Chapter 11

Nicki stood frozen inside the lean-to, the guards on either side of her aiming their pistols out at men who were now aiming back at them. Both sets of guns looked powerful enough to cause a lot of damage, but no one fired.

The big man in the hut—she assumed it was him—yelled something and all the men eased up slightly. Then the hut's guards stepped back and lowered their guns, backing away.

"What's going on?" she asked between her teeth.

"Let's get into the sightline of Ambassador Mihal. He'll want to see you're unharmed." Tamas's words were low and quiet. "Don't worry. This means the negotiation is going well."

She stared at him but did as he directed, moving into the doorway of the hut but no further. She was still protected by the flimsy frame of the hut and the less flimsy frames of her bodyguards. Stefan flicked his gaze toward her and then turned back to face the big man. They both stood close together. On the table between them sat a black neoprene bag—which contained money, she was nearly certain. The big man started gesticulating wildly and Stefan regarded him steadily, calm as always. She couldn't understand a word of what they were saying, and Tamas remained silent. She didn't need to know, she reminded herself. She only needed to do what was required.

And what was required was apparently that she stay in Stefan's sightline.

While she stood, her eyes scanned the hunks of debris that counted as viable artifacts for sale. Clothing, oddly enough. Shoes. Some jewelry, but all cheap stuff. Radios and electronic components scavenged from God only knew where. Towels and soap. All the island luxuries, she supposed. There wasn't anything that appeared worth stealing, and even if she'd been so inclined, the presence of all the large men and large guns proved a significant deterrent.

She didn't have long to wait, fortunately. Within about five minutes, Stefan stood back from the man, gesturing to the moneybag. The man nodded and watched him with beady eyes as Stefan signaled to Tamas. The two guards moved out, with her in the middle, and they left the tiny collection of huts behind. Stefan joined them less than ten minutes later as they slowly made their way along the beach.

"We stop here," he said abruptly as they followed the shoreline. "Tamas, stand watch with the others. Nicki, get the blue camera out of the bag. The blue one, not the black."

She gaped at him as the men fanned out. Tamas handed her another black bag. "I don't know what this is," she said quietly as she pulled the blue camera out.

"Point and click like you're a tourist. We'll need proof you were on this island for a legitimate reason if our friend back there gets cute and tries to cause trouble. He won't betray his own hand, but he'll betray ours if there's money in it."

"Oh." She still didn't understand. The camera wasn't behaving like her normal one. It generated readings she couldn't decipher, but she willingly moved it around the gorgeous view, from the forest to the beach to the shoreline and open waters.

"Turn back toward me, click it off," Stefan said. "Now take this one."

He handed her the camera she'd been using on the yacht, a standard video cam. "Take a second sweep. Keep away from the direction of the scavenger camp."

She did as he asked, realizing suddenly that the first camera added to her purpose here. She was the cover, but she could do useful things as the cover. Even if she didn't understand them.

"We good?" Tamas asked the question after she finished the second sweep, and Stefan nodded.

"They would've attacked already if they were going to," he said. "We're in the clear. Debrief on the boat. At this point, we leisurely head back with Nicki snapping random photos, full view. No guns."

Nicki snorted. "Like they don't know you have guns under your tunics."

"We aren't the only ones snapping pictures," Stefan murmured. "Satellites and drone technology haven"t reached much of Turkey, but we can't take that chance. To all the world, we visited a well-traveled scavenger hut, took lots of pretty pictures of birds and beach grass, then headed back to our boat."

"And what did we—" Nicki clamped her lips shut. She didn't need to know the information at this exact moment, she told herself. She could follow directions and be a good team member.

Beside her, Stefan chuckled.

They were back aboard the yacht within the hour, and Stefan dismissed the men, leading Nicki to a small cabin on the second level. The room bristled with communications equipment, and he flipped several units on. Within moments, Cyril was on the screen.

"Report," the chief advisor said, flicking his glance to Nicki. Then they both turned to Stefan, whose face had hardened.

"Who's with you?" Stefan asked.

Cyril didn't hesitate. "I'm alone. King Jasen is due here in ten minutes."

"You can speak to him, then, and decide what you need to share. The dealer saw Ari," Stefan said, his words clipped. "Timing was roughly a year, and from his description Ari was seriously injured, appearing concussed at a minimum, possibly brain-damaged. He was raving and disoriented. He didn't identify himself, and didn't mention that he'd crash-landed his plane."

"But he was alive." Cyril's eyes had widened. "He survived the initial crash."

"He was alive. He traded his watch and flask for a boat and food. The boat leaked, but he didn't seem to care, said he could fix it."

Cyril snorted. "Sounds like Ari."

"Agreed. He was sure he didn't need to go far, which points to some lucidity. The island isn't far from the mainland. He didn't appear to have money but the dealer couldn't swear to that. His clothes were ragged and torn and not of good quality."

Cyril frowned. "Not of good quality."

"Yes. Which means he'd encountered someone else first, before going to the dealer. Whether he did that intentionally to dress down for the sale of his goods or not, I don't know." Stefan paused. "According to his own testimony, the dealer suspected that something was wrong with the scenario, but took the deal. He sat on the watch for about six months before our fisherman visited him, saw the watch, and bought it from him. The dealer kept the flask. He gave it to me today."

Stefan reached into his bag and pulled the flask free, holding it up to the camera. "Seal was here." He said, pointing. "Looks maybe burned, then defaced. But it's Ari's."

"A year ago. Directly after he crashed." Cyril blew out a breath. "No sightings since?"

"None. The Turkish mainland is populated all along that coast, but there is a significant coastal park due east of here. If that was Ari's target, he could potentially survive there for a short time. That park is also known for smugglers and merchant bands, however, so it makes his whereabouts thereafter more problematic.

"You can go there?"

"We can. Nicki has taken enough footage to add veracity to her story of an adventure reporter. But the trail grows more complicated from here. We can dispatch the men to follow up on leads, but our time in Ala?ati is short. We can't draw too much attention."

"Then we create a foothold and continue the search another way." Cyril nodded. "Go—go to where you most think Ari would have landed, if he wanted to avoid people. We'll send another team to follow up if you think there's a possibility."

"We'll be there in a few hours, and drop anchor overnight," Stefan said. "We'll enter the city tomorrow morning."

He and Cyril spoke on for a few more minutes, while Nicki's mind churned with possibilities. As usual, Stefan's report had been bland, matter of fact. But there'd been nothing ordinary about the information he'd dropped.

Prince Ari hadn't died in the fiery wreck as everyone had feared. He had—at least for a little while—survived and had had the wherewithal to get himself a boat and food. Where had he gone from there, though? Eventually, someone would have recognized him, or at least recognized his value. Why hadn't anyone notified the royal family? Whether for ransom or out of goodwill?

Nicki stared at the small, unassuming flask.

If Ari was alive…where was he?