“All right,” Petros Caras said. “Now we’ll do things a little different. Let me make a few calls. I should be able to get a location on Adams. Then you can take him out. But make sure you don’t harm the woman, Sara Halsey Jones. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. It will be an honor to kill Adams. When can I expect a call from you?”
“We’ll meet in person at the Porto Supremo Ristorante in two hours. You know it?”
“Yes. We’ll be there.”
“Not you and your men. Just you.”
With that his boss hung up and Zendo shoved his phone into his pocket.
Demetri looked concerned. “What did he say about losing Adams?”
Shrugging, Zendo said, “He didn’t seem too concerned. Said he would have no problem locating Adams for us.”
“How will he do that? We already went to the location the professor in Malta said the American woman would go, and there was no sign of her. No indication that she had ever been there or would go there. I believe the professor in Malta lied to us.”
Zendo smiled. “Perhaps not. You said your men were quite persuasive. Maybe this Sara Halsey Jones was smarter than we thought. She must not have trusted the man in Malta completely.”
“You think?”
“It’s the only explanation.”
“But how can Petros Caras find Adams so fast?”
That had also bothered Zendo. Perhaps the billionaire had better connections than he initially thought.
An hour later and Zendo and his men moved through the streets of Messina in a rental car that he had gotten at the airport. He had Kyros the driver drop him out front of the restaurant to meet Petros Caras. He got out and leaned back inside. “Go to the hotel and I’ll find my way back there. Regardless of what our boss has to say, we’ll leave in the morning to get back on the trail.” He started to close the door and thought of one more thing. “And Niko, make sure you have someone change your dressing. You can amputate an arm or a leg if gangrene sets in, but there’s no amputating your ass.” He smiled and slammed the door behind him.
The sun was setting slowly across Sicily as Zendo made his way to the front door of the restaurant, where many patrons took advantage of the nice cool breezes on the open veranda with views of the private yachts in the harbor below. He hesitated at the door and looked back himself to see if he could find the yacht owned by Petros Caras. It wasn’t difficult to see, since it was the largest one moored in the area beyond the slips. Perhaps one day he could afford such luxury. He swished his long hair behind both ears and then entered the restaurant.
Porto Supremo Ristorante was a place that most normal Europeans couldn’t afford, Zendo noticed immediately. The patrons inside seemed to look upon him with derision as he strolled through the place directly toward his boss, who was sitting in the most prominent table a level higher than others. Sitting with him was that Czech whore. Gorgeous, for sure. But he had no respect for a kept woman one step above a street walker. Still, he would have liked to show her how a real man made love. He could only imagine the ineptitude of the older Greek, who Zendo heard was more interested in the four young men who sat at the table below them — like children at a folding table at Christmas dinner.
Petros Caras lifted his chin as Zendo approached. “Glad you could make it,” he said in Greek. “You are five minutes late. You know how I don’t like that.”
Zendo knew. But he also didn’t give a flying rat what he thought. “Sorry,” he said, standing in front of the large round booth table. “What have you heard?”
“Sit with us and have a drink,” Caras said, lifting a bottle of clear liquid. “All they had was Sicilian sambuca. Hardly a great substitute for our own ouzo. But it’s not bad. I hear our waiter is at this minute running down the street looking for ouzo.” He gave a hearty guttural laugh. By now Petros Caras was obviously influenced by the bottle of sambuca.
Sitting at the side of the table with his boss, Zendo tried to keep his eyes off of the beautiful Czech whore. She seemed like one of the Muses, but he wasn’t sure which among the nine she resembled.
Petros poured them each a glass of sambuca and they raised it and quickly devoured the shots.
“Your friend doesn’t like this drink?” Zendo asked Petros, his eyes shifting toward the woman.
“She likes to let me think she does,” he said, “but she doesn’t. She’s more of a wine drinker. Besides, I don’t keep her around for her drinking ability, if you know what I mean.”
“Obviously she doesn’t speak a word of our language,” Zendo said. “Should we get to business, then?”
“First, one more drink.” Petros filled their glasses again and they quickly emptied them. “Now, I have two points of business. First, I know where Mister Adams and the American professor have gone.”
“Good.” How in the hell had he found this out so fast?
“Second,” Petros said, “I have added a factor to consider. Since I knew you and your men could not get there this evening, I have hired some local talent to keep an eye on them for us.”
“Greeks?”
Petros Caras smiled and said, “No. Sicilians. Part of an organization as old as this island.”
Zendo knew exactly what he meant, but he just had to play with his boss a little. “Whores?”
His boss laughed. “No, no. Not that old.”
“Oh, Catholic priests.”
The boss’s disposition changed to more serious. The game was over and Zendo knew it. Time to get back on track. “Do we meet up with these men in the morning?” Zendo asked. His men needed to rest.
“Yes.” He pulled out his phone, found something on it, and then sent it.
Zendo heard his phone get a text and he guessed he was about to be dismissed.
“An image of the man you will meet in Syracuse, along with his name and phone number.” Petros Caras sat calmly now.
That was Zendo’s cue to leave. He got up and started to turn, when his boss stopped him.
“One more thing,” Petros said. “Remember what I told you. The woman must not be harmed. But you can do as you wish with that other man.”
“What about the Italian woman?”
Petros smiled. “Have fun.”
Zendo turned and left, making it outside into the night sea air and standing for a moment to gaze upon the yacht’s in the harbor. Yeah, he would have one of them in the near future. One way or another. He found a taxi and directed the driver to his hotel.
16
The train ride from Taormina to Siracusa had been uneventful, which was a good thing as far as Jake was concerned. Perhaps they had finally shed the Greek tail. But he also knew that Sicily was a small island, with very few places to hide forever. He would have to make sure that Professor Sara Halsey Jones didn’t waste any time finding all she could about her subject.
The three of them had first gone to a number of places dedicated to Archimedes across the city. These were mostly tourist traps, they all found out, but it did give them an historical perspective of the man. More than Jake thought he would ever know. And he had to admit that his knowledge of history before Christ was lacking.
Sara had spent the entire train ride trying to translate the tomb marker from Taormina. She was pretty sure all the words had been translated, but the meaning was still lost somewhere in the ether of ancient Doric Greek.
After an afternoon of walking through these historical sites, Jake found them a mom and pop pension that still took cash, renting two rooms across the hall from each other on the second floor. Although this was the high season, only two of the other ten rooms were rented, and those were down at the end of the hall.
Jake had his room to himself and he lay back on his bed to rest. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he heard was a soft knock on the door. Looking around, it was dark in his room and he was somewhat disoriented as he grabbed his gun from under his pillow and went to the door to look through the peep.