The Lost Labyrinth

III

The Hyundai's engine was gurgling and clattering, but somehow Knox made it down to the coast. He passed the port of Hora Sfakion, headed inland again, up a steep and zigzagging road. He put the gear-stick into second for a tight corner and then couldn't get it out again. He reached the top, then passed through the small town of Anapoli. Men were sitting at two tables outside a cafe in the square; they got to their feet when they saw him bunny-hopping along, and started clapping and whooping him on, like he was a cyclist in the Tour de France. He followed signs to Agia Georgio. His mobile began to ring as he rattled across a gorge on a timber bridge, but it fell off the passenger seat when he fumbled for it, and slid beyond his reach. He didn't dare stop to retrieve it, lest the car wouldn't restart.

The landscape was as calm as his nerves were jangled. Hills, woods and meadows, untended flocks of sheep and goats. A flight of finches took off ahead of him and fled down a narrow tunnel of trees. He reached Agia Georgio to find a gate barring the road, leaving him no choice but to stop. His engine stalled at once, as he'd feared it would, and wouldn't restart. His mobile began ringing again. He grabbed it from beneath the seat. 'Yes?'

'It's me,' said Angelos. 'Now I want you to listen. I don't want you getting alarmed.'

'Alarmed?' asked Knox, getting out of the car and letting himself through the gate. 'What's happened?' A Doberman leashed to a fencepost started barking so furiously that he had to clamp a hand over his ear to hear.

'It's just, there's some confusion about the body we recovered from the wreckage last night,' said Angelos. 'It may not have been Mikhail Nergadze after all.'

Somehow, it wasn't the shock to Knox it might have been. Somehow, he'd almost expected it. 'Tell me,' he said, giving the Doberman a wide berth.

'The Citroen was rented to a Belgian businessman named Josef Jannsen. He flew in from Bruges to check out a nightclub down in Varkiza he was thinking of buying. He was due to meet the owners there last night, but he never showed.'

Knox jogged up a narrow cobbled road to a village square. A mountain spring was splashing into a carved stone drinking fountain. He scooped a mouthful of the icy melt-water before continuing on up. 'You're saying it was this guy Jannsen in the car, not Nergadze?'

'That's how it looks. According to one of the Georgians, Nergadze had a bunch of tattoos; but there weren't any on the body we found. Nergadze must have realised there'd be a major manhunt for him. This must have been his way of stopping it before it could get started. We think he waited in car-hire until this poor bastard Jannsen turned up. He killed him and cut off his hair and then traded clothes with him. Then he set the driver's seat as low and as far back as it would go, belted Jannsen in and sat on top of him.' A stout woman dressed all in black watched suspiciously from the shadows of her porch. 'Maybe he genuinely hoped to drive out,' continued Angelos. 'I can't say. But he certainly had a contingency plan. We know he'd been to that industrial area before. We found the second Mercedes in a lock-up there, along with the body of one of his men, the one who tried to steal his cash. So it looks as though he deliberately led us there, yelled out his name so we'd be certain it was him, then drove at that container.'

Knox nodded, picturing how it would have happened. 'He'd have waited till the last moment, then dived down passenger side.'

'Maybe that's why he chose a convertible, because the roof would shear off more cleanly. Or maybe that was just luck. And that's why it was raining cash. It looked like a lot of money, but it was only a fraction of what was in the case. We reckon he scattered it around precisely so that the first policeman to get to the car would be watching it, rather than the trees. Meanwhile, he'd have hidden the rest of the money along with some clean clothes and Jannsen's passport and wallet; I'll bet once he was out of the car and away, he collected them, cleaned himself up, then went calm as you like into the terminal. Only a crazy man would even contemplate such a thing, of course. But from everything you've told us…'

'Into the terminal?' asked Knox. The road deteriorated into an unsealed track. He jogged along it, his breath coming faster. A mule munched grass as it watched him pass. 'You're not saying he just flew out of there?'

'It looks like it,' admitted Angelos. 'At least, someone flew out last night, using Jannsen's name and credit card.'

'Nergadze,' said Knox. 'Where did he go?'

'This is why I don't want you getting alarmed,' said Angelos.

'Oh, Christ!' said Knox. 'He flew to Crete, didn't he? He's going for Gaille.'

'He can't be that crazy. He's on the run, remember. He must know we'll work it out eventually. He's certain to go to ground.'

'No,' said Knox. 'He's going for Gaille.'

A shout at the other end of the line. 'Bear with me,' said Angelos. Knox could hear angry voices, recriminations. He kept running, the phone clamped against his ear. The track grew worse. He saw a roadblock of boulders ahead, and two cars parked side-by-side in the trees. 'Okay,' said Angelos. 'Here's the very latest. Heraklion Airport has confirmed that Jannsen landed late last night. He hired himself a rental. A Mazda.'

'Don't tell me,' said Knox. 'Licence plate: HKN 1447.'

'How the hell did you know that?'

'Because he's here,' said Knox numbly. 'He got here before me.'