The Right Path Part 22

The boat moved at an easy pace, a lone speck in a dark sea. The motor purred.

There was little talk among the men. They were a silent group in any case, but when the man was with them, no one wanted to speak. To speak was to bring attention to yourself-not many dared to do so.

He stared out into the water and ignored the wary glances thrown his way. He was remote, a figure of the night. His hood rippled in the salt-sprayed wind

-a carefree, almost adventurous movement. But he was stil as a stone.

Time pa.s.sed; the boat listed with the movement of the sea. He might have been a figurehead. Or a demon.

"We are short-handed." The man who had greeted him merged with his shadow.

His voice was low and coa.r.s.e. His stomach trembled. "Do you wish me to find a replacement for Stevos?"

The hooded head turned-a slow, deliberate motion. The man took an instinctive step in retreat and swal owed the copper taste that had risen to his throat.

"I wil find my own replacement. You would al do wel to remember Stevos." He lifted his voice on the warning as his eyes swept the men on deck. "There is no one who cannot be ... replaced." He used a faint emphasis on the final word, watching the dropping of eyes with satisfaction. He needed their fear, and he had it. He could smel it on them. Smiling beneath the hood, he turned back to the sea.

The journey continued, and no one else spoke to him-or about him. Now and then a sailor might cast his eyes toward the man at the helm. The more superst.i.tious crossed themselves or made the ancient sign against evil.

When the devil was with them, they knew the ful power of fear. He ignored them, treated them as though he were alone on the boat. They thanked G.o.d for it.

Midway between Lesbos and Turkey, the motor was shut off. The sudden silence resounded like a thunderclap. No one spoke as they would have done if the figure hadn't been at the helm. There were no crude jokes or games of dice.

The boat s.h.i.+fted easily in its own wake. They waited, al but one swatting in the cool sea breeze. The moon winked behind a cloud, then was clear again.

The motor of an approaching boat was heard as a distant cough, but the sound grew steadier, closer. A light signaled twice, then once again before the glow was shut off. The second motor, too, gave way to silence as another fis.h.i.+ng vessel drifted alongside the first. The two boats merged into one shadow.

The night was glorious-almost stil and silvered by the moon. Men waited, watching that dark, silent figure at the helm. "The catch is good tonight," a voice cal ed out from the second boat. The sound drifted, disembodied over the water.

"The fish are easily caught while sleeping."

There was a short laugh as two men leaned over the side and hauled a dripping net, pregnant with fish, onto the deck. The vessel swayed with the movement, then steadied.

The hooded man watched the exchange without word or gesture. His eyes s.h.i.+fted from the second vessel to the pile of fish lying scattered and lifeless on the deck.

Both motors roared into life again and separated; one to the east, one to the west.

The moon glimmered white. The breeze picked up. The boat was again a lone speck on a dark sea.

"Cut them open."

The men looked up sharply into the slitted eyes. "Now?" one of them dared to ask.

"Don't you want them taken to the usual place?" "Cut them open," he repeated.

His voice sent a chil through the quiet night. "I take the cache with me."

Three men knelt beside the fish. Their knives worked swiftly and with skil while the scent of blood and sweat and fear p.r.i.c.kled the air. A smal pile of white packets grew as they were torn from the bel ies of fish. The mutilated corpses were tossed back into the sea. No one would bring that catch to their table.

He moved quickly but without any sense of hurry, slipping packets into the pockets of his jacket. To a man they scrambled back from him, as if his touch might bring death-or worse. Satisfied, he gave them a brief survey before he resumed his position at the helm.

Their fear brought him a grim pleasure. And the cache was his for the taking. For the first time, he laughed-a long, cold sound that had nothing to do with humor.

No one spoke, in even a whisper, on the journey back.

Later, a shadow among shadows, he moved away from the cove. He was wary that the trip had gone so easily, exhilarated that it was done. There had been no one to question him, no one with the courage to fol ow, though he was one man and they were many. Stil , as he crossed the strip of beach, he moved with caution, for he wasn't a fool. He had more than just a few frightened fishermen to consider. And he would have more to deal with before he was done.

The walk was long, and steep, but he took it at an easy pace. The hol ow cal of an owl caused him to pause only briefly to scan the trees and rocks through the slits in the mask. From his position, he could see the cool white lines of the Theoharis vil a. He stood where he was a moment- watching, thinking. Then he spun away to continue his climb.

He moved over rocks as easily as a goat-walking with a sure, confident stride in the darkness. He'd covered that route a hundred times without a light.

And he kept clear of the path-a path meant men. He stepped around the rock where Morgan had sat that morning, but he didn't see the flowers. Without pausing, he continued.

There was a light in the window. He'd left it burning himself before he had set out.

Now for the first time he thought of comfort-and a drink to wash the taste of other men's fear from his throat.

Entering the house, he strode down the corridor and entered a room. Carelessly, he dumped the contents of his pockets on an elegant Louis XVI table, then removed his hood with a flourish.

"Wel , Stephanos." Nick's teeth flashed in a grin. "The fis.h.i.+ng was rich tonight."

Stephanos acknowledged the packets with a nod. "No trouble?"

"One has little trouble with men who fear the air you breathe. The trip was as smooth as a wh.o.r.e's kiss." Moving away, he poured two drinks and handed one to his companion. The sense of exhilaration was stil on him-the power that comes from risking death and winning. He drained his drink in one swal ow. "A seedy crew, Stephanos, but they do their job. They're greedy, and"-he lifted the hood, then let it fal on the cache of opium, black on white-"terrified."

"A terrified crew is a cooperative one," Stephanos commented. He poked a stubby finger at the cache of opium. "Rich fis.h.i.+ng indeed. Enough to make a man comfortable for a long time."

"Enough to make him want more," Nick stated with a grin. "And more. Diabolos, the smel of fish clings to me." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Send our cache to Athens, and see they send a report to me of its purity. I'm going to wash off this stink and go to bed."

"There's a matter you might be interested in."

"Not tonight." Nick didn't bother to turn around. "Save your gossip for tomorrow."

"The woman, Nicholas." Stephanos saw him stiffen and pause. There was no need to tel him which woman. "I learned she doesn't go back to America.

She stays here while Alex is in Athens."

"Diabolos!" Nick swore and turned back into the room. "I can't be worried about a woman." "She stays alone until Alex sends his lady back."

"The woman is not my concern," he said between his teeth.

As was his habit, Stephanos sniffed the liquor to add to his appreciation. "Athens was interested," he said mildly. "Perhaps she could stil be of use." "No." Nick took an agitated turn around the room. Nerves that had been cold as ice began to thaw. d.a.m.n her, he thought, she'l make me careless even thinking of her. "That woman is more trouble than use. No," he repeated as Stephanos lifted his brows. "We'l keep her out of it."

"Difficult, considering-"

"We'l keep her out of it," Nick repeated in a tone that made Stephanos stroke his moustache. "As you wish, kyrios."

"Go to the devil." Annoyed with the mock respectful tone, Nick picked up his gla.s.s, then set it down again. "She's no use to us," he said with more calm.

"More of a stumbling block. We'l hope she keeps her elegant nose inside the vil a for a few days." "And if she pokes her elegant nose out?" Stephanos inquired, enjoying his liquor.

Nick's mouth was a grim line. "Then I'l deal with her."

"I think perhaps," he murmured as Nick strode from the room, "she has already dealt with you, old friend." He laughed and poured himself another drink.

"Indeed, the lady's dealt you a kil ing blow."

After he had bathed, Nick couldn't settle. He told himself it was the excess energy from the night, and his success. But he found himself standing at his window, staring down at the Theoharis vil a.

So she was alone, he thought, asleep in that big soft bed. It meant nothing to him.

He'd climbed that d.a.m.n wal to her room for the last time. He'd gone there the night before on impulse, something he'd known better than to do. He'd gone to see her, with some mad idea of justifying his actions to her.

Fool, he cal ed himself as his hands curled tight around the stone railing. Only a fool justifies what he does. He'd gone to her and she'd taunted him, driven him to give up something he had no business giving up. His heart. d.a.m.n her, she'd wrenched it out of him.

His grip tightened as he remembered what it had been like to have her-to taste her and fil himself with her. It had been a mistake, perhaps the most crucial one he'd ever made. It was one matter to risk your life, another to risk your soul.

He shouldn't have touched her, Nick thought on yet another wave of anger. He'd known it even as his hands had reached for her. She hadn't known what she was doing, drunk on the ouzo Andrew had bought her. Andrew-he felt a moment's rage and banked it. There'd been moments when he hated Andrew, knowing he'd kissed her. Hated Dorian because Morgan had smiled at him. And Alex because he could touch her in friends.h.i.+p.

And, he knew, Morgan would hate him for what had pa.s.sed between them that night. Hadn't he heard it in the icy words she'd flung at him? He'd rather have handed her his own knife than to have the words of a woman slash at him that way.

She would hate him for taking her when she was vulnerable

-while that d.a.m.n medal hung around her neck. And she would hate him for what he was.