"It's good to be here, Captain," Murdock replied, extending his hand. "I wish it could be under happier circumstances."
"Indeed. May I present a compatriot of yours. Captain John Beasley, U.S. Army."
"Captain." Murdock shook hands with Beasley. His grip was strong, his eyes cold, pale, and hard.
"Lieutenant."
Solomos eyed the five men standing with Murdock. "This is your entire team?"
"Not quite. The others will be along directly."
"How many?"
"A few more." Solomos's face darkened, and Murdock added, "Nine more, to be precise."
"On a different flight?"
"Some of them. They'll all be here by noon tomorrow. Why?"
Solomos frowned. "I don't like so many of your men wandering around… aimlessly."
"I assure you, sir, that their wanderings won't be aimless."
"Yes, well, I assure you that my government's investigation into this incident is proceeding with perfect efficiency. There was really no need of your government to send, ah, additional troops."
"We're not really here as troops, Captain Solomos," Murdock said smoothly. "My government agrees that this incident should be closed with the least possible fuss and publicity. To that end, they've sent us as observers. We're under orders to keep a low profile and not to get in your way, sir."
"Hmpf. I have worked with your government before, Lieutenant. Most recently with your DEA, your Drug Enforcement Administration, on an operation against a heroin-smuggling pipeline supposedly passing through here from Turkey. Their idea of 'keeping a low profile' was a pitched gun battle with narco-terrorists that left three people dead, one of them one of my best men."
"Well, we're not hunting narco-terrorists, are we, Captain Solomos? Uh, shouldn't we find a more private place if we're going to talk?" He gestured at the crowded concourse. "This is kind of busy."
"There is really nothing more to be said, Lieutenant. I give you a friendly warning, nothing more. This regrettable affair is a Greek internal matter. We need neither your observations nor your help. Come. I have a driver standing by to take you to your hotel."
"That stuck-up little bastard," Sterling said, ninety minutes later at their hotel.
"Take it easy, Jaybird," Murdock said. "He's just doing his job, and he hasn't had that many good experiences with Americans."
They'd checked in with the desk clerk at the Vergina, then gathered in the room Murdock and DeWitt would be sharing. Jaybird and Roselli were facing each other on one of the beds, sitting cross-legged on the mattress as they assembled two pistols. The weapons, 9mm Smith & Wessons, had been broken down into dozens of individual pieces, and the pieces carefully hidden in their carry-on luggage. The larger and easily recognizable sections, like the frames and the loaded magazines, had been carefully positioned inside the luggage so that if they were X-rayed at a security checkpoint, their narrow facings were turned toward the camera, and they were bundled with other odd, mechanical-looking gadgets like alarm clocks and radios.
The scary part was that the elaborate preparations might not have been necessary. Murdock had carried loaded weapons through airport checkpoints plenty of times. Some airports — and those in Greece were among them — were notorious for their lax security measures. More often than not, all that was necessary was a U.S. fifty-dollar bill slipped into the right open palm. More than one terrorist had smuggled weapons aboard a target passenger liner at Athens's Hellenica International, and the security personnel tended to be even more careless on domestic flights, which were not so likely to be the targets of a terrorist operation.
"I'm still trying to figure that big U.S. Army guy," Roselli said, moving a slide into the guide grooves on the frame of the pistol he was working on. "Who the hell was he?"
"One guess," Murdock said, "beginning with the Greek letter delta."
"Aw, shit," DeWitt said. "Delta Force? Here?"
"I'm pretty sure of it. He could be Special Forces, like Solomos said, but there was something about his eyes, the way he was studying us. My guess is that Captain John Beasley is on a scouting trip, just like we are. Looking over the lay of the land for a Delta element."
"SEALs and Delta Force," Jaybird said, grinning. "Now this could get interesting."
"Just so we all remember we're on the same team," Murdock cautioned. "This isn't a goddamned competition."
"Yeah, well, just so the Delta guys remember that too," Brown said. "If they get stuffy about jurisdiction-"
"We'll worry about that when it happens," Murdock said. "Weapons okay?"
Roselli snicked back the slide on his Smith & Wesson, chambering a round, then dropped the magazine and snicked the slide again, catching the round as it spun from the ejection port, clearing the weapon. "All set here."
"And here," Jaybird said, holding up the other pistol and snapping a loaded magazine into the grip. "I'd be a hell of a lot happier with an M-60 about now, but…"
"We should have our other weapons tomorrow, through the Consulate."
Weapons had been a major concern. The Greek government had point-blank denied the Navy permission to arm its people ashore, a reasonable enough request, perhaps, in light of their contention that they didn't need American help. There were ways around such restrictions, however, and Murdock was not about to embark on a mission involving unknown terrorists with his men not armed. He imagined that this wouldn't be the first time that small arms had been smuggled into the country hidden within diplomatic pouches. There would be trouble only if any of the SEALs were actually caught and arrested by the local authorities while carrying a weapon.
"Well, gentlemen?" Murdock said, standing and going to the window. It was beginning to get dark outside, and the city lights were coming on. "Who feels like a little evening constitutional into town?"
Roselli and Murdock carried the two pistols, tucked into their waistbands at the smalls of their backs, hidden by the fall of their untucked shirttails and wind-breakers. They strolled toward the center of Salonika along the Leoforos Nikis, the Avenue of Victory, a promenade that ran along the seafront from the long customs house above the harbor southeast to the White Tower. The tower, a massive, whitewashed structure thirty-five meters tall, was the city's best-known landmark. According to a tourist's guidebook Murdock had picked up in Jefferson's ship's store before going ashore, it had been built by the Turks in 1430. In 1826, a number of rebel Janissaries had been imprisoned and killed there, and the place had become known as the Bloody Tower. In what was for them an unusual display of public relations sense, the Turks had then whitewashed the entire building, renaming it the Beyaz Kule, the White Tower.
To their right, the harbor was aglitter with the reflected lights from hundreds of ships and pleasure craft anchored out in the gulf, or behind the long breakwater pier that enclosed Salonika's inner harbor in front of the customs house.
"So what's your handle, Nick?" Roselli asked Papagos as they walked along the smooth, gray promenade.
"He told me 'Nick the Greek,'" Murdock said, grinning. He continued to study the layout of the city, however, as they talked. Traffic was heavy in Salonika's city center, and even though the tourist season didn't get into full swing until later in the year, there were a number of tourists evident on the streets and seated at the numerous sidewalk restaurants and cafes along the way.
"Hey, Nick the Greek?" Roselli said, laughing. "That right?"
"Either that or 'Nick the Geek,'" he said cheerfully. "But them that calls me that lives to regret it. Usually they live anyways. Once in a while they don't pull through, know what I'm sayin'?"
"Okay, okay," Brown said, grinning. "We'll be careful. Wouldn't want to start no international incidents."