by Jack Higgins
"What about The Little Ship?"
"He took Nikoli into partnership years ago. He and Dimitri Paros run it between them."
Lomax frowned. "Why Dimitri?"
She shrugged. "My uncle has always felt a responsibility towards him. His father was one of those who died at Fonchi."
"And they all hate me," he said. "All except you. Why, Katina? Why should you be different?"
She pushed herself up and said lightly, "But you have given me no reason to hate you."
She stood looking out to sea as the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon and Lomax got to his feet and moved to her shoulder.
"Why did you never marry?" he said softly. "A girl like you must have had offers."
She turned very slowly and in the weird orange light reflected from the sea she might have been Helen gazing on Troy burning and never more beautiful.
Her eyes were dark pools a man could never fathom. When she whispered his name and took a step forward they came together naturally and easily. Her hands pulled his head down as her mouth sought his and then he lifted her in his arms and laid her down on the rug.
She was crying, her face wet with tears, he was aware of that and then a great wind seemed to gather them up and carry them off to the other end of time.
As they went through the garden to the house they walked hand-in-hand like children. Katina's linen dress was badly crumpled and stained with salt water and Lomax chuckled and kissed her gently on one cheek. "You'd better change before supper. We don't want to shock Oliver in his old age."
They moved through the sitting room into the hall and paused at the bottom of the stairs. "I think I'll take a shower as well," she said. "I'll see you in half an hour."
He nodded. "I'll be on the terrace with Van Horn."
She kissed him briefly and turned away and he stayed there, aware that her fragrance still lingered in the air around him, feeling curiously sad.
For a little while he had managed to escape from the world of hate and violence into which he had been plunged. But what he had just experienced on the beach had been a brief foretaste of a happiness he could only have if he solved a seventeen-year-old mystery. He was beginning to doubt whether that was possible.
Van Horn was sitting on the terrace in the same canvas chair smoking a cigarette and looking out to sea with a pair of night glasses.
"Ah, there you are," he said. "Enjoy your walk?"
"I went down to the beach," Lomax told him. "Quite a boat you've got there."
Van Horn nodded. "Comes in very handy. It means I can get across to Crete when the mood hits me. The mail boat only calls here once a week."
"I'm only too well aware of that fact," Lomax said.
He leaned against the balustrade and looked out over the darkening sea and after a while, Van Horn said softly, "Why did you come back, Lomax? Why now after all these years?"
Lomax shrugged. "I felt like a change, it was that simple."
"But nothing ever is," Van Horn said.
Knowing at once that he was right, Lomax frowned, trying to get it straight in his own mind. After a moment he said, "I seemed to have taken a wrong turning somewhere."
"You wanted to be a writer, didn't you?"
Lomax nodded. "Oh, I became one all right. Not the great novelist I'd imagined or anything like that, but I've done all right in the film game."
"Learning to compromise is one of the hardest things in life."
Lomax laughed harshly. "In my case it seemed at times as if life had done the compromising. I reached a state in which my mornings carried a permanent taste of dead yesterdays. I thought that if I came back to the Aegean, took some time off to think, that I might find where I'd gone wrong, begin again."
Van Horn sighed. "Isn't that what we all want to do and never can? We wouldn't make the same mistakes twice—we'd simply make fresh ones." He smiled softly. "There's an old Greek saying: 'For every joy the Gods give two sorrows.' We must accept life as it is, Lomax, and work from there."
Lomax shook his head. "Too fatalistic for my taste. A man must be willing to fight back when the going gets rough."
"Presumably you intend to do just that?"
Lomax nodded. "I'm fully aware that I have some sort of moral responsibility for starting what happened here, but I didn't pull the trigger on these people. I don't see why I should carry the cross for the person who did."
"But you've nothing to go on. You don't even know what you're looking for."
"It's quite simple really," Lomax said. "I'm looking for the member of the original group who doesn't fit into the general pattern. The person who obviously benefited by his treachery."
"Or his weakness or fear, have you considered that?" Van Horn shook his head. "It won't work, Lomax. Every member of the group suffered in one way or another. Some died, the rest saw the war out in Fonchi, and we all squatted in that Hell together. No one received special treatment, I can assure you."
"Except Alexias," Lomax said.
"As I think I mentioned earlier, they sent him to Gestapo Headquarters in Athens for special treatment of another sort."
"But why should they?" Lomax demanded. "They knew he'd worked with me and with the EOK on Crete, but it's highly unlikely he could have told them anything about the general set-up there that they didn't already know. Under the rules of the Geneva Convention they were quite entitled to shoot him as a spy and yet they didn't."
"On the other hand, they usually executed Special Air Service officers when they caught them and failed to do so in your own case."
Lomax nodded slowly. "That's the one thing I've never understood. Why Steiner didn't have me shot. They couldn't have been saving me for Crete because the policy was to hold a public execution in front of the local populace where they caught you."
"I might add that if you're looking for someone who doesn't fit into the general pattern there's always Katina," Van Horn said calmly.
Lomax looked at him in astonishment. "For God's sake be sensible. We know exactly what happened there."
"We only have her word for it. If you suspect her uncle then you must logically suspect her also." Lomax frowned and sat down in the opposite chair and Van Horn continued. "Another thing. Even if Alexias did betray us, that still doesn't explain how the Germans got on to him in the first place."
And there was the one great flaw. Lomax sighed heavily. "You're right of course."
"I'm sorry," Van Horn said gently. "But it had to be said. What will you do now?"
Lomax got to his feet. "I still think it's time I had a word with Alexias. After all, in a manner of speaking, he's at the heart of things."
"Do you think he'll see you?"
"I don't see why not. Katina tells me he lives out at the farm on his own. If I simply turn up there, he won't have much choice, will he?"
"You're aware, of course, that he may be praying for you to put in an appearance? That you could be running your head into a noose?"
"That had occurred to me," Lomax said calmly. Van Horn got to his feet and moved to the balustrade. For a moment he stood there looking out to sea and then he turned. "I can't say I approve of all this, Lomax. Frankly, I don't think it really matters any more, but if I can help in any way, I will. You're welcome to borrow the jeep for a start."
Lomax shook his head. "Thanks all the same, but I could do with some time to work things out. I think I'll walk over the mountain."
"Can't I persuade you to stay for supper?"
"I don't think so. For one thing, I don't want Katina to get involved too much in this business. If she knows I intend seeing her uncle, she might try to prevent me."
"What shall I tell her?"
Lomax shrugged. "Anything you like. Say that I'll be in touch. That I want to think things over on my own." Van Horn looked as if he intended to argue, but Lomax turned quickly, went through the house and out into the garden. As he moved towards the main gates, someone called his name and Yanni emerged from the yard. "Aren't you stayin
g for supper?" Lomax shook his head. "I've got pressing business, son. Something that can't wait. Tell Katina how sorry I am." Yanni's young face was solemn. "You looking for trouble again, Mr. Lomax?"
Lomax grinned. "It's usually the other way round. You go back in the house now. I'll see you tomorrow."
He moved across the road and started up the hillside. It was that quiet period half-way between evening and night and strangely still. He could hear a dog barking in the distance and the scent of woodsmoke drifted on a small wind from some shepherd's hut.
When he stopped to rest, he leaned against a boulder and lit a cigarette. He had been aware for some time that he was being followed and he moved back into the shadows and waited. A moment later there was a rattle of stones and Yanni came cautiously forward.
He paused, obviously undecided, and Lomax moved from behind the boulder and tapped him on the shoulder. "And where might you be going?"
Yanni smiled sheepishly. "I didn't mean no harm, Mr. Lomax. I thought you might get into trouble again like this afternoon."
"Well you thought wrong," Lomax said. "Does Katina know you're here?"
"If I'd told her, she'd have wanted to come too." Lomax turned him round firmly and gave him a push.
"Now you get back down to the villa before she starts worrying about you."
The boy moved away. He paused once and looked round, but Lomax hardened his heart and waved him on and he disappeared reluctantly into the dark shadow of the ravine. For a moment Lomax stood there, a smile touching his mouth, and then he turned and started to climb again.
When he moved over the rim of the plateau near the top of the mountain and looked again upon the Tomb of Achilles, night was at hand.
He stood in the desolate light of gloaming and the mountain was tipped with orange fire. Below him the sea was black with depth, purple and grey near the shore, and the lights of the villa seemed very far away.
The beauty of it was too much for a man and he felt strangely sad and drained of all emotion and then the fire on the mountain died and night enveloped him. A small wind whispered between the pillars of the temple and there was only the silence.
He turned cold and a thrill of elemental fear moved inside him. Here on top of this mountain, standing amid the ruins of an ancient race, he was faced with the silence of eternity and the realisation of his own insignificance in the general scheme of things. Whatever a man did came to nothing in the final analysis.
That being so, he could only do what had to be done and hope for the best. He crossed the plateau and started down towards the other side of the island.
14
A Fine Night for Dying
The moon was rising as he went down the hill through the olive trees and he could taste the salt on the wind. The farm was shrouded in the darkness of the hollow, still and quiet with no light showing anywhere, and he ducked under a fence and moved cautiously across the yard.
An old and battered pick-up truck, relic of the war years, was parked by the porch. The radiator was still warm when he touched it and he stood for a moment, a slight frown on his face, and then mounted the steps to the porch and opened the door.
There was a slight eerie creaking from the hinges, but no other sound. He moved into the kitchen, eyes probing the darkness, and paused suddenly, aware with complete certainty that he was not alone.
A foot scraped on a flagstone and Dimitri Paros said from the shadows, "Come right in, Mr. Lomax. We hoped you'd call."
Lomax took a quick step backwards and something exploded in the pit of his stomach, doubling him over. He sank to his knees and keeled slowly over on to one side.
A lamp was turned on, flooding the room with light, and he lay with his knees drawn up, fighting for breath while his wrists were tied behind his back.
He was aware of voices speaking together in Greek and the sound of laughter and then someone grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him to his feet.
There were two others besides Dimitri and stamped in the same mold, young fishermen in shabby reefer jackets and patched jeans. One of them was shaking with excitement and the other kept wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Dimitri's head was heavily bandaged, his face drawn with pain. "You're going to die, Englishman," he said, and his eyes were like stone. "For making a fool of me in front of my friends with your dirty tricks and for sending my father to his death in Fonchi camp."
Lomax was managing to draw air into his tortured lungs once more, but his mouth was so parched that he found difficulty in speaking. He moistened dry lips and croaked, "I didn't send your father to his death, or anyone else. He was a brave man for whom I had only respect."
Dimitri struck him back-handed across the face. "You are not fit to speak of him." He turned to the other two. "Get him into the truck."
They ran Lomax out through the door, bundled him into the cab of the old truck and pushed him down on the floor. One of them climbed behind the wheel and Dimitri and the other walked round to the far side.
Lomax twisted on to his front and as the headlights were switched on, found himself looking straight at Dimitri. The bouzouki player produced a Beretta automatic of the type issued to Italian officers during the war and handed it to the other man.
"If he gives you any trouble between here and town, shoot him."
"What do we do when we've got rid of him?" his companion said.
"Come straight back to the farm. I'll be waiting to hear the good news." Dimitri turned to Lomax. "Sorry I can't be in at the kill, but I've got other business to attend to, Riki here and Nikita will look after you just fine. They've got almost as good a reason for hating you as I have."
"You'll never get away with this," Lomax said.
Dimitri spat full in his face. "That's for luck, Englishman. You're going to need it."
He stepped back as Riki clambered up into the passenger seat and the truck moved away over the uneven surface of the yard. As they turned on to the track, Nikita moved into top gear and the roar of the engine filled the small cab.
Lomax twisted to one side and looked up. In the light from the instrument panel Nikita seemed almost subhuman, the bones of his face standing out in sharp relief as sweat dripped from his pointed chin.
Riki, who had been smoking a cigarette, tossed it out of the window and started to sing, and the roaring of the engine drowned his voice so that as his mouth opened and closed no sound seemed to come out.
There was an impossible, nightmarish quality to the whole thing and for the first time Lomax began to feel afraid. "Listen to me!" he shouted desperately.
If either of them heard him above the noise of the engine, they made no sign. The truck bounced over a ridge in the road, rolling him over on his face again, and as panic moved inside him he turned on his back and cried at the top of his voice, "For God's sake listen to me!"
The effect was almost miraculous. The truck skidded to a halt and Nikita cut the engine in the same moment. They sat looking down at him, neither of them saying anything, waiting for him to speak, and Lomax said, "This is madness. Killing me will earn you nothing but grief."
"You have a better idea?" Riki asked calmly.
"I'm a rich man," Lomax said. "My life is worth a great deal to me."
The very oppressiveness of the silence which followed told him that he had said the wrong thing. With a sudden curse, Riki raised a foot and pushed hard down on the unprotected neck. Lomax started to choke and a few seconds later the pressure was released.
"You ever hear of a man called George Samos?" Riki demanded.
Lomax nodded, feeling suddenly cold, realising what was to come. "I knew a shepherd by that name. He helped me when I was here during the war."
"He was our uncle," Riki said. "Our father's brother. The Germans hunted him down up there on the mountain and shot him like a dog."
"You think money could pay for that, Englishman?" Nikita demanded.
There was nothing Lomax could say, nothing they wo
uld have been prepared, to listen to. He lay there helplessly while Riki produced a large red bandanna and quickly gagged him with it, and Nikita started the engine again and drove away.
He was aware that they had entered the town because the truck had to slow to negotiate the narrow streets, and by turning his head slightly he could look up through the windscreen at the roofs of the houses.
When the truck finally rolled to a halt and Nikita cut the engine, Riki jumped to the ground first. He pulled Lomax out after him and held the Beretta under his nose.
"Do exactly as you're told," he said. "Don't make me use this thing."
They were parked at the end of the breakwater which was farthest away from the pier. It was dark and lonely, the only sound the lapping of the water against the pilings of the old wooden jetty below. When a car door was opened somewhere in the distance the music and laughter might have been coming from another planet, and Lomax shivered as they went down a flight of stone steps to the jetty.
The old forty-foot diesel launch moored at the far end was festooned with nets still damp from the day's labour, and stank of fish, the deck slippery with their scales. They made him lie face down on the nets while they tied his ankles, and then Nikita went aft and returned with a pile of heavy chains which he dropped on the deck with a clatter.
Riki turned Lomax over and squatted beside him. "For you, Englishman. There's a place we know a couple of miles out. Dark and quiet and very deep. You'll have it all to yourself."
He patted Lomax on the cheek, stood up and turned to his brother. "I'll take her out. You see to the moorings."
He went into the wheelhouse and Nikita cast off aft and moved into the prow. For a moment he was out of sight and Lomax swung on to his side, straining desperately at the ropes which bound him, but he was wasting his time.
The jetty lay quiet and deserted in the diffused, yellow light of a solitary lamp. There was no one to help him now, and then, somewhere in the shadows, a can was knocked on to its side and rolled across the deck with a clatter.
As Lomax twisted to look behind him, Nikita hurried aft, a frown of alarm on his face. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded, and then a large, black-and-white cat moved out of the shadows and rubbed itself against his leg.
