The inflatable was black and powered by a Mercury engine that was incredibly noisy, even when Yanni throttled back. As they drifted in to the Cretan Lover, the boy cut the engine and Aleko tossed the line to Blake.
“It wouldn’t be possible to approach the castle jetty in this thing under cover of darkness,” Dillon said. “Maybe we could row it in.”
“Not without difficulty,” Aleko told him. “Outside that bay there is a fierce cross current. It can run a good two to three knots, enough to blow you off-target.”
“Then how in the hell are we going to do it?”
Blake was leaning over the rail, listening, and Aleko said, “I may have a solution.” He turned to Yanni. “The Aquamobile is in the aft cabin. Bring it up. Help him, Mr. Johnson, it’s an awkward size.”
It was like a large sledge with a framework of aluminium. In the center was a huge battery pack and a triple propeller inside a wire cage.
“How fast will this thing go?” Dillon asked.
“Four knots. Let’s go down and you can try it.”
Dillon submerged, the Aquamobile descended in a shower of bubbles. Aleko grabbed the bar at the stern and switched on, moving away smoothly. He returned and offered it to Dillon, who took over and circled the boat. He switched off and came up beside the inflatable.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Let’s say you and Mr. Johnson ride in the inflatable and I guide the Aquamobile in and tow you.”
Dillon nodded. “It’s a thought, but it might be too heavy.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Aleko looked up at Blake. “Join Yanni in the inflatable, Mr. Johnson, and we’ll try.”
Blake dropped over the rail and Yanni tossed a line to Aleko, who fastened it to the handling bar. “Here we go,” he called and switched on.
Dillon swam alongside, just under the surface, but was gradually left behind as the Aquamobile and the inflatable forged ahead. After a while, they turned in a circle and moved back to the boat. Dillon followed, and by the time he got there, they were pulling the Aquamobile over the rail.
He and Aleko unzipped their inflatable jackets and tanks, and Blake and Yanni reached over for them. Dillon removed his fins and followed Aleko up the small ladder.
He toweled off on deck and lit a cigarette. “That’s it, then.”
“So it would appear,” Aleko nodded. “We’ll go back and tell the Brigadier.”
The barn was built of heavy stone, and whitewashed. There were no windows, but there was electric light. A row of sandbags lay at one end fronted by cardboard cutouts of soldiers.
“So you take it this seriously?” Dillon said.
“Let’s say I like to keep my hand in,” Aleko told him.
They were all there, including the crew of the Cretan Lover, and the equipment Ferguson had ordered from Harley at the Ministry was laid out on trestle tables, the black jump suits and flak jackets, the silenced Brownings and Uzis, the night-vision goggles, the stun grenades, and the Semtex blocks and timers.
“Mother Mary, we’re going to war,” Yanni said.
Aleko picked up the pair of night-vision binoculars. “Hey, I could do with these. Beautiful.”
“You can have the lot afterwards if this thing works,” Ferguson told him and turned to Dillon. “Anything else?”
“Yes, I’d like a decent rope. Let’s say a hundred feet long and knotted every two feet.” He looked at Aleko. “Can you manage that?”
“I’ll put the boys right on to it.” He picked up one of the Brownings and weighed it in his hand. “May I?” he asked Ferguson.
“Be my guest.”
Aleko took deliberate aim and fired three times at the end target. He hit it in the chest, widely spaced. “I never was much good.” He gave it to Blake, butt first. “Your turn.”
“It’s been a while. Too busy to practice these days.” Blake held it in both hands in the approved stance and fired three times, the result, a tight grouping in the heart area.
He handed the weapon to Dillon. “Now you.”
Dillon turned to Ferguson. “Do I have to?”
“Come off it, Dillon, you Irish are all the same. You love showing off.”
“Is that a fact, now?”
Dillon turned, his hand swung up, two dull thuds as he double-tapped, shooting out the eyes of the first target. There was total silence and then Dimitri whispered, “Jesus, Mary.”
Dillon weighed the Browning. “A nice weapon, but I still prefer the Walther,” and he laid it down on the table.
“Well, after that, I’d say the only thing to do is go and eat,” Aleko said and led the way out.
FIFTEEN
Rain swept in across the harbor and there was a wind off the sea. Stavros was in the wheelhouse, the two boys on the deck sheltering under the canvas canopy they had rigged earlier when the rain had started.
The other four were in the main saloon, the weapons laid out on the table. Aleko was wearing a black nylon dive suit and Dillon and Blake had already put on the jump suits and flak jackets.
“You didn’t mention rain,” Blake said.
“Because the weathermen got it wrong as usual. This little lot was due mid-morning tomorrow.” Aleko shrugged. “On the other hand, good cover as long as you don’t mind getting wet.”
“A fair point,” Dillon said. “What about the other fishing boats?”
“They’ve gone up in stages, which will look nice and normal, and it’s usual to work together with the bigger nets in the sardine season. If they check them from the castle, they’ll only see working fishermen.”
“Excellent,” Ferguson said.
Aleko lit a cigarette. “So, we go in, I drop you on the beach by the jetty. How long do you think this thing will take?”
“Half an hour,” Dillon said. “At the most. It’s got to be straight in and hit them hard and out again, or not at all.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You could always kill them,” Aleko said.
“Now there’s a possibility,” Dillon replied.
“So, this is the way it goes. We join the other fishing boats, move in a little closer to shore. Yanni and Dimitri get the nets out. We’ll have the inflatable on the other side of the boat from the shore, load up, and I tow you in.” Aleko picked up four signaling flares. “These are mine. Nice and red. You take two each in case of mistakes. Fire one on your way out of the castle and we’ll come to the end of the jetty in the Cretan Lover to pick you up.”
They all sat there thinking about it. It was Ferguson who said, “Your friends in the other boats, what do they know?”
“They think it’s some kind of smuggling thing as usual. Once they see us go, they’ll leave quietly themselves.”
They all sat there quietly and it was Dillon who said to Ferguson, “Do you want to call you-know-who on your mobile?”
Ferguson shook his head. “The only call I want to make to that man now is to tell him we’ve succeeded.”
“Fine,” Blake Johnson said. “Then let’s do it.”
Marie de Brissac stood at the window, peering out into the rain. “There are fishing boats, I can see the lights.”
Hannah was just finishing dinner. She reached for a glass of water and drank, then went to join her. “It’s a strange feeling, life going on out there, and here we are in durance vile, as they used to say in the historical novels I read as a child.”
“I used to like the fairy stories by the Brothers Grimm,” Marie said, “and it’s the same feeling. They were always locking young women up in towers. Wasn’t there one about a girl whose hair was so long, she let it down from the window for her rescuer to climb up?”
“I think that was Rapunzel,” Hannah said.
“What a pity,” she said quietly. “If Mr. Dillon comes, I wouldn’t have long enough hair.” She gave a sudden dry sob, turned, and grabbed at Hannah. “Suddenly, I’m afraid. It’s so close now.”