In the last stretch before the buoy, there was a line of stones to port and the low island of solid ground to starboard was topped by the crumbling remains of a small redoubt. I looked round at Kotiadis. He had put his glass down and had just taken out his packet of cigarettes. I set a course of northwest on the automatic pilot, a course that would take us diagonally across the canal and into the shallows on our port side. His lighter flicked as we came to the end of the flat little island. The canal was eighteen yards wide, the unlit buoy less than a hundred yards ahead, and the saltings falling back, the shallows opening out. The moment had come, and I engaged the automatic pilot. "Quick!" I shouted. "Grab it!" and I flung myself out of the wheelhouse door, running aft along the deck. Kotiadis followed me. "What is it?" he asked as he joined me.
"The jib preventor," I said, leaning over the stern. "It must have shaken loose."
He didn't know anything about boats and for a moment he stood there, watching the wake for a non-existent piece of equipment. And then he suddenly remembered that we were in the canal and nobody was at the wheel. He turned, and in that moment we grounded, right opposite the unlit buoy. There was no sudden jolt, just a slow coming to a halt and the white of our wake turning to a useless churning of muddy water.
He stared at me. "Cretin!" But that was all he said. No doubt he had his suspicions, but he didn't voice them, and after an ineffectual attempt to get off under power, he was fully occupied helping me to get the dinghy over the side and a kedge run out astern. It all took time, and because the nylon warp was fixed direct to the anchor, with no intermediary length of chain to weight the stock down, it did not dig in as the strain came on it, but ploughed through the mud bottom. Clouds hung over the mainland hills and for a brief period they were rimmed with pink, while the clear sky overhead turned to a cold duck's egg green and the darkening mass of the Levkas heights changed from purple to black.
By the time we had made three attempts to winch ourselves clear, it was dark enough to see the lights of the port two miles away, with the red and green lights of the channel buoys to the south and the fairway buoy winking green, its flashes so close you felt you could reach out and touch it. "It's no good," I said. "We'll have to wait for a caique to tow us off in the morning." He followed me down into the saloon and I gave him another cognac. And since we were there for the night, I repeated my suggestion that he might like to have a look at what we'd smuggled out of Turkey. I was curious myself, and I hoped that, with his interest in Greek antiquities, they would prove exciting enough to tempt him.
The first package I brought up from the bilges was one of the smallest and proved to contain a short necklace of thin gold beaten into the form of tiny shells. I saw his eyes gleam as he handled it, but when I said he could have it if he'd give
me the opportunity of getting clear of Greek waters, he put it down as though it were too hot to hold. "And what do I say to Constantanidi?" He smiled and shook his head. "Tomorrow, when we are in Levkas, the Customs take charge of this."
"On behalf of the Government," I said. "You won't get it."
"No. But I have my job." He was still staring at it. "Oreo," he murmured softly. "Is very beautiful."
"Then take it." I said. "Whilst you have the chance."
But he shook his head again. "It is of no importance to me. And if there is war-what good is it then?"
I was watching his face, sitting across the table from him, my nerves tense. "Okay." I got to my feet. "Then I'll throw it overboard. And all the rest of the packages." And I picked it up and turned towards the companionway.
"No." He had risen too. "It is all the property of the Greek Government."
"Balls!" I said. "It belongs to a man called Borg, who's a crook anyway." I tossed the necklace onto the table in front of him and then I went for'ard, to where I had pulled up part of the cabin sole, and brought up two more packages, putting them on the table in front of him. "You open those, whilst I get the rest." I could hear him removing the polythene covering as I went for'ard again. When I came back into the saloon, he was carefully unwrapping a drinking cup of the same beaten gold from its cocoon of cotton wool. His eyes were bright, the cigarette in his mouth burning unheeded, and as he pulled the last of the cotton wool away and the goblet-shaped cup lay gleaming, he picked it up in both his hands. That was when I hit him-in the belly first, and then a short jab to the jaw. He sagged, his eyes wide and surprised, his long face looking longer and blood welling where his lip was cut.
He slumped across the table and I pushed him back onto the settee berth. He sprawled there slackly, and he hadn't got a gun. I fetched a morphine ampoule from the medicine chest and injected him in the arm the way I had injected Bert, and then I went on deck for some rope. He was still out when I returned. I put a clove hitch round his wrists and ankles, tied the rope round his waist and then slipped the little gold necklace into his pocket. At least it would be something.
After that there was a lot to do and I worked fast, coiling the long nylon anchor line into the dinghy and rowing with it across to the unlit buoy. It was night now, the sky studded with stars, the water black. I tied the end of the line to the eye on top of the buoy and hauled myself back to the boat. I tried winching her off without the engine first; I was scared of getting the line wrapped round the prop. But she wouldn't come. Even with the engine astern on full revs she didn't budge, and I stood there, sweating, the deck pounding under the soles of my feet and the line to the buoy stretched so taut it was like a thread. I thought for a moment I'd have to lighten her by pumping fresh water over the side, but then, suddenly, the flashing light of the fairway buoy was swinging towards the bows and I slammed the gear lever into neutral, running aft and hauling in the slack as she drifted stem-on towards the buoy. Then I snubbed the line on a cleat, made fast and left her to ride there by the stern whilst I dealt with Kotiadis.
He was heavier than I thought, and I had trouble lowering him into the dinghy. It seemed a long row to the low island with the redoubt, and the mud and the slimy stones of the bank made it difficult to get him ashore. I slipped the rope free of him and left him there, rowing wearily for the buoy. And then I found the knot had been drawn so tight I couldn't undo it. I seemed to be struggling with it for hours, the sweat drying cold on my body and my knees trembling with exhaustion. But at last I managed to free it and then it was only a matter of a few yards to the stern of the boat.
I clambered back on board, made the dinghy fast and stood for a moment in the wheelhouse, alone at last and trembling. The quickest way to clear Greek territorial waters was to head up the canal past the port of Levkas and out by the northern entrance. West from there it was all open sea. But the canal was unlit, and though I had been down it once in daylight, I didn't dare risk it, and there was always the chance, with an emergency on, that they would be checking all boats. Reluctantly I turned Coromandel's bows south and headed for the double line of red and green lights that marked the dredged channel.
It was 21.38 when I passed between the last set of lights. I was shivering by then and I switched to automatic pilot and went below to put on shirt and trousers and a sweater. Until that moment I had been too concerned with getting rid of Kotiadis to think about what I should do when I had the boat to myself. I went back up to the wheelhouse and got out Chart 203. Going south round the island of Levkas meant passing back through the Meganisi Channel. It was 12 miles to the point where we had been anchored and I had made that dive, another 10 miles to Cape Dukato, the south-western tip of Levkas. Say three hours if I could maintain maximum speed of 8 knots in unlit waters. And then I was measuring off the distance to Cape Aterra, the north-westernmost point of Cephalonia. From the Meganisi Channel, it was 23 miles on a course of 225°. I could be there by 02.30 with almost two hours of darkness to spare, and I should then be that much further on my way to Africa.