The Dark Side Of The Island Page 4

  Boyd was a big, dependable northerner with the ribbon of the Military Medal sewn neatly into place above his left breast pocket beneath the SAS wings.

  "We've just surfaced," he said. "Commander Swansea asked me to tell you to be ready to go in fifteen minutes."

  "Is all the gear ready?"

  Boyd nodded. "I had to occupy myself somehow. Couldn't sleep. Never can in these things."

  "How do you feel?" Lomax asked.

  "About the job?" Boyd shrugged. "The same as usual. Why?"

  Lomax shook his head. "No special reason. We seem to have been doing this sort of thing rather frequently lately, that's all. We can't last for ever, you know."

  "Neither can the war," Boyd told him. "In any case, it's fifty-fifty every time. Even I know that much mathematics."

  "I don't know," Lomax said. "This one's different. In Crete, a man could run a long way in those mountains, but Kyros is a small island."

  "We've been on small islands before," Boyd told him. "Besides, we've got Alexias here to show us around. We'll be all right."

  Alexias grinned and his teeth looked very white against the dark stubble of his beard. "Sure, everything's going to be fine. You've got nothing to worry about."

  "Who said I was worried?" Lomax swung his legs to the floor. "You two get the stuff together. I'll see you up top in five minutes."

  After they had gone, he sat there on the edge of the bunk finishing his coffee. It tasted foul, but then so did the cigarette.

  He was tired, that was the trouble. Too damned tired and everything was beginning to blur a little at the edges. He definitely needed a rest after this one. A month in Alex should do it, but he'd been promised that for a year now. He pulled on his sheepskin coat, reached for his beret and moved outside.

  He moved through into the control room and mounted the conning-tower ladder to the bridge. Above him, the round circle of the night was scattered with brilliant stars and he breathed the fresh salt air deep into his lungs and suddenly felt better.

  Swanson was looking towards the shore, night glasses raised to his eyes. Lomax extinguished his cigarette and moved beside him. "How's it going?"

  "So far without a hitch," Swanson said.

  They were moving through a scattering of jagged rocks and tiny islands and Lomax whistled softly. "Looks pretty dicey to me."

  "We didn't have a great deal of choice," Swanson told him. "After all, you did want to be on this side of the island and at least this gives us some sort of cover against their radar. They tell me the harbour here is usually crammed with E-boats. Care to take a look?"

  Lomax took the night glasses and immediately the cliffs jumped out of the darkness at him, white surf pounding in across the rocks.

  Swanson was speaking into the voice-pipe and when he turned his teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Not long now. How do you feel?"

  "Fine," Lomax told him. "You don't need to worry about us."

  "Of course you've done this sort of thing rather a lot, haven't you? I must say I like the look of your sergeant."

  "We've been together two years now," Lomax said. "Crete, Rhodes, all over the Aegean. He knows more about explosives than any man I ever knew. Used to be a shotfirer in a Yorkshire pit before the war. They tried to defer him, but he wasn't having any of that."

  "How does he handle the language problem?"

  "He's picked up enough Greek and German to get by, but it doesn't really matter. I'm fluent in both languages."

  "That's interesting," Swanson said. "What were you doing before this lot blew up?"

  "University, journalism. A little writing." Lomax shrugged. "I hadn't really got started on anything properly."

  "The war, the war, the bloody war," Swanson quoted. "I know what you mean. I was a third-year medic and look at me now."

  They were close inshore and he glanced up at the single peak of the island, black against the night sky. "Don't the locals believe Achilles is buried on top of the mountain?"

  Lomax nodded. "So they say. The Monastery of St. Anthony is up there too."

  "You seem to know your way around."

  "Not really. That's where Alexias comes in. He was born and raised here. We couldn't do this job without him."

  "He's a rough looking customer," Swanson said. "Has he been with you long?"

  Lomax shook his head. "He's been working with a group in Southern Crete. Intelligence brought him out specially for this particular show."

  "How are you getting out when the job's done?"

  "The Special Boat Service are handling that end. Using a Greek caicque and pretending to be fishermen. A bloke called Soames is in charge."

  "I know him well," Swanson shuddered. "You'd be better off with the Jerries."

  "We'll survive," Lomax said.

  "I was talking to a chap in one of the bars at Shepheard's last week," Swanson said, "and he told me that Oliver Van Horn was still living here. That the Germans have left him alone. Is that true?"

  "So I understand," Lomax said. "He came here just before the war because of his tuberculosis. I don't suppose he can do them much harm and allowing him to continue to live on the island makes for good publicity. Have you read any of his books?"

  Swanson nodded. "One or two. Rather Maughamish with wonderful characterisation."

  "I wish I had half his talent," Lomax said feelingly.

  Swanson had been watching the shoreline carefully through the night glasses and now he leaned down and spoke briefly into the voice pipe.

  The submarine started to slow and he turned to Lomax and said crisply, "This is as far as we go, I'm afraid. They're bringing your dinghy and gear out through the forward hatch. You'll find your sergeant and the Greek down there waiting for you."

  "Thanks for the ride," Lomax said.

  They shook hands briefly and he went over the side and descended the ladder to the circular hull. The dinghy was already in the water and as he arrived, Boyd dropped down into it followed by Alexias.

  There was quite a swell running and the three ratings holding the lines cursed and one of them slipped and lost his footing on the slimy steel plates of the hull.

  The Chief Petty Officer in charge handed the sub-machine guns and the radio pack to Boyd and then turned to Lomax. "I'd strap my pack on if I were you, sir. It's going to be a bit tricky going in through that surf."

  "That's an understatement if ever I heard one," Boyd called softly.

  Lomax slipped his arms through the straps of the heavy pack and buckled it securely.

  "Ready to go, sir?" the CPO said.

  "No time like the present, Chief."

  He waited, judging the distance, and as the dinghy lifted on the swell, stepped into her and sat down at once. The ratings released the lines and immediately the tide pulled the dinghy away from the submarine and in towards the shore.

  The wind was freshening, lifting the waves into white-caps. As he reached for the paddle, the dinghy heeled and water poured over the gunn'l. He adjusted his weight and started to paddle.

  Through the curtain of spray the cliffs loomed larger and at their feet waves rolled in to dash upon jagged, dangerous looking rocks.

  Boyd was cursing steadily as water slopped over the sides and Alexias plunged his paddle deep into the water, using his great strength to control their progress. And then they were lifted high on a great swell and Lomax saw the base of the cliffs no more than a hundred yards away.

  For a moment they seemed to poise there and then they swept down between two great rocks. Strange, swirling currents twisted them in a circle and there was a hollow, slapping sound against the bottom of the dinghy.

  The water broke into white, foaming spray that soared high into the air and then they slewed broadside into the surf and lifted high over a great slab of rock.

  Lomax went over the stern into the boiling water and floundered to his knees, groping for the radio pack. As his fingers fastened over its straps, another wave sent him staggering.

  He tried t
o stand up and Boyd plunged through the boiling surf, hands outstretched to help him. For a moment they clung together and then another great wave cascaded across the reef bowling them over.

  Lomax instinctively released his grip on the radio pack and grabbed for Boyd. He held on desperately, the fingers of his free hands hooked into the gravel as the wave receded with a great sucking sound.

  He forced himself to his feet, pulling Boyd up with him, and then Alexias appeared on the scene. Water boiled waist-high again, tugging at their limbs, and as it receded the three of them staggered over the final line of jagged rocks. A moment later they were safe on the white strip of beach at the base of the cliff.

  Lomax slumped down, his back against a rock, and Boyd sat beside him. "You all right, sir?"

  Lomax nodded. "It was pretty tricky there for a moment."

  "I managed to hang on to the weapons," Boyd told him. "It was a damned good job we had the packs strapped on."

  "I'm afraid the radio's gone," Lomax said. Boyd's teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Never mind. At least it saves you from the temptation of using it when you shouldn't."

  Alexias squatted beside them. "I managed to grab the dinghy." There was a hiss as he opened the valves and started to collapse it.

  "Thanks for the strong arm," Lomax told him. "It was a lot rougher than I thought it was going to be."

  Alexias looked across at the white surf pounding in over the jagged reef and shrugged. "On this side of the island the sea is like a woman. You never know what she's going to do next. As a boy, I've swum from this beach on hot summer nights when the water looked liko black glass."

  "We're here in one piece except for the radio and that's the main thing," Lomax said. "How far is it to your brother's farm?"

  "About two miles and the going is easy."

  "Then the sooner we get there the better." Lomax got to his feet. "According to Intelligence, there's an hourly patrol even on this side of the island."

  They hastily covered the dinghy with sand and rocks and then Boyd distributed the sub-machine guns. They moved off at once, Alexias leading the way and Lomax bringing up the rear.

  The sand was deep, and once he stumbled and cursed softly and then they were on a narrow path that mounted steeply through a ravine to the top of the cliffs.

  Alexias held up a hand and moved forward cautiously and raised his head above the lip of the ravine. After a moment, he waved them on and they crossed a plateau of short, burnt grass and climbed a boulder-strewn hillside.

  No word was spoken for at least half an hour and then they came over the shoulder of the mountain and saw a house standing in a grove of olive trees in a small valley below.

  Alexias paused to get his bearings and then went down the hillside through the shadows, not bothering to follow the path which zig-zagged its way along the terraces of vines.

  The house was in darkness and they crouched by the fence and Lomax checked his watch. It was barely nine o'clock and he frowned. "They must go to bed early."

  Alexias shrugged. "They lead a hard life, these people."

  "Maybe so," Lomax said. "But we're not taking any chances." He turned to Boyd. "You go round to the front and I'll cover Alexias from this side, just in case."

  Boyd moved off into the darkness and they gave him a couple of minutes before moving. Lomax dropped to one knee beside a horse trough in front of the barn and Alexias continued across the yard and mounted the steps to the porch. He opened the door cautiously and went inside.

  Somewhere a horse moved uneasily in its stall and a dog barked hollowly in the distance. A small wind kicked dust into his face and Lomax wiped it away with the back of his hand and narrowed his eyes, wondering what was happening in the house.

  There was a slight, eerie creaking as the barn door swung open and someone said softly in Greek, "Put down your gun and raise your hands."

  It was the voice of a woman who, considering the circumstances, seemed surprisingly calm. He propped his sub-machine gun against the horse trough and turned to face her.

  The barrel of a shotgun prodded against his chest and he saw that she was only a young girl, her head barely reaching the level of his shoulder.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Who are you?"

  He calmly pushed the barrel of the shotgun to one side. "There's no need for that. I'm a friend. A British officer. I'm looking for Nikoli Pavlo. Is he at home?"

  She leaned forward, her face a white blur in the darkness. When she spoke, the tone of her voice had altered perceptibly. "No, he isn't here."

  "I see," Lomax said. "May I ask who you are?"

  "Katina Pavlo, his daughter."

  There was a soft whistle from the porch and he picked up his sub-machine gun. "Let's go inside. I think you're in for a surprise."

  She followed him across the yard and when they mounted the steps to the porch, Boyd was standing in the doorway. "There's no one at home," he said. "But there's a fire in the living room and the lamp's still warm." He broke off when he saw the girl. "Who's this?"

  "The daughter of the house," Lomax told him. "She was hiding in the barn."

  He brushed past Boyd and entered a stone-flagged kitchen with whitewashed walls. Another door led into the large living room which was furnished very simply. A log fire burned in an open hearth and a wooden ladder gave access to the loft through a trapdoor in one corner.

  Alexias was in the act of lighting a lamp which stood on the table in the centre of the room. He replaced the glass chimney and turned. For a long moment he and the girl stood looking at each other and then she dropped the shotgun and ran straight into his arms.

  He lifted her from the ground and swung her round in a circle. "Katina, my little Katina! How you've grown." He put her down and held her at arm's-length. "Where's your father?"

  The young face was very white, the skin drawn too tightly over the prominent cheekbones, the eyes in shadow. She shook her head slightly as if unable to speak and the smile vanished from Pavlo's face.

  "What is it, Katina? Tell me!"

  When she spoke, her voice sounded hoarse and unnatural. "He's dead," she said. "They shot him in front of the town hall last week."

  She started to cry, great dry sobs wracking her slender body, and Alexias pulled her close to him and stared blindly into space. After a while, he led her across the room to the kitchen, dragging his feet like an old man, and the door closed gently behind them.

  6

  A Willingness to Kill

  When Alexias came back into the living room some twenty minutes later, Lomax and Boyd were sitting in front of a roaring fire stripped to the waist, their clothes steaming on an improvised line.

  The Greek slumped down, into a chair and took out a cigarette mechanically. He seemed to have aged ten years and his eyes were full of pain as he sat staring into the fire.

  After a while, he sighed. "He was a good man, my brother. Too good to go the way he did."

  Lomax gave him a light. "What happened?"

  "They caught him trying to sabotage an E-boat in the harbour."

  "On his own?" Boyd said in surprise.

  Alexias nodded. "Kyros is a small island. It just wouldn't be possible for any organised resistance movement to survive here. That's why I went to Crete two years ago. Nikoli wanted to come as well, but one of us had to stay: There was the farm and Katina to think of, especially as her mother had just died."

  "How is she?" Lomax said.

  "Katina?" Aiexias shrugged. "It was nothing—a thing of the moment only. She has great courage that one. She is making coffee and preparing a little supper."

  "What's she going to do?" Boyd demanded. "She can't go on living here on her own. She's only a kid."

  "She's been staying with my wife. I have a bar down by the harbour called The Little Ship. Katina has been, coming out here each day with the horse and cart to look after things until they decide what to do. Apparently she was just leaving when she saw us coming down the hill through the vineya
rd."

  "Does she know why we're here?"

  Alexias shook his head. "Not at the moment. I'll tell her later. She could be very useful to us."

  "How much do you think the fact of your brother's death will interfere with our plans?" Lomax asked.

  "Very little," Alexias said. "But it means I'll have to make personal contact with various local people myself now. As soon as we've had supper, I'll go down into the town with Katina."

  "That could be dangerous," Boyd said.

  Alexias shook his head. "There isn't a curfew in force on Kyros and the cafe's on the waterfront are usually full until well past midnight. The Germans can alter many things, but not our way of life."

  At that moment, the kitchen door opened and Katina came in. She was carrying a tray which she set down on the table.

  She turned, brushing back a lock of hair from her forehead with one hand. "I'm afraid there is only cheese made from goat's milk and olives, but the bread is fresh. My aunt baked it this morning before I left."

  "It looks bloody marvellous to me, love," Joe Boyd said, and she blushed and quickly poured coffee into four mugs.

  Lomax had been pulling on his shirt and sweater at the fire and when he turned, he found her standing just behind him holding a mug of coffee.

  She smiled shyly. "I'm afraid there isn't any sugar."

  Her face was heart-shaped with a pure white skin drawn too tightly over prominent cheekbones and there were dark sunken circles under her eyes. Her black hair was drawn back from her face and tied carelessly with a ribbon. She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, but it was hard to be exact. She had that tired, too-old look that he had seen in the eyes of so many people recently.

  He smiled and took a sip of his coffee. "It tastes good anyway. Aren't you having any?"

  She shook her head. "My aunt will have supper waiting for me when I return."

  She wore a faded print dress which had obviously been washed and mended many times and an ancient Norfolk jacket, two sizes too big for her and belted round her slender waist.