The Stone of Archimedes by Trevor Scott

yacht, does it matter?”
    He had a point, she knew, but it was her job to keep track of his movements. Much of that could be accomplished by the GPS in her phone, and if that failed, she had placed a back-up tracker on the huge craft just after arriving on the yacht this time.
    â€œWell, my mother in Prague is not feeling great. I was hoping to give her a call. She might need me.” This was a lie, of course. Her mother had died years ago.
    Petros looked somewhat confused. “I thought I read that your mother died in a skiing accident when you were a child.”
    She thought quickly now. “She did. But I meant my step mother. My father married again and she helped raise me.” In reality she hadn’t talked with her step mother in more than two years. They hated each other.
    â€œYou should still have cell service for a while,” he said. “After that you can use our satellite phone.”
    She got up to go inside to her cabin but he stopped her.
    â€œBut first have one more drink with me.”
    Looking at her half-full glass, she nearly choked when he filled it to the top again. Then they clicked their glasses again and this time they both downed everything. She nearly gagged. Then she started off toward her room.
    â€œBe careful,” Petros said. “We will be cruising all night at a very high speed. It could get rocky.”
    She nodded and went back to her room. Closed off by herself, she picked up her phone and thought for a moment. She was told only to call if something was wrong. But she wasn’t sure that was the case. Who knew what drove a billionaire to suddenly pull up anchor and speed off to the west. Maybe there was a sale on capers in Israel.
    Svetla decided to call anyway. She waited as the phone rang, her eyes glazed over as the island started to disappear out her porthole. Her head was starting to swirl from that rotten licorice Ouzo, making her stomach lurch with each wave the yacht hit hard.
    Finally, her contact picked up on the other end. “ Pronto. Come va ?”
    â€œ Grazie, va bene cosi .” Any other phrase and her contact would know something was wrong. Svetla knew the woman’s Italian was flawless, but guessed she was actually an American. They had only met a couple of times in Rome, and the woman’s fake blonde hair and real blue eyes made her appear more Slavic like her than Italian.
    â€œWhere are you?” her Rome contact asked, switching to English. She had said her name was Elisa, but that was probably as fake as her hair color.
    â€œI have to make this quick,” Svetla said. “We’re on his yacht heading fast to the west.”
    â€œTo where?”
    â€œNot sure.”
    â€œListen, his man Zendo was sent to Rome to follow an American named Jake Adams. Does that mean anything to you?”
    Long pause on the other end. “How do you know this?”
    â€œI overheard their conversation in Greek. They said this Adams was a dangerous man and had been sent to find the American professor.”
    â€œThanks for the intel. Anything else?”
    â€œYes. How long do I have to have sex with this pig?”
    â€œI’m sorry about that. But there was no other way to get close to him.”
    Easy for her to say from the comfort of Rome. “Well, I’m having a hard time faking orgasms. The man has the penis of a ten-year-old.”
    She heard a slight laugh on the other end.
    â€œAs soon as you reach your destination, we’ll find an excuse for you to fly back to Prague. Until then do your best to gather as much intel on the man as you can. Fake a period if you must.”
    â€œUnderstood.”
    The line went blank and she quickly deleted the call from the phone’s history. She lay down onto her bed and the room seemed to be spinning around. The drinks were not settling in her stomach right. Neither was this assignment. Seconds later and she passed out.
    â—
    Petros Caras had been forced