"Where did they go after Kutsk? Back to Israel?"
"That's what they said in the village. They lied. They came in a boat, and my sister's husband's nephew saw it two days later. It was headed for Famagusta, in Cyprus."
"Many Israelis go to Cyprus."
"Perhaps they were Israelis who couldn't go to Israel." His eyes searched Craig's face. "Is it worth a thousand dollars?"
"Yes," said Craig. "You'll get it when you go."
"I believe you," Omar said. "You're the biggest bastard I ever met, but I don't think you tell lies if you can help it."
"Try to be like me," Craig said. "Tell me about Royce and Benson."
"They came to Kutsk about three or four days ago. They said they were—those people who are interested in old things."
"Archeologists?" Craig suggested.
"Some Greek word. They drove all over the place. They were looking for the shepherd. At first they weren't in too much of a bloody hurry. Then one day Royce got a telegram."
"What did it say?"
"You think I could get hold of somebody else's telegram? "
"I'm sure of it," said Craig.
"It was all numbers," said Omar. "A code. I couldn't read it. But I think it told them you were coming. They were worried after that. They came to me before you did."
"Why should they do that?" "I've got a reputation," Omar said. "You mean a police record?"
"No, no." Omar sounded more surprised than offended. "I'm not stupid, you know. But a lot of people know about me. I'll help in most things if the price is right."
He squinted up at the sun, altered course a point, and continued: "They wanted me to help them if you turned up. I said I would—and you know the rest. For such young people, I thought they did a pretty good job. The sheila_"
"Yes?" said Craig.
"She is very beautiful," said Omar, "and very dangerous. Even more dangerous than the man. I think they'll try to kill you. I don't want to be there when they try— not for just a thousand dollars."
"You won't be," said Craig.
He lay back again, relaxed and comfortable. Miriam and Kaplan talked on as they ate, and in the distance a long bight of land grew slowly visible.
"Cape Andreas," said Omar. "You want to make for there?"
"No," said Craig. "Famagusta."
"For just a thousand dollars I don't want to see the Russians either." "You won't."
"Famagusta's full of bleeding Greeks," Omar said. "Greeks don't like me, effendi."
"What an old worry guts you are," said Craig. "Just do as you're told. You'll be fine. I'll even pay you."
"You promise that?"
"I promise," said Craig.
Omar sighed again, and obeyed. The big Englishman's strength was frightening, but there was comfort in it too— if you thought he was going to use it to protect you. There was also the money.
Craig dozed in the sun and watched the land slip by, white sand and scattered rocks, and beyond it a lush green vegetation, sloping back into the island's gentle mountains. Omar stayed well away from land, and to any casual watcher they would be just one more unhurrying boat in a sea full of boats that never hurried. He would be safe in Cyprus, and so would Kaplan, until his purchase price came through.
Craig thought of slaves and auction blocks, of men and women examined as if they were animals. He'd come down to that. And now he was a slave trader. The thought disgusted him, but he made his mind accept it. Once weaken, once relent, and Craig would be dead. And if he died, Miriam would probably die too, and Omar. Only Kaplan would have a chance to survive, a chance he might not want. Craig thought of the things he had done for Department K, cruel, terrible things. He thought of the smashed bones, the pistol beatings, the neat holes that a Smith and Wesson Airweight makes if you use it right. He thought of the things that had been done to him. He'd been shot, stabbed, knifed, clubbed, and tortured in a way that almost cost him his manhood. All for Department K. For the department and its chief, Loomis. He supposed that Loomis connected to other people, other places. To M-16 and the government, ultimately to the people and the country. To Loomis's own highly personal view of Great Britain. But Craig hadn't felt like that. His loyalty had gone as far as Loomis and the department, and there it had stopped. (Mostly his enemies had been Russians and Chinese, because that was the way the world functioned nowadays—in a duality of terror and detestation that sometimes got very close to love. Look at the bright kids. The ones in the West all wanted to be leftists; the ones in Russia all wanted to be Beatles.) But he hadn't ever had that depth of patriotism that rendered Loomis immune from pity or self-disgust whatever disgusting trick he'd played.
He'd gone into this thing because he was good at it. The fulfillment of each assignment had been the most complete satisfaction he could hope to know. And the enemy hadn't always been Russian or Chinese. There'd been Spaniards, Italians, Germans, Frenchmen, and more than one Englishman. He'd handled them all, just as efficiently. And now he was putting a middle-aged Jew on the auction block and forcing a young Jewess to keep him there. He wondered if Miriam would ever know just how terrible a price she was paying. I must want to live pretty desperately, he thought. When I get out of this I'll take a course in ethics and kill myself.
The girl came aft to sit beside him, moving clumsily against the movement of the ship.
"His arms are hurting him," Miriam said.
"Has he answered all your questions yet?"
"Yes," she said. "But I think he's lying sometimes."
"Go back and tell him I'll let him loose when he tells you the truth."
Beside him, Omar cackled respectfully. The girl got up and went back to Kaplan. Despite her clumsy movements, her body was beautiful again.
"Not like the Benson sheila," said Omar. "A tigress and a deer, eh, effendi?"
Craig grinned at him. "The world's big enough for both kinds," he said.
The darkness came in quickly, and Omar was worried about the lights. Craig took the tiller as he lit them. Slowly they slipped closer to the shore, and then, in the last rays of the sunlight, Craig could see the white line of foam that marked the sunken ruins of Salamis, the speckled gleam of Famagusta in the distance. Craig got to his feet, picked the rifle up from the deck, slipped out the magazine and put it in his pocket. Omar watched without speaking. Next Craig took out his money, counted it, put it back in his pocket, except for ten one-hundred-dollar bills. Still silent, Omar licked his lips, then cried out aloud as Craig tore the ten beautiful pieces of paper in half, dropped one half into his lap.
"Half in advance. I'm going ashore soon," said Craig. "You'll get the rest when I come back. If you behave."
"Yes, effendi," said Omar.
"Are you a good Muslim?" said Craig.
"Pretty good."
"If I were you I would pray a lot while I'm gone. Pray that nobody comes here looking for the shepherd. If they do, they'll kill you. If you try to contact anybody and do a deal, I'll kill you. Staying alone is your only chance of staying alive. Believe that, Omar."
"I do believe it," Omar said.
Craig went forward to the girl then, where she stood beside Kaplan.
"Well?" he asked.
"I think he's telling the truth now."
Craig untied the man's hands, but lashed his ankles together. In Russian he said, "You're too fond of swimming," then to Miriam in English, "I'm going ashore. I shouldn't be long. When I come back I'll have help."
"For him?" She nodded at Kaplan who sat on the deck, head on hands.
"It's possible," said Craig, "but don't count on it."
He told Omar to heave to, and together they manhandled over the side the stone that served as an anchor, then he disappeared into the cabin. When he came back he was naked, his clothes and shoes wrapped in a piece of waterproof and strapped to his head like a turban. The others turned away as he lowered himself into the water, swam in a steady breaststroke toward the lights of the town. The sea was calm and warm, tangy with salt, as placid as a bath, but the feel of it round him was refreshing, shook off his drowsiness. Too soon he reached shallow water and waded ashore to dry himself on a scrap of sailcloth, the only towel on the boat, and dress quickly, in the darkness. He walked along the beach, staying out of reach of the villas' lights, the sight of holiday-makers having one last outdoor drink before dinner, then reached a path that led up to a road, and walked along the road till he found a cafe with one car parked beside it.