Jack Higgins (19 page)

We'd discussed how we would do it a score of times. Nothing complicated. Something nice and simple and fast. I knocked on the door and Ciasim took out his
knife, holding it ready in his left hand, and flattened himself against the wall. There was the sound of a chair moving, a footstep, then the cover of the small eye-level grill was pulled back. I yawned at the crucial moment, a hand to my face. The grill was closed again, there was the sound of a bolt being withdrawn and the door opened. A young guard appeared, minus his belt, collar undone. “What's all this?” he demanded.

A split second later he was backing into the room, the point of Ciasim's knife nudging him under the chin. I already had a length of twine ready in my hand to tie him as I kicked the door shut behind me. Ciasim withdrew his knife. The young guard's mouth opened as if to cry out and Ciasim hit him in the stomach with his right fist. He went down hard and the big Turk caught the twine I threw, dropped to one knee and tied his hands behind his back.

Andreas Pavlo looked younger then he did in his photo. He was sitting up in the narrow bed, a pillow at his back. His right arm had a plaster cast on it from just below the elbow to the hand. He looked ill, very drawn and pale. Rather like the conventional portrait of a T.B. victim. Just now, of course, he also looked extremely nervous.

“Nothing to worry about,” I said. “We're on your side. We're here to get you out.”

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

“A man called Dimitri Aleko.”

“The shipping Aleko! The millionaire?” He looked bewildered. “I don't believe it. Why should he bother with me?”

“Apparently he supports this crazy organisation of yours. Freedom for Greece and all that sort of rubbish.”

He started to look angry. “Look, I don't understand what you're getting at.”

“You'll understand all right when the security police get to work on you. They'll slice pieces off your more important extras or wire you for sound till you tell them what they want to know.”

“And what would that be?”

“The exact position where you crashed in the Aztec off Crete. The names on the list in that briefcase chained to Apostolidis's wrist.”

He suddenly looked desperate. “Look, I don't know who you are, but I haven't been well. It's my lung. It was badly punctured in the smash. I wouldn't trust myself to hold out for long once they started to pressure me.”

“We can get you out,” I said. “But it's going to be rough. Are you willing to give it a try?”

He nodded, eagerly. “Anything's better than what those bastards have in store for me.”

I said to Ciasim, “Try the guard's boots on him and the greatcoat. He's going to find it cold down there.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and allowed Ciasim to lace up the boots for him. They were a size too large, but would do. He got up to put on the heavy military greatcoat and I knew we were in trouble straight away. He swayed from side to side as he stood there and when he walked to the door, I thought each step would be his last.

The boy was sick—very sick. In other circumstances I think I would have urged him to stay where he was and take his chances. But we were very probably the only chance he was going to get—the only hope of living.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked.

He nodded impatiently. “Now, while I'm still frightened. Just get me out of here. I'd rather die anyway than fall into the hands of the security police. They killed my brother last year.”

He went out into the corridor, leaning heavily on Ciasim. I closed the door, which was self-locking, behind me, and moved ahead of them. As I opened the door to the landing, a guard came up the stairs.

What happened then, happened quickly. He paused several steps down, glanced at me curiously, then at Ciasim and lastly at Pavlo in his military greatcoat whom he obviously recognised at once.

He was already unbuttoning the flap of his holster as I booted him under the chin. He sprawled on his face on the landing below and Ciasim went down quickly and knelt beside him. He glanced up and said calmly, “His neck is broken. I'd better get him out of sight.”

There was a storage cupboard for brooms and brushes just off the landing. He dragged the body in there and locked the door, pocketing the key.

I expected the whole place to break into song as we plunged down those stairs, Pavlo between us, but there wasn't a sound and we reached the bottom without further incident and hurried through the garden. I went first through the storm drain entrance followed by Pavlo. Ciasim came last, closing the grate behind him. We crouched there in the darkness for a moment till I got my spot lamp on.

Ciasim said, “You concentrate on finding the way back, Jack. I'll see to our friend.”

I nodded and turned to Pavlo. “It's downhill all the
way so we should be through in half an hour at the most. Not much longer than that anyway.”

He looked like a ghost, his face pale in the darkness, but nodded impatiently. “Just get me out of here. Off the island—that's all I ask.”

He was right, of course. It had to be done, and there was little sense in standing there talking about it. I got the old German plan out of my breast pocket, examined it quickly and led the way down the steeply sloping tunnel.

 

Without Ciasim's enormous strength it would have been impossible, for by the time we reached the lower section of the tunnel complex, he was actually carrying Pavlo on his back.

I knew we were close to the outfall by the stench which grew stronger and stronger as we descended. And there was the good sea smell, too, merging with it and I wanted to get into that sea more than I had wanted anything in a long, long time. Wanted to get out of this place.

We reached the platform by the entrance and Ciasim lowered Pavlo gently, resting him against the wall. The boy looked terrible, sweat shining on his face. I opened the brandy bottle and gave him a little.

He managed a smile. “That's better. What happens now?”

“We go underwater,” I said. “We've got an aqualung for you. You've nothing to worry about—nothing at all. We'll tie you to one of our underwater scooters and all you have to do is let it pull you along. Fifteen minutes
at the most. We'll be back at our boat and we'll have you warm in bed and on your way.”

“Don't worry about me.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I'd better tell you about the plane in case anything happens. You know Turk's Head on the north-east coast of Crete?”

“Very well,” I said.

“Good. There is a small island called Kapala. It's uninhabited. Not much more than a rock. I crashed about two hundred yards due north in shallow water. Five or six fathoms, that's all. You'll have no trouble finding it.”

He was getting too excited. I said, “All right, so you've told me. Now take it easy while we get this suit on you.”

He clutched at me desperately. “But I must tell you about Apostolidis and the briefcase. It is very important. Crucial to the whole operation.”

He was already feverish so I let him go on for a couple of minutes until he was satisfied he'd covered every eventuality, then we got the wet-suit on him. Ciasim had to cut open the tight-fitting sleeve of the right arm to get it over the plaster cast, but in the end, we had him pretty well covered.

He seemed to rally when we strapped on his aqualung and was surprisingly cheerful when I explained how the regulator worked and pushed the rubber mouthpiece of his breathing tube between his teeth.

He might have been smiling, but I wasn't as I strapped on my own aqualung, for the truth was that I didn't have much faith in his ability to survive the trip. He'd already taken too much for someone in his condition.

We got the aquamobiles into the water first, then
eased Pavlo gently in between us. I fastened him to my own scooter by the simple expedient of strapping him to the handles with a couple of webbing belts. I straddled his body and switched on and Ciasim gave us a push out of the mud into the water.

The whole thing worked quite well for the aquamobile was easily capable of pulling the double load and Pavlo floated there beneath me in no apparent discomfort. The main thing now was to get him out of there as fast as possible. I waited till Ciasim slid out of the gloom to join us, then switched to full power and moved away silently.

 

When I surfaced a few yards astern of the
Seytan
it was twelve-thirty and we were ahead of schedule. But we were still on dangerous ground. There was an excellent chance that the guard in Pavlo's room or the body we had left in the broom cupboard on the staircase, wouldn't be discovered until the morning. Certainly not before six when Pavlo's guard was changed and we could be in Kyros before four now. On the other hand, nothing was that certain in this life.

I let the aquamobile take us in to the boat and called out softly. Within a moment or so, there was a movement at the rail and Melos appeared.

“Is that you, Savage, have you got him?”

“Only just,” I said. “Let's have that ladder down here before he dies on us.”

I had already got the straps undone that had bound him to the handles, and now Ciasim appeared to give me a hand. Melos leaned over the rail, got the boy by the shoulders and pulled him over. I followed, leaving
Ciasim to pass the rest of the gear up to his two sons who were already greeting him excitedly.

In the cabin, Melos had Pavlo stretched out on one of the two bunks and was unzipping the wetsuit. I peeled off my own hurriedly, pulled on a pair of pants and a heavy sweater and joined him.

There was no colour in the boy's face at all and his eyes were closed. Melos said, “He's going to die, I've seen that look before.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “I killed a man to get him out of that place tonight.”

He didn't seem to understand or perhaps it simply wasn't important to him. “Did he tell you anything?”

I didn't get a chance to reply because suddenly, there was a clatter of feet on the stairs and Abu said excitedly, “My father says come quickly, Mr. Savage. A boat comes.”

“You see to him,” I told Melos. “And keep out of sight.”

My first thought was that the game was up. That the guards had been discovered up there in the fort and that one of the M.T.B.s was coming in to make a search. But as the boat drew nearer, I realised from the sound of the engine that it was something different.

In fact it proved to be a Johnson power boat with twin outboard motors, a thirty-five knot job. Morgan Hughes was at the wheel, Yanni Kytros beside him in the front passenger seat. The man who sat beside them was a stranger to me, a seaman from the look of him in knitted cap and long black oilskin storm coat.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I demanded as Morgan threw a line to Yassi.

He grinned as he came up the ladder followed by
Kytros and the other man. “Hell, Jack, Mr. Kytros told me you was in some kind of trouble. Said he wanted to help, so as I knew where you was…”

He stood there grinning foolishly and the sailor standing behind Kytros produced a machine pistol which he cocked in a very professional manner.

“Hands behind the neck, Jack. No trouble.”

Kytros checked me for arms then tried Ciasim who was still carrying the .38 automatic I'd given him on the island. Kytros relieved him of it and stepped back.

“As you're here at this point in time and in one piece, I presume you succeeded in getting Pavlo out of Sinos.”

I said, “What's that to you?”

“I'm taking him off your hands.”

I made a move towards him and the barrel of the machine pistol lifted to meet me.

“I wouldn't, Jack,” Ciasim said urgently. “I think he means it.”

“Another of your little business deals, Yanni?” I said bitterly.

He shook his head. “Not this time, Jack. There are some things that money can't buy. Andreas Pavlo will be safer with me and my associates, I assure you, than he will be with Aleko. At least he will be with friends.”

I saw a lot of things then and perhaps Yanni had intended to say more only he didn't get the chance because Melos stepped quietly out of the companionway and shot the man with the machine pistol twice in the chest. The force of the bullets drove him back against the rail and his finger tightened convulsively on the trigger of the machine pistol, a short burst ploughing up the deck. He dropped it and went over the rail into the power boat.

Yanni was on the deck clutching his right thigh, blood
pumping between his fingers, caught by a stray bullet. And Morgan—poor old Morgan—cracked wide open. He cried out in fear, scrambling for the rail and Melos shot him in the back of the head, driving him down to join the seaman in the power boat.

I dropped to one knee, reaching for the machine pistol and Melos extended his arm and the Walther didn't even shake. He was a pro if ever I've seen one and certainly no simple ship's captain. I stayed exactly where I was and he picked up the machine pistol, moved to the rail and fired a burst into the power boat which started to sink immediately.