“What are we doing?” I asked, as he settled down to chew on his cigar.
“This is called a stake out. Take your hat off but keep the eyewear on.” He took his hat off and laid it on the console between us.
I did as requested. “What are we staking out?”
“We’re going to watch the activity around this house and on the street for a while. If we become too obvious, we’ll drive away. I want to see who is staying in the house, what they do, where they go. Unfortunately, the Cypriot police might have the same idea, so keep your eyes peeled for another stake out car.”
I laughed to myself. How would I know what a stake out car looked like? But I didn’t want to appear that unversed so I put on my best stake out face. We waited. And waited. I nodded off at some point for lack of sleep and the creeping heat of the day. I started awake at the touch of Zach’s hand on mine.
“I’m going to walk to the back of the house and look around. Can I trust you to stay here?”
I looked at the ignition.
He smiled. “I’m taking the keys with me.”
“Then I won’t be going anywhere, will I?” I closed my eyes again and leaned my head against the seat.
He squeezed my arm. “You’re supposed to stay awake and watch the house.”
“Okay, chief. Will do.” I sat up and tried to appear alert.
He put on a navy blue NY baseball cap he had bought at the Park ‘N’ Buy and eased out of the car. Very clever disguise. No walkers, no runners, no residents out for a stroll or going to the store. If my memory served me correctly, it should be Tuesday. Most Cypriots would be working. It was getting on toward noon, so the tourists had probably drifted away to the beach or sightseeing. If the American couple were tourists, then they were probably at the beach or sightseeing. Or maybe they were helping with the archaeological dig at the Castle of Forty Columns, since they were supposed to be part of the team. If they were, Zach and I should walk over there since it wasn’t far to walk to the dig by the beach road.
My thoughts wandered to the guy holding binoculars and looking at us on the cliffs above Agios Georgios. Was he driving the blue Maruti that the American couple had rented? Why had two guys pursued us through Pafos? Had they been watching Yannis’s house? If so, why had they followed me to the Coral Bay, unless they were watching the Coral Bay or vacationing there and didn’t have anything better to do and decided to follow me.
I mulled over something that was bothering me. The first time we saw the Maruti was on the cliff at the beach. Zach and Yannis were with me. The second time was Monday morning at the Coral Bay. Zach was staying there.
They were following Zach. Why?
Who were those guys? Did they kill Max and Irene? No, they couldn’t have killed them. They were following us, and we lost them on the other side of Pafos. They were behind us. Then who killed Max and Irene and why? My partner wasn’t offering any explanations, but I could ask him again.
And here he came looking like he was trying to hold a run to a walk. He jumped into the car and took off flying to the intersection and hung a right without stopping. Thank all the Greek and Roman gods, no traffic was coming.
“What happened? What’s the rush?” I said, as I clutched the hand hold to keep from flying through the window as we careened around the corner.
“I found the Maruti.”
“Where?” I looked around, bobbing back and forth, trying to see through the traffic behind us.
“It was parked in the drive behind the house, accessed through a narrow alley at the end of the dead end.”
“So?”
“You see anyone following us?” Zach looked in the rear view mirror.
I checked. “No blue Maruti, if that’s what you mean. Would you please tell me what is going on?”
“I slipped in the back through the sliding glass doors.”
“Great, breaking and entering we add to the list.”
“No, that’s not breaking and entering. I was just visiting friends if anyone asked.”
“Then what?”
He slowed down, made a series of right turns, pulled over into a crowded parking lot in front of a downtown restaurant advertising the world’s best seafood, found a parking space, and cut the engine.
“Slide down in the seat,” he said, and I, being the obedient slave that I was, obeyed.
“Will you please tell me what is going on?”
“Two guys were in a room upstairs. It’s packed with communications equipment, computers, routers, radios. Maps on the wall.”
“What would they be doing with that?”
“Fomenting terror, maybe. That’s what I’m here to find out. I’ll go back when they aren’t there and check out the computers.”
“They didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think so, and I don’t think they followed us. But let’s wait here for about five minutes just in case.”
We waited. It got miserably hot in the car real fast. I had a better idea. I was hungry.
“How about we wait in the restaurant and get something to eat while we do?” I asked.
“All right. Walk as quickly as you can but don’t look like you’re being pursued.”
It was awfully complicated being in law enforcement, I was beginning to find out. I waltzed into the restaurant with Zach right behind me.
“Table for two?” the waiter asked.
“Please,” said Zach. “How about the booth in the corner?”
“Certainly, sir. This way, please.”
Our table was private, even intimate. White table cloth, white cloth napkins, bud vase with single, plastic pink rose. We looked out on the parking lot.
“What will you have?” asked Zach.
“A glass of red wine.”
“Anything beside?” He arched an eyebrow.
I could see his eyes again since he had taken off the sunglasses along with the Panama hat he laid on the seat beside him. I took off the sunglasses but opted for leaving on the black, floppy hat with wide brim.
“Want to split a bottle wine?”
He shook his head. “I’m driving. I’m having a beer and steak.”
“This is a seafood restaurant.”
“It says here they have porterhouse steak, and I’m having one.”
The waiter came to our table, looking expectant in crisp white shirt and black trousers. Zach gave him our drink order.
“You know what you want?” Zach said.
“I’ll have fish kebab and chips.”
He gave the order, and the waiter walked away, humming.
The restaurant was noisy and packed with the mid-day lunch crowd, more Cypriot than tourist. We stood out, but maybe I was being paranoid.
The waiter came back with our drinks. I held my glass up for a toast.
“To a quick end to the smuggling caper.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Zach. We clinked bottle and glass.
He slouched back against the booth and ran a hand through his hair. He looked smooth and unruffled. His floral shirt gave him a laid back tourist look. I wish I could feel like he looked.
“You have anybody back home?” Zach asked.
He caught me off guard. I took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”
“You married?” he asked.
“No.” I snorted, real unladylike, but I couldn’t help it. “After this morning you think I’m married?”
“Some women don’t make a distinction.”
“I’m not married.” That gave me pause. He might be. “You married?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Yep, didn’t work out. A life in law enforcement is hard on marriage. You have anyone waiting back home for you?” He certainly was being persistent.
“Not anymore,” I said and left it at that.
I looked away. He was trying to figure our relationship and so was I. I wasn’t real comfortable with the subject, since I hadn’t figured out if this was a pre-jail fling, vacation dalliance, seduction of Mata Hari, or what. So I changed the subject.