They passed an island on the starboard side, where a small group of people swimming and sunbathing in a crescent shaped sandy cove, waved as they went by. The few houses that could be seen were built of stone, wood and white-washed rendered walls, which glowed in the strong sunlight. Dillon waved back as they rumbled by. Tatiana, smiling for the first time in many hours, also waved back at the people on the beach.
They left the idyllic island behind, on a heading for Santorini, the cruiser eating the sea with ease. They pressed on; mile after mile, hour after hour, under the singular piercing eye of the baking sun. It was incredibly hot outside, almost unbearable even with the breeze coming off the sea.
Another two hours saw them approaching the most southerly tip of Santorini. Dillon remained on course for another twenty minutes and then disengaged the auto-pilot. As they approached the west coast bay of Thira he took the helm, and brought the forty-five foot cruiser to a sudden stop, the boat gently rocking on the swell. Reddish-purple cliffs, created by a violent volcanic eruption around 1600BC, rose up hundreds of feet before them.
“Up there,” he said simply.
“What?”
“One of Ferran & Cardini’s monitoring stations… and Ezra.” Tatiana stared. “All I see is a lot of red rock, Dillon. I obviously knew that there was a facility somewhere in the Cyclades — after all, I am a Ferran & Cardini special operation’s liaison officer — but I had no idea that it was located on Santorini!” Tatiana’s voice was a little strained, her gaze looking skywards.
“We’ll moor up alongside the old dock at the far end, away from the other boats. It’s still too early for the cruise ships, but when they do start to arrive, there will be hundreds of tourists putting ashore here. And then we’ll take the cable car up to the top. Someone will be waiting, of that you can be sure. They’ll have watchers. We haven’t got this far without being tagged, even with the radar jamming activated. Let’s just hope that Ezra hasn’t given his men the order to shoot us on sight. But then, that wouldn’t be his code of conduct, would it now, Tats?” He gave Tatiana a sly sideways glance. And she knew; the mistrust was still there. He wasn’t sure if she was real or… or what? A Government spy?
But then, in all the years she had known him, Dillon had never truly trusted anyone. It would have surprised her if he had changed now.
The silence of the early morning was fractured by the tinkling bells of the mules making their way down to the port for the cruise ship arrivals. Those adventurous enough, mount-up, and are taken up the 853 feet of ancient trail way, all the way to the top of the cliffs. Dillon and Tatiana, were not in the mood for a mule ride, and took the cable car all the way up the almost sheer cliff face to the town perched on top. As they stepped outside, they were greeted by four black-suited men. They were all sporting concealed weapons under their jackets; Dillon assumed that they would be carrying 9mm Glock automatics, standard issue and his favoured weapon. Dillon watched them warily, his own Glock in his hand with the safety off, inside his jacket pocket. He smiled broadly.
“Hello boys. It’s good of Ezra to send a welcoming party, but we don’t want to cause a scene. Do we?”
“You’re to leave Santorini at once,” said a large man in Greek. He moved forward, patent leather shoes covered in dust. “You are not welcome here.”
“But maybe I’d like to catch up with an old work colleague while I’m visiting this magnificent island. Perhaps you know old Mr Happy Ezra?”
“There is no one on Santorini of that name,” said the big man.
Tatiana leaned across Dillon and saw one of the other men grin, the big man looked sternly at his subordinate, dark eyes narrowing, his expression reprimanding.
“Tell him that his niece, Tatiana, is here.”
The man stared. He did not blink. Then he nodded at one of the other men, who spoke briefly into his concealed microphone, and then went and whispered conspiratorially in the big man’s ear. He spoke quickly to the others and then turned to Dillon and said. “We walk straight through to the far side of the town, and then to the white-washed villa on the hillside. Try nothing funny or Arte’ here…” he patted the other man on the shoulder: “Well, his gun is silenced and he will gladly kill you both without a second thought.”
The large man led them through the narrow streets of Thira, past cosy bars and restaurants, and chic fashionable shops and boutiques. Dillon walked with Tatiana at his side; Arte’ was directly behind them all the way to the high electric gates of a large white-washed villa.
And then they were inside the grounds of Ezra’s villa complex.
Inside Ezra’s lair.
The black suited men followed them, automatic weapons now on full view, bristling, safety catches switched to off. As they walked through the colourful landscaped gardens, men and women were busy tending the borders and harvesting oranges from the trees in the orchard, while men rode sit-on mowers cutting the acres of grass. They turned a corner and, Dillon licked his lips nervously, and decided that he did not like this place…
Ezra was waiting, hands on hips, eyes staring out across his domain, mind deep in thought. Dillon halted at the bottom of the veranda steps, and allowed one of Ezra’s personal bodyguards to take his Glock from him. Tatiana stood at Dillon’s side, one foot resting on the first step, gazing up at the blazing sun for a moment before fixing her eyes on her — uncle.
Ezra looked round and his gaze met Tatiana’s. He smiled briefly, and then he looked at Dillon and glowered, the kindly expression of a moment before disappearing from his face.
“You either have the nerve of the devil by coming here, or a death wish, Dillon. And before you say anything, I still haven’t forgiven you for shooting me in the ass with that hollow-point. It took out most of my hip, you know? And now I’m reminded of it every day with this infernal limp. So, Dillon. You’d better have a very good reason for daring to come here.”
Dillon said nothing. He made no move. He merely allowed his gaze to remain fixed on Ezra, a silent connection — a linking of minds that Tatiana did not quite understand.
“I was told that you had retired to an eccentric hermit-like existence in the Highlands of Scotland, Dillon.”
“I had,” said Dillon softly.
“I don’t understand,” whispered Ezra, eyes intense.
“It was… interrupted. And when I shot you, Ezra, it was to keep you alive, not to kill you.”
There came a long uncomfortable pause
“You are a legend within the Ferran & Cardini history files, you know.”
“That is misplaced, and you know it, Ezra. But thanks for trying to boost my ego…” Dillon said softly.
“How so? One cannot become a legend without the actions to back it up. You were revered by your peers and the partners and feared by your quarry.” The contempt in Ezra’s voice could not be missed.
“You’re only alive today because of the bullet I put in you, Ezra. I know we’ve never seen eye-to-eye — because of my relationship with Tatiana, and because of my reputation… And I know you will have read all of those emails sent out by MI5 when they embarked on the smear campaign against me… But you have it really, really wrong. I know you will find it hard to trust me on this… but you need to hear us out, Ezra, because we need your help…”