Elisa came back and got behind the wheel of the Fiat, setting the bag of goods on the floor next to Jake’s feet. “Okay, I got everything you asked for,” she said. “I understand the needle and thread and the super glue, but I’m not sure about the Sambuca.”
“Sambuca works great to clean the wounds,” Jake assured her. “And I also plan to drink a bunch before you poke me with that needle.”
“Right, well we better get someplace soon,” she said, her eyes focused on the dark clouds out to sea. “Looks like some bad weather heading ashore soon.”
They had crossed over the bridge to the island and passed the Naval complex before finding the small store. Since the town was crawling with U.S. and Italian Naval personnel, Jake guessed the Mafia would be less likely to look here for them.
“I once stayed at a small motel on the ocean side of this island years ago,” Jake said. “It’s not a great place, but I’m sure they still take cash. Might be a good place to hang low until we can find out where the Greek is.”
Elisa cranked over the car. “Sounds good. Let’s go.”
They got to the motel and checked in with cash and one of Jake’s fake passports. The older man at the desk looked like he might have recognized Jake from his last visit, but that wasn’t likely.
Their room faced the ocean, as did all the rooms in this one-story no-tell motel, where most of the patrons probably stayed in the evening by the hour.
It had just one medium-sized bed and actually had one of those magic fingers machines. Problem was, it would have been out of service for years, since it only took Italian Lira coins, which had been out of circulation for a long time. Hopefully they’d changed the sheets since then, Jake thought.
Jake lifted his shirt over his head exposing the bandage on his lower abdomen left oblique muscle. The white was soaked red but it had turned a dark color, so he guessed the bleeding had stopped. He gently peeled back the bandage and saw the wound was slit open as if the bullet had just penetrated his flesh. Two inches to the one side and the bullet would have missed him completely. Two inches toward his belly button and he could have lost a kidney on the bullets exit.
“I’ve never sewed someone’s skin before,” Elisa said, her gaze shifting from Jake’s wound to his eyes.
“But you’ve used a needle and thread, right?”
“Yes, as a young girl. But not this.”
He found the bottle of Sambuca, opened it, and took a long slug, the clear licorice liqueur coating his throat and taking his breath away. He almost choked. “Maybe I should have had you get some whiskey.”
“Or rubbing alcohol.”
“You can’t drink that?” Jake assured her.
“I meant for the wounds.”
Jake took another drink and handed the bottle to Elisa.
She refused to drink, but instead found the needle and poured some of the liqueur over that. She took out a fresh gauze pad, soaked it with the Sambuca and then smiled at Jake. “You ready for this?”
He shook his head and picked up the bottle again, taking a longer swig now. In reality he knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing to the pain of the needle going through his skin, but it couldn’t hurt him.
Sitting on the bed, Jake then lay back onto his back. The pain brought some discomfort, but wasn’t the worst thing Jake had ever felt. The alcohol seeping into his wound hurt more than the needle. When Elisa was done with the stitches, she dropped the super glue over her work to help keep the seal. Then she did the same to the exit wound on his back. She topped off her work with a new bandage on each wound.
“There you go,” she said. “I really wasn’t sure I could do that.”
Jake stood and tried to turn his body to feel for any pain. But she had done a nice job. No matter how he twisted, he was only in a little pain. Maybe the Sambuca did help some by now.
He went to the window that overlooked the ocean just a short distance from their back door. On a good day, when the sun was shining, Jake knew he could wander down the rocks to a nice beach. But today the wind was howling and the high waves crashed ashore spraying water to their back doorstep. Darkness should have been a few hours away, yet the clouds and the rain had cut their daylight short.
“Are you all right?” Elisa asked, coming up behind him and placing her hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t know. I get these feelings when things are ready to go from bad to worse.”
Just as the words left Jake’s mouth, his phone buzzed and he grasped it quickly from his pocket to see who was calling. It read ‘Pizza Hut.’ He shook his head and answered, “Nice touch. I could really use a thin crust pepperoni right now.”
“Who said the Agency doesn’t have a sense of humor?” Kurt Jenkins asked.
Jake took a seat on the bed and glanced at Elisa, who obviously had no idea who he was talking with, as she was on her small laptop computer checking her e-mail. “You got something for me?”
“First of all, what in the hell are you doing in Augusta?”
“Plotting world domination? What the hell do you think? I’m waiting for your call, trying to keep the local Mafia from killing us.”
“So you’re still with the Italian Intelligence Officer?”
Jake tried not to look at Elisa when he said, “Of course.”
“You know she’s still officially on leave,” Kurt reminded Jake.
“So. I’m officially retired.”
“Good point,” Kurt said, a slight laugh in his voice. “All right. We have a location on Petros Caras and his yacht. He’s right out in the middle of the major squall to the south of Sicily.”
“Great. Then there’s probably no way the Greeks could have gotten Sara Halsey Jones out to the yacht yet.”
“True. But we have no way of knowing where they might be bringing her, so their location is uncertain.”
Jake considered that and realized they were screwed until the weather changed. “The Greeks must be holing up like us, waiting for the yacht to come to port. And that won’t happen for a while. Do you have any good weather report for us?”
“I thought you might ask,” the Agency DCI said. “Looks like the rain will pass through by morning. Right now Petros Caras is about fifty miles off the coast of Sicily riding the storm out. Since he could have simply headed farther south to avoid the storm, we’re guessing he wants to hang out closer to Sicily to pick up the professor.”
That made sense. Most of the storms in the Med were not that difficult to avoid. “You’re holding out on me, Kurt.”
Hesitation on the other end. “We got a call from Senator James Halsey an hour ago. He’s not happy. His father is dying and he wants his sister there.”
“I know that,” Jake said. “I screwed up. I admit it. I had her and then lost her. But they could have her anywhere right now.” He thought about that and had an idea. Yet, he didn’t want to bring it up to the director of central intelligence. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“How in the hell do you know this?”
“I can feel it in my bones, Kurt.”
The DCI explained to Jake the historical relationship the Agency had with Petros Caras. He finished up by saying, “We will be sending a representative to reason with the man.”
“Seriously? You should be sending a jet to bomb his damn yacht under the cover of this storm.”
“I know. The man has gone off the reservation. We believe he’s been involved with stirring up the riots in Athens, Syria and elsewhere across the Middle East.”
“To what end?”
“We don’t know for sure.”
Jake had a good idea. “I think I know.” He glanced at Elisa as he added, “It’s the reason our Italian friend is investigating the man. He’s been sending his men to steal all kinds of ancient artifacts under the cover of the riots. It’s a perfect distraction.”