“Sappho, I have a major fucking problem.”
The older Greek man smiled, a broad smile, breaking the spell of impending doom, and bellowed, “Jake Dillon, you old mongrel! How the devil are you big man? I thought you’d retired or died? Come up here and give old Sappho a hug.”
Their stay was short, sweet and very much to the point. The starboard engine had blown an oil seal, and Sappho said that he would get his mechanic to take a look at the problem.
The aircraft was towed off to a large barn, and Tatiana’s wounds were attended to by Sappho’s personal physician. He re-stitched Dillon’s handiwork, and applied fresh sterile dressings and gave both Tatiana and Dillon a shot of antibiotics. They were shown up to one of the many guest suites, where they showered quickly to remove the grime and staleness of travel and battle, sweat and blood.
When they’d freshened-up, they waited on the porch of Sappho’s impressively large white-washed country house in the early hours of the morning. The sound of a powerful 4x4 broke the relative silence; a Mercedes G Wagon rumbled into view, the silver coachwork covered in baked-on mud and dust, the headlights carving up the night. The vehicle came to a halt, and Sappho jumped down. The big Greek man, bald and grinning widely, slapped Dillon on the back, making him groan in agony.
“She’s all fuelled up and ready to go, Dillon. How about your woman, the doc take care of her?”
“His woman?” Tats hands went to her hips, her stance on the porch changing subtly from submissive to aggressive with barely a change of muscle tone.
Sappho glanced at Dillon, who had a wide grin across his face.
“I did not mean to offend, young lady. Please accept my apologies for assuming that such beauty would be with such a mongrel like Dillon.”
“That,” said Dillon dryly, “is a slur on my exceptionally good character. And I thought you were my friend?” A frown creasing his brow.
Sappho shrugged. “I am your friend, Dillon. And you also know that I only speak the truth.” Sappho smiled. “Now, it’s been a long day, I’m tired, and your plane is not going anywhere, the nearest oil seal is on the mainland and will take three days get here. But, if you are in a hurry; I have a forty-five foot power cruiser moored in the harbour, and like I said, she’s fully fuelled and ready to go. The weather reports are all favourable for the next two or three days. Or if you prefer, you are most welcome to stay until we can get your aircraft fixed.”
Dillon looked at Tatiana, and sighed. “Staying is a lovely notion, Sappho. But we’ve really got to be on our way. So, I’ll take up your offer of the boat.”
“I’ll have one of my men take you down to the harbour. Wherever it is you are going, look after yourselves, and don’t destroy my boat. And Dillon, don’t forget, you call Sappho if you need help.”
“Don’t worry, Sappho. I’ll look after your boat,” grinned Dillon. “I’m forever in your debt, old friend.”
Sappho waved his arms around expansively, “No, Dillon. You are like family, and we Greeks always look after family.” Sappho bellowed an order and one of the black suits stepped forward, and then disappeared into the white-walled country house, then returned with a large rucksack.
“A few supplies for your onward travels.” The big Greek man smiled. He ran a hand over his bald head, where a sheen of sweat could be seen in the light of the porch. “Now you be careful out there, Dillon. This not a part of the world for a lily-livered Englishman!”
Dillon laughed, patting the man in return, his affection genuine. “You take care yourself, Sappho. And remember: we were never here. And we didn’t steal that Cessna that’s in your barn now. We merely borrowed it!”
“We are Greek, Dillon. We havethe most dreadful of memories.”
“They got into the Mercedes, and one of the black suits got behind the wheel of the big 4x4 and the next moment they were speeding over loose gravel towards Sappho’s private harbour, and a forty-five foot power cruiser that would take them across to Santorini.
They stepped out onto the dock, unloaded Dillon’s holdalls and the rucksack that Sappho had given them, and took them all to the boat. Dillon looked at what had fifty years previous been a luxury craft, but was now very much like the Mercedes. Covered in grime and years of neglect. The paint on the metal hull was flaking, and rust showed through, and parts of the starboard side gangway were worryingly riddled with rust peppered bullet-holes.
“This old tub has been in the wars,” said Tatiana softly.
“Oh don’t let first impressions fool you. This is very much a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” said Dillon, helping Tatiana across the gang plank and onto the rear deck of the boat. “What did you expect?” He slung the holdalls and rucksack into the deck, then went aboard himself.
“A what?”
Dillon went through the sliding doors into the main day cabin and on towards the bridge, Tatiana followed. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing. When you want to give the impression that something is innocent and harmless, but in fact it is quite the reverse.” Dillon put the key that Sappho had given him into the ignition, and turned. The in-board diesel engines rumbled into life, belching thick black smoke out of the stern into the murky grey light of dawn.
With the powerful diesel engines idling in neutral, Dillon went outside and ordered Sappho’s man to cast off the bow and stern lines, and then went back to the bridge. Within minutes they were heading out to open water at high speed, the metal hull slamming down onto each wave with a loud slap, and suddenly, suddenly the safety of the dockside had gone and a terrible mist had closed in around them.
“Don‘t worry, we’ll soon pass through this murk” explained Dillon. “No ambient light… just water and fish, lots of fish.”
Dillon knew that all around them stretched clear water. He switched on the spotlights which cut two slices of life ahead of them, but all around was the promise — the inherent threat — of a global meltdown…
“Remember what I said about the wolf in sheep’s clothing?” Dillon reached underneath the main control console, feeling for the button he knew was there, and pushed it. A moment later secret panels slid back to reveal three flat screen monitors, Dillon already had the wireless keyboard in his hands and was typing in a series of access commands. The screens lit up and option menus immediately appeared, Dillon activated the night-vision option and the next moment they were looking out through, what appeared to be, green coloured glass. The sea landscape appeared surreal, but visible. He then selected radar jamming and then set the course for Santorini on the auto-pilot. Lastly, he activated the weapon’s systems and placed them on standby.
“Relax, sleep” said Dillon. “The main stateroom is forward, and I think you’re going to need all your energy when we meet Ezra. I’ll rest up here on the bridge”
The dark water rushed past, and as the two Ferran & Cardini operatives rested, the ocean surrounded them completely.
It was over an hour past dawn. The sun had risen, a bright flash over the horizon. The ocean had turned from the murky halflight inkiness to the brilliant blue of a new day — and a blow-torch heat beating down upon them. Their heading was monitored and maintained by the auto-pilot. Clear blue water was all around them interspersed with small isolated islands…
The powerful inboard diesel’s pushed the metal hulled cruiser forward at a steady twenty-nine knots. Schools of silver coloured fish scattered as the boat aggressively cut through the Sea of Crete.
Tatiana moaned tenderly, fingers coming up to touch the sensitive area of her shoulder that had so recently been punctured; Dillon had claimed that it was healing nicely, but to Tatiana it felt like it was on fire… a poker through the wound searing her flesh. The sun rose; so did the temperature. Dillon turned on the air-conditioning inside the bridge, and the cool air flowed into the cabin. Dillon settled into the seat and checked the gauges and data readouts on the three monitors.