Barracuda

by Richard Turner

  Davos set the phone down and took a seat behind his desk. Elena Milos may have eluded him; however, the rest of his plan was going perfectly. He would simply have to deal with her later.

  There was a knock at the door to his office.

  “Come,” said Davos.

  The door opened. Drakos, the general’s hired killer, walked in.

  “Ah, Drakos, you have perfect timing. Our contact has given us the location of the Nazi treasure.”

  “Did he say where?”

  “Portillo, Chile.”

  Drakos scrunched up his weathered face. “Never heard of it.”

  “I have. It’s a ski resort. The perfect place to hide a fortune where no one would think to look. Where are your men?”

  “They are in Buenos Aires. I can get them on the next flight to Santiago,” replied Drakos. Right after Petrenko contacted Davos and offered to give them the location of the treasure for ten million dollars, Drakos had dispatched a team of mercenaries to Argentina. They were ready to strike the instant the treasure was found.

  “Pass the order,” Davos said. “If I didn’t need you in Lisbon, I’d send you to Chile on the next available flight. However, we must have faith that things will unfold in our favor. Is your man as good as you say he is?”

  Drakos nodded. “Trust me, sir; Karras doesn’t know how to fail. He’ll have the Nazi gold before too long.”

  “Very good, Drakos. Please pass the order to your man.”

  Drakos left the room to make the call.

  Davos sat back and smiled, his pulse quickening. All he had to do now was push the country to the brink of war, and the government would surely fall. He opened up his secure laptop and typed out a message to the other members of the Phoenix Group, telling them that everything was falling into place. He sat back in his high-backed leather chair. A few days from now, Greece would be his, along with more than enough money to set southern Europe on the path to his lifelong dream of an iron axis with him at its head. There was nothing and no one who could possibly stop him now.

  37

  Lisbon, Portugal

  Sam and Cardinal got out of their rented Mercedes SUV and looked up at the cruise ship docked alongside the pier. Aside from a couple of well-armed policemen standing guard, the dock was practically empty, as most of the delegations were due to arrive later that day.

  Commissioned in 2009, the Aurora was a small cruise ship compared to the massive liners that sailed the warm waters of the Caribbean. With a crew of one hundred and forty, the Aurora could comfortably host two hundred passengers in luxurious comfort, which would be more than sufficient for the UN personnel, along with the various delegates from the Greek and Turkish governments. The ship had six decks, and was just under one hundred and thirty meters long, with a beam of twenty meters. She was painted all white, except for a long, red streak that ran the length of the ship near the waterline.

  “Shall we see what Mrs. Milos is up to?” Sam asked.

  “Might as well,” replied Cardinal.

  As they were not on the original manifest, Sam and Cardinal had just spent the last couple of hours with the Portuguese police filling out forms and getting their identifications made. Since they were there at Mrs. Milos’ behest, and not as part of the Greek or Turkish security details, the police had not given them permits to carry firearms. Both felt more than a little bit naked, and they both wondered what they would do if trouble actually did break out on the ship.

  After showing their shiny new I.D.s to the on-duty police officers, Sam and Cardinal walked up the gangplank and onto the ship. Elena Milos’ cabin was on the second deck, with the rest of the Greek contingent. The ship was a beehive of activity. Crewmembers hurriedly scurried about making sure everything was ready for the arrival of the delegates, while security personnel from Greece, Turkey, Portugal and the U.S. swept the vessel for explosives and listening devices. It was the third sweep of the ship in as many days.

  They found Makris standing guard outside of Mrs. Milos’ cabin. By the slight telltale bulge under his loose-fitting jacket, Makris had ignored the police and obtained a weapon from a contact in the Greek security team.

  “Does Mrs. Milos have company?” Sam asked Makris.

  “No,” he curtly replied.

  “Can we go in and see her?” asked Cardinal.

  Makris knocked on the door, and then opened it slightly. “Ma’am, Miss Chen and Mister Cardinal are here to see you.”

  “Oh good, please send them in,” replied Elena.

  Sam and Cardinal stepped inside the spacious room.

  “Please take a seat,” said Elena.

  Everyone sat down at a round table. There was a carafe of coffee in the center. Elena poured everyone a cup.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” confessed Elena.

  “How so?” said Sam.

  “I feel like a prisoner, with Makris keeping watch on me everywhere I go,” replied Elena.

  Cardinal said, “He’s only doing his job.”

  “I’m just not used to it, I guess,” Elena explained.

  “How can we be of service to you?” Sam asked. “The Portuguese won’t let us carry any weapons, so we’re not much good as bodyguards.”

  “That’s okay,” said Elena. “Perhaps you can help me in other ways.”

  “Such as?”

  “One of the security protocols they have established is a complete separation of Greek and Turkish delegations,” explained Elena. “I personally think that it’s an incredibly shortsighted idea. It’s not really conducive to trust and dialog between us. I, however, have a friend coming in tonight. Her name is Miss Alya Elmas. She was at the conference in Oregon.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember her,” said Sam. “She’s a petite lady with a smile permanently etched on her face.”

  “That’s her. I would like you to find where she is staying so we can pass messages back and forth without needing the approval of respective governments. With tensions running as high as they are back home, I doubt that either delegation will be overly friendly to one another. However, I believe that this situation can and will be dealt with by people like Alya and me.”

  Sam looked over at Cardinal, who noncommittally shrugged his shoulders. “I guess we can act as messengers, if it will help,” announced Sam.

  Elena smiled. “I am positive that it will.”

  Cardinal leaned forward and looked into Elena’s eyes. “Mrs. Milos, have you been able to reach your brother?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I spoke with his superior, General Davos, and he assured me that Stavros is fine. He said that he talked to Stavros just the other day. He even chided him for not answering his personal cell phone. My brother told him that he dropped his phone and was going to buy a new one today.”

  “Did the general give a number in Naples where your brother could be reached?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, he did. However, when I called, a duty officer told me that Stavros was in a meeting and would call me back when he could,” explained Elena.

  “Well, that solves that mystery, then,” said Sam as she stood. She looked over at Cardinal and said, “Shall we go for a stroll?”

  “Why not,” replied Cardinal.

  A minute later when they were far from Elena’s cabin, Sam stopped and placed her hand on Cardinal’s arm. “What do you think? Is Alexander still alive?”

  Cardinal shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no reason to doubt General Davos’ explanation. Until we hear otherwise, we’ll have to assume that he’s okay.”

  Sam bit her lip. “I’m not so sure. After we find Miss Elmas’ cabin, I want to call Mike and let him know what is going on. Perhaps he has contacts in Naples who can check out the general’s story.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a suspicious mind?”

  “Yeah, you have on several occasions,” replied Sam. “And please tell me when I was proven wrong.”

  Cardinal smiled. “Never. But there always has to be a first
time.”

  “Whatever. Come on, mister, we have work to do.” Sam turned and began to walk down the long, blue-carpeted corridor, followed by Cardinal. Something about Davos’ explanation dug at the back of Sam’s mind. She was not sure what it was, but she was not going to rest until she knew for sure if Alexander was safe and sound or had met foul play at the hands of the people threatening to disrupt the conference.

  38

  Portillo, Chile

  It was dark by the time they arrived at Portillo. Jackson stopped their rental vehicle outside of a tall, modern-looking building. Brightly-lit, the yellow-painted hotel stood out against its all-white surroundings. Built next to a lake, the resort was just under three thousand meters above sea level. A fresh carpet of snow covered the ground.

  Mitchell got out of the Rover and stretched out his back. He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw Yuri and Petrenko pull up behind his parked vehicle. Mitchell could see his breath in the night air. He guessed the temperature was hovering somewhere near freezing. Mitchell walked back and tapped on Yuri’s window.

  The window lowered. “Da, what is up, Ryan?”

  “I want you and Petrenko to go inside and see if there are any rooms available. The Eagle’s Nest is still another few kilometers down the road. However, we need a place to rest and from which to plan our next move.”

  Yuri tapped Petrenko. “Come on; let’s see how much more we can put on your credit card before it gets declined.”

  Petrenko murmured to himself and followed Yuri into the hotel.

  Mitchell strolled back to his Rover.

  “What’s the skinny?” asked Jackson.

  “We’ll rest here tonight,” replied Mitchell. “I’m sure we could all use a few hours’ sleep. We’ll get up nice and early and see what is going on at The Eagle’s Nest.”

  A couple of minutes later, Yuri came out and handed Mitchell a card for his room. “You and Mister Jackson have a room on the second floor,” said Yuri. “Petrenko and I are on the third.”

  “Let’s meet in the restaurant in the morning. Do you know when it opens?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Damn, I wanted to be on the road well before that,” Mitchell said.

  “Ryan, I think we could all use the extra sleep,” said Jackson “Something tells me we’re going to need it.”

  “Eight it is,” said Mitchell.

  Once they were settled in their room, Jackson made a quick call to let Donaldson know that they had arrived in Portillo.

  Mitchell sat on the edge of his bed studying the images of The Eagle’s Nest that Fahimah had sent to Yuri’s laptop. It was built near the top of a snow-covered mountain a couple of kilometers from the border with Argentina. There wasn’t a road to the lodge; the only way to access the hotel was via cable car. Unlike the newer hotel they were staying in, the chalet looked like a throwback to Europe in the 1950s. It was three stories high and built completely out of wood and stone. The description on the Web said that the hotel could accommodate up to fifty guests in the most luxurious rooms available in the Andes. The chalet’s restaurant was naturally listed as having five stars.

  “I got room service on the line, do you want something?” Jackson asked.

  “Pasta, spaghetti if they have it,” replied Mitchell.

  A short while later, they sat at the table in their room, eating their meal. Jackson had turned the laptop around so he could see the image on the screen. “If this place is where the gold is being held, I doubt that you and I will be too welcome there,” said Jackson.

  “I know,” Mitchell replied. “That’s why you and I are going to hike up and approach it from behind, while Yuri and Petrenko try to see what they can learn by speaking with the cable car operators and the local civilians.”

  “What’s the time difference between us and Lisbon?”

  Mitchell looked it up on the Web. “They’re three hours ahead of us.”

  “I hope Sam and Gordon are doing okay.”

  “I’m sure they are. There’s probably more security than delegates where they are.”

  “You’re probably right. What if tomorrow turns out to be a bust?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ryan, if tomorrow doesn’t pan out, I say we cut our losses and head home. I don’t like the idea that we’re still being hunted by the police for a crime we didn’t commit.”

  Mitchell knew his friend was right; they were pushing their luck. “Fair enough. If the chalet is a dead end, we’ll get Yuri to fly us back home and turn ourselves over to the police back home.”

  “Deal,” replied Jackson, thrusting out his hand for Mitchell to shake.

  At the lobby of the hotel, a tall, blonde-haired woman in her late forties, with striking features, left the duties of the front desk to another employee and stepped outside. She dug out her phone and placed a call. It was answered right away.

  “Good evening, Trula. Do you have something for me?” asked a man in German.

  “Yes. The men you asked me to look out for are here,” replied Trula. “They checked in thirty minutes ago.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am positive that it is them.”

  “Are they alone?”

  “No, there are two other men with them. I think they are Russians.”

  “Interesting,” said the man.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing for now. Just keep an eye on them and let me know when they leave the hotel.”

  “I shall. You can count on me, Herr Beck.”

  “I know I can. You are a loyal German.”

  “Thank you,” replied Trula, her heart swelling with pride.

  “Good night, fraulein,” said Beck. A second later, the line went dead.

  Trula slipped her phone back in her pocket, and walked back inside the hotel, trying to look as if nothing had happened. She glanced over at a clock on the wall and decided to call it a night. She intended to be up early in the morning, just in case the saboteurs tried leaving without her seeing them.

  39

  The Hotel

  Mitchell stepped outside into the cool morning air. He looked up; there was not a cloud in the sky. He reached into a pocket of his blue winter jacket and grabbed his sunglasses. Behind him, Jackson did the same. Without protection, the glare of the sun on the snow would be blinding.

  “Well, I can’t complain about the food,” said Jackson, patting his stomach. “I’m looking forward to coming back for supper.”

  “Da, I doubt the people who run the buffet feel the same about you,” quipped Yuri. “They were probably happy to see you leave.”

  “Don’t put out a sign saying all-you-can-eat buffet if you don’t mean it.”

  Petrenko lagged behind. He walked gingerly, favoring his right leg.

  “Something wrong?” Mitchell asked the Russian.

  “I bumped my knee into the door this morning,” replied Petrenko. “I should have been more aware of my surroundings.”

  “Are you in pain?” asked Jackson.

  “Yes, a lot. I broke it during a training exercise when I was in the army. I doubt that I can do much today. I’ll need to rest and put ice on it to relieve the pain and the swelling.”

  Mitchell looked at Yuri. “Will you be okay without him?”

  “Da, not a problem,” replied Yuri, cheerfully. “He’d only slow me down, anyway.”

  “Okay then, Mister Petrenko can take it easy while we go and take a look around,” Mitchell said. “We’ll only need one car, so we’ll take your Rover,” he said to Yuri.

  Petrenko waved at his compatriots as the Rover drove past him and headed down an icy road leading towards the chalet. When the vehicle was out of sight, he placed a call. It rang a couple of times before going to voicemail. “The prize is located in The Eagle’s Nest,” he said. With the message sent, he walked back inside the hotel and went to his room to pack. He did not want to be anywhere near the hotel when the mercenaries arrived
. Davos could send his money to his secret Swiss account for all he cared.

  Beck read and then re-read the text message sent by Trula. He wanted to be sure that he had all the facts before he spoke with his master. He was somewhat troubled by the fact that one of the Russians had checked out of the hotel and was last seen driving away in the opposite direction of the lodge. The other three men were already on their way to the lodge. Beck had earlier briefed his men to be on the lookout for the troublemakers.

  “What is troubling you, Herr Beck?” asked Karl August.

  “One of the Russians has left the hotel,” replied Beck. “Trula does not believe that he is coming back.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  “She wrote that he seemed very nervous and anxious to leave,” explained Beck.

  “Call the chief of police in San Felipe and tell him that the Russian is connected to the men who killed the civilians in Punta Arenas,” said August. “Ask him to call me when he has the Russian in custody.”

  “Yes, sir.” Beck picked up a phone to make the call.

  August heard another man enter the room. He turned and saw Frederick Muller. He was dressed in slacks, with a loose-fitting sweater. Muller was slight of stature, had short brown hair, and a round, pudgy face.

  “Are they coming?” Muller asked nervously.

  August nodded. “They left the hotel a few minutes ago. It would appear that one of the Russians has lost his nerve and has fled. He won’t get too far, though. The police will soon have him in custody.”

  “They escaped once before. We shouldn’t underestimate these men.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “Karl, what do you intend to do with these men when you have them?”

  “I can’t believe that they found us all on their own. Someone must have steered them in our direction and I want to know who it was.”