They watched as Spiros finished his task and then tucked the passports into the sewing basket. Still holding the basket, he headed for the door.
“What do you think?” Mick asked Nancy.
“We know he’s got the passports,” she whispered. “Let’s split up. We need to contact the police—and keep an eye on Spiros.”
“I’ll go for the police,” Zoe volunteered.
Peering over the ledge, they watched Spiros tuck the basket in the crook of his arm. He went down the stairs and headed down the street. “Let’s go,” Nancy said.
The cobblestone lane was fairly deserted, so the teens followed Spiros at a distance. Most locals and tourists had retired indoors for a siesta. A few blocks down, Zoe turned off down a side street, which led to the police station.
As Nancy, Mick, and Bess followed Spiros through the twisting maze of streets, they passed a handful of Japanese tourists and a young boy with a goat. After a few minutes they found themselves at the foot of the staircase leading up to the windmills.
“This is it,” Nancy said as she started up the stairs. “If he’s got those passports, we have to get them now—before he sells them.” She knew Spiros would never hand over the forged passports. She would have to catch him off guard.
Thinking of a plan, she reached into the back pocket of her denim skirt and pulled out her own passport, which she had carried with her ever since the day the safe was broken into. She had had no idea, then, just how handy her own passport would be!
At the top of the stairs, Nancy saw that Spiros was the only person on the hot, dry summit of the hill. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he spotted them.
Forcing a smile, Nancy held out her passport as she approached him. “We found this on the steps. I think it fell out of your basket.”
Spiros’s gaze fell on the passport in her hand. With its blue cover and gold seal, it could have been one of the forged passports. Spiros pulled his pipe out of his mouth, then slowly reached forward until his hand closed around Nancy’s passport.
Before Spiros knew what had hit him, Nancy tugged the basket out of his grasp, and Mick grabbed his arms, to restrain him.
“We’ll be needing this, too,” Bess said, snatching Nancy’s passport from Spiros’s hand.
Nancy rummaged through the basket and pulled out the three passports, their covers bearing the U.S. seal. Nancy opened the first one and saw the face of the bearded terrorist staring at her. Inside the second one she saw the photo of the woman, Shara. “This must be Bess’s passport,” she said. Flipping through the pages, she saw the stamps they had gotten earlier that summer in Switzerland and Italy.
“Leave me alone!” Spiros shouted, struggling to get away from Mick. “You are crazy to be involved in this!”
“This is all the evidence we need!” Nancy announced, waving the passports as Mick wrestled Spiros down and pinned him to the ground.
“Do you want me to run down to the police station?” Bess offered. “Zoe has no way of knowing that we wound up here.”
“Good idea. And take these.” Nancy handed Bess the three forged passports.
“I’ll be back in a flash—with the police,” Bess promised. Then she ran down the steps of Kato Myli Hill.
Spiros had given up struggling with Mick, but he let forth with a flood of angry Greek phrases.
Nancy slipped off her blue headband and gave it to Mick. “Use this on his arms.” A moment later Spiros’s wrists were bound, and he was sitting on the stone pedestal of one of the windmills, with Nancy and Mick standing on either side of him.
For several minutes no one spoke. Then Spiros said urgently, “Please. We must leave here—right away. We are all in danger.”
“The police will be here any minute,” Nancy said. She caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. “This must be them now.”
Turning her head to peer around the side of the windmill, she heard a sudden cold click, then felt a small solid object against her temple.