“You’re late,” I said.
“I am here.”
“What do you have for us?” Boomer asked.
He looked away and shrugged.
Boomer reached around to his back pocket, slipped out the envelope, and extended it to the man. The man plucked it out of Boomer’s hand, pulled open the flap, and peered inside. He nodded to himself and shoved the envelope into his front pocket.
“You are from the United States?”
Boomer nodded. “Yep.”
“You are FBI?”
“Kinda,” Boomer said. “But we’re a lot cooler and the whole world is our stage. And we have a lot more leeway to kick someone’s ass to get what we want. So what do you have for us?”
“The word is that The Recruit is responsible for the kidnapping of your agent.”
“The Recruit?” Boomer glanced at me. I shook my head. “Who’s that?”
“I only know him by that name. He is a very powerful man. That is why we are meeting out here. If it becomes known that I even told you of him, I will end up at the bottom of this ocean.”
“So who is he?”
“You might call him a broker. He learns of jobs that important people need done—murder, kidnappings, theft—and then discreetly hires people who are willing to take the job.”
“So he’s a middle man,” I said.
“Yes. His clients come to him with the request and then he pays others to complete the work.”
I thought of Adonis Galatas and the two bullets parked in his forehead. “Does he have a habit of killing those who actually do the work he assigns?”
He frowned. “I do not think so. But perhaps. A friend of mine did a job for him last month. Another kidnapping. He was not killed afterward.”
“What makes you think this Recruit guy took our agent?” Boomer asked. “And not someone else?”
“Because it is how he works. Your agent is high profile. He does jobs like that. Last month my friend kidnapped a billionaire's daughter visiting from Dubai. Before that, he had a Saudi prince murdered on his yacht off the coast of Santorini. That job was also paid out by The Recruit.”
I watched the guy in the other boat, trying to get a read on him. But with the glare of the sun and his sunglasses, it was nearly impossible. “We’re working with some of the best intelligence agencies in the world,” I said. “This is the first time his name has come up.”
“And yet here you are meeting with a man you do not know in the middle of the ocean, paying him for more intelligence.”
He had a point.
“The Recruit keeps a low profile by paying well and expecting those he pays not to use his name. The only reason I know about him is because, as I said, my friend did a job for him. He told me about it over too many beers one night.”
“So we need to talk to your friend then,” Boomer said. “And get him to tell us how to find this Recruit fella. What’s your friend’s name?”
“His name...” He hesitated. “It is—look, you cannot tell him it was me. If you even describe me to him, he will know. And then it will be over for me.”
“We won’t say how we got to him,” Boomer said. “But either you give me his name or give me that envelope back. Then I get the answer out of you anyway and you go back home with nothing.”
That seemed to loosen his tongue. “Emmanuel Samaras. That is his name. He lives in Euonymeia. In the south side of the city.”
Boomer repeated it back. “Euonymeia. Did I say that right? Man, that’s a mouthful. Biggest tongue twister we’ve got back in Georgia is Dahlonega. Maybe Alpharetta.”
“Is that all you need?” the man asked nervously.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then we’re done here.” I untied our lines from his stern cleats, and he flipped back the fenders and keyed his motor.
“What do you think?” Boomer asked, watching the boat drive away.
I brought up the anchor and left the bimini up as I got us under way. “I think I’m getting tired of small answers from everyone,” I said. “What do you say we pull out all the stops with Mr. Samaras?”
“Now you’re talkin’ my language. It’s been a while since I’ve given someone a wup for. I’m gettin’ antsy.”
“Why don’t you put Granger on finding out what he can about Samaras? And have him dig around for anyone calling himself The Recruit. The guy can’t be that hard to find. Some international agency must have something on him.”
“Will do.” He brought out his phone and typed out a text.
My instincts were telling me we were getting closer to Kathleen. I didn’t know if this new information was going to pan out, but I was going to wring it for everything it was worth. With a solid grip on the wheel, I turned it slightly to starboard and shoved the throttle to the stops.
Chapter Ten
A key scratched in the lock of the arched door across the room. Kathleen heard the bolt disengage and watched as the door swung open. Her captor stepped in, shut the door, and locked it behind him. He placed the key in his pocket and crossed the room, glancing at the food tray before placing a bottle of Benadryl beside it.
“You still have not eaten,” he noted.
“I’ve somehow lost my appetite.”
He returned to the oversized chair beside the bed, crossed a leg over another, and placed his hands on the armrests. “Kathleen, I have been patient in allowing you to consider if you are willing to give me what I need. All of this, it can be over as soon as you tell me.”
Kathleen understood his approach.
