The Mediterranean Caper

12

Zacynthus was hardly what Pitt had expected. There could be no doubt about it, the slurred accent, the neatly styled hair, the casual introduction: Zacynthus was an American.

Ten seconds, each spent scrutinizing every detail of Pitt and Giordino, elapsed before Zacbynthus slowly turned and looked down at the moaning Darius. Zacynthus’ face seemed glacial with elaborate indifference, but the tone of his voice betrayed bewilderment.

“Remarkable, truly remarkable. I didn’t think it was possible.” He looked at Pitt and Giordino again, this time with mixed doubt and admiration written in his eyes. “For a highly trained professional to even lay a hand on Darius is considered a great accomplishment, but for a pair of sad looking underdogs like you to wipe the floor with him is nothing short of miraculous. Your names, my friends?”

A devilish glint flashed in Pitt’s green eyes. “My little companion is David, and I’m Jack the Giant Killer.”

Zacynthus smiled a tired smile. "The day is long and hot, and you’ve incapacitated one of my best men.

Please don’t compound my misery with sick humor.”

“In that case, Dirk,” Giordino murmured slyly. “Tell him the one about the nymphomaniac and the guitar player.”

“Come now,” Zacynthus said, as if talking to children. “I have no time to waste on such drivel information if you please! We’ll begin with your correct names.”

“Screw you,” Pitt snapped angrily. “We didn’t beg to be dragged here by that ape who calls himself Zeno, and we didn’t ask to be pushed around by Earthquake MaGoon there on the floor. We’ve done nothing illegal immoral perhaps, but not illegal. if you hope to get any answers from us, I suggest you supply a few yourself.”

Zacynthus stared at Pitt. his lips pressed tightly together. “Your arrogance aroused my professional curiosity, he said tartly; During the years since I chose investigation as my life’s work I’ve confronted scores of shrewd and dangerous felons. A few have spit in my face and threatened revenge, some stood immovable and silent, still others begged on their knees for mercy. But you, my bedraggled friend, have to be different” He waved his pipe accusingly at Pitt. “By God, it’s classic, truly classic. I look forward to matching my wits against yours at the interrogation.”

He broke off as Zeno stepped into the room. The Greek started to say something, but his mouth hung open and his great moustache appeared to droop in astonishment when he spied Darius, now sitting up in a tight ball “Great thunderbolts of Zeus, my inspector, what has happened?”

“You should have warned Darius to be more careful.”

“But I did warn him,” Zeno explained apologetically. “Even then, for Darius to be overpowered; I did not think it possible.”

“My words exactly.” Zacynthus knocked the ashes from his pipe. “See what you can do for our poor friend. I’m going to take these men to my office and determine if they’re as cunning with words as they are with their hands and feet.”

“After what they did here, do you think it wise, my inspector, to be alone with them?”

“I think they realize they have nothing to gain by further physical activity.” Zacynthus threw Pitt and Giordino a bantering smile. “Just to be on the safe side, Zeno, handcuff the little one’s right wrist to this clever devil’s left ankle. Not a foolproof restraint method, by any means, but at least it will make resistance somewhat inconvenient.”

Quickly Zeno pulled a pair of chromium plated handcuffs from a clip on his belt, unsnapped the ratchets and secured them into place, leaving Giordino in an awkward stooped position.

Pitt glanced up through the hole in the roof at the evening sky. It was darkening by the moment as the sunlight began to retreat. His back still ached, but he felt grateful that it was Giordino, and not he, who was bent double. He flexed his shoulders, wincing at the pain that erupted from every square inch of his torso, then he looked back at Zacynthus.

“What have you done with Teri?” ho asked quietly.

“She’s quite safe,” Zacynthus replied. “As soon as I can verify her claim of being von Till’s niece, I shall release her.”

“What about us?” Giordino’s voice reached up.

“In due time,” Zacynthus said curtly, motioning to the doorway. “After you, gentlemen.”

Two minutes later, with Giordino clumsily shuffling beside Pitt, they entered Zacynthus’ office. It was a small room but efficiently furnished; complete with detailed aerial photographs of Thasos tacked to the walls, three telephones, and a short-wave radio, conveniently placed on a table directly behind an old scratched and battered desk. Pitt looked around surprised. The whole set-up was too neat, too professional. Quickly he decided that his best hope still lay in a crude show of hostility.

“This looks more like the command headquarters of a general than the office of a two-bit police inspector.”

“You and your friend are brave men,” Zacynthus said wearily. “Your acts have proved it. But it’s stupid of you to continue the role of an oaf. Though, I admit, you do it very well.” He walked around the desk and sat down in an obviously unoiled swivel chair. “This time the truth. Your names please?”

Pitt paused before replying. He was puzzled and angry at the same time. The strange, off-beat operation of his captors puzzled him.

There was a curious feeling, almost a cold certainty in his subconscious mind that he had nothing to fear.

These people did not fit his conception of run-of-the-mill Greek policemen. And if they were on von Till’s payroll, why were they so dead-set on merely obtaining his and Giordino’s names; unless, perhaps, the cats were toying with the mice.

“Well?” Zacynthus’ voice hardened to a sharp edge.

Pitt pulled himself erect, and took a gamble.

“Pitt, Dirk Pitt, Director of Special Projects, United States National Underwater Marine Agency.

And the gentleman on my left is Albert Giordino, my Assistant Director.”

“Most certainly, and I’m the Prime Minister of—”

Zacynthus broke off in midsentence: his eyebrows rose sharply, and he leaned across the desk, gazing directly into Pitt’s eyes.

“Let’s have that again. What did you say your name was?” His voice this time was soft and patronizing.

“Dirk Pitt”

Zacynthus did not move or speak for a full ten seconds. Then he slowly settled back, visibly off balance.

“You’re lying, you must be lying,”

"Am I?”

“Your father’s name?” Zacynthus still stared unblinkingly at Pitt.

“Senator George Pitt of California.”

“Describe him; appearance, history, family— Pitt sat down on the edge of the desk and pulled out a cigarette. He fumbled for his lighter, then remembered it was still lying on the floor of the room where It had fallen when he charged Darius.

Zacynthus struck a wooden match against a drawer and held it for him.

Pitt nodded a grateful thank you.

Pitt spoke for ten minutes ‘without stopping, Zacynthus listened thoughtfully, moving only once to switch on a dim overhead lamp as the daylight outside the window faded slowly away. Finally he raised his hand.

“That will do. You must be his son, the person you claim to be. But what are you doing on Thasos?”

“NUMA’s Chief Director, Admiral James Sandecker, assigned Giordino and myself to investigate a series of strange accidents that have recently plagued one of our oceanographic research vessels.’

“Ah yes, the white ship anchored beyond Brady Field. Now I’m beginning to understand.”

“That’s nice,” Giordino said sarcastically from his uncomfortable stance. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but if my bladder isn’t relieved soon, you’re going to have an accident right here on the office floor.”

Pitt grinned at Zacynthus. “He’d do it too.”

A speculative look crossed Zacynthus’ eyes, then he shrugged and pressed a hidden button under the desk top. Instantly the door flew open, revealing Zeno with the Glisenti firmly gripped in one hand.

“Trouble, my Inspector?”

Zacynthus ignored the question. ‘Put away your gun, remove the handcuffs and show — ah — Mister Giordino to our sanitation facilities.”

Zeno’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you certain—”

“It’s all right, old friend. These men are no longer our prisoners, they are our guests.’”

Without another word or any outward sign of surprise, Zeno holstered the automatic and released Giordino, escorting him down the hall.

“Now it’s my turn for answers,” Pitt said, exhaling a transparent cloud of bluish smoke. “What’s your connection with my father?”

“Senator Pitt is well known and respected in Washington. He serves honorably and efficiently on several senate committees. One of which is the Narcotic Drugs Committee.”

“That still doesn’t explain where you come in.”

Zacynthus pulled a well-worn tobacco pouch from a coat pocket and idly filled his pipe, carefully tamping it with a small coin.

“Because of my lengthy experience and my investigations in the field of narcotics I have often served as liaison between your father’s committee and my employer.”

Pitt looked up puzzled. “Employer?”

“Yes, Uncle Sam pays my salary just as he does yours, my dear Pitt.” Zacynthus grinned. “My apologies for the late formal introduction. I’m Inspector Hercules Zacynthus, Federal Bureau of Narcotics. My friends just call me Zac, I’d be honored if you do the same.”

All doubts flew from Pitt’s mind and the relief of certainty covered him like a comforting cool wave from the sea. His muscles relaxed, and he became aware of how tense he had been, how keyed-up his thoughts and nerves were against the unknown dangers of the situation. Carefully, holding back an urge to tremble, ho crushed his cigarette in an ashtray.

“Aren’t you a little out of your territory?”

“Geographically yes, professionally no.” Zac paused to puff his pipe into life. “About a month ago the Bureau received a report through INTERPOL that a massive shipment of heroin was loaded aboard a freighter in Shanghai…“

“One of Bruno von Till’s ships?”

“How did you know?” Zac’s voice was quizzical.

A wry smile crossed Pitt’s lips. “Just a guess. I’m sorry for interrupting, please continue.”

“The ship, a Minerva Lines freighter called the Queen Artemisia, left the Shanghai harbor three weeks ago with a seemingly innocent cargo manifest of soybeans, frozen pork, tea, paper and carpets.” Zac could not help grinning. “Quite a variety, I admit.”

“And the destination?”

“The first port of call was Colombo in Ceylon. Here the ship unloaded the Communist Chinese trade goods and took on a new cargo of grapbite and cocoa.

After a fuel stop at Marseille, the Queen Artemisia’s next and final port is Chicago via the Saint Lawrence Seaway.”

Pitt thought a moment. "Why Chicago? Surely New York, Boston or the other eastern seaboard ports are better equipped by the underworld to handle foreign drug shipments.”

“Why not Chicago?” Zac retorted. “The Windy City is the greatest distribution and transportation center in the good old United States. What better place to dump one hundred and thirty tons of uncut heroin.”

Pitt looked up, disbelief etched on his face. “That’s impossible. No one on this earth could get that kind of an amount through a custom’s inspection.”

“No one, that is, except Bruno von Till.” The voice was a low murmur, and Pitt suddenly felt cold.

“It’s not his real name of course. That was lost somewhere in his past, long before he became an elusive smuggler, the most diabolic and crafty purveyor of human misery of all time.” Zac swung around and gazed unseeing out the window. “Captain Kidd, the blockade runners of the Confederacy and all the slave traders rolled into one couldn’t hold a candle to von Till’s setup.”

“You make him sound like the arch villain of the century.” Pitt ventured. ‘What did he do to deserve the honor?”

Zac flickered a glance at him, then looked again through the window.

“The numerous revolutionary bloodbaths suffered by Central and South America in the last twenty years would never have occurred without secret arms shipments from Europe. Do you recall the great Spanish gold theft of nineteen fifty-four? Spain’s already shaky economy nearly toppled after a large government gold reserve vanished from the secret vaults of the Ministry of Treasury. Shortly after, India’s black market was glutted with gold bars bearing the crest of Spain. How was a cargo that size smuggled seven thousand miles? It’s still a mystery. But we do know a Minerva Lines freighter left Barcelona the night of the theft and arrived in Bombay a day before the gold appeared.”

The swivel chair squeaked, and Zac refaced Pitt. The inspector’s melancholy eyes looked vague and lost in contemplation.

“Immediately prior to Germany’s surrender in World War II,” he continued, “eighty-five high ranking Nazis suddenly materialized in Buenos Aires on the same day. How did they get there? Again, the only ship arrival that morning was a Minerva Lines freighter. Again in the summer of nineteen fifty-four an entire bus load of teenage school girls disappeared on an outing in Naples. Four years later an Italian embassy aid discovered one of the missing girls wandering aimlessly through one of the back alleys of Casablanca.” Zac paused for nearly a minute, then went on very quietly. ‘She was completely insane. I saw photographs of her body. It was enough to make a grown man cry.”

“And her story?” Pitt prompted gently.

“She remembered being carried aboard a ship with a large ‘M’ painted on the funnel. That was the only thing she said that made any sense. The rest was insane babble.”

Pitt waited for more, but Zac had fallen silent, relighting his pipe and filling the room with a sweet aromatic odor.

“White slavery is a rotten business,” Pitt said! tersely.

Zac nodded. “Those are only four cases of hundred, that are indirectly connected to von Till. If I could quote word for word from the INTERPOL files we would be sitting here for a month, and then some.”

“Do you think von Till masterminds the crimes?” “No, the old devil is much too smart to become involved in the actual deed. He merely supplies the transportation. Smuggling is his game, and on a grand scale at that.”

“Why In hell hasn’t the filthy bastard been stopped?” Pitt asked half angry, half confused.

“I wish I could answer that without a feeling of shame,” Zac shook his head sadly. “But I can’t. Nearly every law enforcement agency in the works has tried to catch von Till with the goods, so to speak, but he has eluded every trap, murdered every agent sent to infiltrate Minerva Lines. His ships have been searched and researched a thousand times, yet nothing illegal is ever found.”

Pitt idly watched the smoke curl from Zac’s pipe. “No one is that clever. If he’s human, he can be caught.”

“God knows we’ve tried. our combined law enforcement agencies have studied every inch of the Minerva ships, shadowed them day and night at sea, guarded them like hawks at the docks, and searched every bulkhead with electronic detection gear.

“I can rattle off the names of at least twenty investigators — damn good ones too — who have made von Till’s arrest their life’s work.”

Pitt lit a second cigarette and stared at Zac steadily. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I think you might help us.”

Pitt sat silent, scratching the irritating chest bandage. Might as well nibble at the bait he thought.

“How?”

For the first time a flicker of devilishness showed in Zac’s eyes, then disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“I understand you’re quite friendly with von Till’s niece.”

“I’ve laid her if that’s what you mean.”

“How long have you known her?”

“We met for the first time on the beach yesterday.”

The surprise on Zac’s face slowly turned to a sly grin. “You’re either a very fast ‘worker or a very adept liar.”

“Suit yourself,“ Pitt said offhandedly. He stood up, stretching to loosen his sore muscles. “I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it.”

“It would be interesting to learn just what you see in my thoughts.”

“The oldest tactic in the world,” Pitt smiled knowingly. “Your intention would have me continue my intimate friendship with Teri in the hope that von Till would accept me as one of the family. This arrangement would in turn give me the run of the villa and a chance to observe the old kraut’s actions at first hand.”

Zac met his eyes evenly. “You have excellent perception, my dear Pitt. What do you say, are you game?”

“No chancel”

“May I ask why?”

“I met von Till over dinner last night, and we didn’t part the best of friends. In fact, he even sicced his dog on me.”

Pitt knew Zac would not appreciate the humor.

But what the hell, he thought, why go through the whole maddening story again. He began to wish longingly for a drink.

“From sex with the niece to dinner with the uncle, and all in the same day.” Zac shook his head incredulously. “You are indeed a fast worker.”

Pitt merely shrugged.

“It’s a pity,” Zac continued. “You could have been a great help to us on the inside.” Ho puffed on his pipe until the embers in the bowl glowed a vivid orange-red.

“We’ve had the villa under constant surveillance from a distance, but could detect nothing out of the ordinary.

Two hundred yards; that was as near as we could get without arousing von Till’s suspicions. We thought our little masquerade as tourist guides had finally paid off when you and his niece were apprehended by Colonel Zeno.”

“Colonel Zeno?”

Zac nodded, then paused deliberately for effect.

“Yes. He and Captain Darius are members of the Greek Gendarmerie. Technically, Zeno outranks me a few steps, you might say.”

“A rank of Colonel in the police? Pitt asked.

“Isn’t that a bit unusual”

“Not if you understood their law enforcement system. You see, with the exception of Athens and a few other larger cities which have their own metropolitan bureaus, the Greek rural and suburban areas are policed by the Gendarmerie; a branch of the national army, and a very elite and efficient outfit.”

In spite of his hatred for Zeno and Darius, Pitt was impressed.

“That explains their presence, but what about you, Inspector? A narcotics agent after illegal drugs in Greece is the same as an FBI agent after a spy in Spain; it’s just not done.”

“In an ordinary case, you’re quite correct” Zac’s face turned grim and his voice hard. “But von Till is not an ordinary case. When we get him behind bars and put an end to his filthy smuggling operation we will automatically cut international crime by twenty percent And that, I assure you, is no small margin.” An inner anger had taken control of Zac and he stopped for a moment, taking several deep breaths until it subsided. “In the past, each country worked separately, using INTERPOL channels to relay vital information across national borders. For instance, if I learned through the Narcotics Bureau’s undercover sources that an illegal shipment of drugs was bound for England, I would simply send my information to INTERPOL London, who in turn would alert Scotland Yard. Time willing, they’d set a trap and apprehend the smugglers.”

“Sounds like a neat and workable arrangement.”

“Unfortunately it has yet to work with von Till,” Zac said quietly. “No matter how many warnings, how many traps, he always manages to evade the nets and come up like the proverbial sweet smelling rose, fresh out of the excretion barrel. But this time it’s going to be different.” He pounded the desk for effect

“Our governments have allowed us to form an international investigation team that can cross any border, use any police facilities, and have at their command, men and equipment of the military.” Zac sighed heavily, then went on apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Pitt, I didn’t mean to be long winded. But I hope I’ve answered your question as to why I’m on Thasos.”

Pitt studied Zac carefully. The Inspector looked like a man who was not used to failure. Every movement, every gesture was thoughtfully planned in advance; even his words carried an air of confident forethought.

Yet, Pitt could not help detecting a glimmer of fear behind Zac’s eyes; a fear of losing the game to von Till. Pitt began to wish more than ever for a drink.

“Where are the other members of your team?” Pitt asked. “So far I’ve only seen three of you.”

“At this moment a British inspector is on board a Royal Navy destroyer, trailing Queen Artemisia, while a representative from the Turkish Police Bureau is observing her from the air in an antiquated, unmarked DC-3.” Zac spoke woodenly, as if quoting from a legal document. "Two detectives of the French Surete Nationale are also on hand, posing as Marseille dockworkers, awaiting the Queen's arrival for refueling.”

A feeling of detached unreality began to creep

on Pitt. Zac’s words were becoming dull and unmeaning, Indifferently, almost, with a kind of hazy academic interest, he wondered how much longer he could stay awake. Ho had had only a few hours sleep in the last two days and it was catching up. Pitt rubbed his eyes and shook his head vigorously, then forced his mind back to alertness.

“Zac, old buddy,” It was the first time Pitt had called him by name. “I wonder if you would do me a personal favor.”

“If I can,” Zac grinned hesitantly, “old buddy.”

"I want Teri released in my custody.”

“Released in your custody?” Zac arched his eyebrows in accompaniment to wide innocent eyes. Steve McQueen couldn’t have done it any better. “What lecherous scheme do you have up your sleeve?”

“No lechery,” Pitt said seriously. “You have no choice but to release her. Once free, it will take Teri all of twenty minutes to storm back to the villa — hell hath no fury like the wrath of a woman humiliated demanding that Uncle Bruno do something about her shameful captivity. The old boy will put his shrewd mind into gear and, within the hour, your little underground spy network will be blown from Thasos back to the States.”

“You underestimate us,” Zac said urbanely. “I’m well aware of the consequences. Plans have been made for just such an emergency. We can be out of these quarters and working under a different cover by morning,”

"Too late,” Pitt countered sharply. “The damage is done. Von Till will be wise to your presence. He’s sure to double every precaution.”

“You have a very convincing argument.”

“You’re damn right I have.”

“And if I turned her over to you?” Zac asked speculatively.

“As soon as Teri is missed, if she hasn’t been already, von Till will turn Thasos upside down in an exhaustive search. The safest place to hide her now is on board the First Attempt. He won’t think to look for her there, at least not until he’s sure she isn’t on the island.”

Zac stared a long moment at Pitt, examining every inch of the man as if he were seeing him for the first time, wondering why someone with an excellent position and influential family would take such difficult and dangerous risks, never knowing when a miscalculation might spell the end of his career or even his death. Zac idly tapped his pipe against an ashtray, knocking the loose ashes from the round briar bowl.

“It will be as you say,” Zac murmured. “Providing, of course, the young lady will cause no trouble.”

“I don’t think so,” Pitt grinned. “She has other things on her mind besides international drug smuggling.

I’d say that sneaking off to the boat with me holds more interest than another dull evening with Uncle Bruno. Besides, show me a woman who doesn’t crave a little taste of adventure, now and then, and I’ll show you a—”

He broke off as the door opened and Giordino walked in, followed by Zeno. Giordino had a wide grin stretched across his cherub face and he clutched a bottle of Metaxa Five Star brandy in one hand.

“Look what Zeno found,” Giordino flicked off the bottle lid and sniffed the contents, screwing up his face into a mock look of ecstasy. “I’ve decided they’re not such bad guys after all.”

Pitt laughed and turned to Zeno. “You’ll have to excuse Giordino. He always comes unglued at the mere sight of booze.”

“if so,” Zeno grinned beneath his moustache, “We have much in common.” He stepped around Giordino and set a tray with four glasses on the desk.

“How’s Darius?” Pitt asked.

“He is on his feet,” Zeno replied. “But he will be limping for a few days.”

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Pitt said sincerely. “I regret-”

“No regrets are necessary,” Zeno interrupted. “In our line of work these things happen.” He passed a glass to Pitt, noticing for the first time the blood stained shirt. “You seem to have your injuries also.”

“Courtesy of von Till’s dog,” Pitt said, holding the glass to the light.

Zac nodded silently. He now grasped more fully Pitt’s hatred for von Till. He relaxed, hands banging limply over the arms of the swivel chair, secure in the knowledge that Pitt had revenge on his mind, not sex.

“After you get back to your ship, we’ll keep you posted by radio on von Till’s activities.”

“Good,” Pitt said simply. He sipped the brandy, enjoying the fiery lava-like liquid that trickled down his throat into the stomach. “One more favor, Zac. I’d like you to use your official status and send a couple of messages to Germany.”

“Of course. What do you wish to say?”

Pitt had already picked up a pad and pencil off desk. “I’ll write everything down including names addresses, but will have to fake my German spelling.

When Pitt finished he passed the pad to Zac. “Ask them to forward their reply to the First Attempt. I’ve add NUMA’s radio frequency.”

Zac scanned the pad. “I don’t understand your motives.”

“Just a wild hunch.” Pitt poured another shot Metaxa in his glass. “By the way, when will the Queen Artemisia make her detour by Thasos?”

“How. but how do you know that?”

“I’m psychic,” Pitt said briefly. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Zac looked at Pitt long and consideringly. “Sometime between four and five A.M.

Why do you ask?”

“No reason, just curiosity.” Pitt braced himself for the burn and downed the drink. The jolt was almost too much. He shook his head from side to side, blinking away the tears that burst from his eyes.

“My God,” he whispered hoarsely. “That stuff goes down like battery acid.”