CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At high noon, the Ship of States was flanked on hoth sides by sleek white yachts.
Aristotle Thebos, aboard the 212-foot Ulysses, had gotten word of the arrival of Demosthenes Skouratis aboard the 213-foot Tina, and had called a meeting in a belowdecks conference room of all the men who had been working in the secret rooms inside the United Nations ship.
He explained to them very carefully what had to be done, and stressed that correct timing was essential.
Aboard the Tina, Skouratis was preparing to hold a similar meeting with some new crew members. He had been up before daybreak, checking the facsimile machines, reading the front pages of newspapers around the world.
The stories had not changed since the previous night. They all still contained Thebos' muted challenge to Skouratis to come to the United Nations ship.
Skouratis read them and smiled. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, The New York Times and the Washington Post and the London Times and Paris Match, tomorrow they might he carrying a different kind of story. One Skouratis would enjoy.
If there was a tomorrow.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Heavyweight fighters often wait in their dressing rooms hoping to be last in the ring and gain a psychological edge over their opponents by forcing them to wait for their arrival.
Aristotle Thebos knew this and was surprised when the captain's launch left from Skouratis' yacht Tina, which was cruising along on the port side of the Ship of States, and headed for the big United Nations vessel.
He waited until Skonratis' launch was near the docking station near the big ship's waterline before setting off in his own launch toward the UN ship.
The Skouratis launch pulled alongside the platform leading to the ship's outside elevator and waited there a minute for Thebos' launch to arrive. The two launches tied up together at the docking platform, gently bumping in the soft, rolling swell of the Atlantic.
Thebos, immaculate in a white dinner jacket and black satin-trimmed trousers that looked as if they had been painted on him, stepped onto the stern of his launch and leaned over the railing toward Skouratis' launch.
Looking down from the top deck of Ship of States, Remo saw Helena Thebos step out after her father. A half dozen men scurried behind her.
"Demo," Thebos called into the Skouratis boat. There was no answer.
"Demo, my old friend," Thebos repeated. "Come out."
A scruffy sailor stepped onto the stern of the Skouratis launch. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt with a rip at the shoulder and grease-stained white trousers.
"He ain't here," the sailor said. "Hear me? He ain't here." He moved up close to Thebos, who recoiled as if dirt were catching. "He ain't here," the man said again, then laughed.
He untied his boat's lines and, a moment later, went back into the cabin and sped away from the big sailing city.
As Remo watched, Thebos punched his right fist into his left palm. The Greek nodded once to himself, vigorously, as if he had just become convinced of a point that had been doubtful up till now. Remo saw him whisper something to Helena.
Four hundred yards away from the Ship of States, Remo saw the Skouratis launch cut back on its motors and begin slowly to turn in lazy circles, as if waiting for something.
Down below, Thebos helped Helena out of the launch and onto the elevator platform. He turned and gestured toward the group of men on his launch and seven of them, all carrying attaché cases, followed Thebos and his daughter onto the elevator platform where they were hidden from Remo's view by the curving sides of the giant ship.
There was a pause of ninety seconds and then the elevator started moving up the side of the ship. Remo watched as it came up to his level at the main deck. The doors opened smoothly and Thebos and Helena stepped out alone. They paused in front of the elevator and a crowd of almost a hundred persons, taking the early evening air on the deck, applauded.
Helena saw Remo only a few feet away. Remo waved. Helena turned away in a gesture of rejection.
The empty elevator closed its doors automatically and started back down to wait at midships for the next call from either above or below.
The diplomats on deck continued clapping for Thebos and his daughter, who acknowledged the applause with smiles, nods and waves. Then the clapping stopped as another sound took over, the whirring of helicopter blades buzzing over the big ship. All eyes turned upward and saw a bright yellow helicopter, with the name Tina emblazoned on its underside, hover over the ship, then slowly settle in for a landing on the helicopter pad.
Remo watched Thebos and saw the man's lips tighten in a thin line. Then Remo glanced down and saw Thebos' launch pulling away from Ship of States with only its pilot aboard. Skouratis' launch was still halfway between the UN ship and Thebos' yacht, cutting lazy loops in the water, like a soldier marking time.
The helicopter touched down on the landing platform, the size of Roseland's dance floor, and the engines were cut and the blades slowly whirred themselves to a stop. The crowd on deck advanced toward the chopper. Left behind were Thebos and Helena.
"Don't worry," Remo said to her. "I still like you."
"Begone from me," she snarled. Her voice caught her father's attention and he turned, saw Remo and smiled. "Remo, isn't it?" he said.
"None other," said Remo,
Thebos pulled Helena roughly away and they followed the crowd to the helicopter whose door was opening slowly. And then Skouratis hopped out.
He had won the battle for late arrival and had obviously decided not to fight Thebos in the clothing arena. Skouratis wore a rumpled gray suit, ill-fitting and baggy at the knees, and his hair was wild and shaggy in a thick clump atop his lined face.
He stepped down onto the wood-and-steel landing platform, raised above the deck, and looked around at the crowd below. They cheered.
"Viva Skouratis."
The small dump of a Greek smiled, and the smile broadened as he saw Thebos and Helena approaching the platform.
"Hello Telly," he called out.
"Demosthenes," acknowledged Thebos coldly, stopping at the bottom of the steps with his daughter. "I am glad you could come."
"I wouldn't have missed tonight for the world," Skouratis said. He smiled at Helena and Remo saw the power that emanated from the man. It was a power won not by beauty or by brains or by financial muscle alone. It was a power that glowed from a man who knew who he was and what he was, as if that knowledge gave him an edge over almost everyone he would ever meet.
"Helena," Skouratis said. "You have made the Ship of States the Ship of Beauty. Telly, we will have to rechristen her."
"You will have to, Demosthenes," said Aristotle Thebos. "It is your ship. Yours alone."
Skouratis laughed raucously as Thebos visibly winced. "Today mine," said Skouratis. "Tonight Helena's. Tomorrow? Who knows."
Then, with agility that surprised Remo, he hopped down the small flight of steps and took Helena's arm. "It is the custom of Greek men to dance with other men," he said to her. "But tonight I shall dance only with you because your beauty is immeasurable."
Remo watched Helena's face soften. She glanced up and caught Remo's eyes, looked cold, and turned back to Skouratis, a half head shorter than she. She blinded him with a smile and kissed his forehead.
"And someone said gallantry was dead," she said.
"Someone who never met you," answered Skouratis. "Come, Telly, let us go."
And, clearly the leader, Skouratis moved away from the helicopter platform with Helena on his arm and Thebos, looking as wilted as his clothing looked fresh, following them.
The news of Skouratis' arrival had swept the ship and the main deck was filled now with thousands of persons who pressed in on Skouratis and Thebos as they tried to make their way to the large auditorium for the evening's party.