He slowly poured the remainder of the bottle into a decanter, holding it over the candle, making sure no sediment would pass from the bottle. Then he reached below, opened the wine fridge, brought out a 2008 bottle of Pol Roger Cuvée Sir Winston Churchill brut champagne and joined Sam and Remi at the fire. Settling himself in the sofa he said, “While we wait for the dinner, please let’s talk about the reason you’re here. Rubin mentioned that this all began shortly after the two of you met at the Lighthouse Cafe in Hermosa Beach?” His blue eyes twinkled as he looked over at Sam. “Love at first sight, was it?”
“I’m still trying to deny it. But . . . there’s never been anyone like Remi. She’s had my heart from the beginning.”
“Sam, you could have fooled me.” Remi’s green eyes lit up as she smiled.
Sam cleared his throat. “You see. It wasn’t easy.”
“Hardly a fair assessment.”
“Totally fair assessment.”
“Do I sense differing views?” Perlmutter asked.
Remi laughed. “Let’s just say it wasn’t smooth sailing.”
“Well, it wasn’t typhoon fury.”
“Maybe just a few ten-foot swells.”
“A few?” Sam said. “Understatement of the year.”
Remi gave Perlmutter a sideways glance. “It’s a bit complicated.”
“As love is,” he replied. “But it sounds like you two still enjoy a few waves now and then.” This brought a laugh from Sam and Remi.
The champagne poured, Perlmutter continued. “So . . . a chance meeting at the Lighthouse somehow led to this Mediterranean caper, and the one treasure that the two of you never found?”
“Exactly,” Sam said. “It was the hoard of gold stolen from King Cyrus after he conquered King Croesus in 546 B.C. It kickstarted our love for adventure.”
“And for each other?”
Remi placed her hand over Sam’s. “I’d say it played a small part. And, while we didn’t find the fabled hoard, we did find proof it exists.”
“But that was what . . . ? Ten or more years ago?” Perlmutter’s brows furrowed. “Why now?”
“We’d recently been talking about the treasure and what we might have missed in our search,” Remi began.
“But, more importantly,” Sam continued, “the man who was obsessed with finding the treasure all those years ago was recently released from prison—far earlier than anyone expected. From what Rube has told us, the man’s spent over a decade in confinement consumed with hate and fixated on two things—those who he feels are directly responsible for landing him in prison, and where this treasure might be. I have a feeling that the first obsession might be Remi.”
“And you,” Remi added.
“The second is that anyone who gets in his way of finding the treasure will not be safe,” Sam said.
Perlmutter lowered his glass. “I know we could get straight to the point—search my memory banks and my library for the possible location of this fabled hoard—but I have to admit, I do love a good adventure. And Remi being so deeply involved, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell it? From the beginning?”
“That depends,” Sam said. “How much time do you have?”
Perlmutter smiled. “However long it takes.”
CHAPTER TWO
Hermosa Beach, California
Sam Fargo gripped the top corner of his bodyboard with his right hand, his left hand on the outside rail, and looked back at the massive wave approaching.
Timing was everything.
He gave a swift kick, his fins propelling him forward. At the crest, momentarily suspended, he teetered, then dropped almost straight down the shimmering wall. Head up, back arched, chest out, he dug the waterside edge of his board into the wave, riding across the smooth, glassy surface as the lip fell, creating a tunnel of blue and gray. In a rush, it was over. The white water crashed, the surge speeding him toward the shore crowded with onlookers who came to watch the expert surfers and bodyboarders riding the giant waves left over from a rare Category 3 hurricane a few days before.