“And what does Spiros use the equipment for?” Nancy asked.
Dimitri shrugged. “Please don’t tell your friend, the one with the blond hair and the pretty smile,” he asked.
“Bess?” Nancy said. “Does this have something to do with her passport?”
“Passport?” Dimitri raked his fingers through the dark curls over his brow and looked confused. “No, no. Please don’t tell her that the studio isn’t mine. I lied about it to impress her,” he said. “Does she ever mention me?” he asked hopefully.
Nancy didn’t know if he was serious or if he was just trying to throw her off the track. Dimitri was attentive to Bess whenever they met. Not knowing what to think, Nancy made an excuse to Dimitri and went back to her seat.
When she told everyone what she’d just learned, Mick had an inspiration. “Spiros makes miniatures, doesn’t he? I mean, didn’t you buy a tiny windmill from him?” When Bess nodded, he added, “He probably uses the equipment to help with his sculptures.”
“But you saw those machines, Mick,” Nancy said. “They were pretty sophisticated—not just arts and crafts stuff. I’m not sure I trust Dimitri, but if Spiros really owns the equipment, he could be our forger.”
“Not Spiros,” Zoe objected. “I’ve known him since I was a child. He and my father are good friends. He has been like an uncle to me.” She shook her head. “This has gone too far! First you suspect our maid, then my friend Theo, and now Spiros,” she said, her voice cracking with strain.
“I’m sorry,” Nancy said. She didn’t want to hurt Zoe’s feelings, but she had to follow the trail of clues if she wanted to get to the bottom of the passport theft.
“This is the perfect way to end the day,” Bess said later that evening. She swayed to the strains of bouzouki music that was piped into the hotel’s taverna. “What do the words mean?” she asked Zoe.
“The lyrics to most Greek songs are about love,” Zoe explained.
Bess sighed. “It figures. That’s probably why I’m crazy about Greek music.”
A ballad began, and Nancy and Mick got up to dance. He swept her across the dance floor and twirled her under a trellis covered with fragrant hibiscus. Nancy felt as if she were floating on a cloud. Then a stern-looking young man appeared at the terrace door. He stopped a waiter, who pointed toward Nancy and Mick.
“Looks like we have a visitor,” Nancy whispered into Mick’s ear.
Mick turned his head and stared at the man in the doorway. “Looks serious,” he said. He took Nancy’s hand, and they went over to the edge of the terrace, where the young man was standing.
As it turned out, the man was a diplomatic courier. “I have a package for you from Thomas McCurdy,” the courier said, handing Mick a thin manila envelope. After Mick thanked him, the courier disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.
“What is it?” Nancy was dying of curiosity as she followed Mick back to the table.
“McCurdy is my father’s friend—the ambassador in Athens that I mentioned before. This must be some information on Bess’s stolen passport,” Mick said as he broke the wax seal on the envelope.
Everyone leaned forward as Mick pulled out a letter and began to read in silence. A moment later he stopped and shook the envelope. Three glossy photographs spilled out—headshots of two men and a woman.
The air was heavy as the group stared at the photos. “That looks like the two guys you chased on Naxos today,” Bess said, pointing to two of the pictures.
“And that’s the redheaded woman who was in the cave on Dragonisi,” Nancy said.
“What does the letter say?” Kevin wanted to know.
Mick looked soberly around the table. “That these people are terrorists,” he replied, “and we should avoid them at all costs!”
Chapter Twelve
An audible gasp rose from the table. Nancy’s heart plummeted as she realized just how deadly the situation she and Mick had stumbled into was.
“Terrorists!” George echoed, looking scared. “Nancy, you’ve been tangling with killers!”
“What else does the letter say about the terrorists?” Kevin asked.
Mick smoothed the sheet of crisp bond paper, summarizing as he read on. “They’re three fugitives from the Middle East—explosives experts who were sent to prison for planting a bomb at a train station. The men are named Mashti and Rashid, and the woman is Shara—”
“That’s it—Shara!” Nancy interrupted. “The guy in the cave kept saying it over and over. I guess he was just calling her.”
“That’s right,” Mick said. Then he returned to reading the letter. “All three of them received life sentences, but two weeks ago they escaped from prison, killing two guards in the process.”
With a shiver, Bess said, “Escaped prisoners? I can’t believe Zoe and I let you go after them.”
“Escaped . . .” Zoe said, thinking aloud. “Maybe that’s why you heard the police saying diafevgo over and over—it’s the Greek word for ‘escape.’ They probably realized that you had come face-to-face with these escaped prisoners but didn’t want to scare you with the truth.”
“Why would the police keep it a secret?” asked Bess.
Zoe frowned. “This kind of news could scare off visitors and harm the tourist trade. The police are probably trying to keep it quiet.”
“But they’ve probably tightened security,” Nancy said. “I’ll bet that’s why they were checking passports on Delos.”
Mick tapped the manila envelope in front of him. “McCurdy thinks the terrorists have been moving around the islands in a stolen boat,” he added. “But they need papers to leave the country.”
“So our theory about the three stolen passports may be right,” Nancy said. “It looks as if they’re going to fall into the hands of these three criminals.”
“Wow,” Bess said, her eyes wide. “I feel like I’ve created an international incident.”
“According to this letter, even Interpol is in on the case,” said Mick. “They’re compiling a special list of all lost or stolen passports in the hope that they’ll be able to use it to snag the terrorists.”
“Do you think we should go to the police with our suspicions of Theo and Dimitri?” George asked.
Nancy took a sip of her fruit drink, and thought for a moment. “We still don’t have enough evidence.”
“She’s right,” Mick added. “All we can do is watch and wait.”
“And lay low,” Kevin added.
Zoe nodded her agreement. “Now that the terrorists can identify Nancy and Mick, we should all be extra careful.”
“I’m glad we weren’t planning a trip for tomorrow,” Bess said. “We’ll be better off sticking around here.”
The next morning everyone else was already on the beach by the time Nancy finished breakfast and changed into her suit. As she walked down the path toward the water, she saw Bess and George posing on beached Windsurfers for Dimitri. The photographer was kneeling in the sand, taking their picture. Dressed in a black wet suit, he looked more like a diver than a photographer.
“I will have all your photos back to you tomorrow,” Dimitri promised Bess, smiling as he strapped the bright yellow waterproof camera around his neck. “But now I must meet a group of British tourists who have hired me. They want me to take photos of them snorkeling so they can brag to their friends back home.”
As Dimitri headed off down the beach, Bess walked over to the beach towel where Nancy had just sat down. “I’m afraid to see those photos he took of me that afternoon in Chora when you guys searched his studio. It was such a hot day—I probably look awful.”
“All in the line of duty,” Nancy teased, her eyes on Dimitri’s retreating form. Was his friendly smile just a cover-up for a master forger? Were he and Theo working together?
She lay down on her stomach. She was thinking about how to proceed with her investigation when she felt a splash of cold water on her back. She rolled over and sat up just as Mick tossed a snorkeling mask onto the beach towel beside her.