no indication of interest. He’s trying to hide something, but it’s not sunken gold bullion or lost diamonds.” He broke off and pointed out a porthole across the sea where Thasos slept under the rising heat waves. “The solution lies elsewhere, either near the island, or on it, or maybe, both. We’ll soon know more when Gunn raises the Albatros and its occupant.”
Giordino, both hands clasped behind his head, leaned his chair back on two legs. “By all rights, we could leave now and be back in Washington this time tomorrow. Since the mysterious renegade plane is destroyed, and we know who instigated the accidents on board the First Attempt, things should settle back to normal. I see no reason why we can’t pack up and head for home.” He threw Lewis an indifferent look. “I’m certain the Colonel can handle any further emergencies that might crop up on Brady Field.”
“You can’t leave now!” Lewis was sweating heavily, his breath in gasps, barely controlling his temper.
“I’ll contact Admiral Sandecker and have… “
“Don’t worry, Colonel,” Gunn interrupted from the doorway. He had pushed the cabin door open silently and now stood leaning against the bulkhead.
“Major Pitt and Captain Giordino won’t be leaving Thasos just yet.”
Pitt looked up quickly, expectantly. There was no elated expression on Gunn’s face, it merely reflected a mixture of blank nothingness and dejection. It was the face of a man who ceased to care. The small bone structure showed through the shoulders, drooped from exhaustion, and the skin glistened with drops of salt water that dung to the body hair in tiny droplets. He wore nothing but the ever present horn-rimmed glasses and a:
European style black bikini that did little to enhance the slender frame it covered. Four straight hours of diving had left Gunn exhausted, every bone, every muscle begging for relief.
“Sorry Sir,” Gunn mumbled softly. “Bad news I’m afraid?
“For God’s sake, Rudi,” Pitt asked, “What is it? Weren’t you able to raise the plane and recover the pilot’s body?”
“Gunn shrugged his thin shoulders. “Neither.”
“As bad as that?” Pitt queried, voice and face deadly serious.
“Worse,” Gunn replied grimly.
“Let’s have it.”
For almost thirty seconds, Gunn remained silent The others in the cabin could hear the faint creaking noises of the ship, rolling in the gentle swells of the Mediterranean, and see the tightening of Gunn’s mouth.
“Believe me, we tried,” Gunn said wearily. “We used every underwater search trick in the book, but we, couldn’t locate the wreck.” He gestured helplessly with his bands. “It was gone, vanished, God knows where.”’
10
“The Thasians were great lovers of the theatre, considering it a vital part of their education, and everyone, including the town beggar, was encouraged to come. In the ancient city of Thasos, during the premieres of new dramas from the mainland, all shops were closed, all business ceased and prisoners were released from jail Even the city’s whores, barred from most public events, were allowed to practice their trade in the shrubbery by the theatre gateways without fear of legal harassment.”
The swarthy Greek National Tourist Organization guide paused his spiel, curling his lip in a pleased grin at the horrified expressions on the faces of the female tourists. It was always the same, he thought The women whispering in put-on embarrassment while the men, draped in Bermuda shorts and festooned with light meters and cameras, guffawed and poked each other’s ribs in unison with know-it-all winks.
The guide twisted the end of his magnificent moustache and studied his group more closely. There was the usual sprinkling of fat retired businessmen and their fat wives, viewing the ruins, not for historical interest but rather to impress their friends and neighbors at home. His eyes wandered over four young school teachers from Alhambra, California. Three were plain looking, wore glasses and giggled constantly. It was the fourth girl who attracted his attention. Excellent possibilities. Large protruding breasts, red hair, long legs— like most Americans — and quite shapely. The kind of eyes that flirt and suggest better things to come. Later tonight he would invite her on a private moonlight tour of the ruins.
The guide pulled at the lapels of a tight jacket and tucked the bottom neatly under a bright red cummerbund.
Slowly, with a professional kind of carelessness, he turned his gaze toward the rear of the little crowd, stopping it uneasily on two men who leaned indifferently against a fallen column. A tougher, more battered and villainous pair of hard cases he had never seen. The short one with the puffed out chest, obviously an Italian, looked more like an ape than a man. The taller brute with the piercing green eyes, carried himself with an air of sureness and sophistication, yet there was an aura about him that advertised
“Caution: highly dangerous.” The guide twisted his moustache again. German most likely. Must love to fight judging from the bandages on the nose and hands. Strange, most strange, the guide mused. Why would those two take a dull tour of old ruins? Probably a pair of sailors who jumped ship. Yes, that must be it, he suggested to himself smugly.
“This theatre was excavated in 1952,” the guide went on, flashing a set of bright teeth. “So buried under centuries of silt washed off the mountain that it took two years to reveal it all. Please notice the geometric mosaic of the orchestra floor. It was fashioned from naturally colored pebbles and signed Coenus Set It.”
He hesitated a moment, letting his flock of excursionists study the floral design of the worn and faded files.
“Now, if you will follow me up the stairway to your left, we will take a short walk over the next mound to the Shrine of Poseidon.”
Pitt, playing the part of a tired and worn-out sightseer, feigned exhaustion and sat down on the steps, watching the rest of the tour climb the granite stairway until their heads disappeared beyond the top.
Four-thirty, his watch read. Four-thirty. Exactly three hours since he and Giordino left the First Attempt and casually strolled into Liminas, joining the guided tour of the ancient ruins. Now he and Giordino…
The little Captain was impatiently pacing the stone floor beside him, clutching a small flight bag… waited a few more minutes, making absolutely sure the tour was continuing without them. Satisfied that they weren’t missed, he silently motioned to Giordino and pointed toward the stage entrance of the amphitheatre.
For the hundredth time, Pitt tugged at the irritating chest bandage, thought about the ship’s doctor and grinned in self amusement. Permission to leave the ship and return to von Till’s villa had been firmly denied by the bearded doctor, and by Gunn too. But when Pitt insisted that, if necessary, he was ready to fight the entire ship’s crew and swim back to Liminas, the old physician had thrown up his hands in defeat and stormed from the cabin. So far, paying for the wine while killing time in a small taverna, waiting for the sightseeing trip to begin, was his only contribution to the backdoor reconnaissance of the villa. It was Giordino who had cursed and sweated over the huge lump of rust attached to the dory’s propeller shaft, trying to crank it to life. And it was Giordino who nursed the weather-beaten derelict back to the harbor at Liminas. Fortunately the old boat had not been missed… no irate owner or local police officer waited on the beach to punish the yankee pirates for boat theft. To tie the dory up to its original mooring and walk across the beach to the main part of town took only a few minutes. Pitt, certain it was a waste of time, led Giordino a block out of their way to see if Athena was still attached to the corner mailbox. The donkey was gone, but immediately across the narrow street, over a neat little white plastered office building, a sign, lettered in English, advertised the Greek National Tourist Organization.
The rest was simple; joining a tour, whose itinerary included the amphitheatre, and mingling with a group of sightseers, offered the perfect cover for reaching the labyrinth and gaining entrance to von Till’s retreat without detection.
Giordino rubbed a sleeve across his damp brow.
“Breaking and entering in the middle of the afternoon. Why can’t we wait until dark like any other honorable burglars?”
The sooner we nail von Till, the better.” Pitt said. sharply. “If he’s off balance from the destruction of the Albatros this morning, the last thing he would expect is a resurrected Dirk Pitt in broad daylight”
Giordino could easily feel and see the revenge in Pitt’s eyes. He remembered watching Pitt move slowly,
