22

Even years later, Ritter could not speak of that awful moment.

The arrogant Voko, smiling sleekly, making his way steadily down the hillside. Beside him, the walrus-mustached lieutenant brandishing a meanacing-looking Swiss-made SG510, the best selective-fire automatic rifle made in Europe, capable of a cyclic rate of fire of over five-hundred rounds per minute. A single short burst would slice them to ribbons.

Stumbling ahead of the two men was Melanie. Her face was swollen and badly bruised, as though she had been beaten. One arm hung stiffly at her side.

“I am indeed grateful,” said Voko as he reached them. He could not control the soupy sarcasm in his voice. “You have saved me a great deal of work and time. How shall I ever be able to reward you? Perhaps you’d like to spend a last few minutes with this traitorous bitch.” He roughly shoved Melanie toward Ritter.

“A woman who betrays her husband deserves no mercy,” Voko said. “Oh, she’s a clever one, but you already know that, eh, Mr. Ritter? Fights, too, when she’s provoked. I had to … well, persuade her to tell me the truth.

“My men spotted her at the hotel when the camper left. I figured the rumors about her wartime associations were true after all. Then, with the help of the reluctant but sensible Pangolis, I was able to put it all together.”

Voko looked up at the hillside where they had brought out the gold. “You’ve even dug out a convenient spot for us to leave your bodies. Very accommodating.”

Melanie touched the bruises on her face, and spat at her husband. He swung violently, striking her hard in the face. Ritter moved instinctively toward her but was checked by the threatening movement of the lieutenant’s automatic rifle.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Mr. Ritter.” Voko laughed. “You’ve been stupid enough. My dear wife tried to stop us, but …” He shrugged. “Now, let’s get the rest of the boxes loaded onto the van you were so thoughtful to provide.”

The lieutenant made another threatening gesture with the rifle. Ritter and Khoury leaned down and with Metaxas’ help put another chest into the van. After they had placed the third and fourth box in, Voko’s curiosity spilled over.

“Before the last one,” he said, “let’s see what this gold looks like.” The chest was sealed, and would have to be forced open. The lieutenant stepped back to cover them as Metaxas picked up the skeparnia and hacked open the lock. He raised the lid. The chest was filled with neatly stacked gold bars, untarnished by thirty-four years in the ground. The colonel looked down greedily. Beautiful! He was rich. The lieutenant stepped forward wide-eyed to see for himself. More money than anything he had ever dreamed possible.

A sudden blur of motion, a deadly swishing sound. The lieutenant’s attention had wandered just enough for Khoury to grab the skeparnia leaning against the van and fling it desperately at him. The blade sliced into the side of the man’s skull. A bewildered look flashed onto his face. It lasted the rest of his life.

Voko reacted sharply, pulling the 9-mm Swedish m/40 automatic from his holster, but he already understood he had been stupidly careless. From the side, he could sense Melanie lunging at him. He swung the pistol and fired directly into her chest. The instinctive action cost him a precious and all important moment as Melanie staggered and fell against him. Ritter was already on the ground with the SG510, rolling onto his back and firing at virtually point-blank range a two-second-long burst of seventeen murderous rounds, blowing out the colonel’s gaseous midsection. He couldn’t even manage a last gulp. His remains sank into the mud beside Melanie.

The silence that followed was disturbed only by their heavy, relieved breathing and the jangle of goats’ bells in the distance. Ritter sprang to Melanie. Her eyes flickered in recognition and went blank.

Michelle moved beside Ritter, putting her arm around him. Khoury stared fascinated at his handiwork. He had never felt more alive.

Ritter tried to wipe away some of the cold, clinging earth. His hands were shaking badly. This kind of violence wasn’t part of him.

“Didn’t know you could handle one of those,” said Khoury, a touch of admiration in his voice.

“Neither did I.” Ritter struggled to keep his voice steady. He felt as if he might shake apart. “It’s been a while since I fired anything more serious than a spear gun. I was just hoping it wasn’t on safety.”

Michelle held him close, trying to steady him. She was having trouble getting her own breath. It had been much too close. “I’m sorry about Melanie,” she said.

Ritter nodded, not daring to speak.

“We’ve got to get these bodies hidden,” said Metaxas. “If they find them here, there will be trouble for the village.”

“Back up,” said Ritter. “This place was good enough to conceal the gold for thirty-four years. Should be good enough for at least another thirty four.”

“There is another factor in our favor,” added Khoury shrewdly. “The fact that Voko only had the lieutenant and his wife with him indicates strongly he was acting unofficially. Perhaps he planned a two-way split of some kind with the lieutenant. If so, then officially no one knew he was here. Which means he may not be missed for a while. Or if he is, there should be no reason to suspect foul play. Certainly nothing that could point the finger at us.”

“What about Zakros? He might have known,” said Michelle.

“It’s possible,” said Ritter. “We’ve got to hurry.”

Ritter reached down, took Melanie’s body in his arms, and carried it up the hill to the cave. They let him go up alone. He placed the body down gently and covered it with his jacket. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled the silver cross from around his neck and placed it into her hand, closing her fingers over it.

He walked down the hill, quietly thinking of the fresh young girl he had loved years ago. She had deserved better. Wordlessly he helped drag the other two corpses up the hill and dumped them into the cave away from Melanie’s body. “Better you than us,” said Ritter as they tossed what was left of Voko into the excavation.

It only occurred to him later the colonel’s pistol was missing.

They spent another fifteen minutes piling rocks and mud over the corpses, then returned to the van. Exhaustion slowly began to overtake them.

“We won’t have to stop in the village,” said Metaxas, slinging the automatic rifle into the truck next to himself. “I’ve brought your clothes with me. I don’t think we want to see Pangolis after what has happened. You can change out of these wet muddy clothes and we’ll head straight for Trikala, where your camper will be waiting.”

For the next four hours they drove in weary, self-conscious silence. Michelle fell asleep in the back on Ritter’s shoulder. Ritter dozed fitfully. He was having trouble clearing his mind of Melanie and Voko. There was no choice, he kept telling himself. It was obviously either Voko or himself. He kept seeing Voko fire the pistol into Melanie and her fall against him. Voko was the first person he’d ever knowingly killed. Perhaps during all the shooting in Greece he might have nicked a few Greeks or Germans. And maybe later in Italy he might have shot a few Germans. But that was different. This had been very close and very personal. The growing look of horror on Voko’s face as he realized he wouldn’t be able to stop Ritter from blasting him away had lasted less than a second. But Ritter’s memory cells already had frozen it into a mask he would always carry with him. A souvenir he could do without. He knew he should feel exhilarated about the gold. But even with the change of clothes, he was uncomfortable and tired. Voko haunted him. Melanie’s death wounded him. It would take time, time to free himself. But he couldn’t get distracted now. They were anything but home safe.

Khoury’s arms, back and legs ached. His hands, like everybody else’s, were sore and blistered. But he had to admit he had rarely felt better. He had loved the look of astonishment on the lieutenant’s face as the skeparnia crashed into the side of his head. These stupid Greeks. Who did that cretin policeman and the slimy Voko think they were dealing with? Elias Khoury hadn’t survived all these years to be finished off by a couple of country cops. Ritter had been a pleasant surprise. The American was in excellent shape. And fast, damned fast for a man of nearly fifty. But he had noticed Ritter’s hands shaking afterward. Wasn’t used to the real rough stuff. Well, what did he think this was, a Sunday outing? For the kind of treasure they had in the back, they had to be ready for anything. And anybody. And then there was Metaxas. Now he knew they weren’t after artifacts. He had seen the gold. And he had the rifle. They would have to be careful. But Metaxas, despite his experience and reputation, was weak. Khoury knew that from Paris. No, Metaxas wouldn’t be any trouble.

Artifacts, my ass, thought Metaxas. There was gold in those chests. An emperor’s fortune. With a proper share, he could buy himself a yacht and spend the rest of his life leisurely taking rich tourists around the islands—rich tourists who would bring beautiful women and pay fat fees. It was all there in the back of the van. The rifle rested reassuringly against his leg. It still had some bullets in it, enough bullets to make him rich, very rich. Metaxas didn’t care about the Americans. The man was all right. He had eliminated Voko. And the girl was very nice. She had a lovely ass and a nice balcony. He would like to get his hands on those. But there would be no time. This was the greatest chance of his life. Yes. Such a chance came only once to a man. Only Khoury was a nagging problem. Two times Khoury had saved his life. It was a matter of honor. He couldn’t rob such a man.

Metaxas continued to think about it as the van passed through small villages on the way to Larissa. It was a lovely spring day. Young green leaves were emerging on the trees as they wound their way out of the mountains. Spring flowers in gay yellows, purples, and whites were poking their way out of the rocky earth. Khoury didn’t seem all that close to the Americans, Metaxas thought. Perhaps Khoury would consider a split. Yes, that would be fair. An even split with the man who saved his life. Metaxas looked in the rearview mirror. Ritter and the girl were sleeping. They were tired. Unsuspecting. When they got to Trikala, he would speak with Khoury. They would have to move fast. No one would miss the Americans. He and Khoury could make an easy split of the gold. There was more than enough for two. He looked in the mirror again. The Americans were definitely asleep. Neither spoke Greek. Still, it would be better to wait.

They pulled into Trikala shortly after noon. The first lambs of the season had been born the night before, and the village was buzzing with the excitement. To celebrate, the local farmers had flocked into the cafés to mark the event with ouzo and coffee, as they marked almost every day of their lives. The camper had been left at the home of a Metaxas cousin who lived in a characteristic stone house on the eastern edge of town. Behind the house was a large garage where the cousin ran a part-time auto-repair shop. There were two fulltime garages in town, and Metaxas’ cousin, who farmed as a regular occupation, used the garage to earn extra money.

The cousin was not around when they arrived, so they drove directly inside. The smell of fresh lacquer filled the reconverted barn. Their camper, formerly green, was now an undistinguished tan. The license plate had also changed. A fairly professional job, Ritter thought.

“You may wish to inspect your vehicle,” Metaxas said, motioning Ritter toward the camper. One side had not been done well—patches of green were still showing conspicuously through. There had been no time to sand off the green or put on a primer.

The paint-spray equipment was still beside the camper. “Do you mind?” said Ritter. He walked over, turned on the compressor, and picked up the spray gun. A little touch-up won’t hurt.

“Nice job,” said Khoury to Metaxas in Greek. They stood together, watching Ritter spray the badly finished side and speaking over the noise of the compressor. “What do we owe you?”

“Those are not artifacts in those chests,” Metaxas said carefully.

“What do you mean?” said Khoury. He was not surprised by the remark. The fencing had begun.

“I opened the chest. I saw what was in it. Without me, you would not have it.”

“That is true,” admitted Khoury, stalling. In a negotiation like this, he didn’t want to make the mistake of being the first to offer terms.

“After what happened, it seems a shame that it must be shared with the Americans.”

Ahhh, thought Khoury. He’s going for a biggie. “They are my partners. Ritter saved our lives this morning.”

“Also true,” admitted Metaxas. “But these chests are very valuable. With the Americans around, you are headed for a three-way split after you settle with me. A straight two-way split would be much more profitable for you.”

“That too is true,” agreed Khoury. “But it is not so easy to break up a partnership sealed in blood. And it could be difficult to dispose of… the evidence.”

“It could be arranged easily enough. No one in Greece knows they are here but us. No one knows about the boxes except those of us in this workshop.”

“What do you propose?”

“We will take them for a ride into the mountains in their camper. Along the way they shall disappear.”

“I don’t think Ritter would be very agreeable.”

“I have Voko’s rifle. The Americans can’t do much against that.”

“What if I don’t agree? What if I offer you only part of one of the chests?”

Metaxas was opening the door of his van, reaching for the rifle. “I might have to consider no cut at all. All for one. But you have saved my life. Two times. I would prefer to divide with you fairly.”

“You’ve got a point,” said Khoury as he watched Metaxas pull the SG510 out of the van. “After all, I suppose, business is business. One doesn’t want to get too emotional about these things.”

Ritter turned from his work to see Metaxas pull the rifle out of the van and point it at him. “What’s this?”

“There’s been a change,” said Metaxas. His hands were trembling slightly. He kept thinking about the yacht.

“There’s been no change,” said Ritter firmly. “We’re going out of here with our boxes.”

“You are no longer in a position to make such a statement,” said Metaxas.

“I’m afraid he’s right,” said Khoury. “We have a new, how do you Americans say, ballgame.”

Ritter put down the spray gun and stepped forward. “Now, just a minute.”

Metaxas made a menacing gesture with the rifle. “Don’t do anything rash, Mr. Ritter. You already have shown us what this thing can do. You and the girl will begin transferring the chests from my van to your camper. Then we are going for a ride.”

Metaxas stepped aside and motioned Ritter and Michelle to begin moving the boxes. He didn’t notice Khoury picking up the spray gun from the floor. The compressor sputtered in the background. Metaxas was still watching Ritter and Michelle when Khoury moved carefully beside him, holding the spray gun by his side.

“As soon as they are finished with this, we will be on our way, eh, partner?”

Metaxas never heard a reply. His last sensation was a burning pain in his eyes and a panicky choking feeling of heavy fluid flooding his nose and mouth. He dropped the gun and frantically tried to shield his face. Khoury moved forward aggressively, knocking one hand back, continuing at close range to spray the heavy tan lacquer into Metaxas’ nose and gasping mouth. His knees buckled. Khoury followed him down, keeping the deadly spray going. Metaxas was unable to get his breath, the paint already in his lungs. The supply of oxygen to his bloodstream was cut off. It was over. There would never be a yacht for Dimitri Metaxas.

With a sickening helpless gurgle his life ended.

“You know,” said Ritter, “for a minute there, you had us worried.”

“I never argue with an automatic rifle,” said Khoury.