The Forty Column Castle

Eleven


“A five star hotel?” I asked, as we pulled up in front of the Amathus Hotel complete with beach on the Mediterranean and private pools. I’d only fantasized about a room here since it was a bit pricey for my vacation budget.

“Thieves don’t normally stay in five stars, do they?” Zach said. “This would be the last place police would look. Thieves normally stay in seedy hotels with bare light bulbs and half-lit neon signs, don’t they?”

I sighed but didn’t move from the back seat of the taxi. “I thought we were going to find Mr. Bellomo first?”


He shrugged. “We need a land line phone. It might as well be in a posh hotel room as the pay phone on a dark street corner.”

“I notice you are making decisions without consulting me. Are we back to the captive-captor thing? I had gotten the impression we were moving toward team work a bit earlier today.”

I gave him a big, false smile.

He grasped my chin like a lover this time and brushed his lips across mine. Like that made up for everything. I still didn’t know what the score was.

He came around and helped me out. I tried not to hobble and was dying to take off the flip-flops. The lobby was huge with marble floors, chandeliers, big vases of cut flowers, heavy on the bird-of-paradise. I had once enjoyed lunch in the terrace restaurant that overlooked the sea. Lots of palm trees in big terra cotta pots. Warm sea breezes. Patrons loaded with gold jewelry and sporting expensive hair cuts. Superb food.

Zach strode to the check-in counter like he owned the place. I stood close and smiled. He asked for one of the rooms with private pools, avoiding my raised eyebrows. Our registration name was Mr. and Mrs. H. Moon. He pulled out the stack of plastic cards, flipped through and selected one. Did he have a collection of cards with various aliases? But he pocketed the cards before I could get a better look. The transaction went through without a hitch. We had a place for the night.

The clerk in spiffy gray uniform trimmed in gold and maroon looked us over and peeked over the counter.

“Your luggage, sir?”

“The airline lost it and said it will follow later. We’ll step over to the gift shop and pick up a few things.”

“Of course,” the clerk said with a hotel smile and turned to help the next customer.

Zach steered me into the designer gift shop. We both picked out clothes. They even had underwear. I picked out two pair of thongs, Zack intent upon my selection but speaking only with his eyes, a pair of tan Capri pants, white cotton blouse, and sandals resplendent with fake green jewels and copper sequins that were so tacky I loved them. I saw a slinky little black sundress and threw it on top of the pile. Zach put my stuff with his selection -- a pair of tan pants and a white polo shirt.

Our room was to- the-extreme with balcony, sitting room and its own private pool with Jacuzzi. That had possibilities, but I was too tired to think. Muted dove gray and cream colors gave the room an elegant air with more cut flowers and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket. Nice touch. I checked out the bath with Jacuzzi and turned on the hot water tap to fill the tub while Zach worked on opening the champagne.

He came into the bathroom and handled me a glass of bubbly. “I ordered room service. They are sending up wine and mezzas. Room for two in there?”

“No, I’m tired and have a headache.” The satisfaction in saying that was enormous and appropriate punishment for a thief and liar.

He looked so sad I almost relented, but I knew I had to stand firm. “What about Mr. Bellomo?”

Zach sat on the side of the tub and took a long sip from his glass of champagne. “I’m going to track him down as soon as I finish this champagne. I’ve worked up a terrible thirst.” He finished it off and sat the glass down. “If you won’t let me into your bath, I guess I’ll have to shower.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, dropped it on the floor and shed his shorts. I looked away. It would be the end of what little self-respect I had left. I busied myself at the tub facet, playing with the hot and cold to get it just right. A line of bottles on the sink gleamed in the bright lights over the mirror. I found ambrosia bath bubbles and dumped in half the bottle. Perfect.

I tried hard not to look in Zach’s direction. With a huge, sad sigh he had entered the shower and sang away. He had a baritone to equal Sherrill Milne. I love baritones. My insides got all squishy. He was singing “On the Street Where You Live” from My Fair Lady. Why that song? Why now? There was no end to his bag of tricks.

I started to strip and realized I might sneak in a phone call while he was preoccupied in the shower. I grabbed a towel and went into the bedroom to take off my clothes. Purse. Where was my purse? I couldn’t find it anywhere. I looked through the drawers of a very large dresser, under the bed, in the closet, pulled on the door of the armoire. Locked. The guy trusted me, didn’t he? He had locked up my bag with all my numbers.

I couldn’t remember Yannis’s number. There was no time to look up the police. I wasn’t sure I wanted to call them anyway, but I did know my own office number and Lena’s home number so I pushed hers in. It would be middle of the night in Boston. Hopefully, Lena would be in and not spending the night with her latest flame. It rang eight times. C’mon Lena, answer. The message machine came on. She was out. Didn’t she know I was trying to reach her?

“Lena, wish you were in. I only have sixty seconds. I desperately need you to do a background check on Zachariah Lamont who uses aliases H. Moon and Henry Dellinger. Please, as soon as possible, send me a text message on my cell phone. I’ll try to call later.”

Less than sixty seconds. I hung up, striped off my clothes, wrapped the towel around my body, and strode into the bathroom.

Zach was nonchalantly toweling off. “Who’d you call?”

“Me? Call? I was taking off my clothes, look.” I flashed open the towel, dropped it and stepped into the bath. It was deliciously hot, and I sank in like a hippo in a mud wallow.

He smirked, wrapped the big white, fluffy towel around his waist in sudden modesty and stepped into the other room.

My hand enveloped the stem of the tulip champagne glass and I took several, long smooth sips. Dom Perignon. I saw the bottle. My taste buds are not that discerning. Very, very nice. The sedative effect of the alcohol and the hot, bubbly water made my muscles go limp. I closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation.

“Lena. You called Lena.”

I didn’t bother to open my eyes. “So?”

“Want to tell me what you told her.”

“I asked her to run a background check on you.” What was the point in lying?

He came over to stand by the tub. I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, those deep brown eyes looking oddly troubled.

“A background check?” He moved his head in that funny way someone does when he doesn’t quite believe what someone has told him.

“Yes. I want to know who you really are.” I smiled. “Unless you’d like to stop lying and tell me yourself.”

He laughed. “Room service has arrived. If you’d like to join me, I’ll be on the terrace enjoying the evening and dinner. Would you like me to wait for you?”

“You go ahead. I’m going to luxuriate here for a while longer.” I held up my glass. “But I would take another glass of champagne, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He took the glass and brought back two filled to the brim.

“Here, you look like you need it.”

He left me to my bath. I frowned. My self-image took a little hit. Did I look that bad? Oh hell, who cared? I sank back into that delicious bath and pressed the Jacuzzi switch. I must have dozed because Zach came looking for me after a while.

“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t drowned.”

I half opened my eyes. I hadn’t even drunk the second glass of champagne. “Lord help me, I’m tired.”

“Time to sleep later. Better get dressed and have something to eat. I talked to Mr. Bellomo.”

I was instantly awake. “What does he know about my aunt?”


“He says he is willing to meet with us.”

“What if it’s a set up? What if he calls the police? Then where will we be?”

“I told him that wouldn’t be a good idea, if he wanted to see Elizabeth again.”

I stared at Zach. “He bought that?”

“He laughed and invited us to his house. A good way to control people is to threaten them.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Zach studied me for a few moments.

Lord help me, he looked good. He had dressed in his new tan slacks but hadn’t pulled on a shirt. His hair was slicked back. He’d even shaved. He stood there half-dressed, muscles bulging. It should be a sin to be that handsome and well-built, know it and flaunt it.

“Excuse me, but I’d like some privacy to finish my bath.”

He smirked. He was getting that facial expression down. “I’ll fix you a plate while I wait on the terrace.”

I smiled, and he left.

“Oh, would you mind bringing in my new clothing?” I called out as I lathered up.

The bag from the fancy shop sailed through the door and landed on the floor by the tub. Special delivery. At least they had decent hair dryers at a five star hotel. I was able to blow dry mine into something presentable, sort of flipped up. I admired my new duds as I pulled on a hot pink thong, Capri pants and white shirt. I love new clothes. I slipped into the sandals and wiggled my toes. They were so cute.

On the terrace I smelled the cigar before I saw it in Zach’s hand. He hadn’t put on his shirt and held a brandy snifter in the same hand as the cigar. He stood looking over our private pool into the courtyard beyond. His back was to me, and I admired the lines. Sculpted came to mind. This man knew how to live. A high class thief. But was he?

Would that this be any other time, any other situation. It would be perfect. I could anticipate the night to come in bed with Zachariah Lamont. All night long. I had a hot flash thinking about it. But I was wrapped up in a crazy, deadly game. There would be no long night ahead to enjoy. I had to find my aunt. Then this whole misunderstanding would be cleared up.

He turned and seemed to drink me in. “Wow, you look two hundred per cent improved. Nice outfit, the sandals especially.”

I said in my sweetest voice, “Would you mind unlocking the armoire so I can get my purse and makeup?”

“You don’t need any make up. You look great without it.”

My smile stuck to my face. “I’d like my purse. A girl feels naked without one.”

“Naked I like.” He grinned, fished in his pants pocket, and tossed the key to me.

I put on black mascara and rose blush, decided that would do since that’s all I carried with me and went out to join Zach, carrying my glass of champagne with me. I put the key to the armoire in my pocket.

He had fixed me a plate of grape leaves and salad and sat beside me. I wasn’t in a chatty mood, more pensive than tired. I ate in silence, relishing the feeling of food in my belly.

“You okay?” he asked, working on his cigar and brandy, a tiny note of concern in his voice.

I leaned back in the chair and sipped the champagne savoring its dry, brisk taste. “Things could be better.”

I looked over at him and something in the way the soft area lighting caught in his eyes, something about the way his mouth turned up, made me laugh. Like he understood how okay things weren’t. He started laughing, and I couldn’t stop, and then it turned to tears for me.

“Hey,” he said and handed me a clean napkin from the room tray. “Don’t cry. I hate to see a woman cry.”

“Right,” I said, sniffing and dabbing at my eyes so my mascara wouldn’t run. “How many have you made cry in your life?”

“I’m making you cry? Me? Why me?”

“Oh, shut up. Nothing you say makes any sense. I don’t know who you are, or where my aunt is. And why stay in a five star hotel with a drop dead gorgeous man, if you can’t screw your brains out all night long.”

“We can still do that,” he said in the soft, sexy voice, “after we come back from our visit with Mr. Bellomo.”

“Ha. If we come back,” I said. “He probably called the police after he got off the phone with you.”

Zach shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Mr. Bellomo is from Sicily. I don’t think the police play a big part in his life. He’s a business man in the import-export business. You ever run into any of those guys?”

“No, but you probably have, seeing as how you are a smuggler.”

He studied my expression and sighed. “Claudie.” He was back to the soft, sexy voice. “Look at me.”

I turned and met his gaze.

“Everything will turn out okay, I promise.”

I hated the tears in my eyes, but they wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t sure why they were there in the first place. “How can you be wanted by the FBI? What did you do? Why were you in jail?”

“Darlin’, this place doesn’t lend itself to the sad story of my life. It’s too beautiful here. The night is too young, the breeze too exotic, the air too laden with romance and excitement.”

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.