"Like a god come back to earth," he said. "A god without pity."
Craig poured out wine.
"You've been dreaming," he said. "This is only a
man."
"But so big—" said Serafin.
"So vulnerable," said Craig. "He's an easy target."
The big man looked around the cafe, and moved at once to Craig's table, his body looming above them, big, menacing, relaxed.
"May I join you?" he asked.
His Greek was accurate, with little trace of accent.
Craig pushed back a chair with his foot, and the big man sat, cautiously, taking it for granted that under his weight chairs often broke.
"Let me buy more wine," he said.
"We prefer cognac," said Serafin.
The big man produced a bottle of Courvoisier from one enormous pocket.
"Perhaps you know my name," he said.
"Mr. Dyton-Blease," said Craig.
He said it slowly and badly, as if the combination of sounds were new to him, and difficult.
The big man nodded.
"You have something for me," he said.
"Someone," said Craig. "I want a name, please."
"Selina bin Hussein," Dyton-Blease said. "From the Haram."
Craig nodded.
"Where is she?" Dyton-Blease asked.
"On our boat," said Craig. "When do you want her?"
"Soon," the big man said.
"Here?"
"No. I have a house on the island. You can sail your boat round to it. Look, I'll show you." He produced a notebook and pencil, and drew a map. He drew with great clarity, and his writing was tiny and precise.
Craig looked at the sketch and nodded.
"What time?" he asked.
"I'll tell you when," the big man said. "My people will be waiting for you. There'll be no trouble—from us."
"Nor from us," said Craig. 'You promised us money for this. We want it."
The big man produced from his pocket a great wad of American bills, and put a thousand dollars on the table.
"For now," he said. "The rest when you produce the
girl."
"That is a lot of money for one man to carry," Serafin
said.
"No one would dare try to rob me," said Dyton-Blease. "Believe that."
Serafin's hand reached out for the money and Dyton-Blease moved with a swift blur of speed, appalling for a man of his bulk. His own hand, shapely for all its size, slammed down to cover Serafin's, holding it still.
"I hope you have the girl," he said.
"Of course," said Craig. "Look."
His hand scooped into his pocket, and he produced a louis d'or.
"From a dress of hers," he said. "It's covered in them." Dyton-Blease reached for it, and Craig's hand became a fist.
"Let the old man go," said Craig. "We are businessmen, not gangsters."
Dyton-Blease did so, and Craig could see that Serafin's hand was limp and bloodless. He waited until Serafin had scrambled the bills together, then handed over the coin.
"What is she like?" Dyton-Blease asked.
"Like the coin," said Craig, "rounded, shining, golden," and the big man laughed.
"I like you," he said. "If you try to trick me, I will hurt you. Remember that."
He looked at Serafin. "It is easy for me to hurt people."
Craig nodded. In his state Dyton-Blease could hurt him without even having to sweat.
"No need for threats," he said. "This is purely a matter of business."
He uncorked the brandy bottle, and poured a drink for Serafin, and for himself, then looked round for a glass for the big man.
"Don't bother," said Dyton-Blease. "I don't drink."
Craig lifted his glass to his lips.
"You can finish that one," Dyton-Blease said. "Then fetch my merchandise for me." Craig shrugged, then swallowed the brandy, feeling its delicate fire touch life into his tired body. Serafin raised his glass.
"Don't hurry," Dyton-Blease said. "You're staying with me. Your friend can have you back when he brings me the girl."
He looked at Craig's face; read the wariness in it, and the rage he could not control, then he laughed so that the glasses rattled and sang on the table.
"You didn't think I would just take your word for it, did you?" he asked.
"Why shouldn't I just leave him?" asked Craig. "Aren't you afraid I might do that?"
"Not in the least," Dyton-Blease said. "You're much too fond of him for that. And you made no effort to hide it."
He looked at Serafin.
"Why are you so fond of him? Is he your father?" Craig nodded.
"That's good," said Dyton-Blease. 'That's very good. You'll have to have him back then, won't you? Whether you like him or not. Bring her to me and you'll get him." Craig didn't move. "Go now," Dyton-Blease continued. "Bring her to the bay I showed you—in two hours. Exactly two hours, mind. I hate unpunctuality."
Craig got up slowly, gauging the big man's strength and the weakening effect of the knife wound. There was no help for it. He would have to do as Dyton-Blease said.
"That's right," said the big man gaily. "No good starting anything here. I own the place and the people."
Craig looked round him. The half dozen men in the caf6 were watching Dyton-Blease, ready to move in at his signal. Craig forced himself to smile humbly at the big man, and went from the cafe. He could not look at Serafin.
Outside the cafe was a white Mercedes convertible, a 220 SE with the driving seat pushed so far back that it almost touched the rear seat. The big man's car; it had to be. No one else in the island could own anything so powerful, so elegant, and so expensive.
Craig walked down to the harbor and worked the boat out to the headland, where Serafin's wife's brother was waiting with the girl he had to give to Dyton-Blease. There was no doubt in his mind about that. When he had to choose between her and the old man, there was no choice at all.
The caique grumbled its way towards the bay, a great arc of sand that glittered like silver. Above it were pine trees, then olives and vines that looked dark and cooL in a series of plateaus cut into the hillside like gigantic steps, and capping it all a fortress, squatting on the top of the hill, massive as the hill itself: Moorish, Venetian, Turkish, or perhaps all three; its stonework glittering white as the sand in the bay.
"Don't you think it's heavenly?" Selina asked.
Craig said: "Oh yes. Beautiful."
He watched two powerboats put out from a little cove at the south side of the bay. They were heading straight for him.
"You're not very cheerful," said the girl. "I thought you'd have been pleased. Your work's almost done now, isn't it?"
"Almost," said Craig. I'm sorry about all this."
"Why on earth should you be?" she asked. "You've done exactly what I wanted."
"The people here are dangerous," Craig said.
"Naturally," said the girl. "But I can look after myself. Honestly. My father and my brothers have taught me exactly what to do. I'll be all right."
Craig watched the powerboats alter course, so that they moved one on each side of the caique, and reminded himself yet again, that he had no choice. On each boat were two men with submachine guns; one for'ard, one aft. At the moment all four guns were trained on the caique. He cut the engine, then he and Selina stood up, showing themselves to be unarmed. He couldn't see Dyton-Blease or Serafin. Perhaps Serafin was dead. Perhaps it was his turn to die.
One of the powerboats ran alongside, fenders out to protect its gleaming paintwork, two seamen fore and aft with boathooks, and two men came aboard, two men who moved neatly, swiftly, without fuss; who carried their Steyr .32 automatics with neither shyness nor bravado, treating them simply as tools of their trade. Craig watched them carefully. These were very good men indeed. One of them spoke to Selina in English. His voice was high-pitched and slightly effeminate, the accent a blend of Los Angeles and Greece.