Durell was impassive. The cabby's toothless smile was ingenuous, eager. Was it a coincidence to mention Spiridari, where Stephanes had gone? He did not think so. "Perhaps we should start at the southern end of the island," he suggested.
"Not so nice as north. Much ruins, Byzantine, Greek, fine beaches, quaint fishermen. You will enjoy," Alessandro insisted. "You do not regret seeing Spiridari."
Durell nodded and shrugged. Whatever might come, it had to happen very soon. There was little time left. He felt torn by uncertainty. It all depended on Stephanes. Should he have gone with the old man? He couldn't have helped. He didn't know the mountains, the people. If Stephanes could muster his recruits, he might already have reached the vital heart of the Chinese missile emplacements. Just let him make it, Durell thought tightly.
His job here was to feint, deceive and distract the enemy. Of all those who knew the secret caves of Debrec, Ursula was the last who could be dangerous to Dinov. He didn't like to use her as bait. Perhaps Dinov would concentrate on- him. He hoped so. He wished that whatever happened might come soon.
"You are troubled, caro Sam," Ursula whispered. "But I am not afraid. I know how dangerous this may be."
"Perhaps I should keep you here in the hotel."
"What good would that do? If we do not show ourselves and move as if we had some purpose, then we do not sting the enemy into wasting precious time with us." She smiled ruefully. "In any case, I am not so dear to you, am I? How many times did you reject me in Venice?"
"It wasn't anything I could help—"
"If you had wanted me, a way could have been found for us. But now it is too late."
He was silent. Alessandro had already reached the spiny hills north of town, following the twisting shoreline on a graveled road that was wide and well kept. There was little traffic. A few peasant carts, a herd of sheep, some bicycles. The sea shimmered; the sun felt hot. Durell looked back. He could see no one following through the dust they raised.
"What if nothing happens?" Ursula asked quietly.
"Then we have been ignored and Stephanes will be killed in Debrec and the rockets will be fired. Nothing much will matter after that."
Her hand crept into his and she slid close to him on the back seat of the taxi. "I would regret the end of all beauty in this world. It would be better if you and I were sacrificed."
"So I thought," he admitted.
"You are a strange man."
"And you?" He smiled. "What kind of girl are you, Ursula?"
She smiled, too. "I gave you a chance to find out, carissimo. Now it is too late."
"Let's hope not," he said.
He took his gun from under his coat with a swift, smooth movement and thrust the muzzle against the nape of Ales-sandro's neck. The driver gave a great start of surprise.
"Stop the car," Durell said quietly.
The road curved around a spur of the hill that tumbled precipitously down to the sea. There were cedars and vineyards and a flock of sheep above, with a darkly dressed shepherd staring, his staff raised as if in signal, his bearded face hostile. There was a villa on the rocky shore and a dark beach, marked by the pattern of drying fish nets on tilted stakes. The afternoon sun glinted on a white yacht moving slowly toward the land. Fishing boats seemed to be painted on the horizon.
"What is the trouble, sir?" Alessandro said thinly. "The road is too dangerous to stop the car here."
"Do as I say."
Ursula made a small sound of protest. He did not look at her. Alessandro braked hard, with a protest of rubber on gravel. Dust boiled up around them. There was no guard rail, and a steep slope covered with scrub dropped down to the sea. The roof of the villa gleamed red down there. The yacht was making for a private berth offshore at this point.
Alessandro was alarmed. "Please remove your gun, sir. I cannot approve of this halt. It is a grave error, Mr. Durell."
"You speak better English, suddenly."
"I learned it in Athens, in the intelligence corps.'*
"So you say."
"Xanakias ordered me to guard you. Do not be angry. Look, the shepherd is coming down toward us. Just ahead is Spiridari. Let us not waste time. It will be safer there."
"Who wants to be safe?" Durell asked.
"I only obey orders, sir. It is certain that Dinov has not yet reached Kerkyra."
"Nothing is certain. Let's talk to the shepherd."
The man who scrambled down the hill was huge, raw-boned, his face burned dark by the springtime sun, his fingernails caked with the soil of the island. He wore a folded blanket over one shoulder, and his cowhide boots looked new. His eyes were small, suspicious. He smelled of the flock he had been tending.
Alessandro spoke to him in rapid Greek. The man growled a reply and pointed his staff at Durell and the girl.
"It is all right," Alessandro said. "He is George Fuorti-natous, Xanakias' chief agent for the Spiridari area."
"Ask him if Captain Stephanes was here yesterday."
The reply was a nod and another growl in Greek. The taxi-driver tugged nervously at his cap. Durell put his gun away. The big shepherd laughed and pointed a dirty ringer at the yacht.
"Captain Stephanes visited his cousin and went on a fishing trip with him last night, on the Pentiklos" Alessandro said. He was sweating. Durell considered the two men standing in the hot roadway and glanced at Ursula. She was biting her lip, staring down at the walled villa. He wished Xanakias had not been so stubborn; he did not want protection; it might wreck the whole scheme.
"All right," he said. "Let's go into Spiridari. Who owns that villa down there?"
"It belongs," said Alessandro, "to the estate of the late General Pollini, the Italian."
Chapter Eighteen
The villa was empty, Alessandro said. He drove impetuously down the snake-like road into the fishing village. Just beyond, Durell noted a stretch of barbed wire and a sentry box indicating a restricted coastal area patrolled by the Greek military. But the village itself was open to tourists, and these were clearly evident, a small group, clotted at the cafe tables in the cobbled square facing the small harbor. There was a stout German couple, a smart-looking French woman drinking Campari, an English family in reserved isolation. Alessandro parked in the shade of a huge old plane tree that leaned out over the stone harbor edge. There were some brightly painted fishing boats in the port, and others on the beach, but most of them, Durell judged, were out to sea on this fine day.
The sign over the cafe read simply, Stephanes.
On the hill overlooking Spiridari was an aloof, Byzantine monastery, and the tolling of iron bells came down across the whitewashed village houses. A motor launch with two uniformed Greek sailors tied up at the quay. A tall, gaunt woman with iron-gray hair severely bound in a knot came from the cafe.
"Could we have something to eat?" Ursula pleaded. "I'm truly starved. And we have time, haven't we?"
He nodded. The woman's name was Anna Stephanes. She regarded Durell with dark, tragic eyes when he spoke to her.
"Yes," she said in careful English, "my husband has gone off once more with his madman cousin. One would think they had enough of fighting by now. But no, they are children in a game. But it is not a game, is it?" She looked bleak, "Captain Stephanes said you might come here. You are welcome."
"When did they sail?"
"Before the moon arose, last night. The Pentiklos is very swift. They are where they meant to go by now. But whether they live or are dead, only God can say."
"Do you rent rooms here?" Durell asked.
"My house is not for rent. But you may stay as my guests, you and the girl. Is she yours?"
"Not exactly."
"She is a pretty one."
"All lambs must be pretty for the tiger," he said.
The big woman's face tightened. "She is too young for death. Take care of her. If you use this one as bait for a beast, she will prey on your soul if you fail."
"I understand," Durell said. "On the way here,
near the Pollini villa, we met a shepherd." He described the ugly-faced giant. "Do you know him?"
She shook her head. "No, he is a stranger. And there should be no strange shepherds in these hills."
"That's what I thought."
He began to feel hopeful that what he wanted to happen might actually come to pass.
The afternoon crawled by. The sun baked the sea and land, and there was no wind to ease the suffocating heat. By four in the afternoon the village was wrapped in slumber, the cafe deserted, the tourists gone. Only an old woman in a black scarf and white apron slowly swept the dust of the plaza.
Alessandro was again the illiterate taxi-driver. He dozed in his dusty car while Durell explored the village. He kept Ursula at his side as they idled through the narrow streets and along the beach to the barbed-wire limits of the government reservation, then back again past the beached fishing boats. The heat pressed an iron hand on the island. The yacht they had seen had docked offshore of the Pollini villa, but no one was visible there. He began to worry that nothing would happen after all. Suppose Dinov saw through his ruse or, learning that Stephanes had already sailed, left immediately for Debrec?
Alessandro was gone when he returned with Ursula to the square. He went into the cafe, with its single room of whitewashed walls and dark wooden beams, and went up on the balcony to the rooms Anna Stephanes had assigned them. The wooden shutters were closed against the heat. He opened them, after checking the rooms, and saw a small courtyard below decorated with enormous glazed jugs, with a narrow alley leading to a glimpse of the blue harbor. As he turned away, Ursula came into his room.
"If they come after me," she said quietly, "it will have to be soon, will it not?"
"Very soon. Or we lose the game. We only have until tomorrow night, according to what Shkoeder said." He shrugged. "We can only hope that Dinov thinks I'm here to do the work and that he doesn't know Stephanes went ahead yesterday."
"He will learn of it quickly, once he gets here."
"I think he's here now," Durell said. "At least, his men are already here."
"His men?"
"Alessandro—and the shepherd. They don't work for Xanakias," Durell said. "I'm quite sure of that."
The shadows lengthened, and a cool sea wind sprang up to dispel the suffocating heat. Some of the tourists drifted back to the cafe. A truck jounced across the plaza and parked on the mole, awaiting the return of the fishing fleet. Ursula watched the scene and hugged herself, shivering visibly.
"Are you afraid?" Durell asked quietly.
"I'm all mixed up. When it was the business with Shkoeder, I did not permit myself any fear. But now the revenge is over, and I feel like a ship without a compass. My life has no direction. And because I am empty, perhaps this allows fear to slip into my heart." "I'll do my best for you."
"I know that. But I could weep. I wish we were in Venice, on our balconies, with time and the evening awaiting us." "Perhaps it can still happen."
"No." She shook her head. "You are certain the danger will come? How can you be so calm?" "I'm not."
"Something in me is like a violin string that has just been plucked," she said. "I tremble. It is not pleasant. Is it fear?" "Maybe. If you wish, you can stay here and be safe." "But you would hate me then." She stared at him with huge, wondering eyes. "But what can we expect? You want them to take us both, is that right? To delay them?" "Yes."
"They will question me. But I know nothing, really." "I don't want you to know anything."
She shivered. "I see two alternatives, caro Sam. Neither are very pleasant. If you let them take us and they question us, then this will be hard and painful. They know many ways to ask questions, eh? Depending on whether the victim is a man or a woman."
"Ursula, you don't have to—"
"Have no fear, I will let them hurt me, if that is what is needed. But they will hurt you, too. You don't mind?"
"I mind plenty," he said. "But every moment we can snatch from them makes the chance to destroy those missiles in your caves back home all the better. We buy time with our bodies."
"Yes, with pain." She paused. "But they gave no time to Harris or Pollini or Shkoeder. Why should they give it to us? Why won't they just kill us when they come here?"
"It's the chance we must take, Ursula," he said gently. "And there is one third alternative, you know." "Is there? Is it a bad one?" "Not at all. I can kill Helmuth Dinov." Then there came a soft rapping on the door. Anna Stephanes stood there, tall and severe, her white apron dazzling against her long black skirt. Her pale eyes regarded Ursula at the window, then flicked to DurelL
"The Russian is here. On the mole, in the truck parked there. He waits for you."
"Who sent the message?"
"The shepherd," she said, and smiled grimly. "He wants just you—not the girl. Leave her here. She will be safe."
"All right," he said.
He felt as if hot wires had tightened in his stomach. He made sure his gun was loose in its holster. Nodding to Ursula, he followed the tall woman downstairs. She avoided the front terrace where the tourists were gathered in the evening coolness and stalked through the primitive kitchen, where two girls looked at Durell with surprise and giggles. Beyond was an alley that Durell had not suspected. They were waiting there.
The shepherd was not alone. Alessandro was there, too. And a short, chunky man in fisherman's clothing. They were quick and efficient and without mercy. He never felt the blow that struck the back of his head.
Chapter Nineteen
Pain was an animal clawing the breath from his lungs. He shouted with the agony, but it did not matter. His mouth bled and he coughed, strangling on the salt heat. There was no reason for pride. They tightened ropes and wires, and the pain suddenly dropped him back into darkness again. He heard someone curse in the last few seconds as he fell unconscious this time.
Light pulsed, came and went. It was a soft electric bulb. The current seemed unsteady. So it was night, he thought.
"How do you feel, Durell?"
He turned his head. His neck ached. He could not see beyond the aura of pulsing light. It hurt to talk. His lips felt alien, puffy. He could not move, and the effort to do so made him cry out against the stabs of anguish all through him. He suddenly felt afraid for what they might have done to him.
"Durell?"
He tried to recognize the voice. Yes, he knew it.
"Hello, Dinov," he said slowly.
"Ah, you are back with us. You have had a fine training. 144
My men were terribly careless. They were once guerilla fighters in Greece—on the Red side, and afterward Ales-sandro was in Bulgaria for some years. You thought they worked for Xanakias?"
"Yes," Durell lied.
"It is strange how careless you have been."
"I haven't had much sleep lately. Where is the girl?"
"Do you care?"
"I just wondered."
"She is a lovely little creature—still alive."
He was tied hand and foot, expertly, painfully. The knots had been placed to exert excruciating pressure on nerve centers if he moved. He lay on a hard cot There were shapeless masses of sheeted furniture about him. From the peculiar echo of Dinov's voice, he judged he was in a large room, an elegant type of Italian Provincial salon. He felt a cool salt wind against his sweaty face and body. He was stripped to the waist. When he turned his head—carefully— he saw dim French doors opening onto a kind of marble balustraded loggia. There were huge beehive urns on the stone rails, graceful cedars, and a glimmer of moonlit sea. He knew he was in General Pollini's villa.
There came a quick whisper in Russian, a scratching match, the smell of a cigarette, and a shadow loomed vastly between him and the light. A cigarette was placed between his lips.
"A last smoke for the condemned man?" he asked.
"Nonsense. We mean to be civilized."
"What time is it?"
"You come directly to the crux of our problem, do you? Then there is hope yo
u will be sensible. It is only ten o'clock in the evening—a pleasant evening. The beach is washed in moonlight. The village sleeps, except for music and dancing of the fishermen at Stephanes' cafe. Everything is quiet. You and the girl have not been missed. Alessandro just reported this. The shepherd, however, is impatient. For some reason, he has taken a violent dislike to you. And quite an opposite attitude toward your Ursula."
"She's not mine. What do you want, Dinov? You know why I'm here. I wanted to get to Albania."
"But why this way? Why this village? Why Stephanes' cafe, and where is Captain Stephanes, of Epidaurus?"
"It seemed best. I don't know where Stephanes is."
"Where did you send him? Has he left already?"
"I don't know."
Dinov sighed. His shadow loomed over Durell again. This time Durell could see the enemy's face, the face of death. He hadn't known the depth of his hatred before. This universal evil, this lust for destruction of all that was good and bright in mankind, this man epitomized the infinite balance to all human aspiration. Where men built, this one tore down; where men tilled the soil, this one sowed salt. He made the earth tremble with his destroying of laws, of peace, his need to kill. He and his kind fed on corpses.
His hatred shook through every bone, nerve and fiber of his body. He looked up at Dinov's face hovering over him, like some ghastly gourmet relishing a dish to be devoured. His eyes were without light, his sunken cheeks reflected an odd hunger.
"I admire you, Durell. You can save yourself pain. I regret I could not convince you of my good intentions in Venice. Things would have been simpler. Even the pressure of your superiors in Washington was not enough, eh? You remained my enemy—correctly so. It is all very regrettable."
"Does Moscow know you betray them?" Durell whispered.
"Not yet. When they do, it will be too late. Europe and your nation have less than twenty-four hours now."
"And do you expect to die here with the innocents, too?"
"I do not trouble about this. Those of us who work to purify the world with fire and ashes will be saved. I have not inquired into the means by which this will be accomplished."
Assignment The Girl in the Gondola Page 17