‘When he got back to Athens, he found his palace in an uproar. Helen’s brothers, Castor and Pollux, had turned up and were threatening blue murder unless he gave her back to them. Being pretty part-worn from his Hades adventure, he agreed; but he was faced with worse trouble between his wife and Hippolytus, a son he had had by the Amazon Queen, Antiope.
‘Hippolytus had grown up into a good-looking teenager, and Phaedra felt that he was just the lad for her to talk to about this and that by the fireside on the long winter evenings, while his father was away killing dragons or teaching young girls like Helen how one and one can make three. But Hippolytus was a religious type and he had dedicated himself to Artemis; so he said to his stepmother: ‘Thanks awfully, but I’ve taken a vow never to do that sort of thing.”
‘If Phaedra had been a decent sort, she would have said: “You silly young mutt; you don’t know what you are missing. Forget what I suggested and keep your mouth shut. That beefy Captain of the Guard is always asking me to go and hear his long-playing records; so I’ll brighten up a few of my evenings with him until your pa cames home.” Instead, she got mad with the youngster and, when Theseus did get back, she complained to him that his son had tried to rape her.
‘That fairly put the cat among the pigeons. Theseus flung Hippolytus out on his ear and called down Poseidon’s wrath upon him. The Sea god obliged by sending a sea-monster to scare the horses of Hippolytus’s chariot, which resulted in it overturning and the unfortunate youth being crushed to death beneath it.
‘Later, Theseus felt that perhaps he had acted a trifle hastily and that, by and large, he hadn’t made a great success of his life; so he left Athens and went into retirement as the guest of Lycomedes, the King of Scyros. Unfortunately, he could not keep himself from boasting about his exploits; and Lycomedes got so bored with hearing about them, over and over again, that he had Theseus thrown into the sea so that he was drowned.’
As Robbie fell silent, Stephanie said: ‘Then it was a sad ending, after all.’
‘Well, yes,’ Robbie agreed, ‘but Theseus had a wonderfully full life, you know. And, in between his expeditions, he did a lot for Athens. He was its first great King, and by his laws he laid the foundations for what it afterwards became.’
By half past four they were back in Heraklion. Stephanie dropped Robbie in Liberty Square, so that he had only to walk across it to the Museum of Antiquities, where it had been decided that he should spend a couple of hours while she bought the things he would need in his new quarters.
At seven o’clock they met again at a small restaurant outside which she had parked the car. The boot and back now contained a folding camp bed, mattress, sleeping bag and pillow, a folding chair, a primus stove with a supply of methylated spirit and paraffin, about twenty yards of dark stuff to serve as black-out material, a hammer and tacks, two torches, a packet of candles, a tin bucket, a broom, two jerry cans to hold water, two towels, a saucepan, an enamel mug, three bottles of wine, coffee, sugar, oranges and biscuits.
When she had given him a list of her purchases, she added: ‘With the other things you have in your suitcase, you should be all right. We can fill the jerry cans at one of the public fountains; with the water from one, you can wash in the bucket, and with some from the other boil yourself up a mug of coffee on the primus in the mornings.’
Robbie smiled across at her. ‘You really are a marvel. You think of everything.’
She smiled back at him. ‘I think I told you when you took me on in Athens that I rather prided myself on looking after people; but I never expected to have to do this sort of thing. I only hope now that Václav falls for the bait I offered him in my letter.’
After they had eaten, they sat on over coffee and liqueurs until it was fully dark. At the Morosini Fountain Robbie filled the jerry cans, then Stephanie drove him to within a hundred yards of his hotel. A quarter of an hour later, he had paid his bill and rejoined her with his suitcase. They had some difficulty in finding the cul-de-sac behind the little house; but at length they identified it, pulled up and switched off the car lights. There was by then sufficient star-light for them to find their way over the rubble and, in half a dozen journeys, they transported all the things they had brought.
On exploring the house further, they found the upper floor much clearer of fallen plaster and debris than the lower. There was the point too, that, should children play among the rubble and chance to enter the house, they were less likely to go upstairs than just look into the sitting room; so it was decided that Robbie should occupy the bedroom. While he swept the floor, Stephanie nailed the black-out material along the tops of the windows so that it would hang down over them at night, but could be rolled up so as not to show through the broken panes in the daytime.
When they had fixed everything, they agreed to meet next day at ten o’clock at the same place as they had met that morning. Since Stephanie could not expect to hear from Barak until the following evening at the earliest, she was anxious to keep Robbie’s thoughts occupied; so she proposed that they should fill in the day by an expedition across the island to Phaestos, the other great centre of Minoan civilisation, near the south coast. As it was advisable for Robbie to be seen as little as possible about the town, in case the police in Rhodes had asked their colleagues to try and trace Max Thévanaz, he agreed that her suggestion was a sound one. They then parted for the night.
Next morning they drove right round the outside of the great Venetian ramparts which still surrounded the city, to get on to the road leading west along the coast. After a few kilometres it turned south, inland, and ran through a valley rich in vineyards with, between the vines, such masses of oxalis that their flowers formed a bright yellow carpet. Gradually the road mounted, in a series of zigzags, until in front they had an excellent view of Mount Ida.
It was in Crete that Zeus had been brought up in secret to save him from his father, Cronos, and it was said that, as a memorial to this, he had reshaped the mountain as a portrait of himself. Seen from the south, its outline certainly looked like the profile of an enormous head of splendid proportions lying on a pillow, with brow, nose and chin all sharply defined.
By half-past-eleven they had come down through the pass and reached the village of Ayioi Dheka, in the vicinity of which had lain Gortyne, the capital of the island during the centuries of occupation by the Romans. According to a pamphlet which Stephanie had acquired, there were a number of interesting remains there on both sides of the road; so, on seeing a ruin through the trees on their left, they pulled up, got out of the car and went over to inspect it.
The country there consisted mainly of small orchards, separated by low, crumbling walls largely composed of blocks of hewn stone, obviously from ancient buildings. Sightseers were so infrequent that there were no sign-boards or even tracks, and the foliage of the fruit trees made it difficult to see far in any direction. The ruin they had seen proved to be only a fifteen-foot-high section of a thick, brick wall but, during twenty minutes of scrambling about, they found the foundations of what must have been an enormous temple, and the ruins of the Roman Governor’s palace. The remains of an Egyptian temple were also said to be there, but they could not locate them; so they returned to the car and drove on for a quarter of a mile, till they came to a large ruin on the right of the road.
This, they learned from the pamphlet, was the oldest Christian church in Crete, and had been built by St. Titus. Beyond it lay a Greek theatre, in which St. Paul had preached, and a wall inscribed with the ‘Law of Gortyne’ which was of special interest because it was the first Code of Laws formulated in Europe, and the work of Greeks living in the second century B.C.
Having walked round the church, they followed a path to the other ruins. The theatre was quite small, with only about twenty-five semi-circular rows of seats, in good preservation and quite charming. Unlike the other ruins they had just visited, it was not entirely deserted. Two men were sitting smoking cigarettes on the edge of the slightly raised sta
ge from which St. Paul had preached. They exchanged nods and smiles with Robbie and Stephanie who, the moment they had passed them, gave one another a swift glance. The two men were talking in Czech and one of them had said:
‘It went more quickly than one would have expected; but I’m glad the job is finished and we’ll soon be home.’
Robbie could hardly control himself for excitement. Czech visitors were so rare in Crete that he felt it highly probable that these were some of Barak’s people. What the man had said tended to confirm that. It suggested that the Bratislava had, after all, landed a group in Crete.
Stephanie had jumped to the same conclusion. In order to overhear more of the conversation, she halted to examine an inscription carved on the back of one of the seats in the front row. They heard the other man reply:
‘I don’t agree. I’m glad to have had the chance to see some of these old places. I only wish we had longer, so that I could visit more of them.’
For once, Robbie took the lead. To have remained where they were would have looked as if they were deliberately listening to the Czechs’ conversation. But, instead of walking on, he took Stephanie’s elbow and guided her up the steep staircase made by the rows of seats. When they reached the top they appeared to be out of earshot but, owing to the admirable acoustics in Greek theatres, they could still hear perfectly every word spoken by the two men sitting on the stage.
As they were making their way up, the first speaker had said: ‘It’s all very well for you, Frantisek; you are a bachelor.’
‘What of it?’ the second replied. ‘I’d have thought you’d be glad of the chance to get away for a bit from your wife and kids.’
Their conversation then continued:
‘Well, it’s a change; but I prefer ordinary jobs and the sort of food I’m used to. I resent having my life upset by the Bosses.’
‘My dear Viliam, I hope you will not be fool enough to show it. Far better pretend that, like myself, you are glad to have been one of those selected to be sent here for this work.’
‘Anyhow, they can have no complaints. We have made a good job of it.’
‘True. All the same, I wonder if all the labour and material we have expended could not have been saved.’
‘How would you have done that?’
‘By making use of the place we went to yesterday. That grotto where they say Zeus was hidden as a child.’
‘What! Drop one down there, instead of having bored our shaft?’
‘Yes; why not? The pit there is said to be bottomless. Of course, it’s not. But, all the same, it’s probably quite deep enough to have served the same purpose.’
‘It might, but it’s a long way from the N.A.T.O. air base.’
‘I don’t think that has any special bearing on the operation.’
‘Perhaps not. But you couldn’t possibly control the drop of a five-foot-long cylinder down a wide hole in the rock, and with jagged sides, too. It would smash itself to pieces before it got to the bottom.’
‘It could be lowered carefully. Still, perhaps you’re right. Anyhow, it was only an idea. Let’s get back to the car.’
As the two Czechs stubbed out their cigarettes, stood up and walked away, Robbie whispered excitedly to Stephanie: ‘They are two of Barak’s people. They must be, and we’re really on to something now. They haven’t been boring for anything; only holes down which they mean to drop something. Atom bombs, perhaps.’
‘What good could that do—unless the bombs explode under something that matters? And one of them said he didn’t think it had anything to do with the N.A.T.O. air base. Anyhow, we know that the sites in Pirgos, Corinth and Rhodes were nowhere near any military objective.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Robbie agreed, ‘but come on. We must follow them. With luck, they may lead us to the site where they’ve been working.’
Keeping the two Czechs in view, they walked back along the path. As they approached the road they saw now that, just round the bend, a hundred yards ahead of where they had left their car, there was another with a driver sitting at the wheel. The Czechs got in and were driven off towards Phaestos. Robbie and Stephanie got to their car as quickly as they could and, keeping about a quarter of a mile behind, followed.
After about twelve kilometres, they could see the ruins of Phaestos perched up on a hill ahead and, to the left, a well-made-up side road that led off up to them. But the Czechs had not taken it. For another few kilometres, Stephanie kept on their tail along the rutty, dusty, little-used main road to the south coast. Having breasted a rise, she suddenly applied the brakes and brought the car to a standstill. At the bottom of the slope in front of them, the other car had pulled up. The Czechs got out and one of them paid off the driver. He ran his car to and fro until he had turned it round, then started to drive it back up the slope. Stephanie took off her brakes, ran down the hill past the other driver and pulled up at the spot where the Czechs had paid him off.
‘You stay here,’ said Robbie quickly, jumping out.
‘Take care of yourself,’ she called after him, but he had already disappeared into the bushes on the left of the road, along a footpath that the Czechs had obviously taken. Five minutes later, he caught sight of them. The belt of trees and bushes ended abruptly along a line of greyish pebbles that formed a river bed. Some distance away, a sluggish stream flowed roughly in the middle of its course. One of the Czechs was standing on the far side of the water, the other was in the act of crossing it on a donkey guided by a peasant. Beyond the river lay a steep hill.
When the Czechs had set off up the hill, Robbie went forward. The peasant had brought the donkey back to the near bank. Pointing towards the hill, he called out: ‘Ayia Triada. Ayia Triada.’
At this, Robbie was greatly relieved. He knew that Ayia Triada had been a Royal Villa used by the Lords of Phaestos in the summer months because it had a view of the sea. Evidently, the Czechs were about to pay it a visit. If they now glanced round and saw him it would not matter, because they would assume that he was simply coming up to have a look at the ruin.
He clambered on to the donkey, grasped the worn saddle and let the poor, scruffy beast splash its way with him across the shallow stream. On the far side, he paid the peasant and hurried after his quarry who, by then, had nearly reached the top of the hill. As he made his way up it by a winding track, he could not help noticing that the wild flowers there were more profuse and varied than any he had seen in Crete. Almost breathless, he reached the top of the rise and gave a quick look round.
There, only a little below the level on which he stood, lay the ruins of Ayia Triada. They were all roofless, but the small palace had had many outbuildings; so the area covered by chambers and walls was considerable. From its south-west front, the palace had looked out over the bay of Mesara. The bay was some miles away and the view magnificent. But the Czechs were nowhere to be seen.
From where Robbie stood, the ruins sloped slightly upward; so he hurried along one side of them until he reached higher ground, then pressed on through low scrub up a still steeper slope. When he halted and looked towards the bay again, he caught sight of the Czechs. They were walking in Indian file down a narrow path that led to a farmhouse about half a mile away. To one side of the house stood a steel pylon but, although it was mid-week, no men were working there and he could see no pile of six-foot lengths of giant screw. That confirmed what he had overheard while the two Czechs were talking. The job there had been completed.
Fearing again that one of the Czechs might turn round and see that he was spying on them, he got to his knees, then lay flat, peering out between two wild sage bushes. In the far distance, he could see the great N.A.T.O. air base that, while at the Embassy, he had heard mentioned as having recently been completed by the Americans. A mile or more from it, there was a little township on the sea shore that had a small harbour. That explained why the Bratislava had never called in at Heraklion. She must have anchored off the south of the island and landed a group with all i
ts gear by lighter.
Robbie was still studying the scene spread out below him when in his rear a quiet voice said in English:
‘I’ve got you covered, Mr. Grenn. Stay where you are and put your hands above your ears.’
His heart missed a beat. Still lying flat, he put his hands up as he had been told, but screwed his head round so that he could look over his shoulder. Lying a few feet behind him, and pointing an automatic at him, was Mr. Mahogany Brown.
26
The Show-down
Robbie drew in a quick breath. He knew now that the game was up and that he had lost it. There would be no chance of trapping Barak. That last hope of learning the Czech’s secret and getting himself cleared of Cepicka’s death on a plea of self-defence was gone. They had been too clever for him. He had been caught again and it seemed too much to hope that he would escape with his life a second time.
The American’s presence at Ayia Triada explained why he had so persistently forced himself on them in Rhodes. It was not that he had been attracted by Stephanie; he had kept them company from morning to night to ensure that they would have no opportunity of going off on their own and finding out anything further.
It was at Monolithos, just outside the Czech working site, that they had first met him. As he had addressed them in English, they had naturally jumped to the conclusion that he was another tourist who, by coincidence, happened to be visiting that lonely spot at the same time as themselves. But, of course, he had been a Czech security agent, attached to the group, just returning from a run inland, perhaps to Rhodes, to buy something that was required. It seemed certain now that he was not an American at all, but a Czech who had either been brought up there or, like Stephanie, was of mixed parentage. Barak, Robbie felt sure, would have circulated his description to all the groups. The two engineers at Monolithos who had given them lunch had been deceived by his crew-cut and dark glasses, and by Stephanie’s story that they were travel agents. But the so-called Mr. Mahogany Brown must have spotted him at once, and probably also identified Stephanie as the missing Mrs. Barak. They had given their name to him as Thévanaz and, on his learning that they were staying at the des Roses, he had said that he was staying there too. But he had driven off ahead of them and, as they had made a detour on their return to see the Valley of the Butterflies, he could easily have bought a few things in the town and checked in at the hotel before they got back.
Mayhem in Greece Page 50