Memories of Midnight

Tony Rizzoli watched her come out of the bathroom naked, and thought, Why do Greek women have such big asses?



She slid into bed beside him, put her arms around him, and whispered, "I'm so glad you chose me, poulaki. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you."



It was all Tony Rizzoli could do to keep from laughing out loud. The bitch had seen too many B movies.



"Sure," he said. "I feel the same way, baby."



He had picked her up at The New Yorker, a sleazy nightclub on Kallari Street, where she worked as a singer. She was what the Greeks contemptuously called a gavyeezee skilo, a barking dog. None of the girls who worked at the club had talent - not in their throats, anyway - but for a price, they were all available to be taken home. This one, Helena, was moderately attractive, with dark eyes, a sensuous face, and a full, ripe body. She was twenty-four, a little old for Rizzoli's taste, but he did not know any ladies in Athens, and he could not afford to be choosy.



"Do you like me?" Helena asked coyly.



"Yeah. I'm pazzo about you."



He began to stroke her breasts, and felt her nipples get hard, and squeezed.



"Ouch!"



"Move your head down, baby."



She shook her head. "I don't do that."



Rizzoli stared at her. "Really?"



The next instant, he grabbed her hair and pulled.



Helena screamed. "Parakalo!"



Rizzoli slapped her hard across the face. "Make one more sound and I'll break your neck."



Rizzoli dragged her face down between his legs. "There he is, baby. Make him happy."



"Let me go," she whimpered. "You're hurting me."



Rizzoli tightened his grip on her hair. "Hey - you're crazy about me - remember?"



He let go of her hair, and she looked up at him, her eyes blazing.



"You can go..."



The look on his face stopped her. There was something terribly wrong with this man. Why hadn't she seen it sooner?



"There's no reason for us to fight," she said placatingly. "You and me..."



His fingers dug into her neck. "I'm not paying you for conversation." His fist smashed into her cheek. "Shut up and go to work."



"Of course, sweetheart," Helena whimpered. "Of course."



Rizzoli was insatiable, and by the time he was satisfied, Helena was exhausted. She lay at his side until she was sure he was asleep, and then she quietly slipped out of bed and got dressed. She was in pain. Rizzoli had not paid her yet, and ordinarily Helena would have taken the money from his wallet, plus a handsome tip for herself. But some instinct made her decide to leave without taking any money.



An hour later, Tony Rizzoli was awakened by a pounding on the door. He sat up and peered at his wristwatch. It was four o'clock in the morning. He looked around. The girl had gone.



"Who is it?" he called.



"It's your neighbor." The voice was angry. "There's a telephone call for you."



Rizzoli rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I'm coming."



He put on a robe and walked across the room to where his trousers were draped on the back of a chair. He checked his wallet. His money was all there. So, the bitch wasn't stupid. He extracted a hundred-dollar bill, walked over to the door, and opened it.



His neighbor was standing in the hallway in a robe and slippers. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked indignantly. "You told me..."



Rizzoli handed him the hundred-dollar bill. "I'm terribly sorry," he said apologetically. "I won't be long."



The man swallowed, his indignation gone. "That's all right. It must be important for someone to wake people up at four o'clock in the morning."



Rizzoli walked into the room across the hall and picked up the phone. "Rizzoli."



A voice said, "You have a problem, Mr. Rizzoli."



"Who is this?"



"Spyros Lambrou asked me to call you."



"Oh." He felt a sudden sense of alarm. "What's the problem?"



"It concerns Constantin Demiris."



"What about him?"



"One of his tankers, the Thele, is in Marseilles. It's tied up at the pier in the Bassin de la Grande Joliette."



"So?"



"We've learned that Mr. Demiris has ordered the ship diverted to Athens. It will be docking there Sunday morning, and sailing Sunday night. Constantin Demiris plans to be on it when it sails."



"What?"



"He's running."



"But he and I have a..."



"Mr. Lambrou said to tell you that Demiris is planning to hide out in the United States until he can find a way to get rid of you."



The sneaky son of a bitch! "I see. Thank Mr. Lambrou for me. Tell him thanks very much."



"It's his pleasure."



Rizzoli replaced the receiver.



"Is everything all right, Mr. Rizzoli?"



"What? Yeah. Everything is great." And it was.



The more Rizzoli thought about the phone call, the more pleased he was. He had Constantin Demiris running scared. That would make it a lot easier to handle him. Sunday. He had two days in which to lay his plans. Rizzoli knew he had to be careful. He was being followed wherever he went. Fucking Keystone Kops, Rizzoli thought contemptuously. When the time comes, I'll dump them.



Early the following morning, Rizzoli walked to a public telephone booth on Kifissias Street and dialed the number of the Athens State Museum.



In the reflection in the glass, Rizzoli could see a man pretending to look in a shop window, and across the street another man in a conversation with a flower vendor. The two men were part of the surveillance team that was covering him. Good luck to you, Rizzoli thought.



"Office of the curator. Can I help you?"



"Victor? It's Tony."



"Is anything wrong?" There was sudden panic in Korontzis's voice.



"No," Rizzoli said soothingly. "Everything's fine. Victor, you know that pretty vase with the red figures on it?"



"The Ka amphora."



"Yeah. I'm going to pick it up tonight."



There was a long pause. "Tonight? I...I don't know, Tony." Korontzis's voice was trembling. "If anything should go wrong..."



"Okay, pal, forget it. I was trying to do you a favor. You just tell Sal Prizzi you don't have the money, and let him do whatever..."



"No, Tony. Wait. I...I..." There was another pause. "All right."



"You sure it's all right, Victor? Because if you don't want to do it, just say so, and I'll head back to the States, where I don't have problems like this. I don't need all this aggravation, you know. I can..."



"No, no. I appreciate everything you're doing for me, Tony. Really I do. Tonight will be fine."



"Okay, then. When the museum closes, all you have to do is substitute a copy for the real vase."



"The guards check all packages out of here."



"So what? Are the guards some kind of art experts?"



"No. Of course not, but..."



"All right, Victor, listen to me. You just get a bill of sale for one of the copies and stick it with the original in a paper bag. Do you understand?"



"Yes. I...I understand. Where will we meet?"



"We're not going to meet. Leave the museum at six o'clock. There will be a taxi in front. Have the package with you. Tell the driver to take you to Hotel Grande Bretagne. Tell him to wait for you. Leave the package in the cab. Go into the hotel bar and have a drink. After that, go home."



"But the package..."



"Don't worry. It will be taken care of."



Victor Korontzis was sweating. "I've never done anything like this, Tony. I've never stolen anything. All my life..."



"I know," Rizzoli said soothingly. "Neither have I. Remember, Victor, I'm taking all the risks, and I don't get a thing out of it."



Korontzis's voice broke. "You're a good friend, Tony. The best friend I ever had." He was wringing his hands. "Do you have any idea when I will get my money?"



"Very soon," Rizzoli assured him. "Once we pull this off, you won't have any more worries." And neither will I, Rizzoli thought exultantly. Never again.



Two cruise ships were in the port of Piraeus that afternoon, and consequently the museum was filled with tourists. Usually Victor Korontzis enjoyed studying them, trying to guess what their lives were like. There were Americans and British, and visitors from a dozen other countries. Now Korontzis was too panicky to think about them.



He looked over at the two showcases where copies of the antiquities were sold. There was a crowd around them, and the two saleswomen were busily trying to keep up with the demand.



Maybe they'll sell out, Korontzis thought hopefully, and I won't be able to go through with Rizzoli's plan. But he knew he was being unrealistic. There were hundreds of replicas stored in the basement of the museum.



The vase that Tony had asked him to steal was one of the museum's great treasures. It was from the fifteenth century B.C., an amphora with red mythological figures painted on a black background. The last time Victor Korontzis had touched it had been fifteen years earlier when he had reverently placed it inside the case to be locked up forever. And now I'm stealing it, Korontzis thought miserably. God help me.



Dazedly, Korontzis went through the afternoon, dreading the moment when he would become a thief. He went back to his office, shut the door, and sat down at his desk, filled with despair. I can't do it, he thought. There has to be some other way out. But what? He could think of no way to raise that kind of money. He could still hear Prizzi's voice. You'll give me that money tonight, or I'm going to feed you to the fish. Do you understand? The man was a killer. No, he had no choice.



A few minutes before six, Korontzis came out of his office. The two women who sold replicas of the artifacts were beginning to lock up.



"Signomi," Korontzis called. "A friend of mine is having a birthday. I thought I'd get him something from the museum." He walked over to the case and pretended to be studying it. There were vases and busts, chalices and books and maps. He looked them over as though trying to decide which to choose. Finally, he pointed to the copy of the red amphora. "I think he'd like that one."



"I'm sure he will," the woman said. She removed it from the case and handed it to Korontzis.



"Could I have a receipt, please?"



"Certainly, Mr. Korontzis. Would you like me to gift wrap this for you?"



"No, no," Korontzis said quickly. "You can just throw it in a bag."



He watched her place the replica in a paper bag and put the receipt inside. "Thank you."



"I hope your friend enjoys it."



"I'm sure he will." He took the bag, his hands trembling, and walked back to his office.



He locked the door, then removed the imitation vase from the bag and placed it on his desk. It's not too late, Korontzis thought. I haven't committed any crime yet. He was in an agony of indecision. A series of terrifying thoughts ran through his head. I could run away to another country and abandon my wife and children. Or I could commit suicide. I could go to the police and tell them I'm being threatened. But when the facts come out I will be ruined. No, there was no way out. If he did not pay the money he owed, he knew that Prizzi would kill him. Thank God, he thought, for my friend Tony. Without him, I would be a dead man.



He looked at his watch. Time to move. Korontzis rose to his feet, his legs unsteady. He stood there, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. His hands were wet with perspiration. He wiped them on his shirt. He put the replica back in the paper bag, and moved toward the door. There was a guard stationed at the front door who left at six, after the museum closed, and another guard who made the rounds, but he had half a dozen rooms to cover. He should be at the far end of the museum now.



Korontzis walked out of his office, and bumped into the guard. He gave a guilty start.



"Excuse me, Mr. Korontzis. I didn't know you were still here."



"Yes. I...I'm just getting ready to leave."



"You know," the guard said admiringly, "I envy you."



If he only knew. "Really? Why?"



"You know so much about all these beautiful things. I walk around here and I look at them and they're all pieces of history, aren't they? I don't know much about them. Maybe someday you could explain them to me. I really..."



The damn fool would not stop talking. "Yes, of course. Someday. I would be happy to." At the other end of the room, Korontzis could see the cabinet containing the precious vase. He had to get rid of the guard.



"There...there seems to be a problem with the alarm circuit in the basement. Would you check it out?"



"Sure. I understand that some of the things here date back to..."



"Would you mind checking it out now? I don't want to leave before I know that everything is all right."



"Certainly, Mr. Korontzis. I'll be right back."



Victor Korontzis stood there, watching the guard move through the hall, heading toward the basement. The moment he was out of sight, Korontzis hurried over to the case containing the red amphora. He took out a key and thought, I'm really going to do it. I'm going to steal it. The key slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the floor. Is this a sign? Is God telling me something? Perspiration was pouring out of him. He bent down and picked up the key, and stared at the vase. It was so utterly exquisite. It had been made with such loving care by his ancestors thousands of years ago. The guard was right; it was a piece of history, something that could never be replaced.



Korontzis shut his eyes for an instant and shuddered. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then unlocked the case and carefully lifted out the vase. He removed the replica from the paper bag and placed it in the case where the genuine one had stood.



Korontzis stood there, studying it a moment. It was an expert reproduction, but to him it screamed, "Fake." It was so obvious. But only to me, Korontzis thought, and to a few other experts. No one else could ever tell the difference. And there would be no reason for anyone to examine it closely. Korontzis closed the case and locked it, and put the genuine vase in the paper bag with the receipt.



He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face and hands. It was done. He looked at his watch - 6:10. He had to hurry. He moved toward the door and saw the guard coming toward him.



"I couldn't find anything wrong with the alarm system, Mr. Korontzis, and..."



"Good," Korontzis said. "We can't be too careful."



The guard smiled. "You're right about that. Leaving now?"



"Yes. Good night."



"Good night."



The second guard was at the front door, getting ready to leave. He noticed the paper bag and grinned. "I'm going to have to check that out. Your rules."



"Of course," Korontzis said quickly. He handed the bag to the guard.



The guard looked inside, took out the vase, and saw the receipt.



"It's a gift for a friend," Korontzis explained. "He's an engineer." Why did I have to say that? What does he care! I must act natural.



"Nice." The guard tossed the vase back into the bag, and for one terrible instant Korontzis thought it was going to break.



Korontzis clutched the bag to his breast. "Kalispehra."



The guard opened the door for him. "Kalispehra."



Korontzis went out into the cool night air, breathing heavily and fighting nausea. He had something worth millions of dollars in his hands, but Korontzis did not think of it in those terms. What he was thinking was that he was betraying his country, stealing a piece of history from his beloved Greece and selling it to some faceless foreigner.



He started down the steps. As Rizzoli had promised, there was a taxi waiting in front of the museum. Korontzis moved toward it and got in. "Hotel Grande Bretagne," he said.



He slumped back in his seat. He felt beaten and exhausted, as though he had just been through some terrible battle. But had he won or lost?



When the taxi pulled up in front of Hotel Grande Bretagne, Korontzis said to the driver, "Wait here, please." He took a last look at the precious package on the backseat, then got out and quickly walked into the lobby of the hotel. Inside the door he turned and watched. A man was entering the taxi. A moment later it sped away.



So. It was done. I'll never have to do anything like this again, Korontzis thought. Not as long as I live. The nightmare is over.



At three o'clock Sunday afternoon, Tony Rizzoli walked out of his hotel and strolled toward the Platia Omonia. He was wearing a bright red check jacket, green trousers, and a red beret. Two detectives were trailing him. One of them said, "He must have gone shopping for those clothes at a circus."



At Metaxa Street, Rizzoli hailed a taxi. The detective spoke into his walkie-talkie. "The subject is getting into a taxi heading west."



A voice replied, "We see him. We're following. Return to the hotel."



"Right."



An unmarked gray sedan pulled in behind the taxi, keeping a discreet distance. The taxi headed south, past Monastiraki. In the sedan, the detective seated next to the driver picked up the hand microphone.



"Central. This is Unit four. The subject is in a taxi. It's driving down Philhellinon Street...Wait. They just turned right at Peta Street. It looks like he's headed for the Plaka. We might lose him in there. Can you have a detail follow him on foot?"



"Just a minute, Unit four." A few seconds later, the radio crackled back to life. "Unit four. We have assistance available. If he gets off at the Plaka, he'll be kept under surveillance."



"Kala. The subject is wearing a red check jacket, green trousers, and a red beret. He's hard to miss. Wait a minute. The taxi is stopping. He's getting out at the Plaka."



"We'll pass on the information. He's covered. You're clear. Out."



At the Plaka, two detectives were watching as the man emerged from the taxi.



"Where the hell did he buy that outfit?" one of the detectives wondered aloud.



They closed in behind him and began to follow him through the crowded maze of the old section of the city. For the next hour he strolled aimlessly through the streets, wandering past tavernas, bars, souvenir shops, and small art galleries. He walked down Anaphiotika and stopped to browse at a flea market filled with swords, daggers, muskets, cooking pots, candlesticks, oil lamps, and binoculars.



"What the hell is he up to?"



"It looks like he's just out for an afternoon stroll. Hold it. There he goes."



They followed as he turned into Aghiou Geronda and headed for Xinos restaurant. The two detectives stood outside at a distance, watching him order.



The detectives were beginning to get bored. "I hope he makes a move soon. I'd like to go home. I could use a nap."



"Stay awake. If we lose him, Nicolino will have our ass."



"How can we lose him? He stands out like a beacon."



The other detective was staring at him.



"What? What did you say?"



"I said..."



"Never mind." There was a sudden urgency in his voice. "Did you get a look at his face?"



"No."



"Neither did I. Tiflo! Come on."



The two detectives hurried into the restaurant and strode up to his table.



They were looking into the face of a complete stranger.



Inspector Nicolino was in a fury. "I had three teams assigned to follow Rizzoli. How could you lose him?"



"He pulled a switch on us, Inspector. The first team saw him get into a taxi and..."



"And they lost the taxi?"



"No, sir. We watched him get out. Or at least we thought it was him. He was wearing a wild outfit. Rizzoli had another passenger hidden in the taxi, and the two men switched clothes. We followed the wrong man."



"And Rizzoli rode away in the taxi."



"Yes, sir."



"Did you get the license number?"



"Well, no, sir. It - it didn't seem important."



"What about the man you picked up?"



"He's a bellboy at Rizzoli's hotel. Rizzoli told him he was playing a joke on someone. He gave him a hundred dollars. That's all the boy knows."



Inspector Nicolino took a deep breath. "And I don't suppose anyone knows where Mr. Rizzoli is at this moment?"



"No, sir. I'm afraid not."



Greece has seven main ports - Thessaloniki, Patras, Volos, Igoumenitsa, Kavala, Iraklion, and Piraeus.



Piraeus lies seven miles southwest of the center of Athens, and it serves not only as the main port of Greece but as one of the major ports of Europe. The port complex consists of four harbors, three of them for pleasure boats and ocean-going vessels. The fourth harbor, Herakles, is reserved for freighters fitted with hatches opening directly onto the quay.



The Thele was lying at anchor at Herakles. It was a huge tanker, and, lying still in the dark harbor, it resembled a giant behemoth ready to pounce.



Tony Rizzoli, accompanied by four men, drove up to the pier. Rizzoli looked up at the huge ship and thought, So it is here. Now let's see if our friend Demiris is aboard.



He turned to the men with him. "I want two of you to wait here. The other two come with me. See that nobody gets off the ship."



"Right."



Rizzoli and two men walked up the gangplank. As they reached the top, a deckhand approached them. "Can I help you?"



"We're here to see Mr. Demiris."



"Mr. Demiris is in the owner's cabin. Is he expecting you?"



So the tip-off was right. Rizzoli smiled. "Yeah. He's expecting us. What time is the ship sailing?"



"At midnight. I'll show you the way."



"Thank you."



They followed the sailor along the deck until they came to a ladder that led below. The three men trailed him down the ladder and along a narrow passageway, passing half a dozen cabins along the way.



When they arrived at the last cabin, the sailor started to knock. Rizzoli pushed him aside. "We'll announce ourselves." He shoved the door open and walked in.



The cabin was larger than Rizzoli had expected. It was furnished with a bed and a couch, a desk, and two easy chairs. Behind the desk sat Constantin Demiris.



When he looked up and saw Rizzoli, Demiris scrambled to his feet. His face paled. "What...what are you doing here?" His voice was a whisper.



"My friends and I decided to pay you a little bon voyage visit, Costa."



"How did you know I...? I mean...I wasn't expecting you."



"I'm sure you weren't," Rizzoli said. He turned to the sailor. "Thanks, pal."



The sailor left.



Rizzoli turned back to Demiris. "Were you planning on taking a trip without saying good-bye to your partner?"



Demiris said quickly, "No. Of course not. I just...I just came to check out some things on the ship. She's sailing tomorrow morning." His fingers were trembling.



Rizzoli moved closer to him. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Costa baby, you made a big mistake. There's no point in trying to run away, because you have no place to hide. You and I have a deal, remember? Do you know what happens to people who welsh on deals? They die bad - real bad."



Demiris swallowed. "I...I'd like to talk to you alone."



Rizzoli turned to his men. "Wait outside."



When they were gone, Rizzoli sank into an armchair. "I'm very disappointed in you, Costa."



"I can't go through with this," Demiris said. "I'll give you money - more money than you've ever dreamed of."



"In return for what?"



"For getting off this ship and leaving me alone." There was desperation in Demiris's voice. "You can't do this to me. The government will take my fleet away. I'll be ruined. Please. I'll give you anything you want."



Tony Rizzoli smiled. "I have everything I want. How many tankers do you have? Twenty? Thirty? We're going to keep them all busy, you and me. All you have to do is add an extra port of call or two."



"You...you don't have any idea what you're doing to me."



"I guess you should have thought of that before you pulled that little frame-up." Tony Rizzoli rose to his feet. "You're going to have a talk with the captain. Tell him we're going to make an extra stop, off the coast of Florida."



Demiris hesitated. "All right. When you come back in the morning..."



Rizzoli laughed. "I'm not going anyplace. The games are over. You were planning to sneak away at midnight. Fine. I'm going to sneak away with you. We're bringing a load of heroin aboard, Costa, and just to sweeten the deal, we're taking along one of the treasures from the State Museum. And you're going to smuggle it into the United States for me. That's your punishment for trying to double-cross me."



There was a dazed look in Demiris's eyes. "I - isn't there anything," he pleaded, "anything I can do to...?"



Rizzoli patted him on the shoulder. "Cheer up. I promise you're going to enjoy being my partner."



Rizzoli walked over to the door and opened it. "All right, let's load the stuff onboard," he said.



"Where do you want us to put it?"



There are hundreds of hiding places on any ship, but Rizzoli did not feel the need to be clever. Constantin Demiris's fleet was above suspicion.



"Put it in a sack of potatoes," he said. "Mark the sack and stow it in the rear of the galley. Bring the vase to Mr. Demiris. He's going to take care of it personally." Rizzoli turned to Demiris, his eyes filled with contempt. "Do you have any problem with that?"



Demiris tried to speak, but no words came out.



"All right, boys," Rizzoli said. "Let's move."



Rizzoli settled back in the armchair. "Nice cabin. I'm going to let you keep it, Costa. My boys and I will find our own quarters."



"Thank you," Demiris said miserably. "Thank you."



At midnight, the huge tanker sailed away from the wharf with two tugboats guiding it out to sea. The heroin had been hidden aboard, and the vase had been delivered to Constantin Demiris's cabin.



Tony Rizzoli called one of his men aside. "I want you to go to the radio room and tear out the wireless. I don't want Demiris sending any messages."



"Gotcha, Tony."



Constantin Demiris was a broken man, but Rizzoli was taking no chances.



Rizzoli had been afraid up until the moment of sailing that something might go wrong, for what was happening was beyond his wildest dreams. Constantin Demiris, one of the richest, most powerful men in the world, was his partner. Partner, hell, Rizzoli thought. I own the bastard. His whole goddamned fleet belongs to me. I can ship as much stuff as the boys can deliver. Let the other guys break their asses trying to figure out how to smuggle the stuff into the States. I've got it made. And then there's all the treasures from the museum. That's another real gold mine. Only it all belongs to me. What the boys don't know won't hurt them.



Tony Rizzoli fell asleep dreaming of a fleet of golden ships and palaces and nubile serving girls.



When Rizzoli awoke in the morning, he and his men went to the dining room for breakfast. Half a dozen crew members were already there. A steward approached the table. "Good morning."



"Where's Mr. Demiris?" Rizzoli asked. "Isn't he having breakfast?"



"He's staying in his cabin, Mr. Rizzoli. He gave us instructions to give you and your friends anything you want."



"That's very nice of him." Rizzoli smiled. "I'll have some orange juice, and bacon and eggs. What about you, boys?"



"Sounds good."



When they had ordered, Rizzoli said, "I want you boys to play it cool. Keep your pieces out of sight. Be nice and polite. Remember, we're Mr. Demiris's guests."



Demiris did not appear for lunch that day. Nor did he show up for dinner.



Rizzoli went up to have a talk with him.



Demiris was in his cabin, staring out a porthole. He looked pale and drawn.



Rizzoli said, "You gotta eat to keep your strength up, partner. I wouldn't want you to get sick. We have a lot to do. I told the steward to send in some dinner here."



Demiris took a deep breath. "I can't - all right. Get out, please."



Rizzoli grinned. "Sure. After dinner, get some sleep. You look terrible."



In the morning, Rizzoli went to see the captain.



"I'm Tony Rizzoli," he said. "I'm a guest of Mr. Demiris."



"Ah, yes. Mr. Demiris told me you would be coming to see me. He mentioned that there might be a change of course?"



"Right. I'll let you know. When will we be arriving off the coast of Florida?"



"In approximately three weeks, Mr. Rizzoli."



"Good. I'll see you later."



Rizzoli left and strolled around the ship - his ship. The whole goddamned fleet was his. The world was his. Rizzoli was filled with a euphoria such as he had never known.



The crossing was smooth, and from time to time, Rizzoli dropped into Constantin Demiris's cabin.



"You should have some broads on board," Rizzoli said. "But I guess you Greeks don't need broads, do you?"



Demiris refused to rise to the bait.



The days passed slowly, but every hour brought Rizzoli closer to his dreams. He was in a fever of impatience. A week passed, then another week, and they were nearing the North American continent.



On Saturday evening Rizzoli was standing at the ship's rail looking out at the ocean when there was a flash of lightning.



The first mate came up to him. "We might be in for some rough weather, Mr. Rizzoli. I hope you're a good sailor."



Rizzoli shrugged. "Nothing bothers me."



The sea began its swell. The ship started to dip into the sea and then buck upward as it plowed through the waves.



Rizzoli began to feel queasy. So I'm not a good sailor, he thought. What's the difference? He owned the world. He returned to his cabin early and got into bed.



He had dreams. This time, there were no golden ships or beautiful naked girls. They were dark dreams. There was a war going on, and he could hear the roar of cannons. An explosion woke him up.



Rizzoli sat up in bed, wide awake. The cabin was rocking. The ship was in the middle of a goddamned storm. He could hear footsteps running through the corridor. What the hell was going on?



Tony Rizzoli hurried out of bed and went into the corridor. The floor suddenly listed to one side and he almost lost his balance.



"What's happening?" he called to one of the men running past him.



"An explosion. The ship's on fire. We're sinking. You'd better get up on deck."



"Sinking...?" Rizzoli could not believe it. Everything had gone so smoothly. But it doesn't matter, Rizzoli thought. I can afford to lose this shipment. There will be plenty more. I've got to save Demiris. He's the key to everything. We'll send out a call for help. And then he remembered that he had ordered the wireless destroyed.



Fighting to keep his balance, Tony Rizzoli made his way toward the companionway and climbed up to the deck. To his surprise, he saw that the storm had cleared. The sea was smooth. A full moon had come out. There was another loud explosion, and another, and the ship started to list farther. The stern was in the water, going down rapidly. Sailors were trying to lower the lifeboats, but it was too late. The water around the ship was a mass of burning oil. Where was Constantin Demiris?



And then Rizzoli heard it. It was a whirring sound, pitched high above the thunder of the explosions. He looked up. There was a helicopter poised ten feet above the ship.



We're saved, Rizzoli thought jubilantly. He waved frantically at the helicopter.



A face appeared at the window. It took Rizzoli a moment to realize that it was Constantin Demiris. He was smiling, and in his raised hand he was holding up the priceless amphora.



Rizzoli stared, his brain trying to put together what was happening. How had Constantin Demiris found a helicopter in the middle of the night to...?



And then Rizzoli knew, and his bowels turned to water. Constantin Demiris had never had any intention of doing business with him. The son of a bitch had planned the whole thing from the beginning. The phone call telling him that Demiris was running away - that phone call hadn't come from Spyros Lambrou, it had come from Demiris! He had laid his trap to get him on the ship, and Rizzoli had leaped into it.



The tanker started to sink deeper, faster, and Rizzoli felt the cold ocean lapping at his feet, and then his knees. The bastard was going to let them all die here, in the middle of nowhere, where there would be no trace of what happened.



Rizzoli looked up at the helicopter and yelled frantically, "Come back. I'll give you anything!" The wind whipped his words away.



The last thing Tony Rizzoli saw before the ship heeled over and his eyes filled with the burning salt water was the helicopter zooming toward the moon.