her from killing herself wasn't easy either.'
'You're breaking my heart,' Craig said. 'Where's your violin?'
Loomis's face flushed a savage red.
'You really are past it, aren't you?' he said. 'Sitting there soaking because one girl died. This girl is more important than Tessa could ever hope to be. I can't have her hurt.'
'Why not?'
'Because if she is, Naxos will go to pieces, and if that happens he won't be any use to us.' 'Us?'
'The country,' said Craig. 'He own 5 percent of Arbit Oil. The British Government owns 47K percent; 475s and 5 is 52M. So long as he votes with us things go our way.' He sighed. 'It was a lot easier for us when Naxos was a bachelor.'
'That's more like it,' Craig said. 'You don't really care about the girl at all, do you?'
'She's a bloody nuisance,' said Loomis, 'but she mustn't be hurt.' He finished his drink and stood up. 'There's nearly a bottle left,' he said. 'It should last you for a couple of hours.'
He walked to the door, then turned.
'It'll have to be Grierson, I suppose,' he said. 'Pity.'
'Why?' said Craig. 'Why is it a pity?'
'Because he isn't up to it. But he's the best I've got left now that you've run away. He'll probably be killed,' Loomis said.
'You bastard,' Craig said equably. 'Sit down and tell me more.' He picked up the bottle and rammed the cork into it
'I suppose I should have thrown it at the wall, but Serafin could use it.' 'Serafin?'
'My host,' Craig said. 'He owns this luxuriously appointed dwelling.'
'It stinks,' said Loomis. 'So does he.'
'He's seventy-three years old,' Craig said. 'He could still put a knife in you from twenty feet away.' He looked at Loomis's enormous sagging body. 'He could hardly miss, could he? You're a hell of a size, Loomis. It's disgusting.'
Loomis chuckled indulgently. He'd got Craig back. An insult now and again wasn't a very high price for that.
'I'll tell you about her,' he said, 'when you've dried yourself out. I'll give you ten days, then I'll meet you again in Athens. And you'd better be fit by then, Craig. If you're not I don't want you. Go out fishing or smuggling, or whatever your host does!' He went out then, not forgetting to slam the door, and Craig sat, thinking about Tessa, knowing that this was what she would have wanted him to do. Someone needed help; Tessa wouldn't have hesitated. It was because she had tried to help him that she had died.
Serafin came in, looked at the corked bottle and smiled. 'The fat one has gone. And the policeman.' He nodded at the bottle. 'This is finished for you?'
'Yes,' said Craig.
'The fat one is good. A strong man under all that.'
His hands gestured, curving the balloons of Loomis's belly and buttocks, as Craig dragged off his shirt and jeans,
'I'm going for a swim,' he said. 'Are you going fishing tonight?'
Serafin nodded.
'We'll take the caique. Under sail.'
'Like old times,' Serafin said. 'Very like old times, if you wish it. I have goods to collect, if you will help me.'
'Do what you like you old villain,' said Craig. 'I'm only the crew.'
He walked out into the sunlight, staggering down the burning, glittering sand to the sea, that was only fifty yards
away, then fell into its warm, sustaining embrace, struck out into its incredible blue. From the hut door, Serafin watched him. Craig had finished with the ouzo and that was good. Soon his body would be hard and strong once more, and Craig would be happy. Craig was as much to Serafin as his son Stavros, and Stavros was a doctor now, with a practice in Athens, the glory and wonder of Andraki. But in 1944, Craig had saved Stravros's life. All that Serafin had was his.
# * #
The stars were big and tender, without the hard, diamond brightness of the northern cold, and Serafin and Craig took the big old caique out, the elderly diesel two-stroke clanking, coughing on a faulty cylinder. The hollow popping sound it made seemed unnaturally loud on the silent sea. The caique, like all caiques, was an unwieldy, primitive craft, broad in the beam, high in prow and stern. Serafin loved it.
They sailed out into the Aegean, until Andraki was no more than a smudge of darkness on the purple sea, and Craig killed the engine, hoisted the creaking sail, sweating with his need for a drink and cigarette.
'When do we fish?' he asked.
'Later,' said Serafin. 'Make for the northeast, my
son.'
Craig obeyed, and the caique heeled over, eager for the breeze, the water chuckling, cackling past.
'The first fish will be in tins,' said Serafin. 'Hold her so! I shall sleep for a while. I am an old man. My strength has gone.'
'That isn't what the girls say,' said Craig, and Serafin chuckled, then almost at once began to snore, storing up sleep against the time when action would come.
Craig held the course, soaking in the darkness, the smell of the sea, and the feel of it pushing at the rudder. Here, on a boat, the chance of danger before him, he was at home. The ouzo, the raki, and the brandy he had taken had weakened him as he had no right to be weakened. Tessa should not be remembered like that. Her way was to help, as he would be helping: an old man he loved, a girl he did not know. But for that he needed his strength back, the steadiness of his hand, the speed of his reflexes. . . . He held the caique on course, and tried not to think how much he needed a drink. Except for Serafin's snores he was alone in the warm dark of the sea, fighting the misery of his memories that were too accurate, too intense for ease. And then he heard it, the whine of twin engines, high-powered and steady, and his hands grew moist as he sensed, for the thousandth time, the threat of danger. The old man stirred on the deck, and said, 'Look for a light, my son. Red above green.'
Craig looked out in the luminous dark, but it was the old man who spotted it, two points to port, and told him to steer towards her. As they moved closer, Serafin lit two lanterns, placed them in line on the deck, then told Craig to go into the cabin. It was not the time for him to be seen. Craig hesitated, then obeyed. Serafin knew his business.
The roar of engines quickened, and the boat came closer, a fast, sleek cruiser, beautifully handled, the engines throttled back at exactly the right moment, the fenders ready as it bumped alongside the high bows of the caique, then a rope was thrown into the old man's gnarled, deft hand. Craig heard voices talking softly in Greek, halting, unsure, then the old man's in cheerful greeting. The caique heeled as men climbed aboard, then he heard the hatch lifted off, the grunt of a man hauling, the thud of a carton on the deck. Cigarettes most likely. And Scotch. Watches from Switzerland. Copper wire. It made no difference. Smuggling was a habit with Serafin. He couldn't break it. And it paid better than fishing. In the war it had been men, men like Craig, quiet dangerous men who killed Germans. That for Serafin had been the highest payment of all.
Craig heard the hatch replaced, then the boat heeled again, as another one came up. Once more the soft voices spoke, and Serafin answered, angry, protesting. At last there was silence and Craig felt the sweat bathe his body, his hands and arms shake by his sides. Footsteps toward the cabin then, and he rolled under the bunk curtain, heard the door open, saw the gleam of a torch, before a man's voice called in German, 'There's nobody here. He's telling the truth.' The cabin door slammed, then, not quite shut, bumped gently as the caique lifted and dipped. The boat heeled again, and Craig rolled from under the bunk, looked round for a weapon. There was nothing but a bottle of wine. He took it by the neck and moved to the cabin door,
heard the rope cast off, the roar of the cruiser's engines. Now there were three men aboard besides Serafin and himself.
He moved out of the cabin as the cruiser shot away, the caique bobbing in its wake. Noiseless on bare feet, he crawled to a pile of nets, easing round it to where he could see Serafin in the deck lamp's light. Two men faced
