Solo (Aka the Cretan Lover)(1980)

by Jack Higgins

  'Okay, old buddy,' he called. 'The last time, so let's get it right.'

  There was a concert grand in the corner by the window, a Schiedmayer. As he walked across to it, he took out the gold case, selected one of the Greek cigarettes and lit it. Then he opened the lid of the Schiedmayer and sat down. He took out the Ceska and laid it ready at the end of the keyboard.

  'All right, Morgan,' he said softly. 'Where are you?' and he started to play Pomp and Circumstance with great verve, following the distant strains of the orchestra in the hall.

  When the footsteps sounded on the stairs it was not Morgan who appeared, but Katherine Riley. She leaned in the doorway to catch her breath, then came forward.

  'This is crazy. What are you doing?'

  'Trying a little Elgar. I'd forgotten what fun he is.'

  He was playing quite brilliantly now and very loudly, leaning over the piano, the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

  The sound drifted down the stairwell, along those curving corridors so that Asa Morgan, waiting in the shadows by the Green Room passageway, turned at once and started up the stairs, his hand on the butt of the Walther in the right-hand pocket of his trenchcoat.

  And the sound reached even Baker, standing with the inspector in the rear entrance foyer. He turned and went up the stairs on the run, the inspector and two constables on his heels.

  'Please, John, if I ever meant anything to you at all.'

  'Oh, but you did, angel,' Mikali smiled. 'Remember that morning in Cambridge on the Backs at the side of the river? That was a set-up because I needed to meet you to make sure Lieselott wasn't a threat to me.'

  'I know that now.'

  'Not that it matters. The truth is you were the only woman I ever knew I ever really care about. Any chance you could explain that to me?'

  And then Asa Morgan moved out of the shadows and filled the doorway.

  Mikali stopped playing. 'You took your damned time about it, didn't you?'

  In the distance, the orchestra was into the Fantasia on British Sea Songs.

  Morgan said, 'I'm here now, that's all that matters.'

  'The field of battle is a land of standing corpses.' Mikali smiled. 'A Chinese military strategist named Wu Ch'i said that rather a long time ago. I'd say it sums you and me up perfectly, Morgan. At the end of the day, there isn't really too much to choose between us.'

  His hand swept up, holding the Ceska. Katherine Riley screamed, running between them, arms outstretched.

  'No, John!'

  As Mikali, hesitating, started to get up, Morgan dropped to one knee and fired the Walther twice, both bullets striking Mikali in the heart, lifting him back over the piano stool, killing him instantly.

  And then, somehow, Baker was there and the three policemen. Morgan stayed by the door holding the Walther against his thigh. Katherine Riley waited, hands at her sides as Baker crouched over Mikali.

  'He could have shot you, Asa,' she said dully. 'Only I got in the way. He hesitated because I got in the way.'

  Baker stood up and turned, holding the Ceska. 'No, love, you've got it wrong. He wasn't about to shoot anybody, not with this gun. It's empty. See for yourself. He'd removed the magazine.'

  The inspector was at the house phone on the wall behind the bar, speaking in a low voice. 'Link me with the command vehicle. Brigadier Ferguson.'

  Katherine Riley went forward and knelt down beside Mikali. His white shirt front was stained with blood, but his face was quite unmarked, eyes closed and he was smiling slightly.

  She brushed the hair away from his forehead, then very carefully removed the white carnation from his lapel. The carnation he had thrown to her in the Loggia box. The carnation she had kissed and tossed back to him.

  She turned and walked out, brushing past Morgan without a word.

  'Kate?' he said and made to go after her.

  Baker caught him by the arm. 'Let her go, Asa. Just give me the gun.'

  Morgan handed him the Walther and Baker unloaded it. 'Feel any better now? Has it brought Megan back?'

  Morgan went and stood over Mikali's body. 'Why did he do it?'

  'Well, at a guess, Asa, old son, I'd say it goes something like this. You're good, but he knew he was better and he couldn't afford that, not this time. He had nowhere else to go.'

  'Damn him to hell!' Morgan said.

  'It's a point of view. By the way, Asa, have you read the Daily Telegraph today? Got a list of the latest Army promotions. You've made it at last. Brigadier. Now you can even tell Ferguson to go to hell if you want to.'

  But Morgan was no longer listening. He turned and ran out into the corridor. It was deserted except for Katherine Riley disappearing round the curve of the far end.

  'Kate?' he cried and as he started to run, the audience in the hall broke into a storm of applause at the end of the 'Sea Songs' Fantasia.

  When he reached the top of the stairs leading down to the main foyer, there was no sign of her. He went down them two at a time and straight out through the glass doors. Behind him, orchestra and chorus and the entire audience broke into the glorious strains of 'Jerusalem.'

  It was raining hard, the road jammed with traffic. As he went down the steps, Ferguson came to meet him, holding an umbrella over his head.

  'Congratulations, Asa.'

  'What you wanted, wasn't it? I knew that from the beginning. We both did. Just the same old bloody game, like always.'

  'Neatly put.'

  Morgan gazed around him widly. 'Where is she?'

  'Over there.' Ferguson nodded across the road. 'I'd hurry, if I were you, Asa.

  But Morgan, darting between the traffic through heavy rain, was too late for as he reached the other side, she had already moved past the Albert Memorial and disappeared into the darkness of the park.

  A Biography of Jack Higgins

  Jack Higgins is the pseudonym of Harry Patterson (b. 1929), the New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy thrillers, including The Eagle Has Landed and The Wolf at the Door. His books have sold more than 250 million copies worldwide.

  Born in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, Patterson grew up in Belfast, Northern Ireland. As a child, Patterson was a voracious reader and later credited his passion for reading with fueling his creative drive to be an author. His upbringing in Belfast also exposed him to the political and religious violence that characterized the city at the time. At seven years old, Patterson was caught in gunfire while riding a tram, and later was in a Belfast movie theater when it was bombed. Though he escaped from both attacks unharmed, the turmoil in Northern Ireland would later become a significant influence in his books, many of which prominently feature the Irish Republican Army. After attending grammar school and college in Leeds, England, Patterson joined the British Army and served two years in the Household Cavalry, from 1947 to 1949, stationed along the East German border. He was considered an expert sharpshooter.

  Following his military service, Patterson earned a degree in sociology from the London School of Economics, which led to teaching jobs at two English colleges. In 1959, while teaching at James Graham College, Patterson began writing novels, including some under the alias James Graham. As his popularity grew, Patterson left teaching to write full time. With the 1975 publication of the international blockbuster The Eagle Has Landed, which was later made into a movie of the same name starring Michael Caine, Patterson became a regular fixture on bestseller lists. His books draw heavily from history and include prominent figures--such as John Dillinger--and often center around significant events from such conflicts as World War II, the Korean War, and the Cuban Missile Crisis.

  Patterson lives in Jersey, in the Channel Islands.

  Patterson as an infant with his mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. He moved to Northern Ireland with his family as a child, staying there until he was twelve years old.

  Patterson with his parents. He left school at age fifteen, finding his place instead in the British military.

 
A candid photo of Patterson during his military years. While enlisted in the army, he was known for his higher-than-average military IQ. Many of Patterson's books would later incorporate elements of the military experience.

  Patterson's first payment as an author, a check for PS67. Though he wanted to frame the check rather than cash it, he was persuaded otherwise by his wife. The bank returned the check after payment, writing that, "It will make a prettier picture, bearing the rubber stampings."

  Patterson in La Capannina, his favorite restaurant in Jersey, where he often went to write. His passion for writing started at a young age, and he spent much time in libraries as a child.

  Patterson visiting a rehearsal for Walking Wounded, a play he wrote that was performed by local actors in Jersey.

  Patterson with his children.

  Patterson in a graveyard in Jersey. Patterson has often looked to graveyards for inspiration and ideas for his books.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  copyright (c) 1980 by Jack Higgins

  ISBN: 978-1-4532-0051-3

  This edition published in 2010 by Open Road Integrated Media

  180 Varick Street

  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

  Cover design by Liz Connor