‘Here,’ Mikis said, handing the Colt to Mavros. ‘If they move, shoot them in the knee. At this range, they’ll lose a leg, but they’ll still have time to spill their guts.’
Mesner and the shaven-headed Cretan sat stiller than statues, even when Mikis went round corners. Ten minutes later they were out of the urban sprawl and in another ten were bumping over a rough track between lines of olive trees. Mikis stopped the Jeep in a small clearing and went to the back of the vehicle. He returned with two spades.
‘Out!’ he said, hauling the Greek from the back seat.
Mesner followed meekly, his eyes bulging.
Mikis led them into the beam of the headlights and cut the tape from their wrists, laughing as they winced when he ripped the strips off. Mavros was to the rear, covering them with the pistol. Mikis gave each of the captives a spade and stepped back.
‘Start digging,’ he ordered, and then made the appropriate movement to enlighten Mesner. ‘Don’t look so surprised,’ he said, in English. ‘Your fucking soldiers made resistance fighters and civilians do this often enough in the war.’
Mesner looked at Mavros for help, but all he got was a stony stare. He couldn’t speak as the gags were still in their mouths, but the sounds he made were piteous.
‘Dig!’ Mikis said, examining the clasp knife he had just opened. ‘Or I’ll cut your eyelids off.’
They dug, flinging up spadefuls of dusty earth and small stones. After ten minutes, Mavros nodded to Mikis, who told the skinhead to stop.
‘You keep going,’ he said to the German. ‘That grave isn’t nearly deep enough for two.’
A dark stain appeared in Mesner’s groin and he sobbed through the gag as he dug on, Mikis standing near him with the second spade in his hands.
‘On your knees,’ Mavros ordered the other man, lowering the pistol till it was pointed at his face. Then he leaned forward and pulled out the handkerchief.
‘Please,’ the Cretan gasped, ‘please, I’ll tell you. . anything you want to know.’
‘I have no doubt about that,’ Mavros said. ‘The question is, will it be enough to keep you out of that hole?’
The skinhead looked over his shoulder at Mesner, who was up to his knees in the earth. ‘Anything,’ he pleaded. ‘Ask me anything.’
‘Name?’
‘Petros Lagoudhakis.’
‘Who told you to cut me?’
The man’s head dropped. ‘They’ll kill me,’ he mumbled. ‘And then they’ll kill you.’
‘Wrong. I’llkill you and then take my chances.’ He paused and looked over at Mikis. ‘Actually, we won’t kill you.’
Relief flooded the skinhead’s face.
‘The weight of the sweet Cretan earth will.’
The man’s head dropped again. ‘Roufos,’ he muttered. ‘Tryfon Roufos.’
Mavros hadn’t been expecting the antiquities dealer to be so directly involved. ‘No one else?’ he asked, thinking of David Waggoner.
‘No.’
‘How did Roufos find you?’
‘He. . he’s involved in our organization. He gives money.’
That was less of a surprise. Tryfon Roufos was exactly the kind of slimeball who would use far-right crazies to do his dirty work — he probably agreed with their vile ideology as well.
‘And did he give you a reason?’
The skinhead looked up. ‘Didn’t need one. I was in the Black Eagle when you and your heavy caused chaos the other night. We’ve been looking for you ever since.’
‘Where’s Roufos staying?’
‘Don’t know.’ The defeated tone convinced Mavros he was telling the truth.
‘How does he contact you?’
‘From public phones.’
The sleazy Athenian knew how to handle himself, Mavros thought. Then he wondered about his captive’s background.
‘Where are you from?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Tavronitis.’
Mikis looked over. ‘It’s a village near Maleme.’
‘Know anyone from Kornaria?’
The man’s eyes widened. ‘You must be joking. I’ve never been near the place. Those people are fucking insane.’
‘Even by your standards, eh?’
‘Hey, they kill people.’
Mavros leaned close. ‘While what you do is get your goons to run a knife across my throat. Miki, this piece of shit is ready to start digging again. Bring the German over here.’
Mesner was dragged across and his gag removed, while the other sodden handkerchief was reinserted into the skinhead’s mouth.
‘So, Oskar,’ Mavros said to the kneeling man, in English. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
‘Please, I don’t know anything about what they did to you.’
Mavros brought the Colt’s muzzle up to the German’s forehead. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Well. . well, I heard someone was going to teach you a lesson, but I wasn’t involved.’
‘Uh-huh. And who was that someone?’
‘The person Petros named.’
‘Tryfon Roufos the antiquities dealer?’
Mesner was shaking. ‘I. . I know who he is, but I’ve never met him.’
‘You haven’t talked to him about your grandfather’s coin collection on the telephone, by any chance?’
‘I. . yes, I have.’
‘When?’
‘Last week.’
‘You know he’s on Crete?’
‘Ye. . yes.’
Mavros reckoned he was being told the truth.
‘So the thirty coins you stole weren’t anything to do with your grandfather’s actions, but a taster for Roufos?’
Mesner scowled. ‘You screwed that up.’
‘Had a visit from Inspector Margaritis yet?’
‘What?’
‘There’s a chance your grandfather was murdered. Where were you this afternoon?’
Oskar Mesner shook his head violently. ‘I. . I didn’t do it. I was in Rethymno.’
‘Hope you’ve got some witnesses.’
‘Yes, yes, I have. I was with some of the German boys.’
Mavros laughed. ‘They’ll be convincing.’
‘But I thought my grandfather killed himself.’
‘I don’t think so, though having a grandson like you could have driven him to it. Three more questions. Do you know David Waggoner?’
‘Of course not. I read one of his books. That man hates Germans.’
Mavros believed him. ‘How about Maria Kondos?’
‘From the film crew? I saw a missing person sign about her.’
Again, Mavros didn’t catch any hint of a lie. ‘And, last but not least, have you ever been to Kornaria?’
‘The drug-growing village? No. I heard they’re all madmen up there.’
Mavros nodded. ‘Miki,’ he called, ‘give this shithead his spade back.’
‘No, please,’ Mesner stammered. ‘There’s something else I can tell you. The film director, Luke Jannet. A friend of mine buys dope from a guy from Kornaria. He told him that Jannet’s family was originally from the village.’
Mavros took a step back and lowered the pistol. That wasa surprise. Could it be that the director’s interest in Maria Kondos was more complicated than he had assumed? After all, he had come to Athens in person to hire him.
‘Can we stop now?’ Lagoudhakis asked, breathing heavily. He was up to his thighs in the hole.
‘Tape up their hands,’ Mavros said to Mikis, then gave the skinhead a tight smile. ‘And that asshole’s mouth. I want their mobiles as well.’
Mikis came back with the spades and phones.
‘How long will it take them to get back to civilization?’ Mavros asked as the Jeep was turned round.
‘If they follow us, an hour or so.’
‘Maybe we should have tied them to a tree.’
‘Showing mercy often has its own rewards,’ the Cretan said. ‘That’s what my grandfather said.’
‘The shepherd?’
‘No, the one on my mother’s side, but I don’t think he followed his own advice very often — he was an andartis.’
Mavros shrank down in his seat as the adrenaline ebbed away. He wasn’t a violent man, but Crete seemed to be turning him into one. Where would it end?