The Greek Gambit

By Charles A. Salter

Along the North Carolina coast, random people are aging decades in days and dying within a week. Suspecting some weird new form of radiation, the Pentagon sends its top secret Nuke Response Team Alpha to investigate.

 

Team chief Colonel Blake Hunter is on vacation in Greece when unknown agents try to kill him and kidnap his young family. What horrifying new weapon have the terrorists created? How can Hunter stop them when his wife and children are in the danger zone?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dingbat Publishing
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223382348

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THE GREEK GAMBIT

Copyright © 2022 Charles A. Salter

Published by Dingbat Publishing

Humble, Texas

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the produce of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual locations, events, or organizations is coincidental.

Chapter 1

Santorini, Greece, present day

They had picked a bad week for this year’s family vacation, one already marred by extreme heat and an accident that almost cost his son’s life... and Colonel Blake Hunter had a dark sense that they would face more threats before this day was done. And his sixth sense about such things almost never proved wrong.

He knew from his past military missions in Greece that it could get hot, but this was the worst he could ever remember. The blazing sun seemed bent on taking life rather than supporting it this season. Not a whisper of a breeze stirred the desiccating still air in the narrow lanes of the village of Oia, built into the very edge of the thousand-foot cliff at the north end of the island. Painted all white, the walls of the small homes, shops, bars, and cafes reflected the glare from all sides, and Blake thought the rough cobblestones beneath their feet should have melted over smooth from the heat by now, like a jagged pile of scrap metal in a blast furnace.

He wiped his brow and his hand came back dripping with sweat. The family accident a few minutes ago also disturbed Blake more than usual. The gaping sense of near loss had not yet healed and lay like a torn curtain of pain before his eyes. He hated to see his wife or either of his children get hurt, especially if he could have prevented it. Blake blamed himself.

His small six-year-old son Kevin’s shoe had come loose earlier and none of them had noticed. Despite the heat, Kevin was bursting with energy and had a bright smile revealing a lost front baby tooth which hadn’t been replaced yet. His thick brown hair and alert brown eyes reminded Blake so much of his own. Everyone said they looked just alike.

As they rounded a corner, Kevin saw a pigeon pecking at a lump of bread a few yards ahead of them, let go of his parents’ hands, and darted towards the bird. He tripped on his loose shoelaces, skinning his knee on the sharp edge of a cobblestone. He didn’t cry, not that tough, wiry little rascal, but he did blurt out Son of a... before his mother Mia gasped and he finished with ...gun.

The narrow lane was very steep here, as the walkway zigzagged back and forth along the face of the cliff all the way from the top to the rocks in the sea at the bottom. Kevin rolled over on his back to look at the oozing red on his knee and began to slip, then to roll and slide down with increasing speed towards the next hair-pin curve. A slight stone barrier stood there between two adjacent homes to keep tourists from plunging over the edge, but it wasn’t built to stop people speeding right at it.

Blake! screamed Mia.

Blake dropped the packages he was carrying and darted downhill as fast as he could. Kevin was some twenty feet away now, then ten, scratching his bottom on the cobblestones and fast approaching the ledge. Blake could visualize him slamming into that barrier wall, bouncing over it, and flying out into open space.

Like a batter sliding into the plate for a home run, at the very last second he flung his body between Kevin and the wall, hitting the stone fence feet first and bouncing up himself towards the opening above. But with his size and strength, he jammed himself between the walls of the adjacent buildings, becoming a human blockade to supplement the barrier. He grabbed Kevin with his one free hand as he bounced up, too.

His stomach swirling, Blake looked over the edge just inches from his right side, at the sheer drop of hundreds of feet. I hate heights! Then he looked over at his son on the safe side. Thank God!

That was fun, Dad! Can we do it again? asked Kevin.

Blake didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Mia did. She cried, then hugged them both, then took Kevin tightly into her arms and twirled around and around and cried some more.

I’m sorry, Mommy, said Kevin, looking very worried.

Then she brushed the hair out of her face, patted her clothes into place, and got down to business. She took what she needed from her backpack to clean Kevin’s knee and apply antiseptic and bandages to the other scratches on the two males in her life.

Blake then led them towards a Greek gelato stand to give the kids a treat. Kevin’s twin sister Sarah, an absolute miniature portrait of her mother, limped like him with sympathetic knee pain and insisted that her brother get to pick first. He chose pistachio and chocolate and offered her first lick before she tucked into her own tangerine meringue. Blake wanted none but eagerly accepted the chilled bottle of water that Mia produced from her magic supply pack.

Thanks, babe, he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze on the hand as she passed it over.

She smiled, leaned over to kiss his chin, the driest spot on his sweating face, and said, Got to take care of my man, right?

Blake smiled back, then tucked into his water. His training in the U.S. Army Medical Department had long ago taught him the importance of water discipline. When his great-grandfather served in the trenches of Verdun and his grandfather served with the Ninth Infantry Division chasing Hitler’s troops from their conquered territories back into the heart of Germany, ‘water discipline’ meant getting along with as little water use as possible when combat conditions made resupply difficult. Doctrine began to change by the time Blake’s two uncles survived the Tet Offensive in Saigon, and when Blake came along to serve in Desert Storm, water discipline meant forcing yourself to drink periodically during intense heat even if you didn’t feel thirsty.

But the heat today felt like that which he’d experienced as a young lieutenant in Iraq 18 years ago, and he definitely felt thirsty.

Mia ordered no gelato either, but she finished what the twins couldn’t. Then she took a bottle of water for herself and gave one to each of the kids.

It was when they all stood in a little circle drinking water that Blake first felt they were being watched. Trying not to be too obvious, Blake glanced around as if taking in the sights and noted a couple of men admiring his bride’s shapely form and youthful face, a moon-shaped face with a cute chin, dimples, and sparkling blue eyes, all framed by her flowing brown hair cut shorter than usual for the trip, in a page boy cut that bounced and danced as she walked. She had been the former Miss Kent County in the Maryland beauty contest a couple of years before they met. The sight of her never failed to dazzle him, her hips swaying back and forth gracefully as she moved, her calf muscles tightening as each leg in turn took its step, the glutes contracting and relaxing. The vision of her sang to him always, so her allure to others did not surprise.

Blake was way used to men and teens admiring his wife’s beauty, but something else nagged at him now. His sixth sense was trying to tell him something, but it wasn’t speaking clearly yet. It wasn’t just the oglers; it was something else, more ominous. Something related to his military job. But what?

Blake resolved to heighten his alertness. He knew vacations could kill when one let his guard down. Even top military heroes and intel experts often lost their lives when on vacation, when they finally stood down and dropped their situational awareness. He remembered Lord Mountbatten, Brit hero of World War II, being killed by an IRA bomb in 1979 while relaxing on his 30-foot fishing boat near Donegal Bay in the Atlantic. And retired CIA director William Colby mysteriously drowning in 1996 while alone on his boat near Rock Point, Maryland. Maintain vigilance, Hunter. Don’t let vacation sloth kill. Your family depends on you.

They might have picked a bad week for vacation but it was the only week this year. As head of the U.S. military’s Nuclear Response Team, Blake was in global demand year round, one week tracking down a lost radiation source in Kazakhstan, another week helping the Japanese government contain their nuclear emergency in Tokaimura, the next month teaching radiation defense at American or allied bases in Japan, South Korea, Australia, Germany, Jordan, or Bahrain. He perpetually kept a travel bag packed at home, and his team kept their to-go bag of emergency rad defense supplies always restocked and ready at their secret headquarters in Falls Church, Virginia, not far from the so-called Medical Pentagon. Not a part of the actual Pentagon building in Arlington, but the medical headquarters where the surgeons general sat.

Blake had spent something like a dozen months in Greece over the past decade on several different missions and thought back to the enemies he had made here at those times. His most important trip had been for six months just four years ago, helping to ensure that no radioactive dirty bombs could reach the Olympic Games in Athens. In preparation for a mission where he would have to work closely with his Greek hosts as well as personnel from the American Embassy, he took a Rosetta Stone course in the Greek language, a crash course involving self-paced instruction via computer.

But his first trip had occurred in November 1999, when he had assisted the Secret Service in evaluating the improvised explosive device that the terrorist group Revolutionary Nuclei had used near the Intercontinental Hotel in Athens, where President Clinton had been scheduled to stay during an upcoming state visit. Blake concluded then that the main terrorist groups operating in Greece at that time — Revolutionary Organization 17 November as well as Revolutionary Nuclei — were likely just one step short of creating a radiological dirty bomb. The head of the Secret Service detail for the Greece trip took Blake’s advice and recommended to the president that he cut his trip short and limit his exposure to the public... and that was what the president did.

In all his previous trips Blake had never seen Santorini. He shouldn’t have any enemies here... not unless... not unless someone had been tracking his prior movements and followed him here. But who? Both of the groups Blake had tangled with before had been inactive for years. Of course, individual members might have gone on to become involved in new and emerging groups. Hmm. Open the eyes in the back of your head, Hunter. Be ready for anything. But what?

Gelato finished, they trudged somewhat wearily to a scenic overlook and admired the view of the Aegean waters a thousand feet below. They stood perched on the upper rim of a giant caldera — the remains of an enormous volcano over three millennia ago that wounded the earth like few either before or after it. It had exploded with nuclear force out of the bottom of the sea, all the way to the surface and a thousand feet beyond, into the sky. Then the center collapsed over time, filled with sea water, and left a huge ring of islands, some large and pronounced like Santorini, and others more like bits and pieces scattered by a drunken giant tossing out the remains of a mountain. The diameter of the whole crater was four miles across, the result of one of earth’s greatest catastrophes ever, a huge ruptured carbuncle on the planet’s taut skin.

Mia leaned over to give Blake a hug. Thanks, Blake. It’s so beautiful. So amazing. I’ve always wanted to come to Greece since reading about the Trojan Wars as a kid.

He grinned. You’d make a fine Helen of Troy. I’d cross the seas to get you back, too.

She turned to the twins. Kevin and Sarah, thank your daddy for taking us on this vacation. It’s the most spectacular ever.

Kevin took Blake’s hand and looked into his face. Thanks, Dad.

Blake knelt down beside him. The Aegean Sea is way big, isn’t it, son? Bigger than the creeks and bays back where your mom comes from.

Kevin looked very serious. Much bigger. But can I tell you a secret, Dad?

Of course, Kevin. You can tell me anything.

I like the Chesapeake Bay better.

Blake chuckled. You little rascal. Why?

I like being able to see both sides at the same time.

Blake turned to his daughter. What do you think, Sarah? Is next vacation going to be to Grandma’s and PopPop’s house on the Eastern Shore?

She put her arms around her father’s neck and whispered, But can we stay in a hotel this time? I can’t stand the fishy smell in their house.

Mia said in a voice pretending to be upset, I heard that, young lady! Then she smiled. I’m just kidding, baby. I know what you mean. I grew up with the smell of huge mounds of fresh-shucked oyster shells drying in the sun, crab boil in practically every dish my mom ever made, and sandy blue crab nets hanging on the back porch. Didn’t bother me then, because I was used to it. But now... ay yi yi! It can sure get pungent after a big crab boil or oyster feast. Great galloping rattlesnake claws!

I’ll tell you what, baby, said Blake. I think Grandma Calvert would be very upset if we didn’t stay with them. But next trip, we’ll bring some air fresheners and deodorizers for your bedroom, okay?

She didn’t look convinced. Maybe I’ll just hold my breath the whole time we’re in the house, then.

Kevin laughed. Like to see you try!

Mia took Blake’s hand and squeezed. She spoke softly, but without looking at him, keeping her gaze resting on the sea. You know, next vacation there’ll be five of us.

Blake gulped. Five? Why do you always like to surprise me with news like that?

I guess I’m still not sure how you’ll take it. I need a while to figure out the best time and place to tell you.

When?

About six and a half or seven months. Another week or so, and I’ll start to show. Figured I’d better tell you before that.

Boy or girl?

I had the first ultrasound just before we left. No little dingly showed up.

What’s her name going to be?

Charlotte, of course, after your mom.

Blake turned to her, hugged her tight, then kissed her. When the time comes, I hope I won’t be stuck in the Middle East like when the twins were born.

She shrugged. As Doris Day used to sing, ‘whatever will be will be.’ She turned to the kids. Kevin and Sarah, in a few months you’re going to have a baby sister!

Yay! said Sarah. Can I help take care of her?

Kevin looked up at his father with a frown on his face. Another girl, Dad? We’re going to be outnumbered.

Blake stooped to hug him. But not outgunned, son. Never outgunned. Then he hugged Mia and looked back out at the sea.

Blake could have admired this panoramic vista for hours, but soon the kids grew restless. They started poking each other towards the concrete barrier set there to protect tourists at the overlook’s edge. Blake kept a close eye on them to make sure the game didn’t go too far.

Mia couldn’t take it, though. Kids! Stop being silly right now. Do you want to fall down the cliff?

Sorry, Mom, they both said, and shifted a foot or so back from the edge.

Mia turned to Blake. It gives me the willies to see them flirting with danger this high up. I don’t like heights! It gives me sickening little swirls in my stomach when I look straight down.

Blake took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I’m not too fond of heights myself. Standing here this high up without a safety harness is a little scary. You feel like a strong breeze could just knock you over."

I didn’t like that cable car ride up the cliff from our dock, either, said Mia. And I’m not looking forward to going back down this evening.

Sarah took her hand. Mom, next time just close your eyes like I did. Don’t look.

Good advice, sweetie, added Blake. I had my eyes open, but I have to admit I was looking up rather than down.

Kevin poked his sister. You’re just a big baby. I loved the cable car, especially when it shook all around going over the bumps.

Blake remembered the bumps. As the gondola’s connecting arm humped over each of the pylons supporting the cable, their tiny gondola shivered and shook as if it were coming loose from its moorings. At one point Mia had gasped out loud.

Blake’s precious little girl now looked earnestly up into his face. Can you keep it from bumping and shaking next time, Daddy?

He bent over and hugged her. I’ll do my best. I’ll try to control the shaking if I can.

Kids, said Mia, you’re making me nervous. Let’s get away from this cliff and go shopping. Okay? You can each pick out a souvenir, and I still have to get Daddy’s birthday present.

In the market area, Blake felt eyes on them again and wondered if it was just shopkeepers watching over their goods or something else. On the isolated lookout, he’d been alone with his family and he hadn’t felt watched. But in the crowded market, he knew those eyes were there.

As they left the jewelry shop, Blake glanced down and saw Kevin’s other Nike had come loose. He tousled the boy’s hair and said, Kevin, hold up. I need to tie your other shoe. When he fell in love with Mia and proposed, he’d promised he would be the best father he could be to any future kids they might have. He would never baby his children, for he knew they had to grow up tough and wily to survive in this wicked world. In fact, he had been teaching them martial arts and self-defense since the age of two, when they were threatened by agents attacking Blake during one of his secret missions.

When he stooped down to tie Kevin’s shoe, Blake caught a glimpse of white fabric flying past.

Mia yelped in pain. Blake, the gold watch I just bought for your fortieth!

Hang the watch. My wife is hurt. Are you okay? Blake looked up and saw her rubbing her shoulder.

I’ll live. But my purse!

Blake leapt up and saw a preteen dressed in white karamani trousers and matching shirt, his arms pumping like auto pistons. Mia’s tan leather Le Pliage purse flailed wildly in the cutting air.

Drat! I already had a five-mile run this morning. But no little punk is going to get away with assaulting my wife. Blake squeezed her hand briefly. I’ll get it back, sweetie! I promise. He darted off.

Daddy! exclaimed Sarah.

Without looking back, Blake ordered, Stay with Mommy, kids. I’ll be right back.

He could hear Mia tell them, Don’t worry, kids. Your daddy knows what he’s doing. He can take care of himself.

When you catch him, Dad, said Kevin, kick his ass!

Kevin! exclaimed Mia. What did I tell you about that kind of language?

That was the last Blake could hear of them as he tore after the street urchin at top speed, into the baking sun and choking dust. He must have been watching us for a while, waiting till we bought something expensive.

Panting now, but he didn’t slow down, not for a moment.

The thief looked back with mocking eyes.

Doesn’t look scared at all. When I get my hands on him, I’m going to erase that gloat. But I haven’t fought someone that young since I was a kid myself. Usually Blake fought hardened terrorists.

Minute after minute, lungs heaving, they darted over the rough cobblestones of Oia. Past small homes painted white all over except for the occasional solid blue roof, blue as the perfectly clear sky above, as azure as the waters of the caldera along whose rim they raced.

Not really going to hurt a kid. But when I catch him, I’d like to toast his rear end a little with my belt. That might set him back on the right path.

Blake could now see the coming town square a hundred yards ahead, full of tourists, Americans with Bermuda shorts and rotund bellies, Asians with their omnipresent cameras, Europeans with romantically entwined couples. Street vendors offering post cards, trinkets, or Greek gelato dotted the open space. A church lay straight ahead, painted white on the façade, with a pyramid of bells atop the spire — the first row with three, the one above with two, and the top with one.

The bells were ringing as the panting youngster bobbed and wove among the crowd but did not slow down.

Blake did slow so as to avoid a collision with innocent bystanders. With his size and at full speed, it would be like an offensive tackle sacking the opposing quarterback if he slammed into someone. His chest heaving, he tried to keep sight of the thief as the wiry brat veered sharply around the far corner of the church. Doesn’t Oia have cops?

For a moment, Blake lost sight of him but was not about to give up. At half-speed now, he rounded the corner, too, and saw the Greek Oliver Twist open the back door of what appeared to be a small T-shirt shop and disappear within.

Blake raced full speed to that door and stopped, trying for a moment to catch his breath, and then opened the door carefully, twisted to his side to present less of a target, kicked the door hard into the wall in case someone was hiding behind it, and whipped around the other side of the doorway, hands balled into fists in case someone hid to receive him there. I wonder what Oliver’s boss Fagin is going to look like.

In the dim light he could see it was the back storeroom and he could hear the muffled voices of tourists in the front of the shop, beyond the wall ahead of him. Beside the closed door in that wall stood the thief, some 15 feet away, still panting, his eyes laughing triumphantly at Blake.

To the lad’s right stood a tall man in a white business suit and a squarely built thug who looked like a pro wrestler, all knotted muscles and a thick neck.

Blake stared into the barrel of a pistol in the tough’s hand. It looked like a large-bore Beretta semi-auto, but Blake couldn’t see it clearly as his eyes continued adjusting to the dim light after the long chase in the brilliant sun.

And having the muzzle pointed right at his face had a way of focusing Blake’s attention more on the diameter of the barrel than any other feature of the weapon. Not as big as a .45 but large. Maybe a 9mm or .40. Powerful enough to kill with one well-placed shot.

Welcome, Colonel Hunter. We’ve been expecting you.

Chapter 2

My sixth sense is almost never wrong. Blake reached up his right hand and wiped the sweat from his mouth, and the thug flinched, raising the aim of his pistol to Blake’s eyes.

The man in white had a bulbous nose and pockmarked cheeks. He looked stern and raised his left hand. He muttered in Greek, "Óchi!"

The thug relaxed his attack pose and lowered the pistol’s aim back to Blake’s chest.

Easy, Colonel Hunter, said the leader. You don’t want to precipitate a crisis until you’ve heard me out.

If you don’t get that gun out of my face, I’m going to show you a crisis. Blake lowered his hand from the vicinity of his Smith and Wesson neck knife, its sheath attached to his army dog-tag chain and barely out of sight under the collar of his Omni-shade UV protective shirt.

The leader looked sharply at the street punk and barked in Greek, "Dó̱ste tou to portofóli."

The lad cautiously eased forward, staying out of the line of possible fire, and handed Mia’s purse to Blake. From a pocket in his own pants he retrieved a cell phone and handed that to Blake as well.

Blake noticed the gloat vanishing from the kid’s face, replaced by fear as he approached. That’s more like it. Blake accepted both items but now his hands were full, making a quick knife retrieval impossible.

The leader glanced at the kid and jerked his own head towards the door.

As the boy slipped quietly out of the room, the man in white continued. Colonel Hunter, you have a well-deserved reputation for acting rashly, attacking first and asking questions only later. Remember the Grozny incident in Chechnya?

Yes, I remember. How could he ever forget the 1999 incident when six terrorists attempted to steal cobalt-60 rods, opening their protective container at a chemical factory and handling them? The radiation was so intense that one of the thieves died within 30 minutes. Of the team of six, three died from the radiation and three were injured. But only some of the rods were recovered, and when Blake’s team was asked to help find the missing ones, two of his friends were killed. But now he said nothing and hoped the expression on his face did not betray his bitter memories.

"They told me you were more talkative than this.