by Peter Cave
Martin jumped aboard the Rigid Raider, and beckoned them to join him. ‘Well, lady and gentlemen, shall we depart?’
The single objection, now answered, seemed to act as a catalyst for all of them. With no more than a brief, questioning glance at Mike Bright, who could only shrug back at her, Janice moved towards the open boat and stepped aboard. Bright and Mallory followed her, making themselves as comfortable as was possible on the inflatable cushions. Pavlaski boarded the craft last, having said nothing and appearing to accept his role meekly as something which was predestined. Both Mallory and Bright suspected that he knew as much about what was going on as Martin, but the language barrier would preclude him as a source of information.
With everyone more or less settled in, Martin nodded to the craft’s pilot, who, throttling up the twin Johnsons, backed the Rigid Raider back off the shingle and swung round in a slow, lazy arc before heading out across the open sea. Ten minutes later they were all clambering up the boarding ladder of a magnificent sixty-foot motor cruiser anchored in deep water. Probably specially chartered for the occasion, Bright thought, noting that the Greek crew all appeared to be civilians.
The Raider and its pilot pulled away, presumably back to a base somewhere on Crete. Martin ushered his guests into the motor cruiser’s lavishly equipped stateroom as the twin Mercedes inboards throbbed into life. They were underway, destination still unknown.
5
Martin looked at them all in turn with the genial beam of an indulgent host as the white-coated Greek steward served drinks. Bright noticed that he avoided alcohol himself, settling for a plain glass of iced Perrier water. An on-duty rule, Bright wondered, or a teetotaller? But there were no clues to be gleaned there. He turned his attention to his fellow guests instead.
‘Jim Mallory,’ he muttered, sidling up to the tall Californian. ‘The microlight designer and pilot, right?’
Mallory nodded, smiling. ‘You got it.’ He accepted Bright’s proffered hand and shook it warmly. ‘You in the same business? I don’t know too many of you Brit flyers.’
Bright shook his head. ‘No, I like to stay firmly on the ground. Or on the water, actually,’ he corrected himself hastily. ‘I make sailboards.’
Mallory looked blank.
‘You probably call them windsurfers,’ Bright added, realizing that the American was probably not familiar with the term.
Finally Mallory nodded. ‘Oh, right.’ Then he was again thoughtful for a while, before eyeing Bright curiously. ‘So where’s the connection, I wonder?’
‘Connection?’ It was Bright’s turn to appear dim.
‘Between your field and mine. Martin approached me with some half-baked idea about designing a new type of aircraft. So what could he possibly want with a windsurfer designer as well?’
Bright could only shrug and say: ‘Bloody good question.’
Mallory nodded at Janice, who was attempting to make conversation with the Russian but having little success. ‘And your chick? What does she do?’
‘She’s a sailmaker,’ Bright volunteered. ‘And she’s not exactly my chick, as you put it. More of a friend – a good friend.’
Mallory nodded again, his eyes still on Janice. For a second, Bright was sure he noted a faint look of satisfaction cross the Californian’s face, and for some reason felt a twinge of jealousy.
‘So what have we got?’ he said briskly, steering the conversation back on track. ‘A microlight designer, a sailboard designer, a sailmaker, a mystery Russian – and a British naval officer. A curious little mixture, wouldn’t you say? Give you any ideas?’
The American shook his head slowly. ‘Nope. None that I can think of right now, anyways,’ he admitted. ‘What do you think?’
Bright sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip for a few seconds. ‘I think it’s about time we demanded some answers,’ he said, glancing sideways towards Martin.
‘Yeah, I’m with you on that,’ Mallory said firmly. Together they moved towards the only man who held the clue to the mystery.
Martin was smiling as they approached, although his eyes held a guarded, almost apprehensive look. ‘And what can I do for you two gentlemen?’ he asked politely.
‘Dammit, Martin,’ Bright burst out. ‘You know bloody well what you can do. You can start giving us some clear and unequivocal answers. Starting with exactly where we’re going and why you’ve gathered us all together like this, and what exactly you want us to do.’
Martin allowed himself a thin smile. ‘That’s a lot of starters, Mr Bright,’ he pointed out. ‘What exactly did you have in mind for the main course – the meaning of life, perhaps?’
Mallory was unimpressed with the attempt at sarcasm, and put in his own two cents’ worth. ‘Cut the crap, Martin,’ he snapped. ‘Bright’s right – it’s about time you told us exactly what we’re all doing here.’
Martin’s reaction to the sudden outburst of anger was unexpected. Far from putting him on the defensive, it seemed to raise his own hackles. He glared at Bright and Mallory with a look which was almost contemptuous.
‘Look, there’s one thing I will tell you right now,’ he said gravely. ‘I’m no happier about this set-up than you are. Just for the record, I fought this thing all the way down the line, ever since it was first suggested that I and my men had to work with a bunch of bloody civilians.’
‘Don’t you mean amateurs?’ Bright suggested, reading between the lines.
Martin let out a short, mirthless laugh. ‘I suppose I do,’ he conceded. ‘The point is, I have to follow my orders, whether I like them or not, and I have to make the best of it. Now, all your questions will be answered in good time, and you’ll each be given every opportunity to back out if you so choose. But for the moment I can only ask that you make the same concessions that I’m having to make.’
Martin stopped talking abruptly, leaving Bright and Mallory somewhat thrown off track. It was the first sign that Martin was anything but in full control of the situation, and it put things in a different perspective. Suddenly he was as much a victim of circumstances as they were, and it seemed to create some kind of a bond between them all. The two men lapsed into a stunned silence.
Martin eventually spoke again, addressing Bright. ‘All I can tell you now is that each of you have been chosen for your particular talents. We will discuss how those talents are to be used at a later date. As to why you’re here at all, perhaps your friend Randy Havilland will best be able to explain, because I’m not sure that I could.’
Martin paused again, eyeing both men expectantly. ‘Well?’
Bright and Mallory exchanged a brief, questioning look and both shrugged.
‘All right. No more questions for now,’ said Bright.
Martin looked relieved. ‘Good. Then I suggest we all have another couple of drinks and then berth down for the night. We’ll be arriving at our destination around 10.00 hours tomorrow morning.’
Bright was up on deck, staring out over the prow rail as Janice stepped up to join him. She appraised the green, rolling hills above the small harbour they were rapidly approaching before glancing at her watch. It was exactly ten o’clock.
‘Spot on time for arrival,’ she observed. ‘But where exactly are we?’
‘Samos,’ Bright muttered, answering her. ‘That’s Pythagoria harbour directly ahead of us.’
Janice was impressed. ‘You can recognize it from here? All harbours look pretty much the same to me.’
Bright nodded. ‘Actually I know the whole island quite well. I spent a couple of seasons out here instructing sailing courses back in the seventies.’
‘Good memories?’ Janice asked.
Bright grinned mischievously. ‘I can’t remember,’ he admitted. ‘I seem to recall being stoned out of my head most of the time. Samos was one of the main inflow routes for kif and hash smuggled across from Turkey. Probably still is.’ He fell silent as a thought struck him, his face suddenly serious. ‘Jesus Christ, I wonder if that’s what all this is
about?’
Janice looked baffled. ‘Not sure I follow you.’
Bright shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if I follow it myself,’ he admitted. ‘But it might just help to explain what the British military could be doing here.’
Janice’s curious look was an open invitation to explain further. Bright voiced the vague theory taking shape in his head.
‘Suppose the Greek authorities were having trouble controlling the drug smugglers,’ he hypothesized. ‘It might make sense for them to call in some outside help. The Greeks are also looking for closer ties to mainland Europe at the moment, with eyes to full EC membership – so why not approach Britain? And who better to help solve their little problem than the Royal Marines?’
‘You have a very fertile imagination, Mr Bright,’ came Martin’s voice, suddenly, from behind them.
Bright whirled round in surprise, feeling an unwarranted sense of guilt, like a conspirator caught in the act. He had not been aware of Martin’s approach. It was as if the man had the ability to materialize out of thin air.
Martin was smiling at him indulgently. ‘As I said, a very fertile imagination. However, you do have certain of your facts right.’
Bright faced him with a level gaze. ‘What facts, for instance?’
Martin shrugged. ‘Most of them, actually. Yes, this is Samos; yes, it’s still a popular landing point for drugs; and yes, the Greek authorities do have something of a problem controlling it. However, nothing whatsoever to do with us, I’m thankful to say.’
The motor cruiser’s engines had dropped to idling speed as they approached the confines of the outer harbour.
‘Anyway, I suggest you both start getting your things together,’ Martin said. ‘We’ll be berthing in less than ten minutes.’ He turned and walked away, disappearing down the nearest companionway.
‘Well, so much for that little theory,’ Janice murmured, with a wry grin.
But Bright was unconvinced. Martin had been too ready to concede certain points for his liking. Almost as if the man had been trying to play something down by considering, then rejecting, its possibility.
He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I’m not so sure,’ he said quietly.
The route taken from Pythagoria only served to heighten Bright’s suspicions. Disembarking from the cruiser, Martin ushered them all towards a small minibus, which promptly headed up the steep hill from the harbour then followed the high coastal route around the south-east side of the island for about three miles. From the rough geography of the island in his memory, Bright assumed that they were headed for Samos Town, and was surprised when the bus finally turned off from the main highway again and began to descend back towards sea level down a rough and very rutted dirt track.
After a couple of miles the road degenerated into little more than a cart track. The bus crawled between wild, gnarled old olive trees, through patches of rough scrub and bumped over patches of loose rock and shale where the track and the vegetation, disappeared completely. They continued to lose height as they drew ever closer to the brilliant blue Straits of Samou. On the far side of the water, the coast of Turkey was now clearly visible as a flat, light-brown strip of land rising into ridges of low hills.
‘Where the hell are we now?’ Janice asked, leaning forward across Bright’s chest to look out of the bus window. ‘You recognize any of this?’
Bright cast a quick look over his shoulder. Martin was seated at the rear of the bus with the Russian, Pavlaski, four seats behind them. He nodded faintly, lowering his voice to a mere whisper.
‘Last time I was here, this whole area was under the control of the Greek military,’ he hissed. ‘It was all fenced off, regularly patrolled by armed guards – and according to rumour, heavily mined.’
‘Mined?’ Fear flushed in Janice’s eyes. Her voice rose to a strangled croak. ‘What the hell for? Are you telling me we could be driving through a bloody minefield?’
Bright gave her a reassuring smile, anxious to quieten her down. ‘Relax, they must have cleared it all by now,’ he said softly. ‘But at the time, the Greeks were still jumpy about the possibility of a Turkish invasion, in the aftermath of the Cyprus conflict.’
‘But you reckon it’s safe now?’ said Janice, calmer now.
Bright nodded emphatically, even though he retained a few faint misgivings. ‘Got to be, hasn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘Martin may be a secretive sort of bastard, but I’m pretty sure he knows what he’s doing.’ He paused and sighed. ‘But I’m still bloody suspicious about all these tie-ups with the Greek military. It just seems too much to be pure coincidence.’
‘You could have a point there,’ Janice whispered. She pointed ahead out of the bus window to a section of high chain-link fencing which had just come into view. Although sagging in a few places, it still looked as though it was maintained carefully, and carried a number of large warning notices at various points along its length. They were in Greek, and therefore undecipherable, but the distinct impression was one of stern warning. The fact that the fencing was still intended to keep people out was quickly borne out as the bus approached a pair of metal gates and ground to a halt.
Martin rose from his seat, walked briskly down the bus and motioned for the driver to open the door. Stepping out, he marched up to the gates, produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the robust padlock which secured them. Dragging them open, he waved the bus through and locked the gates again before reboarding.
Inside the fence, the bus continued across open scrubland for another half mile or so and finally began to descend a rough, winding track through what appeared to be a long-abandoned olive grove. When the bus eventually emerged from the trees, there opened up a vista of a picturesque horseshoe-shaped sandy cove, completely secluded by the rocky cliffs which encircled it. On a flat stretch of land adjoining the beach, a cluster of white villas gleamed in the fierce midday sun.
Janice took in the stunning view through the bus window with a little gasp. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.
Bright might have been equally impressed, but his mind was on other things as the bus finally pulled up and the driver switched off the engine. The beach villas were obviously a private development of some kind, but it appeared oddly unfinished, and their position within a fenced-off area seemed unusual. He lay in wait for Martin as the small party began to disembark from the bus.
‘So what is this place?’ he demanded. ‘And while we’re on the subject, why is this area still fenced off? I would have thought the Greek military would have pulled out of all these coastal areas by now.’
Martin gave one of his infuriatingly condescending smiles. ‘You really are a quite remarkable fund of knowledge, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘How did you know this used to be a military area?’
‘I guessed,’ Bright lied, not caring whether Martin believed him or not. It seemed a sensible precaution to keep the full extent of his knowledge of the island to himself for a while.
Martin’s face gave away nothing. ‘How very intuitive of you,’ he said. ‘Yes, the Greek army maintained a presence here for some years. We just happen to be leasing the land temporarily.’
‘And the buildings?’ Bright prompted, jerking his thumb at the villas. ‘Don’t try to tell me those are barracks.’
Martin shook his head. ‘Actually, it was a private development started by an Englishman working with a Greek partner. He ran into legal difficulties and eventually finance problems.’
It sounded feasible enough, Bright thought. He’d heard enough similar stories about the incredibly complicated problems of foreign investment in Greek property for it to have the ring of truth.
‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find everything perfectly comfortable,’ Martin went on. ‘Strictly limited main services, of course – but we have an adequate supply of fresh spring water and a back-up generator to supply us with all the power we’re likely to need.’ He seemed anxious to terminate the conversation. ‘Perhaps we can continue this discussion later, Mr Bright.
Right now I expect you and the rest of our guests would like to be shown to their rooms.’
Bright shook his head emphatically. Right now he had another priority. ‘The first thing I want to do is to speak to Randy,’ he said.
Martin nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, of course.’ He gestured to the largest of the villas. ‘I expect you’ll find him in the common room,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll all be meeting there later, just as soon as everyone gets settled in.’
‘And then some explanations?’ Bright asked.
‘Indeed,’ Martin said curtly, with a faint nod. He strode away to gather up the rest of the party and escort them towards the villa complex.
6
Randy Havilland was doing one of the things he enjoyed most – sharing the company of a beautiful woman. He jumped up from his seat beside her on a long, low couch as Bright walked into the room. Grinning broadly, he bounded across the floor to greet his colleague enthusiastically, slapping an arm around his shoulder.
‘Mike, I’m glad you decided to come.’
Bright’s face was grim. ‘You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?’ he pointed out. ‘I thought you might be in trouble.’
The younger man adopted a feigned look of shock. ‘Trouble? Who, me?’
Bright found his irrepressible good humour wearisome – and more than a little irritating after all the secrecy and vaguely threatening events of the past eighteen hours. He detached himself from Randy’s grip, and after retreating to a safe distance turned to confront him. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he demanded, more aggressively than he had intended.
It failed to make any impression on Randy, who continued to grin like a mischievous overgrown schoolboy. ‘Hell, we’ll talk about that later. Right now, come and meet Selina. Isn’t she gorgeous?’
He led the way across to the young girl on the couch, giving Bright no choice but to follow. To have remained aloof would have seemed churlish. Not coincidentally, it also happened to be about the best invitation he had received all day.