“Command central,” I said.
“Yes.” He turned to me. “I will not be here much longer. Soon I will leave for another city. Come.”
We crossed the room and pushed through a sheer curtain before stepping onto a veranda. Bahar grasped the iron railing and nodded toward the view. “We are at the bottom of the north slope of Mount Parnitha.” He lifted a finger toward the mountain. “Athens is on the other side.”
To our right, the mountain rose gradually before peaking out at over six thousand feet. On our left, the valley was an open sprawl, fields and cottages as far as the eye could see. Before us, far in the distance, The Aegean Sea glimmered with the sun’s final rays of the day.
“Not a bad existence, Bahar. Even if it is only temporary.”
“As you know, I grew up in one of the driest deserts in the world. Since we last met, I have come to learn that I love the ocean. It is peaceful.”
“Bahar, I think that is one thing we can absolutely agree on.”
He smiled and clasped his hand over the rail. “I will return your phone to you after I get you back to the city. I do not want a signal to issue from here. The authorities will come.”
I thanked him. “One more question, Bahar. Why ‘The Recruit’?”
“I change the name often, with each city I work in. I was recruited by the CIA, and I recruit jobs for a living. So when I came to Athens several months ago, that was the name I chose. Soon I will move to another city and use a different name.”
“You didn’t pick up my friend, too, did you? The one I came to Victoria Circle with?”
“No. I did not. Only you.”
I could only imagine that Boomer and his team were sweating it out right about now. My thoughts and my focus returned to Kathleen. “Bahar, you said you have connections all over the world.”
“Yes. I have many connections.”
“Someone took my boss. She’s still out there somewhere.”
“Whatever I can do, I will do. I am happy to help.”
Chapter Seventeen
Florin Gronozav stepped from the backseat of the BMW 7 series and shut the door without bothering to thank the driver. It sped off, the powerful engine purring up the hill, leaving him at the head of a winding flagstone sidewalk that led to the front of a well appointed home. The sidewalk wound through a spread of perfectly manicured grass, shrubbery, and landscaping rocks. He stepped onto it and made his way to the front door. There was still a slight irritation in his thighs from all the waterskiing he had done in France earlier in the week. But he paid it no mind.
The home’s exterior was utterly inconspicuous, belying the eight-thousand-square-foot mansion that it was. The entire building was only one-story, with long narrow windows and a low, flat roofline that presented itself as quite ordinary.
Florin reached the porch and pressed the square iron plate that served as the doorbell. He waited for a full minute beneath the flickering glow of a gas lantern. He was preparing to press the plate again when the door opened and a thin elderly gentleman stepped back and invited him to enter. The butler was dressed in black linen pants and a matching shirt that accentuated his bright white hair and well-groomed beard.
Florin stepped across the threshold and into the expansive foyer. The home had a distinctive old-world Grecian feel to it. White marble floors lay beneath white domed ceilings and arched entryways.
“Mr. Gronozav. Welcome. He will be with you presently. He asked that you wait for him in the living room. Would like me to escort you?”
“No. Thank you. I know where it is.”
“Of course. Please help yourself to a drink from the sideboard.”
Florin proceeded down the main hallway and followed its slow curve through the house. He passed several life size statues of Greek gods standing on pedestals half the size of a small car. The interior of the home was extraordinary, the perfect balance between old and new, modern and classic, with bold colored furniture set against the stark whites of the floors and walls.
Florin moved from the hallway into a large atrium. He looked up and was, as always, filled with a sense of awe at the replica of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam. He continued, reaching a series of five carpeted steps that led to an elevated landing, functioning as the home’s primary entertaining space. Here the ceiling was low too, the curved exterior wall formed entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass that allowed for a stunning view of the valley below and the ocean beyond that. Florin went directly to the sideboard and poured himself two fingers of rum from one of five decanters. He set the glass to his lips and sipped slowly, allowing the warm, buttery flavor to coat his palate before swallowing and relishing the sense of warmth that spread down his chest and into his stomach.
The wall of glass was treated with a highly specialized UV coating to protect the original Van Gogh that hung on the interior wall opposite. With his glass in hand, Florin stepped to the painting and studied it. He was no art expert by any means, but, after the former Romanian intelligence expert had made his millions on the currency deal in Tanzania, he had soon realized that he possessed an appreciation for notable paintings and sculptures. While his personal taste favored the Dutch Golden paintings of the Baroque era, he was accepting of almost every style but the moderns. He could even stomach
