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.”