Chapter 17
Mykonos, Greece
Feeling that dangerous, deadly thread of hope dangling before him again, Dillon ignored it as Cove sent the images to the monitor he’d been working on, so they could see the image on a twenty-seven-inch screen.
“I’m sending them to the printer too,” she said as she worked her phone. “I can’t believe this…”
It doesn’t change anything, he repeated to himself over and over as he studied the images she’d sent. “Same day he disappeared,” he muttered. These images were just more proof that Dad had been in Yemen. Which Dillon knew and had already visited.
And it did no good.
Like a balloon popped, Dillon felt that tendril of hope evaporate again. “This is amazing—great to see my dad. But…it’s not really new intel. Or helpful.”
“Look,” Cove said, reaching across him, then hesitating. “Can I?”
Feeling defeated—angry at himself for getting his hopes up again—he dropped back against the seat. “Have at it.”
Cove brought up two photos. “These are hours apart.” She used the cursor to point to the one on the left. “This was the first image I took. The street was so busy. See the cars?”
“Yeah…?” The point?
“And this one,” she said, moving the mouse to highlight the one on the right, “is much later in the day—dusk.”
That was clear from the shadowed lights, the street lamps that had a hint of a glow. But again, what was her point? He flicked his hands in question.
“Look, Dillon,” she said, tapping the screen. “In the first one when he’s near the warehouse? No backpack. But when he’s near this boat at the dock…”
Breath snatched, Dillon sat straight, his gaze homing in on the later image. On the bulky shape strapped to his dad’s spine. “Backpack.”
“And it looks hefty,” she said. “See how it sags?”
Hand over his mouth, Dillon stared at his father’s likeness and ached to find him. Find him alive. “What’re you doing, Dad…?” he wondered aloud.
“Too bad we don’t have a video to answer—” Cove gasped.
“What?”
Her wide eyes came to him. “There is a video—oh.” She deflated. “No, I deleted it.”
Curse the toxin of hope.
“Waaaait,” she said, slowing deliberately.
“I did delete it, but I also sent it to Zio Santi, asking if he recognized anyone in it. So it should be in the text thread still.” She accessed her texts and scrolled through them.
“Here.” She opened and let it play. Drew in a sharp breath, hand flying to his arm again as she strangled a cry.
“Look-look-look!” She thrust the phone at him. “Look behind Enzo.”
He took it and watched. His heart skipped a beat when Dad stalked into view, completely unaware of the recording, angled around the warehouse, then drew back a panel door and ducked inside. “He went in the warehouse.”
“That,” Cove said with sharp emphasis and a big smile, “is a GIS warehouse. That means there’s surveillance footage, because all our warehouses have cameras.”
He looked at her, pulse accelerating. “I have to go back to Yemen.”
“We have to go,” she said, nodding and smiling. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Let’s work out a plan and finish the pizza.” They swiveled to the table and each picked up a slice. “Going by boat is out of the question—it would take us weeks to get down there.”
Though Dillon nodded, his mind was locked on the video of his dad. It was profound, seeing him moving, in action after years of being told he was dead. Yet, this video was over two years old. Still…
“Hold up.” He edged in closer. “No backpack when he goes in…” When she handed him another slice, he took it, gaze locked on the video.
He folded a bite into his mouth as he let it play again.
Zeroed in on the loud noise toward the end of the footage that sounded like a clap of thunder and sent the half dozen people in the frame scattering.
Dust or smoke plumed, blurring the video. “What happened here, the loud noise?”
“Oh, yeah—that was so strange,” she said, toying with her unsecured braid again. “I was in the alley, watching from the corner, when this SUV careened around the corner and rammed straight into Enzo’s car. Barely avoided hitting several people.”
Voices could be heard, some shouting at the careless driver. Then a man offered apologies. In English.
But it was the dark blur that stopped Dillon as he folded the last bite into his mouth. He backed up the video. Drew his finger over the screen, backing it up…back…back, each frame jacking with his pulse. “Cove!” He swallowed, thumping his chest for hurrying that last big bite. “Look.”
She leaned in, shoulder pressing against his arm.
He froze the screen, zoomed in a bit more, and angled it to her. “Past the dust, past the accident…my dad. Coming out. With a backpack.”
Gaping, she looked at the screen, then back to him. “He must have gotten it in there. But…what did he take?”
Dillon shook his head, trying to process what he’d found. Dad went inside, took something out…then vanished…and turned up in Tanzania. “Whatever he had in the backpack could be why he’s missing.” He eyed her. “Do you know what was in the warehouse?”
“Technology paraphernalia,” she said with a slight shrug. “It is all technology related to heavy machinery for large agriculture and industrial controls systems. That is all GIS handles.” She screwed up her face. “Why would he take something from the warehouse?”
Technology…control systems.
“Don’t know, but it has to be important. Dad’s not a thief.” Studying the images, Dillon zoomed in on the picture of his dad at dusk. He squinted and craned his neck forward. “Hey, this… It looks like my dad is about to climb on that trawler.”
Chewing pizza, Cove considered the image. “His body is angled toward it…”
“Even though the dock heads in the other direction.” Bouncing his leg as his pulse raced, he stared at it, thinking. He met her gold gaze that trekked over his face. “Which could explain how he got to Tanzania, maybe. If I can find out who owns that boat…where it went…”
Dillon zoomed in on the boat’s hull, but it was no good—angle was all wrong and the letters blurred, so he zoomed back out, took a screenshot of the trawler, and sent it to the printer.
Nerves buzzing, he felt so close. Yet…entirely too far away.
“We have to get to Yemen. Talk to the dockmaster. Check customs logs—that is, if we can convince them to let us see them. I’m going to send Helios a message and see if he can get on top of anything.
Check camera footage, maybe verify my dad actually got on that boat. ”
“If it was over two years ago, do you think they still have any of that?”
“It’s an international dock, so I am going to hope that they keep those records for years for legal reasons.” Once again, it felt like him against the world. This time, though…he wasn’t alone. Keenly aware of Cove next to him, of her arm touching his, he liked that they were in this together.
Cove set down her half-eaten pizza slice and cleared her throat. “So,” she began quietly, rubbing the back of her neck, “this…this feels like maybe my papà is not involved in what happened to yours. He was not at the warehouse that night. He…”
Dillon felt her desperation to prove her dad innocent deep in his bones.
It was the prime driver that had him crossing borders and laws to find his dad.
“I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I won’t say something just to make you feel better, no matter how much I want to.
” He flicked a hand toward the screens. “This new trail doesn’t prove anything, for either of our dads.
But it’s a solid start. I hope it leads to the answers we both want.
Our big problem right now is figuring out how to get to Yemen. ”
“Zio Santi might help us.”
He eyed her and spoke around a wad of food. “How?”
She shrugged. “He has planes at his disposal. I will ask him to call a pilot to get us there.”
“You really think he’d do that?”
“He is at the villa—so he will see all that, and if you share your story, I am sure he can be convinced to work with us.”
“It’d have to be off the books. My name can’t be out there. And neither can yours, since the thugs were looking specifically for you.”
“I know.” She eyed the computer, then picked up her phone. “It is only nine, so I should be able to reach him.”
Dillon almost reached out to stop her, to tell her to wait. Why? No idea.
Nix that. He did. He wanted more downtime—with her. Just the two of them, safe, able to talk and just…exist. But that didn’t track with logic. Having time with her, believing there was any safety until this was over, was an illusion.
“Hi, Zio.” Cove sat forward, elbows on the counter as she cradled her head in one hand and the phone in another. “How are things there?” She eased back and put the phone on speaker.
“A mess,” he spat. “First, I want to know why you have this man in my home when he broke into your home.”
“He saved me from the gunmen who took Papà,” Cove said, looking at Dillon as she shared the story of their escape through the tunnels. “I know if it were not for him, I would either be dead or kidnapped like Papà.”
“Sì, sì, I saw them on the footage taking Massimo. Now, I am working with authorities to identify the men involved to see if we can find him. There has been no ransom or other demand. Does this have something to do with you—what is your name, young man?”
“Achilles,” Dillon said quickly, afraid Cove might give his real name. “I am not connected to his kidnapping. I went to the villa to find a connection between Mr. Galtieri and my dad, who went missing roughly three years ago.”
“Who is your dad?”
Dillon faltered. “With respect, sir, I would prefer not to say right now. Not yet. Not after what happened there. Those gunmen chased us for nearly a full day. They’re determined, and that makes me think I’m onto something. Or maybe Cove knows something that could be dangerous.”
“How so? Lay it out for me, everything you know.”