by Brett King
“We have an international call from a Greek physician. Says his name is Peter Spanos. Better take his call, Steve.”
Razor still in hand, Angelilli eyed him. “What’s the situation?”
“He claims he’s had contact with Cori Cassidy. They interacted a short time ago.”
“Where?”
“Heraklion.”
He lowered the razor and switched it off. “That’s Crete, right? What the hell is she doing there?”
“She was in a facility that operated as a hospital. Or at least made to resemble one. Spanos said she was under his care.”
Angelilli couldn’t believe it. Cassidy and Wonderland had been missing from the vehicle. He had assumed both had been abducted and that Cassidy had been assassinated.
“How long was she under this doctor’s care?” Angelilli asked, reaching for the phone.
“Didn’t say,” Klein answered. “Sounds like someone wanted Cassidy to believe she had been hospitalized in New York. From what I’ve learned, Spanos facilitated her escape.”
“Thanks, Joshua.” Angelilli snapped up the phone. “Dr. Spanos, thank you for calling.”
Silence.
“Dr. Spanos? Can you hear me? Sir, are you there?”
On the other end of the line, the call disconnected. The dial tone buzzed in his ear.
“What happened?” Klein asked.
“He’s gone,” Angelilli said. “Track that call now and find the doctor.”
Crete
11:31 a.m.
After slinking behind parked cars, Cori managed to elude the men following her in the park. But with no sign of the police station or the embassy, frustration settled in again. She ripped off the green scrubs and ditched them in a trash can.
Wearing sweatpants and a purple T-shirt now, she stopped an elderly woman and asked about the police. Waving her hands, it became clear she didn’t speak English. As she fumbled a sorry-to-bother-you apology, Cori caught sight of a husky man wearing a tan suit. He was a new face, not one she had seen outside the hospital. He stood across the street, scanning the area with an earpiece curled beneath his crew cut.
Anxiety stirred inside her. She didn’t get it. How were they finding her? Everywhere she turned, they drew closer, as if gathering an unseen net around her. Or was she super paranoid? This guy wasn’t dressed like the other two men. Maybe he was someone else. Still, she didn’t trust him.
She decided to head in a different direction. That worked until she spied a black car moving slowly down the opposite side of the street. Okay, now what? Crossing the street, she had her answer when she noticed an alley.
She headed that way and ducked down a narrow road of crumbling pavement. A twentysomething man on a bicycle headed her way. He didn’t look like the others, but she decided to avoid eye contact anyway.
Looking down as he passed, she glanced at the laminated hospital bracelet on her wrist, shimmering in the sunlight. A realization hit her like a blow to the chest. She flipped the bracelet back against her skin, checking the underside. A tiny glowing circle was embedded inside its plastic surface. A transmitter. That’s why she couldn’t lose them; the men had been tracking her every move.
She had to ditch this thing.
She tried to tear it. No good. She pulled on the band. Too tight. She tried to stretch it over her hand. The band cut into her skin, but she eventually managed to drag the bracelet off her wrist.
She flung the bracelet into the air, throwing it so hard her arm sizzled with warmth. It landed on the far side of a tall chain-link fence. Good. That would throw them off her trail until she made an escape.
“Clever,” a man called, “but a little too late, Ms. Cassidy.”
The guy with the precision buzz cut and the tan suit walked toward her. Before she could think twice, the two men in black marched from the opposite end of the alley. She thought about outrunning them, but sensed she couldn’t escape.
She looked again at the chain-link fence.
Cori raced to it. All three men sprinted after her. Although short, she got a good jump on it and attacked the fence like a chipmunk in a desperate scramble up a tree. The chains quavered as she dipped her upper body over, punching her stomach muscles against the top rail. From below, a hand wrapped around her ankle and one of them ripped her foot from its hold. Still halfway over, she clutched the fence, muscles blazing as she held on with all her strength. Another man arrived and grabbed her calf. Her chest scraped the top rail as he jerked her toward him. She struck the ground, landing on her hip. She didn’t have a chance to breathe before the crew-cut guy grabbed her wrists.
“Let me go,” she cried.
A man with curly brown hair reached around her waist, then raised her. Spinning in their arms, she managed to drop her body almost to the ground, but they caught her, lifting her up again. The men came at her with more aggressiveness than the CIA agents back at the hotel. They marched Cori down the alley—her feet scraping the broken concrete—with two men flanking her and the guy in the suit leading the way.
Chapter 32
Crete
11:40 a.m.
Rashmi Raja recognized the man the second she spotted him. She had never met Nicholas Booth in person, but the antiquities collector looked as sinister in person as he sounded on the phone. He checked his watch while standing outside a three-story office building, and she waited for him to notice her. It took a minute, then the squat, heavyset man looked across the street and started walking toward her.
She flashed a smile. He didn’t notice.
Without making eye contact, he took her arm and directed her down the street. “Let’s walk.”
“You seem nervous,” she observed. He didn’t, but she thought the comment would catch him off guard.
“I’m never nervous,” he muttered. “Brief me on your progress.”
“You’ll be pleased. I’ve collected several helmet pieces.”
“You’ve had help.”
“You know about that?”
Booth looked at her for the first time. “I know everything.”
“Including things you didn’t tell me.”
“Like what?”
“Like the code inside the Roman helmet. You didn’t tell me about a map leading to the missing treasure.”
“I wouldn’t call it treasure,” he huffed.
They crossed the street and passed a shop selling Minoan pottery next door to a Starbucks storefront.
“If it’s worth money, it’s treasure in my book,” she answered. “This job goes way beyond collecting an old chunk of metal.”
“Let me guess. This conversation is about money.”
Raja stopped. She brought out the facemask, holding it up for his inspection. The man glanced around, then took a closer look. He couldn’t conceal the delight in his dark eyes.
“Where did you find this?”
“A cave beneath Paris.”
“I don’t say this often, but I’m impressed.”
“Me too.” She slid the mask inside a leather pouch.
“Wait,” Booth said. “Give me that mask. I’m paying for the helmet pieces.”
“Sorry. Can’t hand it over right now.”
“I don’t regret hiring you,” he said, “but I didn’t hire John Brynstone.”
“And I didn’t plan on working with him, but it’s worth it. Promise you, I’m controlling the situation. When the time’s right, Mr. Booth, I’ll ditch Brynstone and McHardy and take everything. They’ll never see it coming.”
He should have seen it coming.
In a slow burn, Brynstone watched from a distance as Raja negotiated with her buyer. He had tracked her from Prague to Crete. He didn’t have audio, only binoculars, but he saw her show the Roman facemask.
Nessa Griffin had taken his phone in Paris, but he’d p
icked up another one. On the new cell, Brynstone studied a photograph Wurm had sent after their last call. Perfect match. Short and overweight, the man displayed on the phone looked identical to Raja’s buyer. The guy’s name? Viktor Nebola.
Raja had said she was working for a man named Nicholas Booth. Did she know he was Nebola? Had she lied about the man’s name?
Brynstone wanted to find Erich Metzger. Nebola offered the best chance at tracking down the assassin. In a way, Raja had done him a big favor. Thanks to her deceit, Brynstone was one step closer to finding Metzger.
Watching her walk with Nebola, Brynstone was ready to operate on instinct. That instinct told him to ram his Glock against Nebola’s head and demand that he reveal where to find Metzger. But before he could move into action, he heard a woman scream.
Spinning on his heels, he looked over his shoulder. Three men were hustling a petite blonde woman toward an office building. One clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her screams. He recognized the woman at once, but he couldn’t believe it was her.
What was Cori Cassidy doing in Greece? And why were three guys wrestling her into that building? The whole scene was almost too surreal to take in.
He glanced back at Raja walking with Nebola, moving farther away. This was Brynstone’s chance to apprehend the man and question him. Not to mention maybe the last chance to get the facemask from Raja.
Brynstone stole another look at the men carrying Cori into the building.
Nebola was getting away. If Brynstone helped Cori, his best lead on Metzger would disappear. If he took down Nebola, he couldn’t be there to help Cori.
Save her or go after Nebola?
He growled. Ugly choices.
Chapter 33
Crete
11:44 a.m.
Nebola was sneaking a look at Raja. He had dated a Punjabi beauty years ago, until his wife discovered the indiscretion and things got messy. He had broken it off with reluctance, but the woman wouldn’t go without a fight. Half his age, his mistress was spunky like Rashmi Raja. What was her name? He couldn’t remember. He only knew it had been a shame to have her killed.
“So you want more money?” he asked.
“I’m worth it,” Raja answered. “You know it.”
She might be right about that. He glanced at her body as they walked. He wasn’t paying to touch, but he was paying enough to take a look. He liked watching her strut in black midcut shorts. Riding below her bare midriff and curving up her outer thigh, they highlighted her tight little butt.
“You impressed me, Ms. Raja. If you continue to impress, you better believe I’ll take care of you.”
“That means what, exactly?”
He winked at her. “A nice bonus from me to you.”
“How nice? And you better be talking about money.”
“You bring me the whole helmet? Twenty thousand.”
“Eighty.”
He smirked. “You’re psychotic. You know it? Hot but psychotic.”
“Eighty.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Sixty.”
“Did I mention I have a gun?”
“Did I mention I have helmet pieces? The ones leading to a treasure?”
“Thirty, but you’re starting to piss me off. If they could still speak, lots of people could tell you how it’s a bad idea to piss me off.”
“Forty and I shut up.”
“I got a feeling you’ll never shut up. Not until the day you die.” He studied her. “Bring me everything and we’ll do forty.”
She held out her hand.
He didn’t move. “Forty with the understanding we put you on retainer for future assignments.”
“You got it.”
He shook her hand.
“Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t, Mr. Booth.”
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Nebola said. “You’re going to work with Math McHardy. However, you cannot tell him about our partnership.”
“What about John Brynstone?”
“Forget him,” Nebola answered. “You can’t trust Brynstone.”
From behind, a man in black shoved Cori Cassidy into a windowless room. The force sent her spiraling across the floor. Despite hitting hard on one knee, she tried unsuccessfully to make a graceful return to her feet, grabbing a metal chair and pulling herself onto it to catch her breath. She was still hurting after the drop from the fence.
Desperation set in. The men who had abducted her had dragged her back to the first floor of the building where she had been hospitalized. The door was open and they were talking out there, but her thoughts were focused on escape. She had no idea how to attempt it.
A clattering noise came from out in the hallway, and the men shouted profanities. Before she could react, the guy with the crew cut flew past the door. His body hurtled face-first into the wall, his tan suit coat curling over his head as he dropped. A second man, the guy who had ripped her from the fence, hit the floor out in the hallway and sprawled across the leg of the first guy. His face was a bloodied mess.
Cori darted up from the chair as the man with curly brown hair rolled across the corridor floor. She braced herself and stared at the open door. She had no idea what—or who—was coming next.
To her surprise, John Brynstone peeked in, both hands pressed against the doorframe.
“You okay?” he asked.
She couldn’t speak.
After everything that had happened, he was here. Right here with her. Was it real?
Brynstone walked into the room and scooped her up in an embrace. Cori slid an arm beneath his backpack, holding tight, not wanting to let go. She broke down and cried tears of relief and joy. But so much more was more going on inside her. Lost in this moment of combustible attraction, she realized how many feelings she had denied herself since she had last seen him. Her chin tucked into Brynstone’s chest, she felt safe at last. An explosion of emotion rocked her as she wiped her eyes. A dizzy lilt pulled her from elation to alarm as she stood on tiptoes and peered over his shoulder. Their reunion was brief.
“Someone’s out there,” she cried.
From the hallway, a man slammed the door closed. They heard a click as he locked them in the room.
Brynstone pulled away and rushed to the locked door. He didn’t speak. Cori joined him as he ran his hands along the surface, his head craning as he studied the door. She bit her lip and curled her hands in frustration until her skin turned a pinkish-white tint.
Rashmi Raja crossed her arms in protest. “You’re wrong about trusting John Brynstone.”
“Really?” Nicholas Booth gave her a cold stare. “Brynstone followed you here. You know that don’t you?”
She looked around. “I wasn’t followed.”
“You’re good, Rashmi, but you’re not as good as you think.”
He brought out a tablet computer and tapped the screen. He held it so she could see it. Video surveillance showed Brynstone entering a building from outside, moving down a corridor into a large open area, then turning a corner. He assaulted three men in quick succession, then hurried into a room. The camera was mounted outside and zoomed in to capture him hugging a cute blonde woman who looked a little like Tinker Bell. As they embraced, a man dressed in black cammies closed the door, locking them inside the room.
“Who’s the woman?”
“A pain in the ass named Cori Cassidy. I thought I might need her help. Decided I don’t. That footage you saw? It happened a few minutes ago, right over there.” He pointed to the three-story building where she had first seen him.
“Brynstone followed you from Prague,” he continued. “Big mistake on your part, Ms. Raja. Let’s make sure it never happens again.”
He grinned and tapped the tablet computer. She glanced at it, seeing a red rectangle on the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Dr. Brynstone is a problem. Watch how I solve problems.”
He tapped the screen again.
An explosion rocked the building.
Raja staggered, turning to see flames and smoke boil out the building’s north side. Rolling back on her feet, she ran her fingers through her black hair. Her heart spiked with a rush of blood. A burst of anger welled inside and she turned to confront the man.
He pointed a gun at her.
“You’ve already made one serious mistake today, Ms. Raja—don’t commit a second.” He narrowed his eyes. “Connect with Math McHardy. Go finish your job. Bring me the complete helmet.”
“Agreed,” she said. “Conversation done.”
A charcoal-gray SUV rolled around the corner and stopped at curbside. A man in a black suit popped out and opened the rear door.
“Don’t disappoint me,” Booth called. He lowered the gun and headed for the vehicle.
As he climbed inside the SUV, Raja caught sight of a blonde-haired child. As Booth took his seat beside her, the girl locked her gaze onto Raja. Her eyes were a crystalline blue, holding back secrets and mysteries.
Startled, she realized the child’s eyes matched the color and character of John Brynstone’s eyes exactly.
PART III
Mound of Shards
What is now proved was once only imagin’d.
—William Blake
Chapter 34
Crete
11:58 a.m.
Rashmi Raja sprinted toward the building.
The explosion had ripped open an exterior wall, where a ripe patch of flame and smoke was billowing into the sky. A handful of stunned people hurried out, coughing, with hands shielding their mouths.
She pushed past them and moved inside. A Greek man tried to stop her, but she shoved him hard and sprinted away through double doors. He didn’t chase after her.
