Remi smiled at Archer. “I have to admit that your crew looks a bit more trustworthy than our last.”
“Each one personally vetted, Mrs. Fargo.”
“Remi—please,” she insisted. Although she’d only met Archer a couple of times in the past, she liked him. He was similar in height and build to Sam, tall and broad-shouldered. And, like Sam, his appearance was deceptive. Tan, with a shock of blond hair, he looked more like a surfer than some highly trained operative. “I know you’ve talked to my husband at length about this but I’m still concerned. What if something goes wrong?”
“We’ve looked at every possible scenario. We have you covered, Mrs.—er—Remi. You’ll be safe, and if all goes as planned, we’ll make the dive, come up with the fake artifact, and then be able to take these men to local law enforcement.”
“I hope so.” She looked out to the horizon. Snake Island was a growing speck in the distance. The only things missing were any boats that seemed to be heading the same direction, something she pointed out to him.
He handed her a set of binoculars. “It’s possible they’ll wait until we return to port tomorrow before they make their move. Just in case. If you see a boat, you might recognize the suspects before we do.”
She hung the binoculars around her neck. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
He left to oversee the rest of the operation, leaving her and Sam alone. She looked over at Sam. “Go,” she said.
“I’m perfectly happy standing here with you.”
“I know you are. But I also know you miss those days at DARPA and whatever missions you and Archer used to work.”
He smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt to get an update on what they have planned.”
She held up the binoculars. “I’ll let you know if I see any suspicious characters sailing about.”
“That’s what I love about you, Remi. One of the reasons I love you,” he called out as he followed Archer into the cabin.
But in the time it took to sail out to Snake Island, spend the night, then allow for the two divers posing as Sam and Remi to make the dive the next morning, the few passing boats on the water never came close enough to pose a threat.
After eight hours, Archer called an end to the operation, stating that if anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now. No sooner had they pulled anchor, a trawler rounded the southern point of Snake Island. Everyone tensed, silently taking their places. It chugged past, no one on board paying them the slightest attention beyond a passing glance.
As the trawler continued westward, Remi sensed a feeling of disappointment among the crew.
Archer looked at his watch. “Time to head back. Keep a sharp eye. It’s highly likely that they’re waiting for us in the port.”
But the danger never materialized.
No one was waiting in the port.
No one followed them along the winding mountain road to the airport.
“I don’t get it,” Sam said later that evening when they were on board their plane, seated at the table. “This should have worked.”
Archer, who’d accompanied them to make sure they got off the ground safely, said, “It was a good plan. Maybe some of the intel wasn’t as good as we thought.”
Sam got up from the table and walked over to the bar. “Something to drink?”
“No thanks,” Archer said. “I have to get back to my crew for debriefing.”
“Remi?” Sam asked, lifting the bottle of Glenfiddich.
“Actually, a glass of port right now would suit me.”
He set down the Glenfiddich and opened the temperature-controlled wine cabinet beneath, pulling out the port. “So,” he said to Archer after he’d opened the fifty-year-old wine and poured it, “any ideas on what went wrong? Is it possible they knew it was a trap?”
“Anything’s possible. From what I can see, there were no signs on the docks that anyone had been watching before or after your arrival. I’d call it a complete no-show.”
Sam handed Remi a glass. “We should call Selma. She’ll be wondering how it went.”
Remi sipped the port, thinking that this operation they’d so meticulously set up should have worked. Had Bree somehow found out and warned Avery and his men? “Call.”