Pirate by Clive Cussler Read Free Book Online Page A

commands to go along with the Hungarian. Zoltán was, Selma liked to say, the only Eastern European bilingual dog in the neighborhood.
    â€œGood boy,” Remi told the dog. “Let’s get you a treat.”
    Treat
was one of the first English words he picked up, and his tail thumped on hearing it. Remi gave him one last scratch, then walked toward the kitchen, the dog heeling by her side. He sat in front of the cupboard where the dog biscuits were kept, his eyes solely on Remi.
    Selma walked into the kitchen a moment later, dressed in black yoga pants and her usual tie-dyed shirt, this one teal blue and hot pink. Her close-cropped brown hair seemed spikier than usual, and the reading glasses she usually wore on a chain around her neck had been replaced with wide-framed sunglasses.
    â€œMr. and Mrs. Fargo. Welcome home.”
    And here Sam had thought he’d convinced her that they were on a first-name basis. “Back to formalities?” he asked. “What happened to calling us Sam and Remi?”
    â€œI tried it, Mr. Fargo. But I work for you. This makes me happy.”
    â€œThen it makes us happy,” Remi said.
    Selma eyed Remi, who was feeding a second biscuit to Zoltán. “You’re going to make that dog fat, Mrs. Fargo.”
    â€œHe’s as fit as ever.”
    â€œOnly because I walk him twice as far when you’re home feeding him all those treats.
Someone
has to look after that poor dog’s health.” Selma opened the cupboard near the hallway and pulled out the leash. Zoltán heard the jingle and rushed over, almost too excited to sit as she leaned down and hooked the leash to his collar. “We’ll be at the beach if anyone’s looking for us.”
    â€œThe book?” Remi asked Selma. “You didn’t notice anything unusual?”
    â€œNot right off. But Lazlo was impressed,” she said, referring to Lazlo Kemp. They’d taken him on to help Selma with some of the research, during the time he needed to recuperate from an injury that occurred while they were searching for Quetzalcoatl’s tomb in Mexico. Both were surprised when the man had become smitten with Selma, whose husband, a test pilot, had died over adecade ago. What they weren’t sure about was exactly how Selma felt about Lazlo and so they were content to simply let the relationship run its course. Assuming it had a course to run.
    Remi returned the dog biscuit box to the cupboard, asking Selma, “And what was Lazlo’s take on it?”
    â€œThat he didn’t know enough about the book to say what, if anything, was worth killing over. It’s not his specialty. But he’s arranged for you to meet with Ian Hopkins so that he can see the book. According to Lazlo, he’s the nearest expert on the subject available on such a short notice. Unfortunately, Hopkins is in Phoenix, Arizona. Retired professor.”
    â€œNo worries,” Remi said. “I love Arizona in the autumn.” She turned toward Sam. “This isn’t going to interrupt your plans too much, is it?”
    â€œThe beauty of my plans is their flexibility.”
    â€œYou don’t have any, do you?”
    â€œPlaying it by ear, Remi. So where is this mysterious book?” he asked Selma.
    â€œLocked in your safe.”
    â€œI’ll go have a look.”
    â€œBring it up,” Remi said. “We can look at it together.”
    He retrieved the book, still in its FedEx box. He wasn’t sure why Selma bothered locking it up except, perhaps, because it was connected to the robbery and then the death of Mr. Pickering, the bookseller.
    When he returned with the package, Remi was looking out the window—apparently at Selma as she and Zoltán walked down the drive. “Now that she’s in the sun, I do believe her hair matches her shirt. Pink and blue streaks.”
    He glanced out the window and saw Remi was right. A very subtle highlighting that