Yet there was something bothersome about the arrangement. About Karamanlis and his uncle. About the entire setup.
Chapter 48
The fishing vessel Dhodhoni, her lights off, bobbed in the gentle swells off the protected east coast of the island.
A few miles away they could make out a few lights above the almost sheer cliffs that rose in some spots five hundred feet straight out of the sea. In all other directions was darkness, the blackness of the sky merging with the blackness of the water.
Theotokis had suggested Karamanlis’ boat, and had sent along a younger, darker, even more ruggedly built Greek by the name of Evangolos Papagos as crew.
It was nearing one in the morning, and they had been waiting just offshore since before midnight. So far they’d seen nothing. The three of them were in the wheelhouse; Karamanlis standing at the helm, McGarvey with his back against the door, and Papagos insolently facing him from the corner.
“How will we know this boat of yours?” Karamanlis asked, scanning the pitch-black sea to the north. They’d seen only one other boat since Thira, a freighter well south and heading into the open Mediterranean.
“If, as your uncle said, there is a route to the old church from here, then they’ll show up sooner or later.”
“Maybe you are being tricked,” Papagos rumbled, his voice deep. He was staring out to sea.
“She’ll probably be running without lights,” McGarvey continued. “At least until Spranger and the others get off.”
Papagos looked up. “What is your quarrel with Ernst Spranger?”
“You know him?” McGarvey asked, tensing.
“He’s an old friend.” The Greek grinned broadly, showing nicotine-stained teeth.
“Not to worry,” Karamanlis was quick to explain. “He and my uncle have had a falling out. If it is the East German you are hunting, then we will help you.”
The entire thing was a setup, McGarvey understood at last. Spranger had been one step ahead of him the entire way. He’d taken Elizabeth and Kathleen to lure McGarvey out of Japan, and then had marked the trail all the way here. To what?
To a killing ground, of course. Somewhere on the island, in the end, if he survived that long.
He focused on the two Greeks again. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? Maybe you’re working for Spranger. The Germans always had a way with you Greeks. A fatal attraction on your part.”
Papagos’s jaw tightened. “You will find out very soon,” he said.
Karamanlis said something to him in Greek that McGarvey didn’t catch.
“Out there,” Papagos said in English. “Two points to starboard.”
McGarvey didn’t bother to look. “You knew it would be here.” He reached into his pocket, his fingers curling around the grip of his pistol.
Papagos shrugged, his eyes going to McGarvey’s gun hand. “It’s why we came. You hired us to intercept them. Well, we have. They’re just out there. Dark, as you predicted.”
“They must already be on the island,” Karamanlis said. “We must have missed them.”
“We’ll check the boat,” McGarvey said.
Karamanlis started to protest, but Papagos cut him off. “Naturally. Maybe something went wrong, maybe they’re still aboard.”
Again Karamanlis said something to him in Greek, and Papagos stiffened, his entire attitude suddenly changing.
McGarvey took out his gun and pointed it at them, Karamanlis’ eyes going nervously from the gun to the starboard windows.
“We’ll go over there now,” McGarvey said.
“Why is it you are pulling a gun on us?” Papagos asked. “Don’t you have any trust?”
“It may be a trap over there, you know,” Karamanlis said nervously.
“Yes, it might be.” McGarvey cocked the hammer.
“Do as he says, Spyros,” Papagos said, a cunning look coming into his eyes. “And be quick about it. Let’s help Mr. McGarvey find what he’s looking for.”
The Thaxos showed no lights, nor was there any movement on her decks. She was drifting slowly to the southwest, and there was no way of telling how long she’d been left apparently abandoned, but her portside boarding ladder was down and one of her lifeboats was missing from its davits.
“She’s been abandoned,” Karamanlis said, as they bumped up against the boarding ladder.
He put the engine in neutral.
“We’ll go aboard and see,” McGarvey said, motioning with the gun. He opened the door and backed out on deck. No sounds came from the bigger ship. No machinery noises.
Nothing.
Karamanlis and Papagos followed him out of the wheelhouse, and he stepped aside so that they could tie a line to the bigger ship then precede him up the ladder.
The cargo vessel was set to blow, there was little doubt in McGarvey’s mind about it. That was what Karamanlis had told Papagos. And that was why they were both nervous.
But so long as they didn’t jump ship there was a possibility some time remained.
He had to make sure that Kathleen and Elizabeth hadn’t been left behind. It was the kind of monstrous joke that Spranger liked most.
On deck a man dressed in dungarees and a watch cap was crumpled in a heap half in and half out of a hatch. Blood had pooled behind his head. He’d obviously been shot to death.
“Spranger’s work,” McGarvey said. “The rest of the crew are probably dead as well.”
“He’s probably planted explosives,” Karamanlis said.
“Then we’d better hurry,” McGarvey said. “We’ll start with the bridge.”
“What are you looking for?” Papagos asked.
“I’ll tell you when I find it. But we’re going to check every space aboard this ship before we leave. So if you’re worried about being blown out of the water, I suggest you get on with it.”
Karamanlis and Papagos exchanged glances, and for a long moment neither of them moved, until suddenly Papagos ducked through the hatch and was gone.
McGarvey started after the man, but Karamanlis shoved him aside and darted for the rail.
“Stop,” McGarvey shouted, regaining his balance, and he snapped off a shot striking the Greek in the left leg and sending him sprawling.
Papagos fired from somewhere inside the ship, the bullet ricocheting off the hatch.
McGarvey reared back at the same time Karamanlis pulled out his pistol and fired.
The shot smacked into the bulkhead inches from McGarvey’s left shoulder, leaving him no other choice but to fire back, his shot catching the Greek in the head just below the right eye socket.
The six-man team of SEALS rode in one rubber raft powered by a highly muffled eighty horsepower outboard. The boat was big enough for them and the two hostages they hoped to free, but no larger. There were no plans to bring anyone else out alive.
They had made all possible speed from their position well to the north the moment they’d received radar vectors on the stationary object just off the eastern coast of the island, and an update on McGarvey’s position showing him converging on the same target. But they’d badly guessed Spranger’s plans, and the mad dash across had taken nearly thirty minutes.
“Definitely a muzzle flash,” Ensign Tyrell said. “Small caliber.”
“Do you see anyone on deck?” Lipton asked. They were still a half mile out, but Tyrell was studying the ship through a starlight scope which showed figures as ghostly images in all but a total absence of ambient light.
“There was a movement just behind the flash, but the decks are clear now.” Tyrell looked up. “How the hell
