15. Sometimes I laid in the sun after my lunch, the mountains looking so cool and inviting I almost forgot why I was here. I imagined taking off on a dirt trail to explore the middle of the country. I would rent a room in a remote village, where the simple good hearted people would take me for a British soldier who had fought for them in the war. I would learn the lingo and marry a lovely young widow who ran the coffee and grog shop, and spend the rest of my days sleeping and drinking and smoking to my heart’s content, and see to her at least twice a day. I would learn to play on one of their banjos and give a song or two at weddings. You know how adaptable an English swaddie can be, sir, especially if he sniffs a bit of the old dolce fa niente. It was easy for me to get carried away, but I shook myself out of the dream and remembered my duty. I reached for the field glasses, and from a hill above the road wondered what Michael would have on his mind after the long hard slog through Europe.
16. My brainbox told me that the chances of spotting him were a bit remote, and I didn’t suppose any bookies would entertain bets on a successful interception either. But if I let my thoughts stray too far in that direction Michael would be a goner. The heart part of me was bigger than the brainbox, and just as reliable, and if I got them working together like the old pals they’d always been, and kept on keeping on, I would meet up with him right enough. Confidence is the thing, and we never lacked that, did we sir?
17. Two roads shoot off to the little place I had decided Michael was most likely to go for. They were about eight miles apart, but the first he wouldn’t dream of going into because it wasn’t signposted, and didn’t look as if the Rolls Royce would take it anyway. Therefore, in the flush of overconfidence, which I had always known to be his besetting sin, he wouldn’t care whether he bottled himself into a deadend or not. So I posted myself on a hill overlooking the turn off, thinking that if by any chance he went by there would be plenty of time for me to get in the car, tail him, and flash him down.
18. When I saw him go into the road I had staked out I gave myself a pat on the back, and laughed so loud a crow jumped out of an almond tree as if a snake was after him. Slotting the binoculars into their neat leather case, I had a long and satisfying urination over a hot rock, then ate a bar of chocolate. Michael had gone right into my net. There was no hurry. I would give him time to indulge in a shave and shower at the hotel, even a half hour snooze if that was what he craved (Oh, did I know him!) because he’d earned it for coming this far unscathed. You can understand that I was also impatient to give him a big embrace as soon as possible, but out of kindness I decided to let him look forward to a relaxed evening first. Wouldn’t he be surprised and delighted when I walked towards him with outstretched arms?
19. I gathered a few sticks, made a fire, and mashed some tea. It was only four and a half miles from me to the hotel—I’d clocked it a couple of times on the dashboard tacheo—so I could get there in a few minutes. I opened a bag of sweet cakes, savoured another cigar in the warm and balmy air, and strolled around the hillside. At the same time I kept the junction well in view. A motorbike-carrier loaded with packages and melons turned in, and a couple of taxis, then a little black hatchback.
20. I was taking a pebble out of my boots, when an ache in my stomach told me there might be less time to waste than I supposed. Something nagged me, I couldn’t think why, so I threw my tranklements into the car, and belted off, just missing a battered old Merc coming the other way along the narrow road.
21. I will now, Major Blaskin, conclude this operational report, which has been put together in a simply furnished cell, though not the type you must be thinking of, I’m glad to say. In fact it’s the only one I’ve never wanted to escape from with a hacksaw, because it’s in a remote monastery in the middle of Greece, where I decided to lay up for a day or two before driving my tinpot Corsa back to the airstrip at Athens, and boarding a plane for Blighty.
22. I had the luck to find a typewriter to do the job on. I was told that a German author had left it by mistake, and the monks—bless ’em! They were blessing me all the time, which I very much appreciated—didn’t have any use for it. So it’s come in handy for me, though the ribbon’s getting a bit worn, as you can see.
23. I’ve done my duty, sir, all fair square and above board. One of the monks has just come in with a pot of juniper tea, and if I don’t swig the lot he’ll be offended. Perhaps after you’ve heard Michael’s version of subsequent events you’ll put me in for the Military Medal, at least. Believe me when I say that he is as safe as I could make him, so I’ll now do an amen, because the bells of Hell (or Heaven—I wouldn’t know) are bonging fit to burst my head.
24. Operation Strawforce (Greece) concluded.
Signed: William Straw, Sergeant, late Sherwood Foresters.
Chapter Eleven.
Beer splashed, and glass between me and the sun turned into purple and carmine dust above the table, showering me so completely I was lucky not to be blinded, which I supposed was what they hoped for. Here I was, all set for a deserved rest, and there was this big blond bastard coming towards me with no less than murder in his eyes, but as yet too far off to know there was murder in mine as well, though I wondered what good it would do, because when I stood to go for him I saw that his companion—nowhere as tall—looked equally menacing and determined to kill. I could have cried at such a balls up, yet where had I gone wrong? And where had they come from? The fact that I had no time for answers was, however, right up my street.
You’d think they’d been picking up suitable stones all the way from Milan, because after the first one missed by a few inches another skimmed from a hundred yards off, grazing my left temple. Such a form of combat was hardly sporting, nor could I admire the expertise as I zig-zagged the distance to baffle their aim, which Bill Straw had once shown me how to do. My only thought was to let fists decide, but on the way another heavy stone hit me at the kneecap and almost brought me down.
The shock did a fine job in turning me wild. I felt part of a show put on for an English couple at a table by the water’s edge, and wondered whether any applause would come at my collision with the big one, getting such a punch at his dumkopf—so fast was I running—that he skidded and went down.
While waiting to give him some more as soon as he got up—I disdained to boot him on the ground as he deserved—a rabbit chop from his sidekick nearly sent me the same way, and before I could properly recover, the big swine, though no bigger than me, put his arms around my waist and tried dragging me to the deck.
My open finger found his eyes, and I swung away, fighting for a life I’d never had any complaints about, and with my guard well up, and fencing blows from him, I got in another hefty thump at his clock. Turning to deal with his dark-haired assistant, though not liking to fight on two fronts, I saw him coming—from between the black hatchback and a powder blue Corsa parking nearby—holding a monkey wrench almost as big as his arm.
I leapt away from both but kept my fists up, well knowing I ought to be sensible and scarper at my best speed, though not caring to, since I would disappoint the couple looking boggle-eyed at the show from the next table to mine. I was aware in any case that running away would be more perilous than staying to fight, that I had no option but to hold them off, and in the process deal out enough of a pasting to both, eventually discouraging any further intent at molestation, or at least pursuit.
I went for the blond one first, his face a grimace of rage, as much blood out of his nose as, I knew, was coming from mine, because my tongue and throat said so. But I wondered if I wasn’t dead already, or on the way there, or delirious, at seeing someone unthread himself from the Corsa who was the spitten image of Bill Straw even while I couldn’t yet see his mug.
Was I unconscious from the punishment coming my way, and having a last dream before the lights went finally out? I didn’t know anyone able to clone people like Bill in Greece, though supposed everyone had their doppelg
anger lurking around to do them an injury by raising hope, and I thought no more about it in my peril, knuckling for advantage in mutually pounding away.
The chap who resembled Bill Straw tapped my second antagonist on the shoulder and, with some deft unarmed combat when he turned, snapped the monkey wrench away, then kicked the poor bloke square in the bollocks and, while he was doubled up in the kind of anguish I didn’t want to know about, gave an uppercut that flaked him clean out.
I had to concentrate on the no longer handsome features of the other, noticing for the first time that the scruff needed a shave. Not that I wasn’t getting blows back that I could hardly take. When hoping he wouldn’t have the stamina to go on much longer against those I was giving he staged a spectacular collapse because Bill—no more doubt it was he—gave a kick that brought him so quickly down I had to move away in case he dragged me to the ground with him. Pole-axed was hardly the word.
Bill held the monkey wrench over him who, fearing to lose what brains he had, pleaded that he’d had enough. I was too elated to speculate on how it was that the mate of my life had dropped from the sky, but my heart went cold and fearful when he took a gleaming cutthroat razor of the best Sheffield steel from the inside pocket of his jacket, and opened it with too much like alacrity. “It’s time I dealt with them properly, Michael, as such scum deserves. We must teach them a lesson.”
“For fuck’s sake!” I cried. “Don’t use that.”
Shades of disappointment and frustration crossed his clock. “I’m only going to put the frighteners on them so’s they won’t bother us anymore. You know I wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s just not in me.”
“We don’t want the police involved,” I said, with what seemed my dying breath after all the exertion, and while getting my spine back to straight.
“They’ll only think it’s a bust up among a few savage Brits,” he grinned, wiping the weapon along his sleeve as if he’d used it already. “They must be used to that, at a hotel like this.” He shook the smaller one into opening his eyes, and the razor going close to his face proved he was English right enough: “No, mate, not that. Don’t do that. For fuck’s sake, please!”
“Got some manners, have you, tosh? Get up and walk, then get back to where you came from. If I see you around us making trouble again I’ll slice your privates off. And I mean it.” He winked at me as if to say he might not, slid the razor back to where I was glad to see it go, and came to the other man under my observation: “Get that hatchback out of here, before we trundle it into the briny. Hey, haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Of course I have. You’re one of Oscar Cross’s lot, you six-foot slab of jailbait. Just slive, off, and take Joe Tucklis with you. I know him, as well.”
As they struggled to get themselves back into the world according to Straw, he went to give their car a search, and I noticed him putting various articles into his pockets. Then he motioned them to come and drive away.
Walking to the hotel, he laughed at the red trickling from my nose and down my cheeks. “You look like Major Blaskin did the other day. Must run in the family. I’ll tell you about that later. But you shouldn’t have got into such an untenable situation back there, Michael. I’m surprised at you. I thought you had more experience.”
“Shut up,” I said, perhaps showing more anger than was warranted. “You aren’t writing another Sidney Blood.”
He laughed. “I might be soon enough. Major Blaskin’s always on at me to do him one or two. But is that all the thanks and appreciation I get for delivering you out of the shadow of the valley of death? Anyway, let’s get a wash and brush up so that we can have our little talk.”
A thousand bees seemed to have left their stings in my face, and trying to wash them away with a wet cloth hardly eased matters. I didn’t know whether to cry out as my body demanded, or faint and go flat on my face, which was called for just as urgently. In my room I taxed Bill about his thieving from the hatchback, and he showed me a sheaf of what looked like money from a monopoly game, as well as a smart little handgun. “They’ll know I’ve got it, which makes us safer than safe.”
“You can’t take it on the plane,” I said.
“Then I expect I’ll drop it somewhere by the roadside.”
I neither fainted nor fell flat, but with a towel around my neck sat by a forest of beer bottles at the waterside, hearing how it was that Bill had been on hand to save me from being pounded into a basket case, which is how I might have ended up for jacking their car off the road in Jugoslavia. I vowed never to get close to such a near run thing again.
He turned his shameless gaze on the woman of the couple at the next table, and I noticed that she was eyeing him as well. “I’d like to slip her a length,” he whispered, so loud I was sure she heard. “I always feel randy after a set-to like that.”
“If you try anything with her you’ll have another fight on your hands. She’s got a husband, you daft nit.”
“That’s not necessarily her fault. Things like that happen to a woman. Anyway, let’s talk about tomorrow. We’ll look at your instruction sheets, and I’ll follow you to Athens, to make sure you’re safe while you do the handover and stow whatever you’re to take home into the boot. Moggerhanger may have sent you on a forlorn hope, but he’ll be glad when you float the Roller between his gateposts playing ‘Lullabalero’ on the hooter. Take my word on it, he’ll reward you accordingly.”
The knocks I’d been dealt gave me gyp. “I’ll kill the bastard before he can reach for his wallet. He’s done this once too often. I’ve had enough of being the dupe of his forlorn hopes.”
He gave that wild Nottinghamshire hee-haw berserker laugh, as was usual on hearing such sentiments from someone he considered too naive to live. “Michael,”—he drained half a bottle by the spout, though his glass on the table was still three-quarters full—“life is one long forlorn hope, but it behoves us to keep smiling, and go on living come what may.”
“Bollocks,” seemed the only reasonable response.
“Granted, but watch your language. There’s a lady within earshot. The fact is, you’re nearing forty, and though you’re still undoubtedly in your prime, you must learn to act responsibly. Murder is not part of your experience, so don’t think about it. Lord Moggerhanger sent you to Greece because you were the only man of his who could do the job. You’ve still got to finish it, by the way, and come out in one piece. That you’d be crippled for life, or turned into peanut butter was neither here nor there to him. You may be a diversion in the whole scheme of things but he also wants you to bring back what he sent you for. When I drove up an hour ago you were doing quite well for yourself, in any case. Two onto one aren’t impossible odds. I’ve faced worse and come out all right. In fact for a moment or two I thought I’d let you get on with it alone and watch the fun, but when I saw Joe Tucklis pick up a monkey wrench I knew I had to step in, because he was about to do something which isn’t in the rule book. But murder Moggerhanger? You came out on top just now, so it would be a waste of resources to try and kill him. In any case, murder is serious, and you’ve got to remember the Good Book’s commandment: ‘Thou shalt not kill’, and never forget it. I only killed in the War, but that was for a righteous cause, and I’m glad it was, because I never had to feel guilty. Since then I’ve been in some tight corners, but I haven’t tried to kill, or wanted to. I’ve had to injure now and again to save myself, and I was careful to ration that.”
“Stop your preaching,” I broke in. “I’m angry at him, that’s all I know, and the fact that you wouldn’t be is neither here nor there.”
He waved at the boy for more beer. “Angry, are you? Well, let me tell you that anger’s no good, either. You can’t think clearly when you’re angry. You make mistakes when the blood is up. You aren’t yourself, and that can be a lot more dangerous for you than for those you’re angry at.” He leaned forward to whisper: “What did I tell you? She’s looking at me.�
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If she was it could only be because he was staring so brazenly at her. She was slender, with short dark curly hair, in her thirties perhaps, small features until a smile showed the sort of eagerness for life that appealed to Bill.
Having witnessed our conflict with the hatchback men she had taken note of his abilities, and had probably heard every word of our subsequent talk, as he no doubt had intended her to. I told him to keep his big mouth shut, while taking another look at her.
Her husband, a bald and overweight man with a pointed grey beard, stood up. “Muriel, I must get some shut-eye. That long drive tired me out.” She nodded her permission, and scornfully (I thought) watched his unsteady walk to the hotel.
As soon as he was through the door Bill rubbed his large hands, as if ready for some after battle fraternisation: “Will you join us? Me and my pal are having a much needed drink together, and would be delighted to have you that bit closer.”
She didn’t hesitate, said thank you, moved over, and sat between us. Her thin orange dress had strings for shoulder straps, and sufficient cleavage to show she wore no bra, her delightful breasts shifting slightly whenever she moved her arms.
Bill leaned forward. “I know it might sound a bit cheeky, Muriel, but I hope you don’t mind me saying that you’re very beautiful. I fell in love as soon as I saw you. In fact I noticed you even before we had that bit of bother. Those two fellows had been spoiling for a fight all last week. I happened to mention at a hotel in Jugoslavia that we backed a football team that they hated. They’d been trying to run us off the road ever since, so I had to take them out at last, especially since they attacked us first.” He nodded at me. “This is my friend Michael. It was all his fault, for opening his mouth. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but he’d been chatting to one of their wives, and they didn’t like it. They had it in for us. I only came to his assistance because friends must stick together. Don’t you think so?”
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