"Michael, you woke me up. I hope the world just ended." It was Spiros's gruff voice. A thirty-year veteran of an antiterrorist unit in Brussels, he was as tough as he sounded. "By the way, everybody's heard about that Odyssey stunt of yours. Are you in trouble already? We've got a pool going on you. I have ten thousand drachmas saying you'll never make it."
"I appreciate the confidence. Anyway, you can start spending the money. You'll be relieved to know I blew it. She sank on me."
'Too bad." He laughed. "So what was the problem?"
"Mostly it was some twelve-mil machine-gun fire. Took the wind right out of her sails. I took a swim and then I think a 57mm Euclid finished her off.”
'That's Russian." The voice quickly grew serious. "Sounds like vou made the wrong people mad. Who in hell did it?"
"Don't know, but they're very meticulous about their work. They used a false-flag approach and shelled an American frigate down here north of Crete. Should be making the news any time now."
"Sounds like somebody's getting hot about inviting the Sixth Fleet out of the Med." Then Spiros's pensive tone turned businesslike. "Are you okay? Where are you now?"
"I'm fine, I think. But you've got to get some of the boys down here."
"What do you mean?"
"Remember that job you did for Bill Bates?" Maybe, he thought, we can talk around the problem. "Looks like the security didn't stick."