There was an increasing roar as the plane’s three engines were gunned and it started down the runway, dust rising in its wake. Pickups kept up with it, the cameras pointing at the dun-green fuselage. The black crosses on the side and swastika on the tail gave Mavros a bad feeling, but he told himself to get a grip. It was only a movie.
The Ju52 moved sluggishly down the runway, eventually pulling into the air not far in front of the hangars. It headed out to sea, followed by a pair of smaller and more modern planes that filmed it from above, below and alongside. Eventually the troop carrier turned and came back towards them, the engines pulsing more powerfully now. Mavros felt hairs raise all over his body. From what he remembered, there had been dozens of planes in each wave. It must have been the most incredible sight for the defenders — awe-inspiring and terrifying. He leaned forward and looked over at David Waggoner. He was watching through binoculars, his jaw set firm. What memories was this bringing back to him?
The Messerschmitt made another pass, diving over the airfield. Lights flashed from its machine-gun slits — Mavros assumed that the sound of firing would be added at the editing stage. Then the
‘They are Greek paratroopers,’ Kersten said. ‘I have spent many days instructing them in the jump and landing positions that we used. Now we will see if I was successful.’ He gave a rueful smile.
Mavros watched as the man launched himself into the air with his arms and legs extended in the shape of an ‘X’. A few seconds later, another man dived out, then another and another. Their parachutes sprouted into inverted white cups at what seemed far too close to the ground. Mavros felt his palms sweating as the men came down fast. They hit the ground and rolled forward, then started pulling in their chutes. The last man shook in his harness and then hung limp for as long as he could before making a different kind of landing.
‘They didn’t shoot so many of us in the air,’ Kersten said. ‘That was Allied propaganda. A man falling at that speed is not an easy target. But they certainly did kill hundreds in the trees and on the ground before they reached the weapons canisters.’ His eyes clouded and he turned away.
Hildegard was immediately on her feet and at her husband’s side. She spoke to him in German, before turning to Mavros.
‘I told him this would be too much for him. He didn’t need to be here today. His work has already been done.’
‘No,’ the old man said, his eyes damp. ‘It is good that I saw it. Now I understand what it was like for the Cretans, seeing the invader come in with all his hubris and conceit.’ His wife wiped his face with a tissue. ‘We had no right,’ he said, his voice wavering. ‘No country has the right to invade another. But the Cretans had every right to fight us with everything they had.’
Mavros looked up as a shadow fell over them.
‘Not weeping for your lost comrades, are you, Kersten?’ David Waggoner said callously. ‘The ones who were shot to pieces in the olive groves and slaughtered in the open ground?’
Mavros stood up and put his hand on Waggoner’s arm. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said bluntly. ‘Leave him alone.’
‘No, Alex,’ Rudolf said, getting to his feet slowly. ‘Mr Waggoner is right. The
‘And you’ve made a fortune with your fake remorse, your blood money to the victims and your rich man’s resort.’ The Englishman stared up at the taller German. ‘Just remember this. I know what you did. I know you were at Makrymari.’ The ex-SOE man executed a parade-ground turn and marched away, the sun glinting off the regimental badge on his blazer.
Rudolf Kersten sat down again. His wife spoke to him in German. Mavros wanted to ask what Waggoner had meant, but he could see it wasn’t the right time. He moved away and saw Luke Jannet and Alice Quincy coming towards him in a golf cart.
‘What’d’ya think of that?’ the director said triumphantly, as the vehicle drew up. ‘We got enough material for the whole drop in one afternoon. We can edit it so the single planes look like dozens.’
‘It was certainly spectacular,’ Mavros agreed.
‘And you found pouting Cara’s dyke too. Quite a day it’s turned out to be.’
‘She’s been badly treated,’ Mavros said, his eyes on Jannet’s. ‘And she isn’t speaking.’
The director stared back at him. ‘Some rapist pick her up?’
Mavros was angry with himself for not thinking of that. It would certainly explain Maria’s condition — but Jannet hadn’t seen her. It was quite a thing to suggest, unless he’d heard something from the clinic.
‘Has Rosie Yellenberg been on the phone?’ he asked.
‘Rosie? Nah, she knows better than to bother me when I’m shooting.’
Mavros glanced at Alice Quincy. She looked uncomfortable, but that was her default mode.
‘We’ll be having a drink tonight,’ Jannet said. ‘Alice will tell you where and when. Guess you’ll be leaving tomorrow.’
‘Maybe,’ Mavros said, turning away. He wasn’t sure about Luke Jannet — either he was nothing but a coarse Hollywood operator, or he was more concerned about Maria Kondos than he was letting on — his eyes had been hard to read when he was talking about her. Either way, he could probe again later.
Riding the
‘Good timing,’ he said, as he was let through on foot.
‘That’s what you think. My old man thinks you should get off the island immediately.’
Mavros’s heart missed a beat. ‘Why?’
‘We had a call from Kornaria — that wanker Dhrakakis. He made all kinds of threats to us and to you, including one about your kidneys.’
‘Great.’
‘There’s only one thing you can do if you want to stay,’ Mikis said, a smile hovering on his lips.
‘Take up pistol shooting?’
‘Wouldn’t hurt. No, you need to take heed of what the mayor of Kornaria said.’
Mavros stared at him uncomprehendingly.
The Cretan laughed. ‘Seriously consider getting your hair cut.’
‘Screw you, Miki. I’d rather take my chances with the dope-growers.’
‘Oh, that’s on the cards,’ the driver replied, his expression darkening. ‘That is definitely on the cards.’
ELEVEN
Back in his room in the hotel, Mavros booted up his laptop and checked his emails. The Fat Man had forwarded a large number of files in English — the old communist had never learned many words of the former imperial power’s language on principle. He had learned other things, which he asked Mavros to call him about.
‘How goes it, Yiorgo?’
‘Ah, the arse-licker of Hollywood. Still alive?’
Mavros told him about the dust-up with the men from Kornaria and the vendetta that had been proclaimed.
‘Marx, Engels and Lenin,’ the Fat Man said, with a groan, ‘you’ve been on the Great Island less than two days and already there’s a price on your head?’
‘Just doing my job. What about yours?’
‘Oh, I’m getting paid for this, am I? That’ll make a change.’
Mavros rolled his eyes. ‘As a matter of fact, the money is the only good part of this case. Make out an invoice. And talk.’
‘“Make out an invoice,” he says,’ Yiorgos said caustically. ‘Where do you think you are? Germany?’
The Fat Man wasn’t far from the truth, Mavros thought. The Heavenly Blue was an oasis of German order and calm, despite the staff in local costumes. Outside the perimeter fence, things were rather more fraught.
‘All right, let’s have it, Fat Man,’ he said, opening his notebook.
