotel staff had reacted to him. They were intimidated, almost scared. Usually when he pulled out the CIA identification, people were intrigued, stimulated by his presence. Somehow they knew he was not CIA. He slipped his cell phone out and checked to see if he was in a service zone. It was roaming, so he dialed Kerrigan's New York number and waited. Eventually it clicked through and rang.

“Did you locate them?” Kerrigan asked. His office phone had caller ID.

“Just missed them. They were on the Greek island of Rhodes at a hotel called the Lindos Mare. I suspect I missed them by only a few hours at the most. I think the hotel staff are covering for them. I'd like to go back and persuade them to tell me what they know.”

“No.” Kerrigan's voice was crystal clear. “Keep on their tail. I'll have my Washington connections dredge up whatever information the Lindos Mare may have. Whatever clues they left will be electronic, not personal. Is there an airport on the island?”

“Just an airstrip, no control tower. I'm heading back there now.”

“Excellent. It would appear you were correct about them chartering out of Israel. Nice work. You'll find them. Keep your cell phone on; I'll call you the minute I've got something.”

“Okay. When are you leaving New York for Antwerp?”

“Next Monday, via Brussels. Antwerp doesn't have an international airport. The sight is set for Wednesday. I'll phone you with a number once I'm checked into my hotel.”

Patrick Kerrigan pushed his finger down on the disconnect button. He let it up and listened for a dial tone. He punched in a number that took him directly into the bowels of the CIA in Langley. A familiar voice answered.

“I need you to hack into the electronic records for a hotel in Greece,” he said.

“Not a problem. What's the name of the hotel?”

“Lindos Mare. It's on Rhodes.”

“I'll call you when I have something.” The line went back to a dial tone. Kerrigan repeated the same request to his contact at the NSA, then leaned back in his chair. Time was on his side. McNeil and Carlson were on the run, scared and helpless. They had no access to money or credit without triggering an electronic signal that would pinpoint exactly where on the globe they were. Instantaneously. And they couldn't survive without money. At some point they would surface, and when they did Garret Shaw would be there. Faceless and without remorse.

A small percentage of him wanted Samantha Carlson, and the location of the diamonds, right now. But the greater part of the whole was willing to wait. She would surface in due time, and with her would come the greatest diamond mine in history. Hell, the thirty-odd stones he had taken from her in Cairo would generate in excess of twenty million dollars at the sight next week. Yes, patience was acceptable. Prudent even.

He rose from his chair and walked across to his wall safe. He opened it and took the small suede pouch from inside. The diamonds spilled onto his open palm. They were beautiful. And nothing could stop him from getting them to the Antwerp market. Rumor had it that Davis Perth might be arriving back from his South Pacific sailing expedition sometime next week, but that was pure conjecture. Oftentimes Davis didn't show for a month or two after he was expected back. If Davis did arrive, he would have to come up with some lame excuse for heading to Antwerp, but that wasn't difficult. Davis was absent from the office so often, he didn't question what his president was up to. And that was good, Kerrigan thought, because if the idiot ever knew, he would be quite shocked.

Kerrigan placed the stones back in the safe and spun the dial. It was still early morning in New York and the day was looking to be a good one. He called a friend and set a lunch date, then rang his secretary for some coffee. Yes, this would be a good day.

Basil Abercrombie stared back at Samantha. He was a tall, gangly man with long dark hair that hung straight, emphasizing his oval face. His facial features were well proportioned, but he was not handsome. Not even close. He had poor-people teeth, crooked with gaps in places and overlapping in others. His dress was sloppy and his shirt hung down over his loose trousers.

“Wow,” Basil said, his accent thick Cockney. “You weren't shitting me. She's fucking gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I think,” Samantha replied.

Basil grinned, his eclectic mixture of teeth between his thick lips. The kettle began to whistle and their host jumped up from his chair and hustled into the kitchen. Samantha glanced around the Regent's Park flat, amused and intrigued by what she saw. There was no theme to Basil's decorating; it just all melded together somehow, like much of London. The sofa and chairs were overstuffed and covered with a fuzzy velvet-like material that showed every bit of dirt and dust. The coffee and end tables were Victorian, hand carved and probably worth a bundle at the local antique dealer. Same with the dining-room suite that sat crammed against the far wall. The windows were covered with sheers but allowed in enough filtered sunlight to placate the twenty or thirty plants scattered about. The walls were covered with framed art, original oils of the English countryside. Thick throw rugs lay underfoot, atop polished hardwood flooring. Basil returned from the kitchen with a tray. On it was a teapot, three cups, and milk and sugar. None of the cups matched. He set the tray on the coffee table.

“So what the hell is going on, Travis?” he asked, sitting back and waiting for the tea to steep.

“We're in a bit of a predicament,” Travis began, running through exactly where they were with Kerrigan, the diamonds, and the latest in a string of people assigned to kill them. Basil carefully poured the tea, added milk and sugar according to his guest's tastes, and handed out tea biscuits. He also listened without interrupting. Travis finished with a warning of sorts. “I'm not sure we're all that safe here. I was stupid enough to call your number from our suite on Rhodes.”