The Greek Key

17

'We climb up here. It looks straight down on the place,' said Dimitrios as he switched off the engine.

He had turned off the mountain road, backing the Cadillac into a cul-de-sac. Christina peered through the rear window. At the end of the cul-de-sac a wide defile led upwards between rocky walls. A primitive staircase carved out of the rock led out of sight.

'What is this? Where does it lead to?' she demanded.

'The monks made it ages ago.' Dimitrios grinned as he gripped his rifle, opened the door and slipped out. Constantine joined him with his shotgun. Dimitrios thrust his head in through the rear window. 'Christina, you wait here. We're going up to a high point which overlooks the place. You hear shots, we will be back soon after. Then we drive back.'

'I told you, Dimitrios…'

They were gone, climbing the rough-hewn steps rapidly, Dimitrios in the lead. They disappeared round a corner. She climbed out of the car, left the door open, ran back on to the mountain road. From the view ahead she knew roughly where she was. She began running, jogging at a steady trot up the road.

She wore a lightweight jump suit and trainer shoes. As she ran she hauled her dark glasses out of her pocket, perched them on her nose. The stupid cold-blooded bastards. They liked their work: Petros had trained them well. They were true grandsons of the sadistic old ruffian.

Ten minutes later she was still running uphill, pacing herself. She was close to where the mountain ended, where the ground became flat, spreading out towards the sea on the other side of Ida. Pray God she got there in time…

Dimitrios crouched down, settled himself in the nest between massive boulders. He perched his rifle in the cleft of a rock, looked along the sight. Three men were alighting from the Mercedes parked at the edge of the plateau. Beside him Constantine aimed his shotgun.

They were positioned seventy feet above the three men. Both of the Greeks were excellent shots. The place Dimitrios had chosen was a meditation point used by the monks. High above them reared the overhanging monastery. Dimitrios glanced up once, then down again. He was satisfied no one looking down from the summit of Mount Ida would ever see them. An overhang of rock almost completely obscured the view from that height. The overhang was two hundred feet above where they waited.

'Let them get well out into the open,' Dimitrios warned his brother. 'Then there is nowhere to hide. We can pick them off one by one.'

'Which shall I aim for?' Constantine asked.

'You don't. Leave it to me. If one dashes back for the car, he's your dead meat for today. Any minute now…'

'Andreas was found lying dead somewhere near the top of that gully,' Spyros explained.

Newman led the way, avoiding the numerous sharp rocks which littered the ground, often almost hidden by scrub grass. The heat beat down on the back of his neck. He tied a handkerchief round it as he walked. It was very still and silent at this height. No screech of gulls. A stillness which was uncanny – and unsettling. He was the first one to hear the sound of running feet approaching.

Breathing heavily, Christina appeared round the side of the mountain, saw them, increased her pace until she reached them. Holding his rifle loosely in his right hand, Newman stopped and waited, suspicious. What the hell was such an attractive girl doing up here in the wilderness? He didn't like questions to which he had no answer. Nick stepped forward.

This is Christina Gavalas,' he informed Newman.

'Introduce me. Who is he? Quickly!' Christina demanded.

She was panting from her exertions, her breasts heaving under the jump suit. Newman was careful to keep his eyes on hers. They glowed with life, And she was the enemy,

'Robert Newman,' Nick replied. 'The foreign correspondent…'

'And where is Marler?' Christina asked anxiously.

'Oh, he's gone to deal with a call of nature,' Newman told her easily. 'What are you doing up…'

'You are in great danger. There are men up the mountain with guns …'

She broke off as a man appeared from the direction she had come. At least six feet tall, he was clothed in a black robe and wore a black cylindrical hat. A priest. Member of the Greek Orthodox Church, Newman realized. His face was lined with age but he was erect, his movements brisk. He spoke in English.

'Welcome to Mount Ida. You wish to see the monastery? I fear the lady cannot enter.'

Newman took a quick decision. The priest, he estimated, was in his late seventies. Had probably spent all his life in this part of the world. Including the period of German wartime occupation.

'We are looking for the place where – over forty years ago – a Greek citizen called Andreas Gavalas died.'

'Was murdered,' the priest corrected him gravely, stroking his black beard. 'I was here when it happened.'

'You mean you saw what actually took place?' Newman concealed his excitement. 'You know who killed Andreas?'

'Damn that priest. He will have to take his chance.' Dimitrios carefully aimed his rifle at Newman's chest. 'Bull's-eye.' he gloated.

Constantine knocked the rifle barrel upwards. By some miracle Dimitrios avoided pulling the trigger. He glared furiously at his brother. 'Cretin! Why did you do that? Do it again and I will break your arm…'

'There is a priest down there,' Constantine protested.

'So? Since when did you go religious? Petros is an atheist – he brought us up to regard the whole Church as a swindle on the people. What does one less priest matter?'

'And Christina is down there. Are you mad? If your aim is bad you could hit her…'

'Since when was my aim bad?' He glanced down. 'Now look what you've done. They have started walking towards the gully – the place Petros said they must not reach.'

'The problem is solved then. Forget it.'

'No, I will not forget it.' Dimitrios grinned evilly, hoisted his rifle and tapped Constantine's jaw gently with the heavy butt. 'Interfere again and you'll need a new jaw. You understand? No distractions this time. A moving target? Bull's-eye. Again…'

He repositioned the rifle, rested it firmly in a cleft in the rock, thrust the butt firmly against his shoulder, lined up the sight, took the first pressure. One final squeeze…

The bullet slammed into the rock less than an inch from the hand on the trigger. A rock splinter cut Dimitrios' cheekbone. His rifle jerked up. This time it fired. The shot winged into the sky. A second bullet slammed into the rock between the two brothers crouched less than half a foot from each other. The third bullet struck Constantine's shotgun. He let go, yelled. The weapon dropped out of sight over the brink. They were scrambling out of the nest when a fresh bullet nicked the heel of Dimitrios' shoe. He jumped with sheer fright.

A hundred feet above them, perched on a ledge protruding from the mountain wall, Marler reloaded. He aimed down in seconds, pulled the trigger. The fifth bullet ripped a shard of cloth from Dimitrios' right shoulder. Before he followed Constantine, who was scrambling back towards the staircase, he risked a glance upwards.

He saw Marler on the ledge and beneath the huge overhang of rock. Constantine looked back, saw the few seconds when his brother was glancing up.

'Come on!' he yelled. 'He missed five times. He'll kill you with his next shot…'

'Stupid cretin!' Dimitrios yelled back as he also began to run. 'He aimed to miss…' Dimitrios was enough of a marksman to recognize shooting superior to his own. Feeling safe as he ran out of sight of the ledge, he jumped with fright again as a fusillade of bullets peppered the rock walls on all sides, showering him with sharp splinters. How could this be?

'Shoot the bastards!' Christina urged Newman viciously.

Newman was standing, legs braced apart, rifle aimed up at the mountain as he continued shooting at the fleeing figures still in view from below. Christina, eyes blazing, stared up at Marler, now edging his way back along the ledge – at her hated cousins disappearing from sight down the staircase. Newman smiled, lowered his rifle, reloaded.

'You're one lousy shot,' she informed him, her hand pressed into her hip.

'You think so?' He smiled again. 'I aimed to miss – just as Marler did. There's been enough killing. And we don't want to start up a fresh vendetta with your lovely family.'

'Blessed be the merciful,' said the priest.

'I don't know about that, Father.' Newman grinned again. 'I might agree – so long as the merciful are alive. Which isn't often the case if you read history. Now, where was Andreas Gavalas murdered? And what did you see?'

The priest led them to the gully wending its way down to the sea. Near the top, where tufts of bleached grass stood at the edge of the dried-up watercourse, he pointed. A smooth-sided cleft large enough to hide a man. This had been Andreas' temporary grave. The priest, taking a 'walk of solitude', had discovered the body by accident.

The hilt of a knife had protruded from beneath the left shoulder blade and the man was dead. Hurrying back towards the monastery for help, the priest had met several monks who had accompanied him back to the cleft. The body had vanished.

The priest had reported the incident to General Geiger, the German commander-in-chief. Geiger had checked with the only patrol in the vicinity. Later he had told the priest he was satisfied his men had no knowledge of what had happened.

'Then who took away the body?' Newman asked. 'And did you see the British raiding party approaching up the gully after landing from the sea?'

'Yes. I saw them from the monastery. Perhaps that is why my steps led me this way. Presumptuous curiosity. Not a virtue.'

'How many men in the raiding party?' Newman persisted.

'Four. I watched them through field glasses before starting on my walk down here.'

'Four Greeks, you mean?' Newman asked casually.

'No. Three British soldiers and one man dressed in peasant garb. I presume that was Andreas Gavalas who knew the island. I knew they were British because they wore green camouflage raincoats.'

'Surely they would have been seen by that German lookout unit I heard was established in the monastery?' Newman suggested. 'If you saw them coming, the Germans must have done?'

'The British were clever – and lucky. They landed when a thick winter sea mist was covering this area. When I saw them through my field glasses the mist had parted for a short time. At that moment the watchguard unit was being replaced by new men coming on duty.'

'And have you ever heard a whisper as to who might have removed Andreas' body?'

The priest pulled at his beard, his eyes avoided Newman's. 'It is a mystery,' he eventually replied. 'And now I must return if you will excuse me.'

'The whole business is peculiar,' Newman responded.

He stared round the scrub-covered platform. Very little cover for a raiding party which must have relied on the mist to reach the shelter of the mountain. Doubtless Andreas had known ways of penetrating the fastness. Marler was walking towards them at a jaunty pace, rifle propped over his shoulder, as Newman stared once again upwards. What a life – confined most of your days inside that fortress-like complex perched half-way to the sky. A large bird, probably an eagle, drifted off a tongue of rock and circled them high up.

'Can you take me back to Athens in that car?' Christina asked Newman. 'My cousins drove me up here in an old Cadillac. I have been abandoned.'

'All the way to Athens?' Newman queried in surprise.

'I'm not going back to the Devil's Valley – to where Petros is waiting to beat hell out of me. I've finished with that life.' She moved closer to him, her eyes enormous. 'I will pay for my passage. The last ferry leaves in two hours. You will take me? Please.'

'And how will you pay me?' Newman enquired ironically, expecting a certain answer. She had lowered her voice so only he could hear her.

'With information. About Harry Masterson.'

'You just bought yourself a one-way ticket.'

Marler arrived, brushed dirt off his jacket, grinned at Christina. 'You get around, little lady.'

She walked slowly up to him, a half-smile on her face. 'We met earlier, you may recall…'

'How could I forget?' He smiled sardonically.

'I do not forget either. I have something for you, Marler. A keepsake. Is that not the right word?'

She was still smiling when her right hand whipped up, palm open, and hit him with all her considerable force across the face. The blow jerked his head sideways. She smiled again, watching the red weal which had appeared across his cheek,

'Now we are quits. Is that not the right phrase?' She turned to Newman. 'Now, I am ready when you are.'

The priest had lingered with Spyros a few yards away, as though reluctant to leave. His expression was a study in indecision. He seemed to make up his mind suddenly and walked to within a few feet of Newman. He took a deep breath before he uttered the words and then walked rapidly away towards the mountain.

'The disappearance of that body. There was something else on the island when it vanished, I suggest you look in that direction. I refer to the Greek Key.'