by Duncan James
***
Connor Keenan and his wife had a love of the Greek islands. They had been before, mostly to the larger and more popular ones, but this time had gone to great lengths to find a smaller, quieter place. They had decided on Angistri, a tiny island not that far from Aegina, sparsely inhabited, but with a couple of good beaches and apparently comfortable apartments. None of the big tour operators had even heard of it, so they booked their own flight, and dealt direct with the English-speaking Greek owners of the apartment, who had arranged for them to be met on the quayside in Piraeus and ferried to the island.
Sure enough, they soon spotted a well-tanned young man wandering about with their name on a piece of cardboard held above his head. He spoke good English - indeed they discovered that he was English, but had lived in and around the Greek islands for years. He escorted them to a very sleek, fast-looking launch tied up some way from the main ferry terminal, took their bags, and helped them aboard.
“This thing’s quite fast,” he said, “so we shan’t be long getting to Angistri. Once we’re in clear water out of the harbour, we can get a move on a bit.”
He was obviously an expert seaman, and knew his way round the busy harbour like the back of his hand. Soon, they were in open water, and he opened up the throttles of the twin outboard motors, until the bows lifted high out of the water.
“Now,” he said, “come below, and start your holiday in style.”
He led them into the tiny cabin, sat them down, and opened a bottle of ice-cool champagne.
“Make yourselves at home,” he invited them. “I won’t join you, if you don’t mind - driving, and all that,” he joked. “But you’ve got half an hour or so to see that off before we get to Angistri. I’ll let you know when we are within sight of the island.”
With that, he went back up into the cockpit. That was the last they saw of him. They were looking for’ard, and didn’t see him as he slid expertly backwards over the side, or see him being equally expertly picked up by a fast moving Zodiac inflatable, which cut a huge semi-circle of white water through the blue sea as it headed back towards HMS Cornwall, anchored off Piraeus. The launch sped on, straight as a dye, out to the open sea. No-body actually saw the explosion, although plenty heard it. When the first small boat arrived at the scene, there was nothing left of the launch or its passengers, except a few pieces of floating timber, and a huge pall of smoke.
