Again Georgios looked at him in the rearview mirror. “What?” he grumbled.
McGarvey jammed the barrel of his pistol into the side of the big man’s head. “Do it now,” he ordered.
Georgios complied immediately, and as they lurched to a halt, their lights out, they could suddenly hear the wind shrieking around the volcanic rock outcroppings just above them, and the driven rain hammering against the car.
“Do you mean to kill us?” Theotokis asked.
“If I see you again, I will,” McGarvey said. “Now you and your friend are returning to Thira.”
“As you wish …”
“On foot,” McGarvey said. “You’re both getting out on the passenger side.”
Georgios started to turn, but McGarvey jabbed harder with the pistol barrel. “Keep your hands in plain sight, and your eyes forward.”
“Do as you’re told,” Theotokis sighed. “The little walk will certainly be uncomfortable, but considering the alternatives …”
McGarvey opened his door on the passenger side and directed Theotokis to do the same.
“Carefully now.”
“We will do exactly as you tell us, Mr. McGarvey, you may believe that.” Theotokis got out of the car, and his bodyguard slid across the seat behind him and climbed out.
McGarvey got out and stepped a few feet off the track. “Take off your shoes and socks.” He had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“That’s inhuman,” Theotokis protested.
“It’s late,” McGarvey shouted. “I’m tired. I’m out of patience. And I’m going to kill again for what has been done to my wife and daughter.”
“I see your point,” the Greek said and he and Georgios removed their shoes and socks.
“Now, go,” McGarvey said.
Georgios stared at him for a long time, as if he were trying to memorize McGarvey’s face, his eyes narrowed, his lips compressed. “Ernst and his people will kill you,” he said. “And in the morning I shall piss on your body.”
The rain seemed to intensify as the two Greek mafiosi picked their way down the rock-strewn path. McGarvey watched until they disappeared into the darkness. In another age he might have killed them for their part in Spranger’s operation. But they were only little people; petty hoods who had no conception of the larger issues, or any desire to know. And McGarvey was finding that he was finally losing his stomach for the business.
He turned and looked up the hill in the direction the Land Rover was pointed. He had lost his stomach for the kill except for Spranger and men of his ilk. He’d been told repeatedly that wherever he turned up trouble would almost certainly develop. Well, Spranger had lured him here. And this night there would be trouble. The man had stepped over the line. Way over the line.
McGarvey holstered his gun, and got behind the Land Rover’s wheel. The engine ticked over softly, and for a second longer he hesitated, watching in the rearview mirror for any sign that Georgios or his boss had doubled back. A fleeting thought passed through his head: He wondered how he had gotten to this point in his life from where he had started on his parents’ ranch in Kansas.
There were no simple answers, he told himself. Or at least none that he wanted to face just now. But they would come. They would come.
The crest of the hill was about two hundred yards farther up the final slope. He drove to a spot just below it, and picked his way to the top on foot. They knew he was coming and they would be watching for him. He didn’t want to be spotted just yet. But there was little or nothing to be seen except for what appeared to be an indistinct mass below.
He checked his watch. It was a few minutes after four, dawn still about two hours off. Even then, if the weather continued overcast and rainy, he’d have an additional half hour or more of covering darkness.
Back at the Land Rover, he popped the hood and, working by feel alone, found the ignition coil and removed the wire between it and the distributor cap. He pocketed it and the keys. Now no one would be able to take the vehicle, but on the way out he could get it started in less than a half minute if need be. There was no telling what shape Kathleen and Elizabeth might be in. It was possible, even likely, that they would not be able to travel very far on foot.
Out of Thira they had driven slowly to the northeast, which meant the sea was now straight ahead and to the right. Coming around the headland earlier this evening with Karamanlis and Papagos, before the weather had completely closed in, he’d seen the tall cliffs that rose directly out of the sea along this section of the island’s coast. The monastery was perched on the edge of the cliffs. There would be a path down to the sea, but Lipton’s team would be blocking that egress, and the weather was too bad for them to be picked up by air. Which left by land.
They’d be expecting him to show up over the hill along the track, which meant they’d probably be waiting in the darkness on either side of the path. It was time then to even the odds.
He screwed the can-type silencer on the end of the Walther’s barrel, made certain a round was in the firing chamber and, keeping well below the crest of the hill, struck off to the east, directly toward the edge of the cliffs.
In terms of vegetation very little grew up here. The ground was mostly broken-up volcanic rock and pebbles ranging in size from a marble to a basketball. Picking his way carefully across the debris field he was reminded of another night in Iceland. The weather was warmer here, but the landscapes were similar; barren, apparently lifeless, almost lunar.
About fifty yards off the track he scrambled silently back up to the crest of the hill, and keeping low peered over the top.
He remained crouched in the darkness for a full two minutes slowly sweeping the darkness left to right for any sign whatsoever that anyone was down there; a noise, the glowing tip of a cigarette, the beam of a flashlight. But these men were STASI-trained professionals. They did not make such mistakes, especially not under Spranger’s command. But they were out there. He could almost sense them.
Something moved behind him, and he froze. A rock against a rock. A pebble rolling down the hill, the noise almost immediately swallowed by the shrieking wind.
The sound did not come again, but McGarvey knew it hadn’t been his imagination. Someone was back there all right. Probably Theotokis or his bodyguard. Possibly one of Spranger’s people.
Still keeping low, but making no indication that he had heard something, he slipped over the crest of the hill, and a few yards on the other side, flattened himself behind an outcropping of rock, his pistol at his side.
A half minute later a figure dressed in black appeared at the top of the hill, hesitated just a moment, then started down.
McGarvey tensed. He wanted this one alive if possible. If he could learn the layout of the monastery and exactly where Kathleen and Elizabeth were being held it would be extremely helpful.
He pressed himself farther back into the deeper darkness as the black-suited figure came even with him. When the man passed, McGarvey stepped out, hooked his free arm around the man’s neck and pulled him down, laying the muzzle of the silencer against his cheek.
“Make a noise and I’ll kill you …” McGarvey said, when he recognized Bob Schade, Lipton’s man who’d wanted to tag along.
McGarvey released him, pointing the Walther away as he uncocked the hammer.
“Where is the rest of the team?”
“On the water where you left them,” Schade said, sitting up.
“How the hell did you get here?”
“I stowed away on the fishing boat.”
McGarvey’s eyes narrowed. “You followed me to the taverna?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How about up the mountain? How’d you find a vehicle?”
“I didn’t,” the young man said.
“Well how the hell did you get up here?”
“I ran.”
McGarvey sat back on his heels. “You ran,” he said, amazed. The kid wasn’t even out of breath.
“Yes, sir. Bu
t I met the two men who took you up here. They were barefoot and pretty well pissed off. Especially the big one.”
“Did you let them pass?”
“I would have, Mr. McGarvey, except I wasn’t expecting them, and they spotted me. The old man ordered the other one to kill me. They both seemed to think it was important.”
McGarvey glanced reflexively toward the crest of the hill. “What happened?”
“I had to … eliminate them, sir.”
McGarvey looked sharply at the young man. “I didn’t hear any shots.”
“My weapon is silenced, sir. But I didn’t use it. I had to take them out by hand. There wasn’t any time, or room.”
“I see,” McGarvey said, impressed. The kid was like a dangerous puppy: Innocent and eager, but deadly. “What about your military ID?”
Schade shrugged. “I must have lost it somewhere, I guess.”
“Lipton will have your ass.”
Again Schade shrugged. “I owe you one.”
“Well, there’s no doubt that you can take care of yourself,” McGarvey said. “But I want you to listen up now. Spranger is holding my wife and daughter to get at me. But he’s not a stupid man. He’s kept his life and his freedom this long by meticulous planning and ruthlessness. Which means that he’s convinced himself that he’s going to kill me tonight, and then make his escape. He’s stacked the odds in his favor, and we’ve got no idea what preparations he’s made.”
“Yes, sir.” Schade looked very serious.
“But he’s going to make a mistake.”
“Sir?”
“He’s made this personal. He wants to kill me himself. Or he wants to be right there when I know I’ve lost.”
Sudden understanding dawned on Schade’s face. “You tossed the walkie-talkie overboard. You talked to him?”
McGarvey nodded. “You still want in?”
“You bet,” Schade said eagerly.
“I want to take them out if we can do it without raising the alarm. Otherwise we’ll skirt their positions and take care of them on the way back out. Wherever they’re holding my wife and daughter will be booby-trapped. I want to get them out of there first.”
Schade nodded. He took out a long, wicked-looking dagger, the blade serrated along both edges, blood at the base of the haft, and headed out a few yards to McGarvey’s right, down the hill toward the cliffs. A second or two later McGarvey followed.
Within a couple hundred yards they were able to distinguish the deconsecrated church and a half-dozen other buildings, all of them substantially constructed of native stone, with steeply pitched roofs and battlements. In ancient times people took their religion seriously. This monastery was as much a fortress as it was a church. Faith had been defended here, and now the place was being used for the opposite purpose.
McGarvey pulled up short, motioning for Schade to do the same. He’d heard a muffled cough off to the left. For several long seconds he waited and watched, finally picking out a figure standing behind a pile of rocks that formed a ten-foot-tall obelisk. The guard raised a rifle, equipped with what appeared to be a very large spotting scope, and pointed it up the hill toward the track from town.
Schade edged silently to McGarvey’s side and watched for a second or two. The guard’s position was about thirty feet from where they crouched.
“A night spotting scope?” he asked softly.
“I think so,” McGarvey whispered. “I want him out of there. Can you get in close enough to take him with your knife?”
“Yes, sir,” Schade said.
“Keep to his right. I’ll cover you from here. But I won’t fire unless there’s no other choice.”
“Right,” Schade replied, and he headed across, slowly, silently, like a night animal on the prowl with deadly intent.
There might be others watching, but this one had to be taken out. The starlight scope-equipped rifle made him too dangerous.
McGarvey switched the safety off, cocked the Walther’s hammer and centered his sights on the guard’s back. The pistol was silenced, but the sound could be heard and recognized for what it was at a respectable distance.
Fifteen feet out, Schade froze.
The guard stepped back, looked toward the church for a moment, then shook his head and leaned up against the obelisk. It was clear he was nervous, but he was probably also cold, wet, tired and bored.
Schade was stuck. The guard had only to turn his head slightly and he would be looking right at the young man.
But they had a second, potentially even more serious problem. The guard had looked up toward the church, as if he’d been looking for someone. Another guard watching from a vantage point in the church? Even now that one could be taking a bead on Schade, who would show up in a night scope like a duck in a shooting gallery.
The guard behind the obelisk scratched his nose and started to turn away, when he evidently saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned abruptly and looked directly at Schade.
For a second he was too startled to move, but the moment Schade’s knife hand began to come up, the spell was broken and the man opened his mouth to shout a warning as he brought the Russian-made Kalashnikov assault rifle around.
McGarvey jumped up and fired two shots in rapid succession, the first hitting the guard in the throat, blood erupting from an artery in a long spurt, and the second hitting his chest, driving him off his feet before he had a chance to utter a sound.
Dropping down, McGarvey immediately switched his aim toward the church, in the direction the downed guard had looked.
Schade did the same, flattening himself against the rock-strewn ground, his silenced .22 automatic pistol in hand.
Nothing moved, and there was no answering fire. If someone had been there, they were gone now, or incredibly, they had seen or heard nothing.
Only the wind and the pattering rain made any noise, until McGarvey started to rise when he heard the distinctive pop of an unsilenced automatic weapon from somewhere in the distance. Below, possibly at the base of the cliffs beneath the church.
“What the hell was that?” he muttered as he and Schade headed in a dead run the last fifty yards or so to the main doors into the church’s nave.
55
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” LIPTON DEMANDED. HE’D BEEN on the radio copying the latest weather report from Meteorology aboard the Nimitz when the sea twenty yards out erupted in a dozen miniature geysers.
“We’re under fire,” Tyrell answered urgently.
Tony Reid hurriedly started the outboard. Everyone else had their weapons out. Tyrell was studying the base of the cliffs one thousand yards away.
“Belay the motor, Tony,” Lipton whispered. “Even with a night spotting scope they can’t be sure they see us, but they might be able to hear something.”
A little closer, the water to their left geysered again. This time Lipton estimated fifteen or twenty rounds had been fired, perhaps a few more.
“If he’s firing a Kalashnikov, we’re at his extreme range,” Tyrell said.
“He might get lucky,” Lipton said. “Can you spot him?”
“No, but I’d say he was low, maybe right on the water at the base of the cliff.”
“A dock?”
“Probably.” Tyrell looked up. “It’s your call, Ed, but we can’t stay here like this. Either pull back, or …”
“Or go ashore,” Lipton finished it for his number two. They’d been sitting out here for hours waiting for something to happen and now that it had, it was the wrong thing. If Spranger’s group was trying to break out, they’d be on the water, a hell of a lot closer, and they’d be using a lot more firepower.
Whoever was firing at them was probably a lookout stationed on the dock. A chance increase in the ambient light level had come at the same moment the guard was looking in their direction, and he’d spotted something. Or thought he had.
They came under fire again, this time the hits coming in a wide pattern off to their right, but much closer
. The shooter was finding their range.
They’d received word from Operations aboard the Nimitz that the EPIRB signal from McGarvey’s walkie-talkie had begun to fade before he had reached the port of Thira, and less than a minute later it had cut off completely.
Commander Rheinholtz’s best guess was that McGarvey had tossed the device overboard.
“If the sonofabitch wants to do it on his own, then let him,” the chief of Air Operations had radioed.
“I’d like to remain on station for a bit longer,” Lipton had asked.
The airwaves were silent for a long moment, as Rheinholtz pondered his request. Of course he hadn’t told his boss that Schade was missing. There would be hell to pay if the Nimitz CAO knew.
“I want you out of there well before dawn, Lieutenant,” Rheinholtz radioed. “Acknowledge.”
“Aye, aye, Commander,” Lipton replied.
“Keep us posted.”
“Will do.”
Lipton checked his watch. Dawn was less than two hours from now. They were running out of time. Obviously McGarvey had reached the port, but what then? Had he and Schade found a way out to the monastery? Had they attacked from the land side?
The possibilities were nearly endless. But it was very likely that his ex-wife and daughter were still being held. That situation had not changed.
“Ed?” Tyrell prompted.
Another spray of fire from the shooter on the island hit the water, this time close enough to get them wet.
“Bob is probably with McGarvey over there,” he said. “We can’t leave them.”
His men were watching him closely, grim, expectant expressions on their faces.
“We’re going in,” Lipton said, making his decision. “Secure your weapons and check your rebreathers.”
Spranger couldn’t see a thing.
He looked up from the starlight scope and glared at Bruno Lessing, who’d done the shooting. The man was a professional; steady, reliable. It wasn’t like him to fire at phantoms. But there was nothing out there.
“I’m telling you, General, that I saw a small dark boat, perhaps a rubber raft, about nine hundred meters out. Three … maybe four men.”
Critical Mass Page 29
