The Grecian Manifesto (23 page)

Inside the building, a single
worker sat on a high stool, surrounded by a four-foot-high counter. A sign on
the desk’s surface indicated it was where travelers would gain admittance into
the country. The squatty, dark-haired man behind the desk busily thumbed his
way through a magazine.

“How many people do you think
he has to process in a given day at this airport?” Tommy asked in a whisper as
the two approached the checkpoint.

“We might be the first people
he’s seen all day,” Sean answered.

The man noticed them coming and
put down the magazine in an attempt to look professional. Sean and Tommy
decided to let him believe he succeeded.

“Welcome to Corfu, gentlemen,”
he said in perfect English. “Here for a bit of leisure?”

Sean and Tommy glanced at each
other questioningly. Sean turned to the man and answered. “Actually, we are
here on business. But if we get time we might get in a little leisure as well.”

“Well, we have a beautiful
countryside here and many quiet beaches where you can relax. Corfu is one of
the best-kept secrets of the Mediterranean.”

The two exchanged a few more
pleasantries with the security worker. Sean remembered the good old days when
he didn’t have to fill out forms or go through security checkpoints. As an
operative for Axis, he’d been allowed special privileges. Waiting in line was
almost never a requirement. At times, getting through customs only required the
wave of a badge.

When the two completed their
check-in, they gathered their things and went through a set of glass double doors.
A long corridor extended a few hundred yards to the main terminal, where the
majority of visitors could claim their baggage and find transportation. Sean
led the way, stepping onto one of the people movers to quicken the pace as they
walked. They reached the other end of the passage and found the main terminal.
A steady but small stream of tourists meandered through the facility, seemingly
not in a hurry to get anywhere.

The terminal’s interior design
starkly contrasted with its bland, utilitarian exterior. Huge cylindrical steel
beams jutted up at sharp angles, supporting a gently sloping, curved ceiling.
The entire place had a futuristic appearance, with sleek metal facades,
railings, ceiling panels, and girders. It somehow reminded Sean of his
childhood visits to Space Mountain in Disney World.

“You got us a driver, right?”
Sean asked.

“You heard me make the phone
call, remember? You were right next to me on the plane.” Tommy glared at him as
if Sean’s head was on fire.

“Right. Sorry. I just want to
make sure we have everything covered.” Sean said apologetically.

Tommy smiled at his friend.
“It’s okay, man. I know you’re worried about her. It’s going to be fine. We’ll
get her back.” His face took on a serious expression. “And we’re going to make
the guy that took her pay.”

Sean nodded. He appreciated his
friend’s confidence. Deep down inside, however, he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Chapter 42

Corfu, Greece

Paulino stood waiting for his
marks to arrive in the terminal. He held a cardboard sign in front of his chest
that had the names
Wyatt
and
Schultz
written on it with a black Sharpie.
He found the sign in the passenger’s side of the car the men had arranged for
as their transportation on the island. Along with it, he discovered the orders
for the boat rental, a picture of the boat, the address of the marina, and some
other miscellaneous paperwork.

It was almost too easy.

Killing the driver had been
simple enough. He’d waited outside the terminal for almost half an hour,
watching the pickup area for Wyatt’s driver to arrive. A few drivers had come
through, each of whom he questioned briefly by asking if they were there to
pick up Sean Wyatt. The first three said no. The last one’s yes was also his
death sentence.

Paulino explained that he was a
liaison for Wyatt and Schultz and that their flight had been delayed due to a
small storm hovering over Rome. He told the driver that the two men should
arrive in the next hour, and that he was to wait in the parking area. The
driver thanked him for the information, which led Paulino to requesting a seat
in the car. The day’s temperature had already warmed to the low eighties, and
since they were both working for the same people the driver had no problem
allowing Paulino to sit and wait for their clients to arrive.

A few minutes later, the driver
eased the car into a parking space near some shady trees on the far side of the
lot. Paulino meticulously surveilled their surroundings, gratefully noting the
absence of any security cameras in the area. The driver put the car in park and
left it running to keep the interior cool with air conditioning. Paulino made
polite conversation for a few minutes, asking the man how long he’d been
driving, which company he worked for, if he liked his job, and other random
crap like that. Socializing for the sake of socializing was one of the things
Paulino detested the most. The man’s responses actually made the desire to kill
him that much stronger.

The driver talked about how he
had dropped out of high school and never attended college. He’d been driving
for the last fifteen years of his life. His wife had left him because she said
he drank too much, which made him drink more. By the end of the conversation,
Paulino felt more like a psychologist than a contract killer.

Still, he remained in
character, acting sympathetic to the man’s woeful existence. When the driver
finished, Paulino asked if he’d be interested in smoking a cigarette. The man
accepted, and the two got out of the car and stepped around to the front near
the fence where the row of trees blocked the view to the road twenty yards
beyond. Paulino removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offered
one to the driver, who took it graciously.

Paulino took a step forward to
light the cigarette for the man, and as he reached up to flick the lighter,
withdrew a small pistol from his jacket. The silencer on the end of the barrel
allowed only a few clicking sounds to escape the weapon. The puffs of smoke
wafted away in mere seconds. The driver’s horrified face grimaced in
questioning pain as he fell to the ground in a heap. Blood began to course
through his white dress shirt as he gurgled his last few labored breaths.
Paulino looked around casually as if nothing had happened, and then proceeded
to light his own cigarette. He leaned against the car for a moment, watching
the area with cautious eyes, making absolutely sure no one had seen his deed.
About half way through the smoke, he flicked it to the ground and mashed it
with his shoe, twisting the heel to make sure the fire was out. After taking
another quick look around, he stepped over to the body and grabbed it by the
wrists. He pulled it over to the car in the adjacent parking space and tucked
it neatly under the front bumper. Satisfied that the corpse was out of plain
sight, he slid into the driver’s side of the still-running car and pulled out
of the spot.

Now, standing in the main
terminal, Paulino waited patiently for his marks at the end of a long corridor
that he’d been told connected to the private port of entry. He hoped the real
driver’s ridiculously long conversation hadn’t caused him to miss the two
Americans, but he doubted it had. Paulino had left Italy with a decent head
start, and the flight had been a short one. The man his employer worked for
definitely had style, and money. The plane had been one of the most opulent
modes of transport he’d ever seen. Paulino hoped whoever was supplying Bourdon
with money would be interested in hiring him on again in the future.

Two men came into view, walking
toward him on one of the people movers. They matched the images Paulino had
pulled up on the Internet: a shaggy blond haired guy about six feet tall, and a
slightly shorter one with darker hair and broad shoulders. It had to be them.

As they approached, Paulino put
a welcoming smile on his face and displayed the cardboard sign proudly. “Mr.
Wyatt, Mr. Schultz?” he asked, effortlessly losing his Italian accent and
mimicking the way he’d heard Greeks speak on previous occasions.

“That’s us,” the blond man
answered. “I’m Sean Wyatt, and this is my lovely assistant, Tommy Schultz.”

The one named Tommy shook his
head and rolled his eyes. He offered his hand, which Paulino took and shook
firmly, but gently enough to appear subservient. He played the role to
perfection.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you
both. I understand I am driving you to the marina. Correct?”

“That’s right,” Sean said. “We
appreciate you doing this on such short notice.”

“Not a problem,” Paulino said
with a smile. “I know a quick route to get you on the water as fast as
possible. Would you like me to take your bags?” He was surprised to see how
light the men were traveling, merely carrying one backpack each.

Tommy waved off the offer. “No
thank you. We got it.”

“Very well, sir. If you will
follow me, I’ll take you to the car, and we can be on our way.”

The three men made their way
through the terminal toward the entrance. As they walked, Sean asked if it was
a busy time of year for the airport.

Paulino made up a convincing
enough answer, explaining that many people tried to get out of the cities and
come to Corfu when the weather got warmer. Since it was still only spring,
things were still a little slow in the area, but he expected it to pick up in
the summer months. The Americans seemed satisfied with the answer and didn’t
say anything else. Paulino led the way to a black Mercedes Benz near the front
of the airport parking area, and popped the trunk open with a remote key.

“I’ll put your bags in the
trunk, if that is all right with you,” he said, reaching out both hands.

Sean and Tommy nodded and
handed the driver their backpacks. Tommy walked around and got in the car
behind the driver’s seat, while Sean entered the other side. When both men were
in the car, Paulino carefully packed the bags into the trunk. He looked up over
the brim of his eyes to make sure the men in the back of the car couldn’t see
him, and then unzipped the front pouch of one of the backpacks. It was empty,
which meant the owner probably wouldn’t check it: a perfect place for the
homing beacon. He reached into his pocket and produced the tiny metal disc,
slipped it into the backpack’s pouch, then zipped it closed and stood back up.
He gently closed the trunk and walked around to the front door, giving one last
look around before getting behind the wheel.

He steered the car into the
traffic lane and followed the line of other vehicles out of the airport pickup
and drop-off area. Once they were on the main road, Paulino continued to play
his role by striking up a conversation. He hoped the two Americans wouldn’t
drone on like the real driver. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t really going to
listen to anything they said. He knew exactly how to play people in social
settings. He’d make it look like what they were saying was fascinating or
compelling. His body language would say all the right things, along with a few
robotic responses he’d put together. To the talker, it seemed like he was
paying attention, but the fact was, he hardly ever did.

“So, are you two here for a
little excursion around the island?”

Sean was staring out the
window. He’d never been to Corfu before, and whenever he visited a new place he
always liked to observe his surroundings, the people, and the culture. “We’re
not exactly here on vacation,” he answered cryptically.

“Oh?” Paulino answered. “You’re
here on business? A boat like the one you rented is an odd place to take care
of business.” He hoped he hadn’t pushed the line of questioning too far, but it
seemed like the natural progression for the conversation.

 
“We’re researchers,” Tommy explained shortly.

“Researchers? So you’re
scientists? What is your field of expertise? Marine biology?”

Sean was more than happy to let
Tommy handle the questions from the friendly driver. “We’re archaeologists here
on a special assignment.”

Paulino raised his eyebrows.
“Sounds exciting. How long are you here for?”

“Not long, hopefully. We’re
here to investigate a site and then head back home.”

“That sounds like a long way to
come from America just to check out a location.”

Sean finally decided to pop in
and try to end the conversation about their project. “Our job is to map the
area. Once that’s done, the rest of our team can come in and take care of the
rest. It’s how our organization works.”

Paulino accepted the
explanation, not wishing to push the issue further. He didn’t need to know why
the men were there. He had essentially taken care of his end of Bourdon’s
assignment. The homing beacon was already in place. Bourdon had already
deposited half of the hundred thousand into Paulino’s account via electronic
transfer. After dropping off the two Americans at their boat, he was to meet
Bourdon on the other side of the marina. He would then receive the rest of the
money. It was almost too easy.

The forty-minute drive to the
harbor in Agios Stefanos on the other side of the island turned out to be
visually stunning. High vistas and rolling hills filled with trees and set into
rocky cliffs were a treat for the eyes. Sean suspected the drive to reach the
marina would have been even shorter if not for traffic lights and the slow
speed of the island’s drivers. Although being a tourist destination probably
added to the lack of urgency from most of the vehicles. Most tourists were not likely
in a hurry, as he’d already witnessed in the airport.

Corfu struck Sean as a strange
place. Geographically north of mainland Greece, it was more like a
Mediterranean version of Alaska in the United States. Contained in the island’s
two hundred and thirty square miles were farms, vineyards, a few thriving
cities, and an abundance of coastline. The city of Corfu, which served as the
hub of the island, was a tightly packed town of colorful buildings, homes, and
businesses. Sean wondered how a man like Gikas could have attained so much
power on the mainland from a remote place like this. Then again, maybe that was
the man’s secret to success. Staying removed from all the political and
economic turmoil going on several hours away in Athens gave him anonymity,
which he would use right up until the point when everyone needed him the most.
Then it would seem he appeared as if from nowhere, a savior on a white horse to
help the Greek nation and lead it to prosperity once more.

After thirty minutes of
relative silence, the harbor appeared in front of them as the car rounded a
rocky bend in the road. The horseshoe-shaped bay housed a gigantic marina,
filled with hundreds of sailboats, yachts, and cabin cruisers, all floating on
an aqua-blue sea that stretched out to the horizon. Sean remembered his little
shop back in Destin, thinking about the beautiful waters of the Florida Panhandle.
Even on its best of days, the waters of the Gulf of Mexico were no comparison
to what his eyes gazed upon now.

“That water is absolutely
perfect,” Tommy commented, leaning over the seat in front of him to get a
better view as the car wound its way down the gradual slope toward the sea.

“It certainly is,” Paulino
agreed, acting as though he’d beheld the sight a thousand times. “The locals
here are very proud of this location. Even though many visitors come to Corfu
throughout the year, the citizens of this area prefer not to let the secret
out.”

“I can see why,” Tommy said.
His eyes still gaped at the vision.

The driver steered the car
through a few stop signs and into a parking lot adjacent to the marina. He
parked the car after passing through an open gate, then switched off the
vehicle and hurriedly got out of the car to get the luggage from the trunk for
his passengers. Paulino set the backpacks on the ground and double-checked one
of the forms he’d found in the front of the car before killing the real driver.

“I believe your boat is over
here,” he pointed to one of the nearby docks.

Tall white masts bobbed and
wavered as the boats they were connected to shifted in the sea’s rippling
waves. The sound of ropes banging against the metal filled the air with each
ship’s movement.

Sean took in a long, deep breath,
letting the fresh sea air fill his nostrils. One of his favorite things about
the sea was how the air seemed to be able to cure any nasal-related problems
such as allergies, a common nuisance that came with living in the southeastern United
States. Whenever Sean had visited the salt water in the past, his sinuses
cleared almost as soon as he reached the sandy shores.

Now, he couldn’t enjoy it as
much as usual. Someone he cared for deeply was in trouble, if she was still
alive. He snapped his head, shaking off the thought. She was still alive. Gikas
needed her alive. Sean had seen this kind of thing play out dozens of times.
Gikas would keep his prisoner alive until he had what he wanted. Then either he
would try to kill everyone, which was the likely outcome, or he would make the
trade and send Sean and his friends on their way. The possibility of the latter
was slim to none. Knowing this, Sean had a backup plan. He preferred never to
have to use contingency plans, but with his experience he knew they were a
necessity.