'And then?' Newman prodded.
'We shall be at the place where Andreas Gavalas died over forty years ago.'
The Cadillac, driven by Dimitrios, had taken the other route on the far side of the mountain. Hidden inside a copse of olive trees, they had seen Nick heading up the seaward road.
They are going where they shouldn't,' Dimitrios said. 'So, we get there first and wait for them…'
He had driven like a madman up the curving road with Constantine beside him, a rifle and shotgun resting in his lap. In the back of the car Christina sat tense and silent.
To her left the ground sloped away steeply but not precipitously. In the distance she could see the white-walled houses of Siros port – looking like a child's model.
'We turn here,' Dimitrios said and swung off the road inside a deep-walled gulch which snaked between lofty heights of limestone. The wheels bumped over rocks, shaking the vehicle.
'Why?' demanded Christina.
'We are now ahead of them,' Dimitrios condescended to explain. 'We will check to see they are going all the way. Then, if they are, we turn round here and go on up the mountain. There is a place where we can look down on them, see what they do.'
He had stopped at a point where the track widened and turned the Cadillac so it faced the way they had come. He had concealed the car out of sight of the gap at the end of the gulch. Daylight showed and way beyond it the intense blue of the sea.
'A place where you can look down on them?' Christina queried. 'You are taking your guns with you? Why?' Her hand clawed at Dimitrios' shirt collar as he was alighting. 'What are you planning to do?'
'You heard what Petros ordered. To shoot them if necessary. Now let go, you treacherous cat. At the end is the other road. We shall see their car pass if they have come this far.'
As Spyros had predicted, they had left the abyss behind. Ahead, below the sheer wall of the mountain, an area of flat scrubland stretched before them. Nick stopped the car, Newman stepped out, stretched and took another swig from the plastic bottle of mineral water. They had six unopened bottles: dehydration, as Nick was never tired of warning, was the greatest danger. Newman grimaced after drinking, replaced the cap. The liquid was tepid, tasteless.
The plateau of arid scrubland projected out from the mountain wall, then sloped steeply downwards. A wide deep parched gully led its winding way towards the distant sea. Its surface was cluttered with limestone boulders and pebbles. In winter, Newman guessed, it would be a gushing torrent. Now it was bone dry.
'Where?' asked Marler in his direct way.
Spyros pointed to the gully with his knife. The rocky gulch lay about two hundred yards away. Shielding his eyes, Marler gazed up at the towering mountain above them.
'What in Hades is that?'
Newman stared up. At the summit of Mount Ida, clinging to the edge of the rock, was perched a huddle of ancient buildings. Built of solid stone, one shallow-roofed building was hanging above another, perched at different levels and all joined in one complex.
'The monastery of Mount Ida,' Spyros told them. 'From there you see all over the island. During the war the German general, Hugo Geiger, established a lookout unit. He respected the monks. He said someone should live in peace in this frightful war.'
'Where?' Marler repeated again. 'Where exactly did this Andreas Gavalas die?'
'Inside the gully.' Spyros pointed the knife. 'I will show you the place…'
'Not yet.' Marler placed a hand on the old man's shoulder as he began to walk out into the open. 'Everyone back inside the car,' Marler continued, reaching inside for his rifle. He pocketed the sniperscope sight, picked up several spare magazines. 'Go on, get in quick,' he ordered. 'The lot of you.'
'May I ask why?' Newman enquired.
'You may. A mile or so back coming up the mountain I glanced down one of those side tracks leading into a gulch. I saw movement, a man watching. He dodged back out of sight. Before you venture into the open I'm going up there.'
He looked up the mountain which was fractured with deep fissures, some wide enough to allow passage for one man. Newman sucked in his breath at the prospect, thinking of the vertigo.
'You stay in the back. Bob,' Marler instructed. 'On this side of the car. Keep an eye on me. When I wave my rifle you can go into the open. Only then.'
He looped the rifle over his shoulder, wriggled his feet in his rubber-soled calf-skinned shoes to test their ankle support. 'If I'd known I'd have brought climbing boots. Can't be helped. I'll cope.'
'Watch it – for God's sake,' Newman warned.
'And I never knew you cared…'
Typical of Marler to mock just before he was attempting a climb fraught with risk, Newman thought. They settled in the car and Newman peered up. Marler was already a good twenty feet up a narrow fissure, finding a foothold on one side, then on the other.
17
'We climb up here. It looks straight down on the place,' said Dimitrios as he switched off the engine.
He had turned off the mountain road, backing the Cadillac into a cul-de-sac. Christina peered through the rear window. At the end of the cul-de-sac a wide defile led upwards between rocky walls. A primitive staircase carved out of the rock led out of sight.
'What is this? Where does it lead to?' she demanded.
'The monks made it ages ago.' Dimitrios grinned as he gripped his rifle, opened the door and slipped out. Constantine joined him with his shotgun. Dimitrios thrust his head in through the rear window. 'Christina, you wait here. We're going up to a high point which overlooks the place. You hear shots, we will be back soon after. Then we drive back.'
'I told you, Dimitrios…'
They were gone, climbing the rough-hewn steps rapidly, Dimitrios in the lead. They disappeared round a corner. She climbed out of the car, left the door open, ran back on to the mountain road. From the view ahead she knew roughly where she was. She began running, jogging at a steady trot up the road.
She wore a lightweight jump suit and trainer shoes. As she ran she hauled her dark glasses out of her pocket, perched them on her nose. The stupid cold-blooded bastards. They liked their work: Petros had trained them well. They were true grandsons of the sadistic old ruffian.
Ten minutes later she was still running uphill, pacing herself. She was close to where the mountain ended, where the ground became flat, spreading out towards the sea on the other side of Ida. Pray God she got there in time…
Dimitrios crouched down, settled himself in the nest between massive boulders. He perched his rifle in the cleft of a rock, looked along the sight. Three men were alighting from the Mercedes parked at the edge of the plateau. Beside him Constantine aimed his shotgun.
They were positioned seventy feet above the three men. Both of the Greeks were excellent shots. The place Dimitrios had chosen was a meditation point used by the monks. High above them reared the overhanging monastery. Dimitrios glanced up once, then down again. He was satisfied no one looking down from the summit of Mount Ida would ever see them. An overhang of rock almost completely obscured the view from that height. The overhang was two hundred feet above where they waited.
'Let them get well out into the open,' Dimitrios warned his brother. 'Then there is nowhere to hide. We can pick them off one by one.'
'Which shall I aim for?' Constantine asked.
'You don't. Leave it to me. If one dashes back for the car, he's your dead meat for today. Any minute now…'