The meltemi subsided to a dead calm and the cobalt-blue waters of the Aegean went from rough to choppy to glassy. Switching from sail to motor power, they did their best to stay within drone transmission range of Bora, but whether under sail or motor power, the catamaran was lighter and faster. How does a slower boat catch a lighter, faster boat?
“Listen to this.” Sophia put the drone’s audio feed over Dream Voyager’s speakers:
“Dogu, a change of plan.”
Adam recognized the voice. “That’s Roxanna.”
“Rasheed Houssein and his crew just anchored off Santorini. You know what must be done.”
“Rasheed,” Dogu said. “Doing Galen was bad enough. But Rasheed’s married to my sister.”
Roxanna’s voice had a steely edge: “Galen was sure to betray us. Rasheed is a different case altogether. The fool renounced Islam! He was found guilty of apostasy in a Shari’a court and a fatwa was issued. The man must die, and you are our enforcer.”
She paused, seeming to expect agreement, but Dogu said,
“There must be another way.”
Roxanna said, “Get a grip on yourself, Dogu. You’re my rock. Rasheed is a convicted apostate who questions and doubts Allah.”
“Rasheed is family. My sister Fatima loves him, needs him. Fatima’s children, my nephews, need him.”
“These are harsh times—but also glorious. The Prophet’s companions sacrificed family and friends for the faith. Inshallah, you must do the same.”
There was a long silence, then Dogu wept.
“Your deeds bring you and your crew closer to Allah. Be resolute. Inshallah, soon we will achieve greatness.”
“Allahu Akbar.” More sobbing.
“Allahu Akbar. After Santorini, take care of things on Folegandros.”
“I know. I know, Vathi Bay.”
“Dogu’s starting to crack,” Adam said, “but he’s going to take out another terrorist crew.”
“Can you believe it? Killing his own brother-in-law for his religion,” Tripnee said. “But it makes our job that much easier.”
Sophia just scowled. Her screen showed Dogu changing course, heading southeast toward Santorini.
Instead of following, Adam cut the engine, and Dream Voyager slowed to a complete stop in the dead calm. Death and mayhem were afoot. But looking around, he saw only serene beauty. They floated in the heart of the Cyclades Islands. If north was twelve o’clock, encircling them, in clear view on the horizon, were Antiparos at one o’clock, Paros at two o’clock, Ios—the party island—at four, Sikinos at five, Folegandros at seven, the combined mass of Milos, Poliegos and Kimolos at nine, and Sifnos at ten. In this strategic central location, Adam, Tripnee, and Sophia could drift and listen in to see if the weeping Dogu would actually kill his own brother-in-law on Santorini. Then they’d race to Folegandros to lie in wait, see who showed up—and hopefully collect their nukes.
While Dogu closed on Santorini, the three of them dove off the stern steps and swam in the warm, seemingly bottomless, cobalt-blue Aegean—and waited.
Eventually, Sophia, back at her computer, yelled, “It’s happening. Dogu’s talking to a skipper anchored at Santorini.”
“…but you are killing your own people.”
“That’s got to be the brother-in-law, Rasheed Houssein,” Sophia said.
Dogu said, “The holy book is clear: apostates—unbelievers, doubters, and waverers—must die. And you have been judged.”
“But we are family. And who doesn’t sometimes waver and question?”
“You forget. Apostasy, questioning, doubting Allah and Mohammad are sins punishable by death. You have been judged.” He seemed to say it to strengthen his resolve.
“Dogu, I am on my knees before you. Think of my wife, your sister, Fatima. Think of our three boys, your nephews: Mohammad, Ammad, and little Rasheed named after you.”
“Allahu Akbar!”
A scream. Then silence. Then quiet weeping, and the names, “Fatima, Mohammad, Ammad, Rasheed,” repeated over and over.
Chapter 20
Folegandros
A dam fired up the engine, turned the bow toward Folegandros, and thrust the throttle full forward. Just then a small plane approached from the direction of Paros, circled overhead, then flew off—toward Folegandros. Adam’s uplifted eyes followed the dot in the sky.
Something about that’s not good.
Sitting at the nav desk, Adam opened his Greek Waters Pilot and studied the maps and write-up covering Folegandros. Two-miles wide and eight-miles long, the island was an arid, steep-sided ridge jutting some 1700 feet up out of the Aegean. A single road ran along the mountainous spine of the island, with a few spur roads and hiking trails extending down to bays and beaches. A number of settlements dotted the landscape here and there, but the only town of any size—Chora—was perched high on the island’s central ridge.
Dogu was going to Vathi Bay on the island’s southwestern side, so it was best not anchor there. But the sheltered harbor of Karavostassi near the eastern end, looked good for what Adam had in mind. They dropped anchor there in crystalline water, late in the afternoon.
Adam and Tripnee packed comm gear, night-vision scopes, weapons, body armor, and a few handy extras in fanny packs, glided ashore in the skiff, and found one of the islands’ few taxis to take them up to Chora. Sophia remained aboard, her drones fanning out to surveil the island.
Chora turned out to be an ancient mountaintop fortress dating back to the middle ages. Its shady, oasis-like squares overflowed with old-world charm and invited exploration, but time was short. Dogu would soon enter nearby Vathi Bay, and they had to get into position beforehand. A trail on the outskirts of Chora led to a vantage point overlooking most of central Folegandros, including Vathi Bay. As the sun sank in the west, they paid off the taxi and set out along a wide, well-maintained path. An hour later, in darkening twilight, they arrived at the overlook.
They were just in time. There, far below, their night scopes revealed Dogu’s Bora knifing through dark, glassy water, penetrating deep into the bay. The catamaran dropped anchor just off the small settlement of Agali, at the head of the bay. Wasting no time, Dogu climbed into a dinghy and motored toward shore. A car waiting in the dark on the outskirts of Agali flashed its lights. The terrorist pulled his boat up on the beach, jumped into the vehicle, and sped off. Adam and Tripnee had a clear view of his route, and watched as the vehicle climbed the winding road headed, apparently, toward Chora.
“Interesting,” Adam said. “Dogu’s the enforcer. He usually operates in force with his crew, but here he’s going off alone. I wonder why?”
Tripnee stood solidly in a wide stance. “By my count, there should be three—or more—nukes on that boat. Let’s go get ’em.”
“Agreed,” Adam said. Keying his earpiece, he filled Sophia in on the situation, and asked her to monitor Dogu while he and Tripnee dealt with Bora.
The trail was steep but wide and smooth as it switch-backed down to the shore of Vathi Bay. As they descended, they listened as Sophia’s drones located and tracked Dogu’s vehicle, which delivered the Islamist enforcer to a villa near Chora.
“Impressive,” Sophia said. “The place has an infinity pool, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Aegean, classic Greek charm like you can’t believe.”
“Who’s there? Adam asked. “Who’s Dogu meeting?”
“So far just one guy. I’ll patch through the sound.”
“Isa, you live well.”
“Well, yes, old friend. Please do not tell Cyclops or Roxanna. They would not approve.”
“True, they would not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Why do you ask?”
“We’ve known each other how long?”
“Since we were children.”
“Yes, forever. So, I know when you’re troubled.”
“It is forbidden to say anything.”
“You’re my dearest friend. Out with it.”
“Damn,” Adam said. “Make sure the intruder alarms are on, and keep a weapon handy.”
“Don’t worry. Got that covered. Plus, I have sentry drones deployed.” Sophia paused, then narrated the drone cam view on her computer screen: “Dogu is actually hunched over, sobbing.”
Isa said, “It’s okay, it’s okay. You always had to be the strongest, the most devout. But I know you. I know. Deep down, you doubt. You waver. It’s okay. We all do. It’s only human.”
Dogu wept. And wept. Then said, “Then you know. When I let myself think my own thoughts while reading the Qur’an, I found no answers. But I didn’t know what to do, so I acted extra devout. Probably trying to convince myself. I fooled Roxanna, but not myself.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes, habibi, dear brother. And I know you were ordered to kill me here tonight.”
“You know?”
“Believe me, dear friend. Being the enforcer would take its toll on anyone. But knowing you, I know it’s killing you inside.”
“I prayed every day. I took it seriously. I thought about what I believed.”
“Yes, yes. You did. I saw it.”
“I had to repress so many questions. The teachings were right, my doubts were wrong. I was wrong.”
“You gave it your best effort. For years and years.”
Adam and Tripnee reached the water’s edge of Vathi Bay. Turning, they moved along the shoreline toward the village of Agali and the catamaran, Bora.
Dogu went on, “But so much is in clear conflict with what I, what anyone knows of good and bad.”
“Believe me, brother. I know, I know.”
“But what I am saying is, my words right now are punishable by death.”
“Your only crime is thinking for yourself, using your brain.”
Because only she could see the video, Sophia narrated, “Tears are pouring down the guy’s face.”
Dogu choked out, “But daring not to believe is a capital offense. I myself have often quoted Sahih Bukhari—‘Kill those who change their religion.’”
“Yes,” Isa said, “Mohammad said this many times. So, what does that tell you?”
Sobbing. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” More sobbing. “How do you handle it?”
“I realized an obvious fact,” Isa replied. “Not all Muslims think alike. It took time, but I gradually decided things don’t have to be absolute, black or white.”
“Apostasy?”
“To some, to absolutists. But not to me.”
As they neared Agali, Adam and Tripnee found Dogu’s skiff.
“Amazing,” Adam said. “Sounds like the guy’s ready to defect. But regardless, we’ve got to get those nukes.”
“Amen to that.”
With an easy coordination born of many dangerous adventures together, they readied their weapons and silently launched the dinghy. A former class-five river guide, Tripnee took the oars and soon had them gliding out in a wide circle around behind the big, dark catamaran. It looked like the crew was asleep with no sentry posted. But that would be tantamount to negligence. And the duo had learned that counting on your opponent’s negligence was not conducive to survival.
Coming out of the night with the vast black Aegean behind them, they were, they hoped, hard to spot. After floating soundlessly up to an open ventilation port, Adam activated and dropped in one of his favorite devices, a canister of fast-acting sleeping gas, a mixture of sevoflurane, isoflurane, and halothane. Moving to the other side of the big cat, they dropped in another. Then, for good measure, they maneuvered to throw a third into the central cabin.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Gunshots rang out.
They threw themselves into the water, and surfaced in the protected airspace under the cabin between the cat’s two hulls. Instinctively reaching for one another, they simultaneously asked in urgent whispers, “Are you okay?”
That was close. But thank God the shots missed. Probably fired off by a half-awake sentry.
Adam had lost the third canister, but fortunately his silenced Glock was still in his waterproof fanny pack. Knowing the terrorists would expect intruders to climb aboard using the ship’s stern steps, Adam swam to the bow and pulled himself up the anchor chain and pulled out his Glock as he crawled onto the catamaran’s bow trampoline. Two figures, one towering, the other small, moved in the main cabin. Shooting through the boat’s windshield, he dropped the big one with a bullet to the head. Psst.
Adam quickly swung his gun toward the smaller terrorist, but the guy was even quicker and ducked out of sight. Now exposed, Adam scrambled to the boat’s starboard side to put a blank section of cabin wall between himself and the jihadi. Ratta-tat-tat. The terrorist opened up with what had to be an AK-47. Ratta-tat-tat. Bullets ripped straight through the cabin’s fiberglass skin, searching for Adam. Ratta-tat-tat. Adam jumped sideways, but the pattern of puckering bullet holes came closer—and closer. Ratta-tat-tat-ratta-tat-tat.
Psst, psst. Tripnee’s Beretta. Thump. The terrorist fell to the deck and the AK-47 went silent.
Sophia screamed over their headsets, “I’ve been shot!”
* * *
It turned out the other two members of Bora’s crew had been knocked out by the gas. Adam and Tripnee found them unconscious but alive in their bunks, and secured them with ankle and wrist cuffs. Figuring it was the fastest way to both secure the nukes and return to Dream Voyager, Adam and Tripnee fired up Bora’s engines, weighed anchor, and motored at full throttle out of Vathi Bay. Racing around the southern end of Folegandros, they entered Karavostassis and rafted Bora alongside Dream Voyager.
Sophia was badly bruised but alive. A black-clad assassin had somehow managed to creep aboard without triggering the alarms or sentry drones.
Adam frowned. “How in hell was that even possible?”
Fortunately, Sophia, who was after all a professional cop, had worn a Kevlar vest. The two bullets, delivered in quick double-tap assassin style, knocked her down and almost out. But she still had enough wits to play dead for a moment, then get off several shots. One or two of which apparently found their mark, because there was a trail of blood across the cockpit and down the stern steps. But they found no bodies floating in the vicinity or other traces of the attacker.
Chapter 21
Milos
“T here’s news,” Sophia said. “Big, terrible news. While you two were on Folegandros, just before the attacker came aboard, I decrypted a terrorist transmission. They know about Dream Voyager. That we’re hunting them, taking them down one-by-one. But there’s more. The boat captains are spooked. They’re stepping up the attack schedule and rushing to depart for targets in Europe and America.”
Adam’s muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed. “We’ll just have to pick up our pace. They’ve got to be stopped.”
“And at the same fucking time,” Tripnee said, “we’ve got to stay invisible.”
“And make sure,” Sophia added, “we’re not being tracked.”
“Also,” Adam said, “we’ve got to be on guard. There’s sure to be more attacks.” Then, rising to his feet, he asked, “Do we know where any of these boats are?”
“I could only locate one so far,” Sophia said, “a 118-foot, two-masted caique named Helios, on Milos.”
“Forty miles west of here,” Adam said.
“It’s topping off provisions right now as we speak.”
“We’ve got to move fast. But first we’ve got to deal with Isa Kaan’s boat, Canan.”
* * *
Adam and Tripnee strapped on rebreathers and eased below the surface on the far side of Dream Voyager, hopefully out of sight from prying eyes, including any with night-vision tech. Swimming side-by-side through the dark water, they crossed the harbor and surfaced at the bow of Isa Kaan’s fifty-
foot sloop Canan. Adam had a hunch, given its captain’s apostasy—or awakening—that the crew would not be alert. It turned out, in fact, Canan was completely unguarded—and a search uncovered a nuke. Bringing up the anchor, they motored back over to Bora and Dream Voyager.
Still cloaked in the dark of night, Adam took the wheel of Bora, Tripnee stayed aboard Canan, and Sophia fired up Dream Voyager. One-by-one they motored the three boats out of Karavostassis, turned west to round the southern tip of Folegandros, and headed in the direction of Milos.
Once well out to sea, they rafted the three sailboats together. After stowing Bora’s two nukes and the one from Canan in the secret compartment deep in the belly of Dream Voyager, Adam and Tripnee brought the two surviving Bora crew members, a thin man and a muscular woman, aboard, checked to make sure they were immobilized in their bindings, and locked them in separate forward cabins.
Next, they activated timers on two incendiary grenades and tossed these into Bora and Canan. Then, as Dream Voyager accelerated away, self-igniting 4000-degree phosphorous explosions blasted the two terrorists’ boats into towering columns of flame, which soon disappeared as the vessels sank beneath the waves.
“The next order of business,” Adam said, “is to figure out how they found us.”
Sophia, her back arched, held up a gadget the size of an iPhone. “Get a load of this baby. It detects listening bugs and hidden spy cameras.”
While Sophia scanned Dream Voyager with her device, Tripnee physically searched every nook and cranny below deck, while Adam put on a powerful waterproof head lamp to search the ship’s entire exterior above—and below—the waterline. He cut the engine and donned a rebreather for the underwater phase. Sophia and Tripnee came up empty, but Adam found a gizmo stuck to the hull deep underwater near the bow.
It turned out that the device, no bigger than a small iPad, sent out a long-range signal that was probably trackable all over the Aegean—and yet was so high-tech it evaded detection by Sophia’s gadget. Adam strapped the device to a big beach ball with tape and webbing. According to the forecast, the meltemi would in the next couple of days go from zero to forty or fifty miles per hour. He dropped the ball overboard, fired up Dream Voyager, and accelerated west toward Milos. The three of them watched the ball as it faded into the distance. In a day or two it would be halfway to Africa, which should throw off whoever was tracking them, at least for a while.
Cyclops Conspiracy: An Adam Weldon Thriller Page 9
