'I'll drive,' he'd told Marler when they started from Athens in the dark. 'We want to get there in one piece.'
'I was a racing driver once,' Marler informed him.
'I know. You must have been a menace to the other contestants. I don't want to end up in the sea…'
Tweed stepped out of the Mercedes and stretched. He was wearing a pair of mountaineer boots purchased in Kolonaki. He'd worn them for the rest of the previous day to break them in.
Nick lifted up the travelling rug on the rear seat, took hold of the twin-barrelled shotgun. He had a fresh Browning strapped to his leg, a. 38 Smith amp; Wesson in a hip holster under his loose jacket.
'A walking armoury,' Tweed had joked.
'We'll need it,' Nick had replied without a smile.
While Nick was collecting the weapon, locking the car, Tweed gazed at the fantastic colours of sky and sea. A spectrum of rose pink, cobalt and sapphire sea. An incredible sight you wouldn't find anywhere else in the world.
'Ready?' asked Nick.
'On a job like this the thing is get moving. No palaver.'
Nick led the way behind the complex and they plunged into the wilderness of limestone bluffs looming above donkey trails which twisted and climbed. There was no sound once they'd left behind the screech of the gulls over the sea which soon vanished from view Nick placed his feet carefully, treading wherever possible on tufts of grass to deaden the sound of his footfalls. Behind him Tweed followed suit, watching for any sign of human life.
He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, his safari jacket, tropical drill trousers tucked into the tops of his boots. Despite Nick's long sloping strides, Tweed had no trouble keeping up with him. In London he'd taken to rising very early, walking two miles round the deserted streets every day. At the weekends he drove down to Surrey, parked his Cortina and climbed the North Downs. He was in better shape than for years.
They crossed the pass and began to descend into Devil's Valley. The tortuous path twisted as it dropped rapidly round boulders of limestone. Both Nick and Tweed carried water bottles slung over their shoulders. Nick carried the shotgun in his left hand and paused as he came to each man-high boulder. He peered round it cautiously, waved to Tweed to proceed, and walked on.
The sun was climbing in a clear turquoise sky. Already it was becoming very hot: the heat from the previous day had never dissipated during the night. As they progressed deep inside the valley Tweed cast frequent glances up at the ridges enclosing them to east and west. No sign of movement. Only the occasional sheep came into view, head down as it searched for nourishment among the scrub grass.
Tweed saw a weird squat structure perched on the ridge against the eastern skyline. He guessed it was the abandoned silver mine where Newman had had his nightmare experience. They arrived at the base of the valley and the path ran to left and to right. Nick paused, drank from his water bottle, wiped sweat off his forehead. Tweed wrapped a large silk handkerchief round his own neck to mop up the sweat.
'What's that thing?' Tweed asked, pointing to a crumbling high building. A series of chutes ran at angles and all the metal was rusty. The derelict structure stood at the foot of a path climbing up the eastern slope.
The old ore-crushing plant where they extracted the silver,' Nick explained. 'Hasn't been used for years. Donkey trains brought down the ore. Have you noticed how quiet it is? And no sign of anyone.'
It was the first conversation they had had since they started out. They had agreed in the car they wouldn't speak during the descent into the valley. Nick had explained that voices carried a long distance.
'Well, isn't that our good luck?' Tweed commented and drank from his own water bottle.
'It's too quiet. And I have not seen one single shepherd. That I do not like.'
'Why not?'
'It is almost as though they know we are coming. Fifteen more minutes' walk along this path to the left and we see Petros' farmhouse
…'
It was creepy. Despite the glare of the sun burning down Tweed found the silence unnerving. Now they had to pick their way among a bed of stones and rocks and he realized they were walking along the path of a stream. In winter it would be a gushing flood.
Tweed paused to glance round. Dante's Inferno. That was what it reminded him of. The deep valley, the mountains closing in, the heat trapped in the wide gulch they were moving through. It was the sheer aridity of the slopes which appalled him. Scrub, nothing but scrub.
By now his boots and clothes were coated with fine limestone dust. It clung to his wet face. Nick turned and walked back to him. He scanned the slopes and shook his head.
'Maybe we should go back,' he suggested.
'Why?' asked Tweed.
'Look at that flock of sheep grazing high up on the mountain. No shepherd. There should be a shepherd. Something's wrong.'
'How many shepherds has Petros?'
'Between twelve and fifteen. It is a big farm. And all those men are armed.'
'I'm not turning back now. I have to see Petros. Let's keep moving.'
Nick shrugged. 'OK. Petros' farm is round the next bend. We approach very cautiously…'
The long tumbledown building with a veranda stretching its full frontage came into view. Nick stopped abruptly. The desert-like atmosphere was transformed. Tweed gazed at the olive groves climbing up behind the farmhouse, small stunted trees with tortured twisted trunks. On the empty veranda stood a large wickerwork chair. Tweed noticed the cushions were depressed – as though someone had sat there recently. The silence was even more oppressive.
'I am responsible for your safety,' said Nick. 'I think that we should turn back at once. We are walking into a trap.'
When Newman had introduced Paula to Christina the previous day and left them alone the atmosphere had been frigid. Christina eyed Paula up and down, lit a cigarette and then asked her casually, 'You're Tweed's woman?'
Paula tensed, then relaxed. 'Not in the sense you mean.' She decided she'd start as she meant to go on. 'Let's get one thing straight between us. I'm here to protect you. Just like Newman and Marler were. We're going to be penned up inside this room. Even at night because I'll be sleeping in the other bed. We'll use room service for all meals, including breakfast. Two women cramped together like that is a recipe for an explosion. There won't be one. Now, shall we start all over again?'
By the following morning they were chatting like old friends. It was Christina who brought up the subject when the waiter had taken their breakfast things away.
'Have they gone into Devil's Valley?'
'I think they're somewhere in Athens. On some checking job.'
Christina sat close to Paula, laid a hand on her arm. 'I can tell you are fond of Tweed. I like him myself. If he's gone into Devil's Valley he'll be killed. Petros hates what he calls English. He thinks an Englishman killed both his sons during the war.'
Tweed can look after himself…'
'Then that is where he has gone?'
Paula bit her lip. She'd been indiscreet: Christina was quick. And very worried. Which increased the anxiety Paula was feeling. Christina gripped Paula more firmly, her tone emphatic.
'I know the area. Petros and his men know every inch of that Godforsaken wilderness. Even if they've all gone – Tweed, Newman and Marler – they won't survive. Your friends are committing suicide. Their bodies will never be found. They'll be dropped down the old silver mine shaft…'
'Don't.' Paula began to feel sick. Christina had conjured up such a vivid picture. 'I didn't say that's where they were going.'
'But it is, isn't it? You said Tweed can look after himself. Petros is crazy. He has no mercy, no feelings. He lives only for revenge. Don't you understand? He's obsessed.'
Obsessed. Paula was shaken. Tweed, also, she felt was obsessed. What would happen when the two men confronted each other? She got up out of her chair, began to pace round the room. I'm doing what Tweed does, she suddenly thought.
