Levkas Man

PART FIVE

Red beasts sprawled across my vision, their eyes staring, and a great hand was on my shoulder, restraining me, as the broken face fell back screaming, and I opened my eyes to see the face of Kotiadis, dark and stubbled, hanging above me. "You will get up please and come to the salon." My mouth was dry, my eyes unfocussed. "What is it?" I murmured. "What do you want?" My mind was still half-lost in the dream world from which he had woken me.

"In the salon please-at once." His voice was harsh and urgent. I could hear voices, the bump of a boat alongside.

"Okay." I rubbed my eyes, feeling like death. I'd no clothes on and the cabin was hot, my body bathed in sweat. Veins of light swam across the deck beams above my head, the shimmering reflection of sun on water coming in through the single porthole. "What's happened? Have they got through the rock fall?"

"No. Not any more."

"Well, what the hell is it then?"

"All foreign yachts are to leave Greece immediately."

I swung my legs off the bunk and sat up. "Why? What's happened?"

"It is the order of the Government."

"Yes, but why?"

"I explain when you are dressed. You are to proceed now to Levkas." He left me then.

The time was 15.18. I pumped the wash basin full of water, sluicing it over my face and body, and then, feeling a little better, I slipped on a pair of shorts and went through into the saloon. Kotiadis was standing talking to Zavelas and two officers, Sonia and Gilmore sitting silent on the far side. The place seemed overcrowded, the air acrid with the smell of Greek tobacco, and the atmosphere was tense. A sudden silence fell as I entered. "What's going on?" I asked Gilmore.

"The patrol boat from Levkas," he said. "They arrived about ten minutes ago." He seemed to have shrunk and his voice sounded tired. "They say there is going to be a war."

"I do not say that," Kotiadis exploded. "We prepare. That is all. And it is for your own safety." He turned to me. "You will take this boat immediately to Levkas for examination."

I looked at him warily, wondering what it was all about. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you are under arrest and Kapetan Constantanidi will put men on board to take her there." He indicated one of the officers. "This is Kapetan Constantanidi." The police chief was a small, fierce little man, with a smile full of gold teeth. "But at the moment he has many other things to attend to, so it is better you do not refuse."

"What about Miss Winters and Dr. Gilmore?"

"They want us to go with the patrol boat," Sonia said, her face white, her eyes dark-ringed. "They've abandoned the search and we're to leave Greece immediately."

"I tell you again it is for your own safety," Kotiadis repeated. "There are already some Russian ships in Leros. Our

Government is negotiating but. ." He gave a Gallic shrug. "All foreign nationals are to leave Greece."

"We heard it on the wireless," Dr. Gilmore said quietly. "The Russians are requesting the use of bases in the Dodecanese. The Turks are involved too, of course, and the situation is not at all healthy."

I stood there feeling numb and unable to grasp all the implications. Man the Killer! I could hear the old man's voice- a rogue species carrying within itself the seeds of its own destruction. And Bert, nice, simple, uncomplicated Bert, talking about Armageddon starting in the Middle East. "They know Holroyd is dead," Gilmore said. "They're presuming your father is, too." His eyes, staring at me, seemed to convey a private message.

I didn't say anything, afraid to commit myself. Kotiadis and the police chief were watching me. And Sonia, sitting there, white-faced and still. "How do they know …" I hesitated. "About Holroyd?"

He turned to Zavelas and the ex-cop moved his big bulk nearer to me, explaining how they had broken through the fall about the time I had surfaced from my dive. It was a small hole and Thomasis had spoken to them from the other side. That was when they learned that Holroyd was dead. "After the fall, w^hen Professor Holerod don't return, Thomasis go down the small tunnel to search for him. His torch is not good, but he can see water below and the Professor's body floating in it." Zavelas could not say how it happened. "I guess his hands slipped on the rope as he went down, or maybe he don't find a way to get out of the water." He shrugged. "Anyway, he'd drowned down there."

"And-my father?" The words came slowly, little more than a whisper.

He shook his head. "Thomasis don't see anyone else. He says he called out many times, but there was no answer, so I guess he's dead too. I'm sorry." He glanced at Kotiadis. "A strange man, but we in Meganisi liked him."

I stood there, hardly breathing, my hands trembling, while Zavelas explained how they'd widened the gap and got the Greek out, and then there had been another cave-in.

"And what about Cartwright?" I asked. "Where is he now?"

"Back at the camp by Tiglia, packing his gear."

I turned to Gilmore. But he was staring at the floor, the Greek cigarette he had been smoking sending up an unheeded spiral of smoke from the ash tray beside him. He wasn't going to help me. And Sonia staring at me wild-eyed.

The police chief said something in Greek, looking pointedly at his watch. Kotiadis nodded. "Well, what you decide? Constantanidi says he has many important things requiring his attention at Levkas and in the islands. Do you take the boat to Levkas or not?"

"Paul, you can't. ." The words seemed wrung out of her, checked by the touch of Gilmore's hand on hers.

She knew. That was all I could think of in that moment. She'd got it out of him, and now there they sat, the two of them, both knowing the old man was still alive, both staring at me, waiting. And the terrible thing was, I knew what I was going to do. I just hadn't the guts to put it into words.

Sonia rose to her feet, coming to me slowly as though walking in her sleep, her eyes moist. "Do something," she hissed. "For Christ's sake do something. You can't just leave him there."

"Why not?" I said harshly. "It's what he wanted-to be left there in that bloody charnel house of a cave."

"But you're his son."

"You think you know him better than I do? You weren't down there with him. You don't understand-" I laughed the way he'd laughed, that jeering sound. You don't understand. How many times had she said that to me? "There's no point,'-I muttered. And Zavelas behind me said, "Is too dangerous, that cave. And I guess we can expect mobilization any time now."

"Hans and Alec," she said, her eyes fixed on my face. "They'd try. You've only got to tell them-" Zavelas's big hand

reached out and patted her arm. "Like this guy says, there's no point-just to bring his body out of one hole in the ground to bury it in another."

"Who said anything about a body? Dr. Van der Voort is alive."

His hand dropped, his blue eyes staring. "How can you say that? You don't know."

"But he does," she said fiercely. And when Zavelas shook his head, bewildered, she cried out in a high-pitched hysterical voice, "Ask him. Ask him whether his father is alive." Gil-more had risen. His hand was on her arm. She shook it off. "He was in that cave this morning, diving with an aqualung. Ask him."

Zavelas turned to me. The room was silent. They were all watching. "Is that right? Is the Doctor alive?"

"No," I said. I heard the hiss of her breath, saw the appalled blaze in her eyes and knew that Gilmore hadn't told her the whole of it. My hands clenched and my voice was hard and angry as I told Kotiadis I'd like a word with my friends alone. "Then they can go and I'll take the boat up to Levkas for you."

He nodded, said something to Constantanidi, and then the two officers left. "He is putting men on your ship to clear the bow line and lift the anchor. You have perhaps two or three minutes, then you will please start the engine."

He left us then and Zavelas followed him. But at the foot of the companionway he paused, his big bulk filling the gap. "This country is not like America or England, you know. We are a small peoples with many difficulties, many enemies. I guess you know that. But remember, we are also very obstinate. If necessary we shall fight. Holerod is dead, and even if the Doctor were alive, you don't have a hope in hell of saving him now. I'm sorry." He stared at us a moment and then he heaved himself up the companionway.

We were alone then and I turned to Gilmore. "You should have told her."

He nodded, his head moving slowly without any of his usual alertness, his eyes sad. "But my dear fellow. ." He reached for his cigarette, puffed at it briefly and then stubbed it out. "Yes, I suppose so. But it's not so easy. Miss Winters- Sonia is very fond of him and. ." He shook his head unhappily.

"All right," I said angrily. "If you won't tell her, I'll have to."

She had been staring at me all the time, her breath coming in quick pants, her small breasts moving against the thin nylon of her shirt. Footsteps pounded on the deck, orders in Greek coming to us from above. Bluntly I told her the facts, how I'd found Holroyd, drowned in that cave, his head split open, probably by that Stone Age lamp, and the old man sitting there, alone, knowing it was the end, that for him there was no way out. But she didn't believe me. She didn't want to believe me. "It was an accident." She breathed. "He fell- from the rope …"

"Into a pool of water," I said. "Water doesn't give a man a gash in the head."

"He might have slipped. Bert slipped and broke an arm. Or perhaps a piece of rock from the roof …" She was beginning to cry. She knew there was no way round it, that what I'd told her was the truth. Suddenly she wasn't fighting it any more. "So you'll just leave him there."

"He was very weak," I said quietly.

"To die-alone-in the dark." She was sobbing wildly. "How can you be so cruel-your own father? And his discovery, that cave. ."

"It was what he wanted." More orders and the sound of feet moving aft. "I have to go and start the engine now. They're about to heave the anchor in."

She didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, anyway. "You'd better get your things."

She nodded dumbly. Gilmore followed her. "I'm so sorry," he murmured ineffectually. "So terribly sorry."

I went up to the wheelhouse and pressed the starter button. The deep throb of the diesel filled the ship with sound, the deck planking drumming at my feet. The patrol boat had been standing by to cast off. Kotiadis stepped back on board as the anchor came up. "Constantanidi is going first to Spiglia so I come with you."

Behind me a voice said, "Paul. What happens to you now?"

I turned. She was dry-eyed, looking more of a waif than ever, with one of Gilmore's suitcases in her hand and a pile of her own things over the other arm.

"If there's a war, then I'll be all right. It's in times of war they need people like me, isn't it?"

She didn't comment. Instead, she said, "I don't see why we have to go in the patrol boat."

Gilmore had appeared, carrying his other case. "I tried to talk them out of it, but I expect they have their reasons."

The anchor was on deck, the two boats drifting. Kotiadis looked at her. "Are you ready, Miss Winters?"

She nodded and then turned to me. "Is there nothing-?"

I shook my head. "He was very near the end, anyway. It's better like this."

I don't know whether she believed me or not. I'm not even certain she understood. She stared at me a moment, standing very still, biting her lip, her eyes luminous with tears. But whether for him, or for what might have been between us, I will never know, for she got control of herself and went past me, moving towards the rail in a daze. Kotiadis took the suitcase and helped her over onto the patrol boat. Gilmore followed. "We'll see you in Levkas, I expect."

I nodded. But I thought that very doubtful. The Greek sailors cast off and the patrol boat gathered way, heading north up the channel, a froth of white water at her stern. Sonia had not once looked back. I pushed the gear lever into forward, swung the wheel over and brought Coromandel round onto the line of the patrol boat's wake. I saw the flick of a lighter reflected in the glass of the windshield. Kotiadis was in the wheelhouse now, standing behind me, the smell of his cigarette rank in the hot air. Neither of us spoke, and abreast of the southern end of Tiglia I left the wheel and

gio Levkas Man

went out onto the starboard deck. Hans and Cartwright were busy dismantling the mess tent, Vassilios loading his boat. The orange sleeping tents were already struck. They didn't look up as we steamed past the southern opening to the cove, the water there a flat sheet of brilliant green, the rocks above pulsating in the heat.

I had set the engine revs fairly low, so that we were doing no more than four knots. The time by the wheelhouse clock was 16.10. Just over four hours before it was dark. I pushed past Kotiadis to the chart table and measured off the distance to Levkas port. It was exactly 11 miles-81/^ to the entrance of the canal. Back at the wheel I steadied her on a course of 35°, which would take us just to the east of Skropio Island, and engaged the automatic pilot. "Can I get you anything?" I asked. "A drink, some coffee?"

"Thank you-coffee." His heavy-lidded eyes were screwed up against the sun-glare, the cigarette dangling from his lips. He was still wearing his jacket and I wondered whether that meant he was armed.

Down in the galley, I lit the gas ring and put the coffee percolator on. There was tinned ham in the fridge and I cut myself some sandwiches. By the time I had finished them, the coffee was made and I took it up to the wheelhouse. Skropio's wooded slopes stood like a dark hat floating above the milk calm of the water. Not a ripple anywhere and the boat thudding along as though we were on rails. "Black or white?" I asked him.

"Black."

He watched me as I poured it and I wondered whether he knew I was dangerous.

"Sugar?"

"Thank you."

I handed him the cup and he took it with his left hand, his eyes on me all the time, his right hand free.

I pulled the flap-seat down and sat on it. The coffee was scalding hot and the sweat trickled down my body. "Well, what happens now?" I said. "When we get to Levkas."

"You will be sent on to England."

"I'm from Holland, not England."

"You have an English passport."

"Am I under arrest?"

He didn't say anything.

"If you're at war, then you don't have to take any notice of Interpol."

"We are not at war. And the English are important to us."

"The man I killed was a Communist. You hate Communists. Doesn't that make any difference?"

He shrugged. "I have my instructions."

"And the boat?"

"It will be searched. Probably impounded."

"Why?"

His eyes flicked open. "You ask me why? You are in Pytha-gorion on June tenth. You leave that night. Our information is that you were in the Samos Straits and that you have a rendezvous with a Turkish fishing boat. Correct?"

I finished my coffee, the two of us watching each other. "Yes, quite correct," I said.

"Then explain, please."

"A smuggling job."

I gave him some more coffee, and then, as we closed Skropio Island and motored close in along the shore, I told him the whole story, and by the time I had finished, Skropio was astern of us, and we were passing another wooded island, Sparti, our bows headed slightly east of north and the sun beginning to fall towards the dark rim of the Levkas mountains. Visibility had improved, and beyond the open roadstead of Port Drepano, I could just see the buoys marking the dredged channel into the canal. Four miles to go. One hour at our present speed. "You mentioned Byron to me once. ." And for the next quarter of an hour I used every argument I could think of to persuade him that I could be of some service to his country if I were at liberty. After all, in the event of war they would need ship's officers. But it was no good. He had his instructions. "If it had not been for the accident to Dr. Van der

Voort, you would have been deported when you arrived back in Meganisi."

We were off Mara Point then, close in to the Levkas shore, and I was relieved to see the patrol boat coming up astern. It passed within two or three cables of us doing about 12 knots. It would be in Levkas inside of half an hour. I looked at the clock. It was now 17.21 and the sun was already behind the towering bulk of the mountains. In forty minutes we should be in the dredged channel, with shallows all round us and darkness only two hours off. "Time for a drink," I said. "Whisky or cognac? I'm afraid there's no ouzo."

"Cognac, thank you. But from the bottle, eh?" And he smiled at me thinly. He was taking no chances, and when I came back up to the wheelhouse, I let him pour it himself. Then I asked him whether he'd any idea what we'd been smuggling out of Turkey.

"You told me-antiquities from old tombs."

"Would you like to see them?"

"When we get to Levkas."

"There are twenty-three packages. When we get to Levkas, will you ring Leonodipoulos for me?" If they were museum pieces, I thought perhaps I could do a deal. But he only laughed. "They are Turkish. Leonodipoulos is only interested in Greek antiquities."

There was nothing for it then, and I sat there drinking my cognac, watching the cat's paws of an evening zephyr slip beneath our bows. The sky deepened in colour. The channel buoys grew larger beneath the solid bulk of Ayios Giorgios fort. And all the time Kotiadis stood there, leaning against the back wall of the wheelhouse, the glass in his hand, but hardly drinking. Astern of us, the sea was empty, not a sign of any other vessel right back to the dark shape of Skropio and the outline of Meganisi.

We entered the dredged channel at 18.06, chugging slowly between the first two buoys, the water suddenly a muddy brown on either side. To starboard was the small island of Volio, the fort above it on its hill, but all ahead of us it was a

flat Dutch landscape. I was at the wheel now, a big trading caique coming south. We met her just after we had passed the second pair of buoys, the channel narrow and the ripple of her bow waves breaking where the shallows on either side were only six feet deep. The entrance to the canal proper was marked by the final pair of buoys and there was a red-roofed hut to port, on the extreme edge of the saltings, where cattle grazed in the shadow of the steeply rising hills beyond.

I reached back to the chart table, picked up Chart 1609, folded it to the large-scale plan of the canal and propped it in front of the wheel. Just over a quarter of a mile beyond the entrance a green-flashing buoy marked the fairway, where the channel made a slight dog-leg to the west and was crossed by the curving line of an older canal. And, just before it, there was an unlit buoy marking shallows with a depth of only one foot to starboard. This was the spot I chose, and as we slipped between the last pair of buoys, I took the glasses down from their hook and searched the whole line of the canal ahead. I could see the fairway buoy quite distinctly, with the mound of Paleo Khalia to the right of it, and beyond was a great sheet of shallow water stretching all the way to limani Levkas, and not a sign of a mast, no caique to pull us off before it got dark.

In the last stretch before the buoy, there was a line of stones to port and the low island of solid ground to starboard was topped by the crumbling remains of a small redoubt. I looked round at Kotiadis. He had put his glass down and had just taken out his packet of cigarettes. I set a course of northwest on the automatic pilot, a course that would take us diagonally across the canal and into the shallows on our port side. His lighter flicked as we came to the end of the flat little island. The canal was eighteen yards wide, the unlit buoy less than a hundred yards ahead, and the saltings falling back, the shallows opening out. The moment had come, and I engaged the automatic pilot. "Quick!" I shouted. "Grab it!" and I flung myself out of the wheelhouse door, running aft along the deck. Kotiadis followed me. "What is it?" he asked as he joined me.

"The jib preventor," I said, leaning over the stern. "It must have shaken loose."

He didn't know anything about boats and for a moment he stood there, watching the wake for a non-existent piece of equipment. And then he suddenly remembered that we were in the canal and nobody was at the wheel. He turned, and in that moment we grounded, right opposite the unlit buoy. There was no sudden jolt, just a slow coming to a halt and the white of our wake turning to a useless churning of muddy water.

He stared at me. "Cretin!" But that was all he said. No doubt he had his suspicions, but he didn't voice them, and after an ineffectual attempt to get off under power, he was fully occupied helping me to get the dinghy over the side and a kedge run out astern. It all took time, and because the nylon warp was fixed direct to the anchor, with no intermediary length of chain to weight the stock down, it did not dig in as the strain came on it, but ploughed through the mud bottom. Clouds hung over the mainland hills and for a brief period they were rimmed with pink, while the clear sky overhead turned to a cold duck's egg green and the darkening mass of the Levkas heights changed from purple to black.

By the time we had made three attempts to winch ourselves clear, it was dark enough to see the lights of the port two miles away, with the red and green lights of the channel buoys to the south and the fairway buoy winking green, its flashes so close you felt you could reach out and touch it. "It's no good," I said. "We'll have to wait for a caique to tow us off in the morning." He followed me down into the saloon and I gave him another cognac. And since we were there for the night, I repeated my suggestion that he might like to have a look at what we'd smuggled out of Turkey. I was curious myself, and I hoped that, with his interest in Greek antiquities, they would prove exciting enough to tempt him.

The first package I brought up from the bilges was one of the smallest and proved to contain a short necklace of thin gold beaten into the form of tiny shells. I saw his eyes gleam as he handled it, but when I said he could have it if he'd give

me the opportunity of getting clear of Greek waters, he put it down as though it were too hot to hold. "And what do I say to Constantanidi?" He smiled and shook his head. "Tomorrow, when we are in Levkas, the Customs take charge of this."

"On behalf of the Government," I said. "You won't get it."

"No. But I have my job." He was still staring at it. "Oreo," he murmured softly. "Is very beautiful."

"Then take it." I said. "Whilst you have the chance."

But he shook his head again. "It is of no importance to me. And if there is war-what good is it then?"

I was watching his face, sitting across the table from him, my nerves tense. "Okay." I got to my feet. "Then I'll throw it overboard. And all the rest of the packages." And I picked it up and turned towards the companionway.

"No." He had risen too. "It is all the property of the Greek Government."

"Balls!" I said. "It belongs to a man called Borg, who's a crook anyway." I tossed the necklace onto the table in front of him and then I went for'ard, to where I had pulled up part of the cabin sole, and brought up two more packages, putting them on the table in front of him. "You open those, whilst I get the rest." I could hear him removing the polythene covering as I went for'ard again. When I came back into the saloon, he was carefully unwrapping a drinking cup of the same beaten gold from its cocoon of cotton wool. His eyes were bright, the cigarette in his mouth burning unheeded, and as he pulled the last of the cotton wool away and the goblet-shaped cup lay gleaming, he picked it up in both his hands. That was when I hit him-in the belly first, and then a short jab to the jaw. He sagged, his eyes wide and surprised, his long face looking longer and blood welling where his lip was cut.

He slumped across the table and I pushed him back onto the settee berth. He sprawled there slackly, and he hadn't got a gun. I fetched a morphine ampoule from the medicine chest and injected him in the arm the way I had injected Bert, and then I went on deck for some rope. He was still out when I returned. I put a clove hitch round his wrists and ankles, tied the rope round his waist and then slipped the little gold necklace into his pocket. At least it would be something.

After that there was a lot to do and I worked fast, coiling the long nylon anchor line into the dinghy and rowing with it across to the unlit buoy. It was night now, the sky studded with stars, the water black. I tied the end of the line to the eye on top of the buoy and hauled myself back to the boat. I tried winching her off without the engine first; I was scared of getting the line wrapped round the prop. But she wouldn't come. Even with the engine astern on full revs she didn't budge, and I stood there, sweating, the deck pounding under the soles of my feet and the line to the buoy stretched so taut it was like a thread. I thought for a moment I'd have to lighten her by pumping fresh water over the side, but then, suddenly, the flashing light of the fairway buoy was swinging towards the bows and I slammed the gear lever into neutral, running aft and hauling in the slack as she drifted stem-on towards the buoy. Then I snubbed the line on a cleat, made fast and left her to ride there by the stern whilst I dealt with Kotiadis.

He was heavier than I thought, and I had trouble lowering him into the dinghy. It seemed a long row to the low island with the redoubt, and the mud and the slimy stones of the bank made it difficult to get him ashore. I slipped the rope free of him and left him there, rowing wearily for the buoy. And then I found the knot had been drawn so tight I couldn't undo it. I seemed to be struggling with it for hours, the sweat drying cold on my body and my knees trembling with exhaustion. But at last I managed to free it and then it was only a matter of a few yards to the stern of the boat.

I clambered back on board, made the dinghy fast and stood for a moment in the wheelhouse, alone at last and trembling. The quickest way to clear Greek territorial waters was to head up the canal past the port of Levkas and out by the northern entrance. West from there it was all open sea. But the canal was unlit, and though I had been down it once in daylight, I didn't dare risk it, and there was always the chance, with an emergency on, that they would be checking all boats. Reluctantly I turned Coromandel's bows south and headed for the double line of red and green lights that marked the dredged channel.

It was 21.38 when I passed between the last set of lights. I was shivering by then and I switched to automatic pilot and went below to put on shirt and trousers and a sweater. Until that moment I had been too concerned with getting rid of Kotiadis to think about what I should do when I had the boat to myself. I went back up to the wheelhouse and got out Chart 203. Going south round the island of Levkas meant passing back through the Meganisi Channel. It was 12 miles to the point where we had been anchored and I had made that dive, another 10 miles to Cape Dukato, the south-western tip of Levkas. Say three hours if I could maintain maximum speed of 8 knots in unlit waters. And then I was measuring off the distance to Cape Aterra, the north-westernmost point of Cephalonia. From the Meganisi Channel, it was 23 miles on a course of 225°. I could be there by 02.30 with almost two hours of darkness to spare, and I should then be that much further on my way to Africa.

I checked the course and went below to get myself a meal. By the time I had finished it, Point Kephali was astern and I could just see the 8-second double flash of the light on Mega-nisi's Elia Point fine on the port bow. I made some coffee then, put it in a flask and took it up to the wheelhouse. And after that I had no time for anything but navigation, for there was no moon, only starlight, and I was dependent on exact courses to clear the islands and shoals to the north of the Meganisi Channel. Shortly after 22.00 navigation lights passed me steaming north and I wondered whether Kotiadis would be conscious enough by the time that caique entered the canal to attract its attention. By then I could see the dark outline of Sparti through the glasses, and a quarter of an hour later I was passing Skropio, thinking of the Barretts, wondering how they would feel if they knew their beloved boat was thundering past them, out of their lives.

But I couldn't help it. I couldn't help any of the things

that had happened. It was all part of the pattern that had started way back in the house in Amsterdam. I could only bless them that they had a boat with fuel tanks that gave a range of over 3,000 miles, and those tanks three-quarters full. And then I was in the Meganisi Channel, the bulk of Tiglia just visible and the sound of the engine beating back from the rocks on either side. I was thinking of the old man then, our two lives meeting for the last time in the dreadful interior of that cave-the red bull and Holroyd's body floating up through that blow hole. My hands were shaking, the palms wet with sweat, and I prayed. Prayed that he had died quietly, that he was at peace now.

I couldn't see the gut where Pappadimas had landed me, or the overhang. The steep slopes rising to Mount Porro were one dark mass. But I saw the end of the promontory, the open sea beyond, and with a feeling of relief I turned on to 225° and switched to automatic. I thought he was lucky in a way. Lucky to have found what he had been searching for and to die there in the certainty that he was right, his theory proved at least to his own satisfaction.

I was drinking coffee then, smoking a cigarette, my hands still trembling. He was dead, and I was still alive-his violence, his restlessness, still living in me. At dawn I should be alone, with nothing between me and the Libyan coast but 300 miles of open sea. I could turn west then to North Africa or Spain. Or I could turn east. I thought I'd turn east-Beirut probably. If he were right-if we were going to destroy ourselves-better to be at the centre of it than die on the periphery by remote control.

I switched on the radio, but all I could get was music and the voices of men talking in languages I did not understand. The night had become very dark, no stars now, and my world reduced to the dim-lit area of the wheelhouse. Shortly after midnight I picked up Guiscard light on the north end of Cephalonia. In two hours I should be clear of Greek waters-free and on my own. I felt the blood stirring in my veins, and I left the boat to steer herself while I got myself a drink.

Down below, in the saloon, the golden gleam of the goblet Kotiadis had been fondling caught my eye. I remembered a cardboard box Florrie had discarded. I got it from her cabin, a blue box with the name of a boutique-Asteris-and underneath: Souvenir of Rodos. It had contained a mug she had bought for the boat and I packed the goblet into it, bedding the priceless piece of beaten gold in cotton wool. Somewhere, some time, I would post it to them-a souvenir of the voyage. And then I sat there, smoking a cigarette and smiling to myself, amused at the thought of Bert telling somebody else what a kind, generous man Borg was.

Later, much later, the dawn broke, spilling pink across the sky. I was on deck then, tired and bleary-eyed with lack of sleep, watching as the last of Greece faded away astern, the mountains of Cephalonia a dark cloud-capped rampart low on the horizon. The sea was flat calm, no breath of wind touching the surface, and there was no ship anywhere in sight. I watched as the clouds were edged with gold and the sun rose above them, a great burning orb, and then I swung the wheel over and turned the bows to the south.