The Forty Column Castle

Five


A phone was ringing. I couldn’t get to it. I ran to the kitchen. Couldn’t find it. Ran to the living room. Searched. No Phone. Still ringing. I couldn’t tell where it was. The bathroom. The linen closet. Not in the towels. It rang and rang and rang.

Where was I? What day was this? I couldn’t remember. The phone was still ringing. A funny ring. Two quick short rings. What was wrong with my phone? It never rang like that. The ringing stopped. Something was wrong. Whose voice was that? A man? In my loft? What was a man doing in my loft at this hour? That wasn’t English.

My eyes flew open.

It was Greek.

The door to my room slammed open, and Yannis burst in. “Claudie, wake up. Your aunt’s gone.”

I threw the sheet back before Yannis finished the sentence and was upright on the floor by the time he did. My night shirt was twisted around my body. I swiped tangled hair from my face.

“What? What are you talking about? What are you saying?”

Yannis grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Listen to me. My cousin on the police force just telephoned. Your aunt is gone. The guard reported her cell door wide open about half an hour ago. The police are on their way here. You’re wanted for questioning. You’re a suspect.”

I sank onto the bed. “Gone? Where could she go? Who would take her?” I scrubbed my face trying to think straight, trying not to let desperation and fear overpower me and render my brain useless.

“That’s what the police want to know. They think you have the motive. You may be arrested.”

“Arrested?” That word wiped the confusion from my brain and motivated me into action. “I’m getting out of here.” I grabbed the shorts and tank top I had thrown on the chair by the bed, searched the room for my backpack.

“Out of where?” Yannis asked. “This is an island. It’s not that easy to hide.”

“I’ve got to find who’s behind this, and I can’t do it from a jail cell.” I scooped up the paraphernalia of my life from the dresser top and tossed the stuff into the backpack.

“Yannis, call a taxi. Quick.”

“Where will you go?” He stood there, hands clenched at his sides, watching me pack my things.

I stopped the packing frenzy and looked at him. “I don’t know, maybe North. I’ll get word to you. Yannis, please help me.”

He looked in such pain I thought he might burst into tears. At last, he moved toward the door. “I don’t think it looks good your disappearing when you’re wanted for questioning.”

“I can’t be worried about how it looks. I need to find some answers.”

He succumbed to the pathetic look in my eyes and left the room. I could hear him on the phone requesting a taxi, as I pulled on my clothes and shoved my feet into flip-flops. I stuffed underwear, cotton tops, jean skirt, shorts into the pack and paused to consider the large suitcase by the bed. No, I wouldn’t take it. Too big, too cumbersome, it would slow me down. My hands shook so bad I couldn’t get the brush through my hair, so I smoothed it as best I could into a ponytail and secured it with a scrunchie.

Yannis returned, unhappy. “The taxi is here. I didn’t know what to say about where you were going. The driver speaks English. He’ll take you wherever you want. You can trust him. He’s a cousin.”

“Thanks. Tell the police I left for Limasol to consult my lawyer.” I pecked him on either cheek, grabbed my pack and purse, and hurried from the room.

I figured the town of Polis on the northwest tip of the island was my best bet, since it was close and in the opposite direction of Limasol. That’s where I told the driver I wanted to go. The early morning was bright, blue and cloudless. I checked my watch. Almost eight A.M.

The driver flew low, the speed most Cypriot drivers favored. As we approached the turnoff for the Coral Bay Hotel, I debated whether to see if Zach were in. Maybe just maybe, he could help. Who else did I have to turn to on the island? Everyone I knew was related to Yannis in some way, and I didn’t want to pull him any further into this fiasco.

I told the driver to turn in and wait with the motor running while I went into the hotel. At the reception desk I asked for Zach’s room number and walked to his room in the left wing of the hotel which overlooked the bay. I beat on the door and heard a muffled voice call to come back after ten A.M. to clean.


“Zach, it’s me, Claudie. I need to speak to you.”

I heard footsteps, and the door burst open. He stood there in briefs and tousled hair. He pulled me into the room. “What happened? What’s going on?”

I slipped by him and went to stand before the open doors of the patio. He followed, and I could feel him behind me, waiting. In the distance the sea lapped in and out in gentle waves, oblivious and uncaring about the melodrama of human life, in general, and mine, in particular.

“Someone kidnapped Aunt Elizabeth,” I said, addressing the indifferent scene before me. “About forty five minutes ago Yannis’s cousin called to warn us that the police were on their way to his house, that they wanted me for questioning, that I’m a suspect. So I took off. I have a taxi running outside.”

I turned around to face him. I didn’t know this man well, but maybe he could help me find my aunt. I took a leap. “Do you have any connections that could help me find out what’s happened to my aunt? This is a nightmare, and I need help.”

I must have looked pathetic standing there in my bedraggled ponytail, no makeup, my backpack slung my shoulder. What I felt was frightened, like the walls were closing in. I didn’t know who had my aunt or where she was.

He pulled me into a hug. Not a romantic hug, but one you would give a child. I could feel his warm breath on my hair and he said in that soft drawl, “I’ll help you. Tell the taxi driver to leave while I pull on some clothes.”

I started to protest but Zach placed his finger on my lips.

“I rented a Land Rover. We can go anywhere in that. I’ll explain in the car. Go. I’ll get dressed and be out in ten minutes.”

I left the taxi driver with a generous tip then walked through the lobby with my backpack and huge purse slung over my shoulder. People sat about the lounge in resort garb, waiting for tours. The sitting area had carved chairs with cushions in a tropical green pattern. A white grand piano stood to one corner. The area was open to the bay.

It would have been perfect had I been a mere vacationer. But I wasn’t. I was hunted and I felt conspicuous, like people were staring at me. There was a line for breakfast, so I went to the coffee bar by the swimming pool and ordered two coffees and sweet rolls. The waiter was young and Nordic-looking. He asked if I cared for anything in the coffee.

“Black, thank you. Cream on the side.”

He gave me a once over and that should have made me feel attractive and flirty, but instead it made me uncomfortable, although I knew he couldn’t possibly know the police were searching for me. He winked as I paid him. If I needed a date, I knew who to look up.

When I had opened my wallet there wasn’t much Cypriot currency, so I changed five hundred U.S. dollars to Cypriot pounds at the banking window. Hoping that by now he was ready, I walked to Zach’s room with the coffee and tapped at the door. He opened the door dressed in long tan pants and a bulky black shirt.

“Oh, thanks,” he said, as I handed him the coffee. “I’m almost ready.”

“Do you have business to attend to today?” I asked, sipping coffee as I watched him.

“Not until later.” He was packing a black sports bag on the bed and threw in his shaving gear. “This should do.”

“Do you plan to stay out overnight?”

Zach shrugged a shoulder. “Just playing it safe.” He shoved a roll of money from the dresser into his pocket and slid a small pile of plastic cards into the other pocket. “I have some friends, a trustworthy couple who live in a small place in the Troodos Mountains. You can stay with them a few days. They’re retired Brits. I worked with him on a few projects some time back. They’re well-connected. They might be able to help.”

Zach picked up his bag, looked around to be sure he hadn’t left anything. He held out his hand. “C’mon, we don’t have much of a lead on them.”

Like a trusting child, I took his hand. He led the way to the parking area and opened the Land Rover, throwing our bags on the back passenger seat. Out of the corner my eye I caught a flash of blue and turned enough to make out the blue Maruti sitting in the parking lot. Zach followed my eyes then got in the driver’s side and started the Rover.

“He must have followed you from Yannis’s house. Let’s see if we can lose him.”

We sped past the Maruti and out onto the main road, headed south to Pafos.

I looked at Zach. “It looks like there are two in the front. Did you notice?”

“I only saw the car. That is double bad news.” He glanced over. “Any guesses who they are?”

“Given the circumstances, they might be interested in antiquities. They aren’t any friends of mine. They looked more Arab than Cypriot.”

“They might be tied to the smuggling operation in some way.” Zach peered into the rear view mirror. “I’m going through Pafos and on toward Limasol to get to the Troodos since the access road into the mountains is better. We should be able to lose them in town. I don’t want to get caught on back roads with these guys following us.”

He floored it, and we streaked down the highway. As we neared the outskirts of town, traffic slowed us down. The Maruti caught up, staying a few car lengths behind.

Zach wove in and out of town traffic, horns blowing as we sped by. “Scoot down onto the floor, just in case.”

“Good idea. I don’t fancy being picked up.” I slid off the seat on to the floor and hunched up facing him. I judged our progress through town by the tops of the buildings flashing by.

“I admire your skill at evasive driving. Where’d you learn it?” I held on to the seat to keep from sliding into the dashboard.

“On the job. I’ve done this a few times before.”

“I see. Feel like telling me where? You haven’t told me much about what you do for a living.”

He shrugged. “I do contract undercover work, mostly with local law enforcement agencies. I’ve done some work for the FBI. Some international jobs for the CIA.”

“And this time? What brings you to Cyprus?”

“Antiquities smuggling.”

My heart started to hammer. “As in the Elizabeth Davies case?”

Zach nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.

My stomach clenched, doubled over and turned inside out. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m working for the New York City Police Department, anti-terrorism unit.”

“Why is NYPD interested in antiquities smuggling on Cyprus?”

“Terrorists deal antiquities to finance their operations.”

My stomach caught fire, and I could feel flames at the back of my throat.

“Where do I come in?”

“I thought maybe you might tell me.”

On two wheels he turned the corner onto the main road out of the east end of Pafos. I peeked over the seat. The Maruti got caught behind a car at the red light we had just run.

He checked the rear view mirror. “We may have lost them.”

We were out onto the open road, passing everything in our path.

“Don’t you think speeding might attract the police?”

“On Cyprus? You have to be joking. No one was ever pulled over for speeding on this island.”

I eased back onto the passenger seat and checked behind. “I don’t see them. You may have lost them.”

“Maybe, but I don’t intend to let up the pace. When I take the turn off for the Troodos Mountains on the west side of Limasol, I want to make sure that they aren’t behind to see where we turned. We need to make it into the mountains without our rear guard.”


“Do you think the guys following us are terrorists?”

“Don’t know.”

We rode in silence, the tension in the air hovering between us like an angry thunderstorm. I was overwhelmed with the inference in his questions. Did he think I was part of the smuggling ring? By association with my aunt?

Ridiculous.

Zach broke the awkward silence. “Feel like sharing any information with me?”

“Like what?”

“Like who you’re working for?”

“Me? I work for myself, I told you I own and manage a mutual fund in Boston along with my partner, Lena.”

“Are you sure that’s all you do?”

“You’re kidding right? What was all the stuff about helping me?”

“I’ll be glad to help you, especially if you can lead me to the leaders of the smuggling ring on Cyprus.”

“Don’t you hear well? That’s who I’m trying to find. You offered to help me.”

“You and your aunt work together. Am I right?”

The blood drained from my face, out through my fingers, and stained the clear blue Cyprus sky. Somewhere I had made a big mistake. What had Lonnie been saying about instinct going haywire?

Zach pulled off the road onto one of the scenic overlooks, one perched on a cliff with no guard rails. The sea sparkled and danced far below.

He studied the road behind us. “You see anyone?”

I checked again but I had just checked an instant before. “No one.” I wished I did see another vehicle, a truck, a police car, anyone, anything. But nothing. How could such a busy road be so deserted?

He got out of the Land Rover, pulled a pair of binoculars from the door pocket and scanned back over the road we had just traveled. The spot he had picked to stop afforded a clear view of the road and the cliffs from whence we’d come.

“They seem to have given up. The turn I want is just up ahead. I’m going to take it. Keep watching our back.”

It was an order, not a request. I nodded but I wasn’t looking at Zach. I was watching the sea, the way the sun glistened off the clear, turquoise blue water. Small waves capped in the distance. The sun shone hot, bright, dazzling on the sea. My beloved Cyprus had become a nightmare.

I tried to think of my life back in Boston, but it seemed light years away. Life right now boiled down to this spot, a Land Rover and a man I didn’t know but thought I did, if only a little, if only by instinct. His come on had been a ruse. Nice acting job. The nightmare was closing in, and I couldn’t escape. Was he kidnapping me? It felt that way.

Zach started the engine, and I hopped back on the seat which was hot from the sun beating on it. I didn’t have much choice. How could I get away? Who could I trust?

I had not told Yannis where I was heading for fear the police would force his hand. I didn’t want to implicate him more than I had already. He could get sucked in by knowing me. So much of the nightmare was by implication.

“You can’t be cold,” Zach said, as I rubbed my upper arms. He took his eyes off the road long enough to give me a quick once over. “You are cold.”

Goose bumps stood out on my flesh.

“It doesn’t have to do with the temperature,” I said.

Zach kept his eyes on the road that climbed into the mountains.

“I’m not a thief,” I said.

“I’d like to believe that,” he said, his face unreadable. “But understand that the conditions of your aunt’s stay on this island are suspicious. You’re implicated in the crime by being her niece and coming to help her.”

“What’s my motive?”

“Money, power, excitement, notoriety. Pick any one of those. People do strange things.”

“Have you run a background check on me?”

I grabbed the hand strap above my door window as we lurched over a pothole in the road.

“Yep.”

“And?”

“Clean.”

“So at my age, having my own successful business with an impressive income, with a cushy loft at a nice address in Boston, I turn to antiquities smuggling? C’mon.” I shook my head in disgust. I could have worked myself up into a good raging anger, if I hadn’t been so scared.

“Maybe for you it’s the excitement.”

I snorted real unladylike, but who cared? “I have all the excitement I can handle. I don’t need to create international excitement, particularly one that has a prison term attached to it.”

He was studying the road behind us in the mirror and eased up on the gas, slowing down as the road got rougher. “I think we lost them.”

I wasn’t sure that was a blessing.

He glanced at me. “What if I told you I know where your aunt is and who sprang her from jail? Would you be willing to cooperate?”

My eyes widened at the turn of the conversation. “You can’t be serious.”

“Would you cooperate?” He enunciated each word.

I exploded. “I’m telling you I don’t know a thing about smuggling nor does my aunt so there’s nothing to cooperate.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down.”

We drove on in silence, and the knots in my stomach turned into waves of nausea. I felt dizzy, and it wasn’t the increase in altitude. I had to get away. I peered over the side of the car into the chasm we drove along. Rocks and dry brush peppered the canyon. The area around us looked like the desert country of New Mexico. I considered jumping from the car but where would that leave me? Dead, probably, or badly broken and bruised, if I were lucky. My aunt would still be at the mercy of unknown assailants. She must be terrified, simply terrified. She was the type that screamed at mice and cockroaches. She’d probably have a heart attack. Then where would we be?

Zach tapped the master lock on the door, and the door locks clicked. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

“It wouldn’t work. I’m not much good to my aunt dead.”

“Smart girl.”

I studied his profile. He said he knew where my aunt was and who had taken her. I could pretend that I knew something and try to negotiate a deal, buy some time.

“What kind of cooperation do you want?” I decided to play along and hope that I wasn’t digging myself in deeper than I already was.

“Names, places, plans, contacts. Can you supply me with that?” He hadn’t missed a beat in his response like he knew all along I was a thief and would fess up to save my skin.

“And if I could?”

“You would get off easier than the rest of your operation. I could try for reduced jail time for you and your aunt.”

There was that word jail again that made my stomach sick and my head hurt. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. Then again I couldn’t believe where I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with.

I watched Zach, but he kept his eyes on the road, head straight, neck rigid, maybe refusing to think about the fact that there was a red-blooded woman sitting on the seat next to him, and he was talking to her about going to jail. The same woman he had promised to help.

The liar. I wanted to slap him. Instead I said, “You operate in some pretty powerful circles, if you could pull off a reduced jail sentence.”

“I have good connections.”

“I would have to see my aunt first. I need to know she is okay.” I hoped this crazy scheme to play along worked.

Zach nodded. “That can be arranged.”

We turned off the rough road onto an even rockier one. Zach kept taking right turns up the mountain. We climbed in a great circle. Cedar and cypress trees lined the road. Gray dust sprinkled the ground cover.


My cell phone went off, and I pulled it from my hand bag and glanced at the incoming number. Yannis. Before I could hit the talk button, Zach reached over, snatched it, and flipped the case shut.

“You don’t need a phone.”

I was getting the distinct feeling I was a prisoner.

The road leveled off, and Zach turned into a lane that led to a clearing where a solitary house stood. He pulled in front of the house, switched off the motor and sat looking around, a perplexed look on his face.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “It’s too quiet.” He looked at me. “Can I trust you to wait here?”

“I don’t know where I would go even if I could.”

“I’m going to look around. Can you shoot a gun?”

“My Dad was a hunter. He taught me to shoot a rifle.”

He pulled his bag from the back seat, extracted a heavy, black gun and checked the ammunition.

I was struck dumb. I thought the bag held his overnight gear, not heavy metal. He pulled out a second smaller pistol, checked it and handed it to me. The thought crossed my mind that now was the time to shoot him. Then where would I be? Would killing a cop get me life or the electric chair? On Cyprus they probably gave life sentences without possibility of parole. I’d look it up later.

“No, you aren’t going to shoot me,” he said.

The guy was uncanny.

“You need someone on your side. I just might be that person. Remember that. Now I’m going to look around. Normally, my friends would be out in the yard on a day like this. Maybe they went into town, but I don’t like the feeling I have.”

So he worked on intuition, too. I’d have to ask him what his intuition was for me. He trusted me enough to hand me a gun.

He nodded toward a half open window in the front of the house. A lace curtain fluttered in and out. “They don’t ever leave a window open like that. The wife is too fastidious.”

His eyes locked on mine.

“Don’t leave the Rover. Stay right here and cover me. And please, don’t shoot me in the back.”

“I couldn’t do that. How would I ever find my way back to town? Besides, you know where my aunt is.”

He smirked. The first time I saw him come close to a smile since Pafos. “Smart girl.” He eased open the door of the Land Rover, stepped cautiously out, and headed toward the front of the house, gradually circling to the back.

I watched from my post in the Rover and studied the yard and the house. To the left was an open shed that held what looked like wood working tools. A saw, shovels, tools hung in rows above a workbench. A wash line strung from the house to the shed held three men’s work shirts, pinned upside down and blowing in the hot breeze. Beyond the shed and house was a vegetable garden surrounded by a wire fence with a gate. I could see plump, red tomatoes hanging from the vines. The gate was open.

I froze.

What was that on the ground in the garden beyond the open gate? I reached over and pulled the binoculars from the side pocket of the driver’s door, sat forward in the seat and focused on the garden gate. The first thing that came into focus was the bottom of a pair of shoes. Women’s shoes or maybe sandals. The feet were small. I felt beads of sweat break out on my upper lip, even though a breeze came in through the open windows.

“Dear sweet Jesus.”

I looked around for Zach. He must have entered the house through the back door. He couldn’t have seen the feet from his vantage point because he had circled on the opposite side of the house from the garden.

I did a 360 degree check on the clearing where the house stood. It was clear only for about fifty feet on all sides then the forest took over. I couldn’t be sure if anyone was watching from the forest and was torn between whether stay put or go looking for Zach. Neither was safe, but I knew action was better for me, as opposed to sitting here wrapped in sheer terror. I picked up the gun and eased from the Rover.

The air was as tense as my tautly bunched muscles. It was quiet. No birds sang. Was that because someone was in the forest to disturb their singing? If they were still around would they try to kill us, rush us, overpower the Rover? Who were they? The unsettling image of terrorists crept into my mind, the black hooded variety.

What was I doing here?

I ran from the Rover to the shelter of the house and circled to the back on the side where the garden was. The house was typical construction for the region, stucco with red tile roof. Giant rose bushes lined the side of the house blooming profusely in red and yellow.

I saw the body stretched full length in the garden, like taking a nap. But a red stain on the head of the figure belied the image of a peaceful nap. Nausea welled up in my throat, but I kept going. I had to find Zach. A Mediterranean style arbor, slats of wood crossing open beams, covered the patio to the back of the house. The door to the house stood open. I drew near and peered in.

“Zach?” No answer. I eased a few steps into the kitchen.

“Zach?”

I heard footsteps overhead. Maybe the man of the house was okay, but why was his wife laying in the garden? There was only one pair of footsteps. If they weren’t Zach’s …

I peered up the stairs.

Zach crouched over a body at the top of the landing. I only saw the top of the head covered in thick white hair, stained dark red on one side.

“I told you to stay with the Rover.”

“Zach, there’s a woman’s body in the garden.”

“I saw her from the upstairs window. They’re both dead. Shot in the head at close range.”

He moved quickly down the steps, gun upraised, and brushed past me. Standing back from the window, he studied the yard and garden.

“Are you going to report it to the police?”

“I can’t, this couple isn’t really here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. This is a safe house. This couple doesn’t exist, so there is no one to report missing.

“What?”

He ignored my question. “I’ll call someone to dispose of the bodies later but for now, we get out of here. I’ll go first. If I draw fire, run out the front door in a zig-zag line to the Rover.”

He turned and his gaze held my eyes in a moment of connection, the connection we had had before this awful ride had begun. Those hard, dark eyes softened.

“If I don’t make it, leave in the Rover without me.” He grabbed my chin and held it. “Don’t play hero, okay?”

I nodded and before I could say anything he was out the door, gun in hand, running. A rifle cracked, and he dropped to the ground.

“Zach,” I screamed from the open door. “Zach!”

He rolled over and over into the cover of shrubs by the shed. “Get down.” His hand waved. “Get down. Go out the front door. I’m going for the Rover.”

Another shot cracked and hit the side of the shed above the bushes where he hid, and he returned fire. I stood paralyzed by the sound of the gunfire. It sounded like the shots I had heard fired at target practice. But this was not target practice.

I whirled and ran through the house and out the front door, propelled by some hidden banshee that shrieked inside my head to get the hell out of there. I ran for the Rover, dove and crashed into the passenger door as a bullet flew by my ear and ricocheted off the fender. I yanked open the door and crawled inside, slamming the door and cowering on the floor. A rapid exchange of gunfire heralded Zach’s approach to the Rover, and a bullet hit the driver’s side of the vehicle. Zach sprang in, turned over the motor and slammed the gears into reverse. The Rover squealed back through the clearing making a wide circle on two wheels, screeched to a halt, roared into forward and out of the clearing followed by a barrage of bullets.


I hunkered down on the floor and squeezed my eyes shut until we were out of the clearing and lurching down the rocky lane.

“Damn,” said Zach.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him.

“Another shirt ruined,” he said.

Three explosion holes on his shirt front marked the spots where bullets had hit.

“I’m glad I thought to put on a bullet proof vest today.”