The Forty Column Castle (15 page)

I wasn’t buying the romance line. “Why does the FBI want you?”

“I got in with the wrong crowd a while back. We did a little antiquities trading,
not entirely legal. I ended up doing a little bit of time in a nice white collar prison
and was out as soon as I was in.”

“But you’re wanted again.”

“Yes, unfortunately. This time it’s weapons. I got a little greedy and did a little
weapons trading, an F14 here and there, mainly to China. There are people in the federal
administration that frown on that sort of trading. I guess I’m on the list again.”

“And the men in the Maruti? Is it the jewels or is there more to the story?”

He took a long drag on the cigar and exhaled, tossed the cigar into the potted palm,
swirled the brandy and finished it off. I waited, feeling my twisted up guts twist
tighter. This man was a higher roller than I figured. Unfortunately, he was rolling
in the wrong circles for me.

“Don’t answer that,” I finally said, when he didn’t speak.

He glanced at me, a Pierce Brosnan 007 look.

Of all the Olympic Airways flights in this world, why did he pick mine? I froze. Because
he knew who I was. He was following me, setting me up. Just like my aunt was set up.
Why did it take me so long to figure it out?

The fluted champagne glass stood empty, looking bereft, a few bubbles clinging to
its smudgy sides. That’s how I felt, smudgy. I needed action. I needed to find my
aunt and get back to the good, old U.S. of A.

“Shall we?” I stood and walked back inside. “Will you be going like that or will you
wear a shirt tonight?”

He laughed and followed me in, grabbed my arm, turned me around, and tried to kiss
me. Attraction, repulsion. This was a deadly game. I pushed him away, scooped up my
purse and walked out the door. I had stuffed the cute, little black dress in my big
purse, just in case we didn’t make it back. Leaving clothes behind was getting to
be a bad habit, and I liked that dress.

He caught up with me in the lobby. I didn’t have one second to look for the phones.
We edged around the Amathus grand lobby, keeping to the shadows behind the potted
plants like little cockroaches. How had my nice, safe life in Boston running my nice,
successful mutual fund turned into this?

We stood outside in the semi-circular drive while the valet motioned to a taxi, an
old black Mercedes with a few dents in the fender. Zach gave the driver the address,
and we headed out. We hadn’t gone a kilometer before Zach asked the man something
in Greek. The driver shrugged his shoulders and pointed his hand in from of him, repeating
loudly the word for correct way in Greek.

Zach settled back into the seat, put his arm around my shoulder and started a neck
nuzzling routine. Between nuzzles he whispered in my ear, “I think we just got kidnapped.
The taxi driver is heading in the opposite direction of the address I gave him. I
don’t want to spook him, so play along and try to stay calm.”

My shoulders clenched immediately.

“Relax,” he said. “Pretend you don’t suspect anything. How about we make out for a
while to throw him off?”

He continued with the neck nuzzle routine, opening the buttons on my blouse and trailing
kisses down my neck. What a way to relax. Was this man insane? We were being kidnapped,
and he was getting amorous. The guy in the front was going to watch us. This was voyeurism
at its finest.

The light bulb blinked on. Zach wanted to distract the driver. I gave it my all and
started moaning away. Zach had a slow, mind frying way of attending to a lady’s needs.
I gasped and moaned louder and added a little verbal encouragement to the show. “Oh,
yes, do it, oh, like that. Umm, that’s so good.” Trouble was I meant it. It did add
to the excitement, knowing someone was watching. What I had to do to save my hide.

The taxi driver stretched his neck to see into the rear view mirror better. This was
insane but the actress in me kicked in again. I should have tried out for porn movies.

“Oh, darling,” I said and slipped lower on the seat. “Oh yes, oh yes.” I panted and
squirmed. “Do it.” Zach obliged and by gum he was up for it. The man was amazing.

The taxi swerved, and Zach whispered in my ear, “Great job, keep it up.”

The driver slowed down. I could see his neck stretch harder to see what we were doing.
He tried to turn around to see. Brakes squealed as he wrestled the car to the side
of the road and stopped. Traffic on the two lane highway zoomed past us, headlights
catching portions of our writhing bodies, oblivious to the show going on in the taxi.

Zach, the incredible man, let out a few impressive baritone moans then flipped around
and shoved a gun in the driver’s drooling face.

“Hold it right there. If you move one muscle, you’re dead. You understand, Bruno?”

The gun was pressed up into the guy’s nose. The car was still running. Bruno gulped
and blinked.

“You know this guy?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“Yeah.” Zack ripped off the baseball cap the guy wore. “He normally doesn’t wear a
mustache, but I won’t rip that off. He’s one of the guys in the Maruti.”

“Now,” Zach said to Bruno, “real slow like, you turn off the ignition. Don’t try anything,
or I pull the trigger. You understand?” He pressed the gun barrel further into the
driver’s face.

Bruno blinked in reply. He reached behind him and felt for the ignition.

“Let me move,” he said in accented English.

“Don’t try anything funny. Hurry.” Zach pressed him back toward the wheel with the
tip of the gun.

The engine died.

“Claudie, get your clothes back on,” Zach said, addressing me but never taking his
eyes from Bruno.

“Right.” I sprung into action, buttoning up my blouse and fixing my pants.

“Ready,” I said.

“Okay. Claudie, you drive. Bruno comes into the back seat with me. We’re going to
continue on to Mr. Bellomo’s. Everybody understand?”

“Sure,” I said and jumped out of the car. I didn’t hear Bruno’s reply, but I bet he
was with us.

Zack sat back in the seat. “Now easy, Bruno, you climb over that seat and come sit
back here with me.” He patted the seat beside him.

“Move,” he said, when Bruno hesitated.

He lumbered over the seat, being a bit on the bulky side. I slid into the driver’s
seat.

It occurred to me that I was now in control. I wondered if Zach would shoot me, if
I didn’t do what he said. Damnation. I forgot I would be driving on the wrong side
of the road. I never drove on Cyprus.

“Zach?”

“Yes, Princess.”

I loved when he called me by my pet name.

“I can’t drive on the wrong side of the road. You sure you want me to drive?”

“You want to hold a gun on this man?”

I considered for two seconds. “I’ll drive.”

The car started with the simple turn of the ignition key. So far so good. I put it
in gear.

“Where to?” I looked in the rear view mirror. You could see a lot of the back seat
in this mirror, when the lights from the traffic weren’t blinding.

Zach spoke to Bruno in Greek, and they seemed to get into a tight argument. Zach positioned
the gun against Bruno’s jaw and growled at him. Bruno spit out a raft of Greek and
Zach translated that to, “Turn around.”

“Sure.” I inched out into a hole in traffic and crept away. On the wrong side of the
road for me. The right side of the road for Cypriots.

“Claudie, you can go faster than a crawl,” Zack said from the back. He sat on the
opposite side of the seat from me, and I could see him in the mirror.

“Sure, okay.” I pressed on the gas, and we hit ten kilometers per hour.

I found a crossover street and swung a wide U-turn. Horns blared. An oncoming car
barely missed us. I ducked my head in reflex and kept turning, praying no one would
mow us down.

Zach kept doling out directions. We meandered through the city, me white knuckled
on the wheel. We took a right turn and drove into an upscale neighborhood. After several
streets of large homes and flowering trees, we pulled up to the gate of a walled house.
From what I could see through the bars, it was a palace.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“I’d say in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Limasol,” said Zach. “Stop here and
cut the engine. Get out, Bruno.”

I jumped out and opened the door for Bruno. Zach shoved him out, but Bruno, being
the lumbering, quick-witted oaf that he was, plowed into me, knocking me onto the
pavement and out cold.

I didn’t realize what Bruno had done until I came to.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Bruno knocked you down and ran off before I could get out of the car,” Zach said.
“I didn’t even get a good shot at him. Besides, I couldn’t shoot because I might have
hit you in the scuffle and didn’t want to attract the police.”

I was lying on some sort of divan, my eyes closed, my head killing me. But I recognized
that voice. I didn’t want to open my eyes because I was afraid what I’d see.

“What’s going on?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“Everything is okay,” he said.

Did I detect a hint of gentleness in his tone of voice?

He took a cool compress off my forehead. “Try to sit up and take some of these pain
killers. Here, I’ll help you.”

I wasn’t that stupid. “No, not me. I’ll take the pain. You leave me here, go on about
your business and pick me up on the way out. I need some sleep.”

Then I was aware of movement in the room, and it dawned on me that there was at least
one other person beside me and Zach. Curiosity got the best of me, and I squinted
open one eye.

Mr. Bellomo. I’d never seen him, but this guy looked about right. Small, silver hair,
decked out in French cuffs, gold cufflinks and gold rimmed glasses. Italian cut suit.
A kindly look about him. Was he a member of the Mafia? The photos I had seen of Mafia
dons had always looked more New Jersey than this one.

“Do you know where my aunt is?” My eyes were wide open now.

He smiled at me. Good teeth, too.

“You do not have to worry about your aunt. I know where she is. She is safe.”

“But you aren’t saying where she is?”

He shook his head. He looked like the kind of guy you could trust but you didn’t argue
with. Funny, but I liked him.

“What about …”

Zach cut me off. “The police talked to Mr. Bellomo yesterday. He knows they’re looking
for you.”

I struggled to sit up, deciding it would look better if I did, only to discover that
my blouse was buttoned the wrong way and my breasts were trying their best to bulge
out through the mismatched button holes. I rearranged things as best I could. My hair
fell into my face and felt like I had combed it with an egg beater. I must have looked
like a loose woman to Mr. Bellomo. I gazed about me. Everywhere my eyes turned they
ran into Italian Rococo. A little fussy for my taste, but it worked here.

“I would be pleased if you spend the night in my home,” Mr. Bellomo said in good English.
“You will be safe with me.”

“We have a hotel room,” I said.

“We’d be delighted to accept,” said Zach. “The hotel room can wait.”

I looked at him, annoyed. We hardly knew Mr. Bellomo. “No, really it is kind of you
to offer, but we must be going.”

“We’ll stay.”

“In that case,” I smiled to Mr. Bellomo, who was looking back and forth between the
two of us, “I’d like my own room. I sleep so much better by myself. That is if you
have enough room.” I remembered the palatial look. I wouldn’t be surprised if he overlooked
the Mediterranean.

“No,” Zach said. “We’re a couple.” He pointed back and forth between us. “You know,
we travel together and always share a room. We wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“Not a problem. I understand completely.” Mr. Bellomo smiled. “I insist that you stay.
This arrangement will be much more comfortable for you. In the morning when you feel
better, we will talk. You shall have a room overlooking the sea.”

What did I tell you?

I tugged my blouse over my breasts trying to look a bit more presentable. “All right
then, I do believe I shall turn in. I have a bad headache, and I’ve been up since
the crack of dawn. We did an awful lot of sightseeing today, and I’m exhausted.”

“Of course. I’ll have Luigi show you to your rooms. Rest well.”

Rooms. With an s.

Luigi turned out to be about 6’5”, around three hundred pounds, built like a grizzly
bear. He nodded to us. I guessed that was the signal to follow him, which we did,
me leaning on Zack.

The floors were marble in the foyer as were the winding stairs we climbed to the second
floor. I had never seen so much marble in one place in addition to a few well-placed
Roman and Greek statues that I’m sure were the real thing. The stairs spiraled around
the most opulent chandelier I’ve ever seen in my life, replete with hundreds of crystal
prisms that reflected light into a million colors onto the stairway walls.

“Pretty impressive,” I said to Zach under my breath as we followed Luigi down a long
hall.

“A little small for me,” he said and gave me that half grin of his.

I wondered what he was up to and as soon as I got him alone I was going to find out.
Like I had ever been successful at that.

The upstairs halls were carpeted down the center with rose and cream Persian carpets.
Not Pakistan, not Afghan, nor Chinese but real Persian carpets because they had the
more figural patterns produced in Iran than the geometric patterns popular where I
came from. I could only imagine what he had tied up in the upstairs carpets alone.
That must be some export-import business he had.

Luigi stopped outside a white double door with large, ornate brass handles. He waved
his ham of a hand toward the door. I took it to mean here was our room. He opened
the door and gave us the hand wave in.

“Chatty,” I said to Zach when Luigi had closed the door behind us.