He pushed on up the last steps leading to one of the villa’s many verandas overlooking the orange tree orchards filling the slopes all the way to the edge of the cliff tops. This vision of contrasting colour splashes against the brilliant blue of the ocean beyond, filled his complex mind with calm, soothed the raging bull that burned within his soul, found the soft spot in his heart and allowed him to coast through each day with ease.
The interior of the villa felt luxuriously cool after heat outside. Ezra touched the age-worn spine of the hard-back edition of the Bible, tilted it backwards and; immediately, a secret panel in his purpose built library opened to reveal a stairway leading down to the bunker and his centre of operations.
He moved to one of the many computer screens, logged in, and checked for anything new.
This cannot be correct, he thought.
The GCHQ intercepted communication between Ramus and Kirill, must be wrong.
A cold shiver ran up and down his spine.
Dillon would never dare come to Santorini… Ezra laughed out loud then, his laughter echoing out through the bunker. And if he was coming to the Greek Island — and by the level of encryption, it seemed that it was a top priority to find and intercept him — if the miserable excuse for a human being wascoming to Santorini, then the chances were that he was coming to find Ezra.
“I swore that I would kill you the next time we met.”
Ezra’s voice was deep, incredibly deep and melodic — almost theatrical in its delivery, a rich voice, the voice of an actor, not the voice of a…
“What are you?”He thought.
“What have you become?”
He had been re-assigned by army intelligence. They had sent him to London to work on a very special new anti-terrorist project. Scorpion. He sneered in contempt.
Ezra shut down the screen, got up, and started to pace the room, thinking, planning, fuming…
He went outside and continued to walk, leather sandals now kicking sand as he moved along the path, winding through the garden to the perimeter fence and a string of proximity sensors and antipersonnel mines.
Scorpion…
They had a lot to answer for. A hell of a lot to answer for…
He reached the perimeter fence, and immediately turned and started back the way he had come. The walk had relaxed him, as it always did. Ezra mounted the steps up to the southerly most veranda of his home and sitting on one of the wicker chairs, smiled to himself knowing that hiding below the simple white-washed walls was a hundred million pounds worth of technology under the ground in the form of extremely high-tech suites, weapons systems, and a large underground garage and workshop facilities and…
Ezra’s eyes glinted.
And something else.
A breeze licked the dust on the timber floor, sending it in some sort of exotic dance across the veranda.
How the world had changed, he thought. How it has descended into a quagmire of terrorism, violence and world-wide fear.
He shivered.
How I have changed…
He caught sight of movement to his left, partially hidden by trees, but he was sure someone was there. Ezra moved cautiously to the far end of the veranda and down the steps out of sight, so as to outwit, Demitri, his personal bodyguard. A former Russian special forces Sergeant, who had fought in Afghanistan, Iraq and Iran, fighting the Taliban — and who liked nothing better than to play chess. He had been with Ezra for the past five years — and was never far away from him…
The big Russian had spotted him moving along the veranda, and had quickly moved around the villa, and was now standing behind Ezra, the Uzi across his chest, the safety catch switched off. Ezra grinned, stood up and turned around.
“You okay, Boss?” Growled Demitri, his broad face split into a smile.
“Damn you, Demitri. You’ve done it again. How do you move so fast and so quietly,” said Ezra.
“Many years of dodging bullets, Boss.”
Ezra shook his head, “Yeah, and I guess that’s why I employ you, just to keep you safe.”
Demitri smiled. They shook hands, and Ezra went back up the steps onto the veranda and into the cool interior of the villa.
Such a nondescript façade, he thought.
A simple disguise, concealing technology the world could not even begin to comprehend.
His sandals brushed silently against the polished marble floor as he made his way along the corridor to his library. He went to one of the shelves, and to his prized hard-back edition of the Holy Bible; tipping the spine back, the secret panel opened, and Ezra descended
— down the steps and through the rough-hewn narrow corridors — to the operations bunker.
Welcome to Heaven, Ezra thought.
It was early evening when Dillon flew the twin engine Cessna across the shimmering Ionian Sea west of Greece. Sunlight glittered, accelerating over the horizon. Tatiana was sitting with her head resting on Dillon’s shoulder when the whole aircraft shuddered. Tatiana stirred. She turned, her gaze fixed on Dillon’s. “What was that?”
The aircraft shuddered again, and then moments later, a trail of thick black smoke came from behind the starboard engine. Dillon leaned forward, eyes scanning the digital read-outs, and cut the fuel supply to the engine. The prop hummed as it slowed and then it stopped altogether. “Tell me we don’t have a problem.”
“We have a problem,” said Dillon through gritted teeth. “Looks like we’ve sprung an oil leak. Damn-it.”
The aircraft had to land, and soon. Tatiana’s grip tightened on Dillon as fear flashed bright in her eyes. Breathing deeply, he turned the Cessna south. “We’ll have to land as soon as possible.”
Dillon knew the area well, and hugged the coast through the Gulf of Patra and chose a spot on the west coast of Peloponnesus, where he knew a certain landowner of disreputable character.
Dillon brought the Cessna in low over the sea. Sparkling waves of the brightest blue crashed to their end in a crescendo of white foam. They cleared a long stretch of beach-hugging trees and a wide sweep of unspoilt white sand. The Cessna approached a wide treelined grass strip with a grandiose country farmhouse located at the end of the cutting and touched down smoothly, then bumped along the short grass towards the dazzling white-walled house. Tatiana gazed up at the building as they rolled to a halt, bushes and trees whipping to either side, the drone of the one good engine invading this otherwise peaceful paradise. The house was large, built from stone, the lofty roof supported by huge oak beams rough cut and lashed together with thick ropes skilfully tied by local craftsmen.
Several men, dressed in black suites, ran forward towards the plane. They were all carrying guns.
“A welcoming party?” asked Tatiana.
Dillon smiled. “They know me here. Don’t worry.” He killed the engine, which died quickly, the propeller humming and clattering to a halt. Dillon helped Tatiana down from the cockpit, down the steps, and onto the grass where they were immediately aware of the heat.
“Warm, isn’t it? Just what the doctor ordered.” Tatiana said huskily. “How long will I have to endure this heat while you fix the motor?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Oh, only it’s quite a shock after sunny old Scotland,” she said and smiled sardonically.
Dillon greeted the men and explained his dilemma in fluent Greek. He and Tatiana were escorted back up to the house at gunpoint by the obviously suspicious security guards.
As they reached the porch a man appeared, wearing a loose fitting white shirt over stone-washed denim jeans and retro sand suede desert boots. The man had a shabby-chic look about him, and the dark brooding eyes of someone who mistrusted everyone; and the mini-sub machine pistol in his hand looked very menacing.