Dark Side Of the Island (2010)
Page 14
"I think that could be arranged," Lomax said.
A shot echoed flatly through the rain outside and Alexias moved in from the terrace. "He's in the garden," he said harshly.
Kytros unbuckled his holster and took out his automatic. "I think it would be better if you remained here."
He crossed to the window and Lomax moved after him. Outside, the rain lanced down through the light that spilled across the terrace to the bushes and beyond was darkness.
There was another revolver shot followed by the dry, ominous rattle of a machine pistol. "Stavrou!" Kytros said, and he ran across the terrace and plunged into the garden.
Faintly through the rain came the sound of many voices and the barking of dogs and Katina touched Lomax's aim and pointed. In the darkness on the other side of the road, men moved down the slope towards the villa, their lanterns like eyes in the night.
In the garden all was silent and obeying a sudden impulse Lomax ran across the terrace clutching his shoulder and plunged into the undergrowth. He crouched beside a bush, the rain falling on him, and Katina arrived a moment later. "This is madness," she protested.
He moved forward cautiously between the dripping olive trees without replying, and above them on the mountainside the noise grew louder and more ominous.
Kytros stepped from behind a tree to join them. Before he could speak there was a movement in the bushes on the other side of the garden and the machine pistol rattled again. Stavrou shouted something unintelligible and Van Horn ran headlong out of the undergrowth, left arm raised to protect his face.
He lurched against a tree and stood there staring at them, his breath a white mist in the damp air. In the vellow lamplight, his skin had turned to parchment and he looked old and tired and defeated.
He turned and staggered along the drive towards the main gate. As he reached it, the mob poured down from the mountain and flooded across the road.
Lomax and Katina paused and Alexias came up behind them and there was a strange silence. It was as if, somehow, the people outside the gate realised that something extraordinary was taking place.
Stavrou emerged from the trees and waited, the barrel of his machine pistol pointed towards the gate. Kytros nodded to him and moved forward on his own. When he paused, legs slightly apart, he was holding the automatic against his right thigh.
"Throw down your gun, Mr. Van Horn," he said. "Let no one else suffer in this business."
Van Horn started to raise the revolver, almost in slow motion, his finger tightening on the trigger. In the same moment Kytros flung his arm forward and fired. The heavy slug pushed Van Horn back against the gate and the crowd scattered hurriedly.
He reached backwards, grasping one of the iron bars with his left hand to hold himself upright. Very deliberately, he raised the gun again, and Kytros shot him twice in the body.
There was a terrible groan from the crowd and Van Horn slithered to the ground, hands folded across his stomach as the life spilled out of him.
He looked up as Lomax went forward and tried to speak. A moment later, he started to choke and blood gushed from his mouth in a bright stream.
Beyond the gate the crowd were quiet in the rain, not yet understanding what had taken place, waiting for someone to explain. Alexias moved beside Lomax looking old and tired as if all at once life had become too much for him. He tried to find words, but none would come and he went towards the gate.
Kytros unlocked it and Alexias passed outside and started to speak quietly to the crowd and the sergeant dropped to one knee beside Van Horn and examined the body.
After a moment, he looked up and said calmly, "There is no blame here for you, Mr. Lomax. This man wished to die. He made me kill him."
Lomax stood there clutching his arm, feeling the blood ooze between his fingers, and the lamp above the gate seemed to grow to enormous proportions. He turned and went along the drive to the villa.
The front door stood open to the night and he passed through the hall and the narrow, whitewashed passage and came into the great glass room containing Van Horn's ceramics.
The showcases seemed to be suspended in the night, circling the great red and black amphora that floated, disembodied, in the darkness.
He stood there, staring at it, sweat on his face, and a spasm of blind, unreasoning rage surged up inside him. He lurched forward and pushed it sideways from the plinth with his good arm, sending it smashing in a thousand pieces across the floor. And then, for some unaccountable reason, he failed to catch his breath and night moved in on him as great dry sobs tore at his throat.
He went out on the balcony, and somehow Katina was beside him, and he said brokenly, "Dust and ashes, Katina. Dust and ashes."
"I know, Hugh," she said simply.
He stood at the rail and looked out on beauty. The rain had stopped and the freshness of wet earth hung on the damp air and he was alive.
After a while, he slid his good arm around her shoulders and they went back into the house.
A Biography of Jack Higgins
Jack Higgins is the pseudonym of Harry Patterson (b. 1929), the New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy thrillers, including The Eagle Has Landed and The Wolf at the Door. His books have sold more than 250 million copies worldwide.
Born in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, Patterson grew up in Belfast, Northern Ireland. As a child, Patterson was a voracious reader and later credited his passion for reading with fueling his creative drive to be an author. His upbringing in Belfast also exposed him to the political and religious violence that characterized the city at the time. At seven years old, Patterson was caught in gunfire while riding a tram, and later was in a Belfast movie theater when it was bombed. Though he escaped from both attacks unharmed, the turmoil in Northern Ireland would later become a significant influence in his books, many of which prominently feature the Irish Republican Army. After attending grammar school and college in Leeds, England, Patterson joined the British Army and served two years in the Household Cavalry, from 1947 to 1949, stationed along the East German border. He was considered an expert sharpshooter.
Following his military service, Patterson earned a degree in sociology from the London School of Economics, which led to teaching jobs at two English colleges. In 1959, while teaching at James Graham College, Patterson began writing novels, including some under the alias James Graham. As his popularity grew, Patterson left teaching to write full time. With the 1975 publication of the international blockbuster The Eagle Has Landed, which was later made into a movie of the same name starring Michael Caine, Patterson became a regular fixture on bestseller lists. His books draw heavily from history and include prominent figures--such as John Dillinger--and often center around significant events from such conflicts as World War II, the Korean War, and the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Patterson lives in Jersey, in the Channel Islands.
Patterson as an infant with his mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. He moved to Northern Ireland with his family as a child, staying there until he was twelve years old.
Patterson with his parents. He left school at age fifteen, finding his place instead in the British military.
A candid photo of Patterson during his military years. While enlisted in the army, he was known for his higher-than-average military IQ. Many of Patterson's books would later incorporate elements of the military experience.
Patterson's first payment as an author, a check for PS67. Though he wanted to frame the check rather than cash it, he was persuaded otherwise by his wife. The bank returned the check after payment, writing that, "It will make a prettier picture, bearing the rubber stampings."
Patterson in La Capannina, his favorite restaurant in Jersey, where he often went to write. His passion for writing started at a young age, and he spent much time in libraries as a child.
Patterson visiting a rehearsal for Walking Wounded, a play he wrote that was performed by local actors in Jersey.
Patterson with his children.
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Patterson in a graveyard in Jersey. Patterson has often looked to graveyards for inspiration and ideas for his books.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright (c) 1963 by Jack Higgins
ISBN: 978-1-936317-73-8
This edition published in 2010 by Open Road Integrated Media
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New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Cover design by Liz Connor