by Sewell, Ron
“Shit.”
A middle-aged woman climbed out of her car holding an umbrella, and peered through his window. “Are you all right?”
Petros controlled his temper, jumped out and inspected the damage. Other than a small dent, the damage appeared minor. He opened his jacket and from the inside pocket withdrew his wallet. From this, he took a card.
“My name, address and insurance details, Miss? Would you mind giving me yours, please?”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” She rummaged in her bag, withdrew a biro and on a till receipt wrote down her particulars.
Petros took the soggy piece of paper from her and read it.
“Thanks. Get back into your car. I’ll reverse and give you plenty of room.”
“You’re very kind,” she said, walking away.
Petros reversed and she did the same. The traffic had backed up and impatient drivers sounded their horns, the relentless noise filling the air.
He waited until she drove away, then started the engine and continued his journey.
Something didn’t feel right. An air of foreboding lingered in his mind. He needed to talk this collection through with Bear. Yes, it had problems, but in reality it posed less demands than many of the others they had undertaken. He pressed the auto tuner and City Radio blasted out hits from the sixties.
The rain was easing to a steady drizzle. Tower Bridge came into view and he turned his BMW into the hotel underground car park. The grey light of day greeted him when he emerged and he wandered over to the river’s edge. Leaning on the rail he stared unthinking at the water flowing by, its black depths uninviting.
Petros trudged back to Dream Chaser. Charlie jumped from the flying bridge and ran at full tilt to meet him. Petros rubbed his wet coat. “Come on, Dog, let’s go inside and get you warm. This weather’s not good.”
They stopped for a moment while he operated the security system. Charlie shook himself, covering the deck with icy droplets before entering the lounge. He walked in a circle, found his basket, barked once and settled into it with a contented grunt.
Petros picked up his mobile. “Maria, where are you?”
“Kings Cross. Should be home in half an hour. Can you turn on the hot water heater? Alysa will need a bath.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
Next, he contacted Bear and arranged a meeting for nine the next morning.
* * *
Out of an ingrained habit Bear arrived on time. The BBC World Service nine o’clock news started just as his feet hit the deck of Dream Chaser. Charlie leapt up and ran to the door, barking. Bear stroked the dog’s head fondly.
“Coffee?” asked Petros.
“Large and black please. Where’s Maria?”
“Dressing a naughty girl. Alysa decided breakfast tasted better squashed to a mush in her hands. Have a heavy night?”
“Yes.”
Petros passed Bear his coffee and settled onto the couch. He began by repeating the information given to him by his old headmaster.
“What’s the info on these icons?”
“A bishop, who lives in Paphos, hid them from the invading Turkish army in 1974 in a church cellar. The problem is the church is in Varosha, to the south of Famagusta.”
Bear shook his head. “Sounds a dream job. In and out. No problem.”
“I wish that were true. For your information, anyone the Turkish army finds in Varosha without the proper authority is liable to be shot on sight. Another thing, are these icons still there? How do we retrieve them when the Turkish side of the green line is littered with mines?”
Bear smiled wryly. “Okay, so it has problems. With a bit of thought we can do this.”
“The price will be four icons. On the open market or at auction their sale would cover our expenses and realise a healthy profit.”
“For the moment forget the money, PK. I doubt the Turks would allow us to walk across the border with these pictures of Christ. Without any doubt whatsoever, this job needs a good recon.
“Agreed.”
“Now, Mama and Maria want Alysa christened in her aunt’s village, so we might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”
Bear stroked his chin for a few seconds. “So, we have a possible collection and a christening. What’s the problem?”
“It would be a grave mistake to underestimate the opposition.”
“Shit, I’m late,” said Bear, glancing at his watch and leaping up. “We need to discuss this job in detail.” He grabbed his overcoat and pulled it on, his arms hitting the deckhead as he did so. “Let me know the date of the christening. I’ll need plenty of warning so Jocelyn can book her holiday.”
Petros nodded thoughtfully. “The impossible we can do, but miracles take longer. I’ll start a feasibility study tomorrow. Mind your steps on the gang-plank. It gets slippery when it’s wet.”
Bear waved while he crossed the walkway.
* * *
Petros sat all day in the London Library at 14 St James’s Square, and embarked on conscientious research. Here and at his own pace, he invariably completed his fact-finding before undertaking a collection. The range of information to hand was impressive. It went back to before the invasion but stopped after 1974. On the table in front of him lay scattered several large-scale maps of Famagusta and the surrounding areas. He directed his attention to the pre-1974 maps. One reference book, Famagusta Town and District, gave him a pictorial map of which he made several copies. The next two hours elapsed as he studied more books and maps. All useful information he downloaded or copied. Satisfied, he packed everything into his briefcase and left.
Returning to Dream Chaser that afternoon, he at once contacted Bear.
In less than fifteen minutes the bulky frame of Bear sat opposite him. The procedure of planning a collection had begun.
Chapter Ten
Petros was splashing cold water on his face as Maria shouted from the main cabin.
“Jack, Zena and Andreas are on the quay.”
He grabbed the towel and wiped his face. “You take Alysa and I’ll bring the luggage.” For a few seconds he waited until Maria and Alysa were off the gangway. Grabbing the five matching cases, he tossed them through the entrance and onto the aft deck.
Undisturbed by the noise, Charlie remained curled up and asleep on the flying bridge.
“Dog,” shouted Petros. “I’m leaving. If you want to eat, Andreas is waiting.”
Charlie stood up, yawned, shook himself awake and barked.
For the third time Petros made sure the gas and water supplies were off and the boat secure. He strolled up the stairs and shut the door. One press of a button and Dream Chaser became as protected as any armoured car.
His stepfather, Jack Dunn, carried one of the smaller cases to his car and waited. Petros shifted the remaining four and placed them in the large boot of the BMW.
“Is that everything?” said Jack.
Petros shook his head. “Most of that belongs to my daughter. Six months old and she has more baggage than her mother.” He turned to his wife. “Maria, have you got the passports and money?”
“In my handbag. Did you remember the buggy?”
“No.”
Jack laughed. “You’ll learn. Now do as you’re told.”
With the buggy safely in the boot, Petros spoke to Andreas, “You have your set of keys and Dog’s comfortable for the moment. I’ll give you a ring a day or two before we come home. Okay?”
“No problem.” He turned towards the boat and shouted to the dog. “Charlie, want a few rashers of cold bacon?”
Charlie leapt from the flying bridge and landed on the jetty. He wandered up to Jack’s car and barked. Maria lowered her window and let him lick Alysa’s hand.
“Be a good dog for Andreas,” said Maria.
Petros ruffled the animal’s head. “Out of the way, Dog.”
Petros jumped into the passenger seat. “Hi, Mama. When are my brothers and their tribes flying out?”
“Sh
ush, Alysa’s asleep,” whispered Zena. “Tomorrow morning, EasyJet to Paphos. They will be staying in the Four Seasons in Limassol. Aunt Elini didn’t want children running amok in her house.”
Andreas, with Charlie leading, walked away.
Jack concentrated on the world beyond the windscreen and drove at the speed of the traffic. The approach to Heathrow remained relatively clear, and to his amazement he found a parking place in the long-stay car park.
Jack and Petros unloaded the boot, filled a trolley and followed Maria and Zena, who was holding Alysa, to the transfer bus stop. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Cyprus Airways check-in desk.
The check-in completed, they proceeded through security. Petros turned to Jack. “No self-respecting fanatic comes through security. He’d have someone on the inside. Who’s the worst paid?”
“Petros, it’s all to do with appearances. Your bags are checked, it makes people feel safe. El Al is the most secure airline. They even look up your arse.”
“You might be right but I know how I’d attack an airline.”
Jack angled his head. “Do I need to know this – but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Think about it. Air traffic control positions planes at regular intervals for their approach. A terrorist in the back garden of a house with a hand-held ground-to-air-weapon could select one. Months of preparation aren’t necessary. Arrive at a house, kill the residents and wait for a big juicy jumbo to fly over.”
Jack didn’t bother to counter the debate. “You’ve a great imagination. Don’t tell your mum. She’s a bit like you, hates flying.”
“The point is, if I can think of a viable attack, terrorists already have it planned.”
A fat, middle-aged security officer stopped Petros.
“Body-search, Sir.”
“Why me?”
“Random check, Sir.”
“No problem.”
The man waved his meter over Petros.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“All this for a christening.”
In the departure lounge, they found seats and settled themselves.
“PK,” said Maria. “Watch our bags, Alysa needs changing.”
“Come on, Jack, let’s get a cup of coffee. What shall I get you, Mama? There’s a good chance we’ll find Bear and Jocelyn.”
“A glass of fresh orange juice,” answered Zena.
They wandered over to the cafeteria area.
“Here they are and Bear’s doing what he does best, eating. We’re over there in the departure lounge,” said Petros. “Would you like to join us?”
With mock irritation, Bear frowned. “What if I said no?”
“Ignore him,” said Jocelyn as she kissed each man on both cheeks.
“PK, why do you always interrupt me when I’m eating?”
“Because you’re always eating.”
“Now children, play nicely,” said Maria. “Hi, Jocelyn, Bear.” After greeting them both, she leant over and touched her husband’s face. “A cup of coffee and a cream donut for me.”
Petros wrote down the order on a napkin and wandered off muttering, “Bloody waiter, that’s me.”
“Come on, everyone. Zena’s over there with our bags, We should keep her company.”
* * *
At ten o’clock, they boarded flight CY 287. After waiting twenty minutes for a take-off slot, they taxied towards the main runway.
Petros fastened his seat belt and attempted to relax. The tourists filling economy acted as if they had never flown, all excited at the thought of sun and blue skies. Business class had ten passengers and a celebrity who constantly chatted to an attractive blonde girl, young enough to be his daughter, but obviously not.
The Airbus A330 rolled smoothly towards the main runway. While the pilot increased the power of its two Pratt and Whitney engines, Petros’s hands tightened on the armrest and his heart began to pound.
Once they were airborne and the engines had taken on a steady drone he relaxed. Occasionally he would stare out at the thick cumulus clouds. Somewhere below, it could be raining. Those white fluffy masses would rise, grow cold and dump their load. At one point snow-covered mountains peaked above the clouds.
Throughout the flight, Alysa remained awake and charmed the cabin crew.
Petros drained the dregs of his coffee and studied those passengers he could see seated around him. Today most appeared to be business travellers, as they were reading The Financial Times. A few talked into miniature voice recorders and others made notes. He pulled out from the pocket in front of him the In Flight magazine and started reading. His attention became drawn to an article on abandoned Nicosia Airport. Stories told to him by his mother came to mind during the EOKA days when aircraft were destroyed. Now he studied the two pages of photographs of buildings constructed before he existed. For the main terminal building, time had stood still since the 15th of July 1974. The lack of maintenance showed in the pictures. He began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Maria.
“It says here that the old airport is under the control of the United Nations. Patrol helicopters have utilised a couple of the old hangers, which makes sense. Those stationed there have converted part of the airfield into a go-cart track. It appeals to my weird sense of humour.”
“Little things,” she said, smiling.
Four and a half hours later they transited the southern coastline of Cyprus. The plane banked left, lost altitude and made its approach across the sea to Larnaca. Several hundred feet below in a crystal blue Mediterranean, ships lay at anchor waiting to unload their cargoes.
The plane landed with a thump onto the runway. Petros advanced his watch by two hours, the time difference between the UK and Cyprus. They passed through passport control and waited. Collecting their luggage proved straightforward and once completed, they made their way through customs to the exit.
* * *
The instant Photis spotted Zena he shouted, “Ka-los ton [welcome], ka-los ton,” he repeated. Approaching eighty, he came across as a fit man, although since their last meeting his jet-black hair, combed straight back from his forehead, had turned grey. Silver stubble covered an oblong face burnt by years in the sun. He hugged Zena as a father to a daughter.
Zena pulled herself away and stepped back.
“It’s been a few years, Uncle. We’re both older now.”
“Where’s the child?” said Photis.
Maria edged towards them, hugged Photis and said, “Alysa, meet your Uncle Photis.”
“Let me carry her to the truck.”
Maria smiled and handed a smiling Alysa to him.
They strolled out of Arrivals and into bright sunshine. No comparison to the wet, overcast London they had left, where people hurried away for the warmth of their homes.
Tears covered Photis’s cheeks as he gave Alysa back to Maria. She brushed them away. “Why so sad, Uncle?”
“This may be the last time we are together.”
“Rubbish.” said Zena. “You’ll be around for a long time.”
Photis laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Bear and Petros tossed the suitcases into the back of a dark blue Mitsubishi pick-up. Photis slid behind the steering wheel, telling Zena, Maria, Jocelyn and Petros to sit in the back, while Jack and Bear jumped into the front. Photis turned the ignition, the engine fired, and soon they were speeding along the motorway.
The long, overly-hot summer had scorched the earth and rocks until they were dry and brown. The recent rains turned the scarce foliage covering the trees green, but dust still swirled across the fields. Petros’s eyes took in the land of his birth. Bear’s snoring made him smile but he said nothing.
***
Photis remained abnormally quiet. One hour later they reached his and Elini’s home. With a screech of brakes, a honk of the horn, he stopped and jumped out.
The scent of wild jasmine and gardenia greeted them as they alighted from the truck. Elini, with
the aid of her stick, wandered out of the stone built house. Never a large woman, she appeared frail.
Petros knew from family photographs that Elini had been beautiful in her youth. Even now, in her early seventies, she possessed pride and dignity plus that something special you could never explain.
Maria, carrying Alysa, strolled towards her. “I’ve kept my promise.”
Elini took the infant, held her close and hummed a tune as Alysa’s eyes turned to her mother and back again.
“Maria, your mother would have been happy to hold her but it’s left to me to do it for her. She comes from good stock. I’m pleased for you and Petros.”
Andreas Epiphaniou, Maria’s father, walked out of the house and hugged her. “Maria, is that husband of yours treating you right, or do I have to beat common-sense into him?”
“He’s good for me and has given you a lovely granddaughter.”
Andreas turned and looked at Alysa. “She’s the image of your mother – her spirit shines from those lovely eyes.” He placed his right hand in his pocket and removed a purple silk bag. “This belonged to your grandmother, Alysa. It is now yours.” He placed it into her tiny hand.
“What is it, Papa?”
“A gold-cross I bought your mother on our wedding day.”
Maria hugged him as tears ran across their cheeks, her mind filling with the fading image of her mother’s tired face. She felt funny as she reflected back; the realisation that she no longer remembered her mother clearly came as a shock. Although saddened by the thought, she managed to smile.
Clouds gathered overhead and a chill wind from the mountains swirled around the courtyard forcing everyone back inside. Enclosed in the natural stone walls of the house and comforted by the glowing embers of the fire in the age-blackened hearth and the well-worn carpets covering the paved floor, they were all soon warm.