The President’s Daughter

by Jack Higgins

  “Help us load our stuff and we’ll be off,” Ferguson said.

  The various cases were manhandled from the cargo hatch into the Range Rover, and Captain Andreas departed.

  “Very obliging, this Colonel Mikali in Athens,” Dillon said. “Here we are, importing arms into the country. Does he have any idea what we’re about?”

  “Of course not,” Ferguson said, “but he does owe me a few favors.” He turned to Vernon and Gaunt, Kersey standing behind them. “Gentlemen, you’re probably as intrigued as hell, but there’s nothing I can say at this point except that you’ve never been part of anything so important. If our efforts come to fruition tonight, your next destination will be Washington.”

  “Then we’d better get on with refueling, Brigadier,” Vernon said.

  Ferguson got into the rear of the Range Rover, Blake in the passenger seat at the front, and Dillon took the wheel.

  “So, this is where it gets interesting, gentlemen,” he said and drove away.

  When they pulled up outside the taverna at Vitari, Aleko came down the steps to greet Ferguson as he got out of the Range Rover.

  “Hey, Brigadier, you look younger.” He embraced Ferguson fiercely and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Stop all that Greek nonsense,” Ferguson admonished him. “This is Sean Dillon, these days my main enforcer.”

  Dillon shook hands. “You come well recommended,” he said in passable Greek.

  “Hey, a man of parts,” Aleko said in English.

  “And an American friend, Blake Johnson.”

  Again, Aleko shook hands. “Come this way. I’ve closed the taverna for the rest of the day so we can have privacy.”

  Yanni, Dimitri, and Stavros were at the bar and Ferguson greeted them like old friends. As Blake and Dillon watched, Aleko said, “Quite a man, the Brigadier. He got a message to pick up one of his agents from Albania a few years ago. We get to the beach and find six policemen, and the Brigadier slips over the stern with a Sterling submachine gun and takes them from the rear. Shoots two in the back and holds the rest up.”

  “That’s quite a story,” Blake said.

  Anna appeared with coffee on a tray, put it on the bar, and embraced Ferguson, and more introductions were made. Finally, everyone sat and got down to business.

  “We took a run up to the castle this morning,” Aleko said. “Using the fishing boat. There were two men on the battlements, one with a rifle slung from his shoulder.”

  “So?” Ferguson nodded.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Aleko said, “that if we are going up there at night, I’ll get a few fishing boats to go as well. Good cover.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  Aleko nodded. “So what do you really expect of us?”

  “My two friends here, armed to the teeth, intend to penetrate the castle and liberate the two women held hostage there. The six men in residence, the opposition, are all former Israeli soldiers.”

  “Mother of Christ,” Yanni said. “It could be a blood bath.”

  “That’s their business,” Aleko told him, “and they look as if they know their business to me. So our job is to land them?”

  “And without alerting the guards,” Dillon said. “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible, Mr. Dillon. Are you a scuba diver? We’ve got equipment.”

  “Yes, I’m a master diver.”

  “Well, that lets me out,” Blake said. “I was blown up a few years ago on an FBI case and my right eardrum was ruptured. Anything underwater is out for me.”

  “Never mind, we’ll come up with something,” Aleko told him.

  Dimitri said, “What’s it pay, Brigadier?”

  Ferguson glanced at Blake, who said, “Money is neither here nor there on this one, but let’s say a hundred thousand dollars.”

  There was dead silence, and Yanni said, “And who in the hell do we have to kill?”

  “These are bad people,” Dillon told him. “And they can handle themselves. They might kill you.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” Yanni said with the bravado of youth.

  Aleko looked serious. “You told me about one of the women being your assistant, this Chief Inspector Bernstein.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So it’s the other woman that’s the key, the one who’s really important?”

  “Not now, Constantine. One day you’ll know, but not now,” Ferguson told him.

  Dillon stood up. “I’d like a look at the boat, if that’s possible.”

  “Sure.” Aleko turned to the rest of the crew. “No need for you to come.”

  “And I’ve seen it all before,” Ferguson said. “Perhaps the boys could unload the equipment we’ve brought, the weapons and so on.”

  “Sure thing, Brigadier.” Aleko turned to Stavros. “Have everything taken to the barn. Anything the Brigadier wants he gets.”

  “Sure thing,” Stavros said.

  Aleko nodded to Dillon and Blake and he led the way out.

  The Cretan Lover was still draped with nets drying in the sun and there was the good salt smell of fish mixed with the smell of the sea. Dillon and Blake looked the boat over while Aleko sat on the thwart and smoked a cigarette.

  “So, you still fish?” Dillon said.

  “Why not? It gives us something to do when we’re not engaged in the Albanian trade, and we need the front.”

  “Are you telling me the customs and the navy people don’t know what you’re up to?” Dillon was peering down the hatch into the engine room. “You’ve got enough down there to power a torpedo boat.”

  “Sure they do. The police sergeant knows, but he’s my second cousin and the lieutenant commanding the most important patrol boat, but then I trained him myself when I was in the navy. On the other hand, things have got to look right from the navy’s point of view.”

  “Then everybody can look the other way with a clear conscience?” Blake said.

  Aleko smiled. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go for a little run and see if we can come up with a solution to your problem.”

  He went into the wheelhouse and pressed the starter button. As the engines rumbled into life, Dillon cast off the stern line and coiled it and Blake did the same in the prow.

  The Cretan Lover coasted out of the small harbor and Aleko boosted power, the boat lifting over waves at that point. It was all very pleasant in the hot sun. When they were about four or five hundred yards from the harbor, Aleko cut the engines.

  “Let go the anchor.”

  It was Blake who saw to that and Aleko braced himself against the wheelhouse door, the boat tilting as the water heaved in long swells.

  “Let’s imagine the fishing boats put their nets out about this far from the castle jetty. It’s pretty similar.”

  “How deep?” Dillon asked.

  “Eighty fathoms, sometimes a hundred. Plenty of sardines this time of the year and they don’t go deep, so it would all look legitimate.”

  “It’s the getting to the shore without being seen that’s the thing,” Dillon said.

  “Well, underwater’s the obvious way.”

  “But not for me,” Blake reminded him.

  “Let’s give it a try anyway, if only to check the feasibility. What about it, Dillon? I’ve plenty of gear in the cabin.”

  “I’m game,” Dillon said. “Lead me to it.”

  They manhandled a couple of tanks on deck and Aleko provided inflatable jackets, masks, and fins. “No need for diving suits. We’ll go in at fifteen or twenty feet only and it’s warm enough at that level.”

  They got the gear on, Blake helping out. When they were ready, Aleko opened a box and produced a couple of Marathons, passing one to Dillon.

  “What’s that?” Blake asked as Dillon switched it on.

  “A dive computer. Absolute bloody marvel. Gives you an automatic reading of your depth, elapsed time under water, how much time you’ve got left.”

  “Is that necessary?” Blake asked.
“I didn’t think there were problems when you stick to shallow waters.”

  “There’s always a chance of some kind of decompression sickness at any depth, small, but it’s there. Diving’s a hazardous sport.”

  “Okay,” Aleko said. “Let’s go.”

  He went backwards over the side. Dillon tightened his weight belt, checked that the air was flowing freely through his mouthpiece, and followed. He swallowed a couple of times to equalize the pressure in his ears and went after Aleko.

  The water was very blue and seemed to stretch into infinity, and it was so clear that they could see the white sand of the bottom eighty feet or so below. There were fish everywhere, most of them quite small, and once a motor boat passed overhead and Dillon was rocked in the shockwaves of the turbulence.

  He kept on going, just a couple of yards behind Aleko, aware of an off-shore current carrying them in and of the sea bed shelving. As they entered the harbor, it was no more than thirty feet deep. They swam under the keels of numerous fishing boats and surfaced beside stone steps leading from the jetty.

  Aleko spat out his mouthpiece and checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes. Not bad, but we had a strong current pushing us along.”

  “Not too good for the journey back,” Dillon said, and at that moment, Yanni appeared on the steps above them.

  “What are you doing here?” Aleko asked.

  “They didn’t really need me up at the barn, so I thought I’d see what you were up to.”

  “Good lad. Now go and get the inflatable. You can run us back to the boat.”

  The inflatable was black and powered by a Mercury engine that was incredibly noisy, even when Yanni throttled back. As they drifted in to the Cretan Lover, the boy cut the engine and Aleko tossed the line to Blake.

  “It wouldn’t be possible to approach the castle jetty in this thing under cover of darkness,” Dillon said. “Maybe we could row it in.”

  “Not without difficulty,” Aleko told him. “Outside that bay there is a fierce cross current. It can run a good two to three knots, enough to blow you off-target.”

  “Then how in the hell are we going to do it?”

  Blake was leaning over the rail, listening, and Aleko said, “I may have a solution.” He turned to Yanni. “The Aquamobile is in the aft cabin. Bring it up. Help him, Mr. Johnson, it’s an awkward size.”

  It was like a large sledge with a framework of aluminium. In the center was a huge battery pack and a triple propeller inside a wire cage.

  “How fast will this thing go?” Dillon asked.

  “Four knots. Let’s go down and you can try it.”

  Dillon submerged, the Aquamobile descended in a shower of bubbles. Aleko grabbed the bar at the stern and switched on, moving away smoothly. He returned and offered it to Dillon, who took over and circled the boat. He switched off and came up beside the inflatable.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Let’s say you and Mr. Johnson ride in the inflatable and I guide the Aquamobile in and tow you.”

  Dillon nodded. “It’s a thought, but it might be too heavy.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” Aleko looked up at Blake. “Join Yanni in the inflatable, Mr. Johnson, and we’ll try.”

  Blake dropped over the rail and Yanni tossed a line to Aleko, who fastened it to the handling bar. “Here we go,” he called and switched on.

  Dillon swam alongside, just under the surface, but was gradually left behind as the Aquamobile and the inflatable forged ahead. After a while, they turned in a circle and moved back to the boat. Dillon followed, and by the time he got there, they were pulling the Aquamobile over the rail.

  He and Aleko unzipped their inflatable jackets and tanks, and Blake and Yanni reached over for them. Dillon removed his fins and followed Aleko up the small ladder.

  He toweled off on deck and lit a cigarette. “That’s it, then.”

  “So it would appear,” Aleko nodded. “We’ll go back and tell the Brigadier.”

  The barn was built of heavy stone, and whitewashed. There were no windows, but there was electric light. A row of sandbags lay at one end fronted by cardboard cutouts of soldiers.

  “So you take it this seriously?” Dillon said.

  “Let’s say I like to keep my hand in,” Aleko told him.

  They were all there, including the crew of the Cretan Lover, and the equipment Ferguson had ordered from Harley at the Ministry was laid out on trestle tables, the black jump suits and flak jackets, the silenced Brownings and Uzis, the night-vision goggles, the stun grenades, and the Semtex blocks and timers.

  “Mother Mary, we’re going to war,” Yanni said.

  Aleko picked up the pair of night-vision binoculars. “Hey, I could do with these. Beautiful.”

  “You can have the lot afterwards if this thing works,” Ferguson told him and turned to Dillon. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, I’d like a decent rope. Let’s say a hundred feet long and knotted every two feet.” He looked at Aleko. “Can you manage that?”

  “I’ll put the boys right on to it.” He picked up one of the Brownings and weighed it in his hand. “May I?” he asked Ferguson.

  “Be my guest.”

  Aleko took deliberate aim and fired three times at the end target. He hit it in the chest, widely spaced. “I never was much good.” He gave it to Blake, butt first. “Your turn.”

  “It’s been a while. Too busy to practice these days.” Blake held it in both hands in the approved stance and fired three times, the result, a tight grouping in the heart area.

  He handed the weapon to Dillon. “Now you.”

  Dillon turned to Ferguson. “Do I have to?”

  “Come off it, Dillon, you Irish are all the same. You love showing off.”

  “Is that a fact, now?”

  Dillon turned, his hand swung up, two dull thuds as he double-tapped, shooting out the eyes of the first target. There was total silence and then Dimitri whispered, “Jesus, Mary.”

  Dillon weighed the Browning. “A nice weapon, but I still prefer the Walther,” and he laid it down on the table.

  “Well, after that, I’d say the only thing to do is go and eat,” Aleko said and led the way out.

  FIFTEEN

  Rain swept in across the harbor and there was a wind off the sea. Stavros was in the wheelhouse, the two boys on the deck sheltering under the canvas canopy they had rigged earlier when the rain had started.

  The other four were in the main saloon, the weapons laid out on the table. Aleko was wearing a black nylon dive suit and Dillon and Blake had already put on the jump suits and flak jackets.

  “You didn’t mention rain,” Blake said.

  “Because the weathermen got it wrong as usual. This little lot was due mid-morning tomorrow.” Aleko shrugged. “On the other hand, good cover as long as you don’t mind getting wet.”

  “A fair point,” Dillon said. “What about the other fishing boats?”

  “They’ve gone up in stages, which will look nice and normal, and it’s usual to work together with the bigger nets in the sardine season. If they check them from the castle, they’ll only see working fishermen.”

  “Excellent,” Ferguson said.

  Aleko lit a cigarette. “So, we go in, I drop you on the beach by the jetty. How long do you think this thing will take?”

  “Half an hour,” Dillon said. “At the most. It’s got to be straight in and hit them hard and out again, or not at all.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You could always kill them,” Aleko said.

  “Now there’s a possibility,” Dillon replied.

  “So, this is the way it goes. We join the other fishing boats, move in a little closer to shore. Yanni and Dimitri get the nets out. We’ll have the inflatable on the other side of the boat from the shore, load up, and I tow you in.” Aleko picked up four signaling flares. “These are mine. Nice and red. You take two each in case of mistakes. Fire one on your way out of the castle and we’ll come to the end of the jetty in the Cr
etan Lover to pick you up.”

  They all sat there thinking about it. It was Ferguson who said, “Your friends in the other boats, what do they know?”

  “They think it’s some kind of smuggling thing as usual. Once they see us go, they’ll leave quietly themselves.”

  They all sat there quietly and it was Dillon who said to Ferguson, “Do you want to call you-know-who on your mobile?”

  Ferguson shook his head. “The only call I want to make to that man now is to tell him we’ve succeeded.”

  “Fine,” Blake Johnson said. “Then let’s do it.”

  Marie de Brissac stood at the window, peering out into the rain. “There are fishing boats, I can see the lights.”

  Hannah was just finishing dinner. She reached for a glass of water and drank, then went to join her. “It’s a strange feeling, life going on out there, and here we are in durance vile, as they used to say in the historical novels I read as a child.”

  “I used to like the fairy stories by the Brothers Grimm,” Marie said, “and it’s the same feeling. They were always locking young women up in towers. Wasn’t there one about a girl whose hair was so long, she let it down from the window for her rescuer to climb up?”

  “I think that was Rapunzel,” Hannah said.

  “What a pity,” she said quietly. “If Mr. Dillon comes, I wouldn’t have long enough hair.” She gave a sudden dry sob, turned, and grabbed at Hannah. “Suddenly, I’m afraid. It’s so close now.”

  “He’ll come.” Hannah embraced her fiercely. “He’s never let me down, not ever. You must believe that.”

  She held Marie close, and looked out at the falling rain and in her head she was saying, Oh Sean, you bastard, where are you? Don’t fail me now.

  Raphael was on the battlements, his MI6 slung from one shoulder, examining the fishing fleet through night glasses. Their red and green riding lights were plain and each had a pool of light in the stern from a deck light. There were footsteps and he turned and found Aaron and Levy approaching.

  “Nothing to report, Colonel,” Raphael said. “The fishing fleet, but everything else quiet.”

  Levy was holding a golfing umbrella against the rain. He handed it to Aaron. “Give me those,” he said and took the night glasses from Raphael.