Michelle moved unsteadily to a corner of the garage and quietly vomited. There was little in her stomach, but she was no longer in control of her rebelling system. She had felt weak since the awful incident in the mountains, but the sight of Metaxas choking to death, drowning in paint, had been too much. She heaved again.
Ritter walked over, wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders, and wiped her face with a handkerchief.
“Come on, kid. Get a grip on yourself. It’s not over yet.”
“I’m sorry, Brian. I’m just… well, I’m not used to…”
“Who is?” He didn’t mention it, but he also had a queasy feeling deep in his stomach and his knees were a little weak.
Khoury, breathing heavily, stared somewhat proudly at his latest kill. It was admittedly messy. But he was pleasantly surprised at how he was able to take such a detached view of the whole affair. After all, Metaxas could have wrecked everything. That was the basic point the fool hadn’t understood. The gold was of limited value in Greece. Its full value could be realized only in Switzerland, where it could be converted anonymously and easily into unrestricted hard currency, without bother, without notice. That would be impossible in Greece. So much gold would attract too much attention. Everybody would want a cut—or worse, everything. The gold would end up a liability, a huge gold elephant. Metaxas just hadn’t understood that. It was too bad. Khoury had actually liked him.
Ritter was still holding Michelle. He walked over to the van and pulled out a jacket to place over her shoulders. She sat down in the camper to catch her breath, to try to recover her strength.
“We’ve got to get moving,” said Khoury. “We can’t stay here any longer.”
Ritter nodded. “Let’s transfer the chests.”
Khoury walked to the van, and he and Ritter began lugging the heavy boxes to the camper. “We’ll have to take the body and dump it along the way,” said Khoury. If we leave it here, it will be quickly found. Metaxas’ cousin probably painted the camper himself and certainly knows the new license number. We’ve got to leave here without a trace of trouble.”
“I hope this is the next-to-last time we have to move these damned things,” said Ritter as he and Khoury strained to shift the boxes from one vehicle to the other.
They found an oily ground cloth at one end of the garage, wrapped Metaxas’ body in it, and placed it in the camper with the chests. They transferred the luggage and were ready.
“What about all the paint?” asked Michelle. They looked down. The outline of the upper part of Metaxas’ body had been painted grotesquely on the floor. Ritter picked up the spray gun and pulled the trigger. Empty. A can of motor oil was sitting against the wall. He poured the oil over the paint, smearing the form beyond recognition.
“Let’s go,” said Khoury. “I’ll drive.”
Ritter opened the large garage doors and climbed into the front seat next to Khoury while Michelle got in the back with the chests and Metaxas’ body. Khoury edged the camper out of the building; a glance toward the street indicated their problems weren’t over.
“That’s all we need,” said Ritter as they stared helplessly at the shabby pickup truck pulling into the driveway, blocking their exit.
Metaxas’ cousin,” said Khoury. “Only two more minutes and we would have been clear.” He slowly edged the camper down the driveway to the point where Metaxas’ kinsman pulled in.
Khoury leaned out of the window and shouted. “Thanks, friend. We’re on our way.”
Two men and a girl. Probably the foreigners. “Where’s Dimitri?” shouted the man.
“I’m Khoury. This is Ritter and Miss Simonet. Dimitri said he couldn’t wait, left about five minutes ago with a friend in another car. His van is back there by the garage. Said he’d come back for it later.” He jerked his hand in the direction of the garage.
Metaxas’ van was clearly in view. The man scowled. “Didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“You just missed him,” said Khoury. “He said he’d call you tonight or tomorrow morning. Said he had urgent business up north.” The look on the man’s face eased.
“Nice job on the camper,” continued Khoury. “This color looks a hell of a lot better than the original green.” A cautious smile. He knew the original color of the camper. “Also a good job on the new plates and the papers. You’re a real professional.”
The man smiled with pride. It was good to have one’s work appreciated.
“We’d like to stay for coffee,” added Khoury. “But we’ve got to get to Athens. Important government people waiting for us.”
Metaxas’ cousin understood. He and Dimitri had helped them get away from Voko, and now they would be able to make it to Athens and go over Voko’s head to get their business settled. Dimitri had not been entirely clear on what it was all about, but the cousin knew it had something to do with the widely hated Voko. He was glad to be of help. “Have a good trip,” he shouted. He backed the pickup out of the driveway to let them pass.
Khoury pulled into the street and halted momentarily beside the man. “Sorry about the spilled paint in the garage.” he said. “Dimitri can explain.” The man shrugged, waved, and watched them drive off. Nice folks. And, as Dimitri had told him, trusted friends.
It was early afternoon as they sped westward out of Trikala. They all looked tired and haggard. The strain of the past three days showed clearly on their faces. Both Khoury and Ritter badly needed a shave. Michelle’s hair was stringy and unkempt. Her lips were parched and her face felt drained. She was afraid to look in a mirror. Ritter realized they were all going to need sleep soon. In addition, they had had nothing to eat since their snack shortly after midnight. Ritter was thinking how delicious a good old American McDonald’s hamburger would taste. He was looking forward to never having to eat goat cheese again.
Michelle’s stomach had still not entirely settled. She was brooding about the body wrapped in the ground cloth beside her. She had never had to dispose of a body before. The matter was beginning to worry her. How did one go about it? They couldn’t just toss it out of the camper as they drove. The corpse would have to be hidden so it wouldn’t attract attention for at least a few days—and preferably never. They wouldn’t want to get caught in any kind of extradition problem. Not with the Greeks. She knew the men were also looking for a suitable place, but the drive through the valley from Trikala to Kalamabaka, where they would again climb into the mountains, offered no opportunities.
Khoury’s thoughts had temporarily wandered elsewhere. He was thinking how good it was going to be to have money again, to be financially fluid. To have dinners at the George V and not have to fret about the cost. To drop a few thousand at the casino and not have to worry about it the next morning. To have the social power that money creates. Yes, it was going to be good to be rich again.
“We’ve got to dump him as soon as we can find a spot,” said Ritter. He was looking at the map. “If we hurry, we can make the last ferry from Igoumenitsa to Corfu. That means we can catch the ferry to Brindisi too, and be safely out of Greece an hour before midnight. It’s still early in the season, so we should have no trouble getting cabins. We can rest and freshen up on board. God knows, we all need it.”
He turned to the back and winked encouragingly at Michelle. “How you feeling, beautiful?”
“Ugh,” she replied, sticking out her tongue in disgust at the whole mess.
Khoury drifted back into the conversation. “I’ve been thinking about Zakros, Voko’s cousin,” he said.
“Zakros?”
“I have the feeling they were in the thing together all along. Obviously, Voko was not acting in an official capacity this morning. But there’s a chance Zakros was involved and may now be wondering where his beloved cousin is. He may have even sent a search party. If Zakros reacts too quickly, there could still be trouble.”
“Ah, come on, Elias,” Ritter chided. “You’ve seen too many movies.”
* * *
Christofos Zakros rubbed his enormous stomach, lifted his right leg slightly, and passed wind. He had just finished a generous lunch and was thinking about his customary afternoon nap. He had eaten even more than usual and now he needed a drink of soda water. He belched. And perhaps another ouzo.
He was waiting for a call from Voko. The colonel had called last night to say the watch on the foreigners was going well. He expected to have some results soon. Clever, that Voko. Always had been, since they were kids. As he had predicted from the beginning, a squeeze on the foreigners would force their hand and cause them to point the way to the real treasure site. Voko hadn’t been fooled. He was too shrewd to fall for such an obvious trick. He suspected all along the foreigners were trying to make a fool out of him. But the only way to see their cards, as he explained, was to let them play out their hand. Once the gold was uncovered, Voko would know how to handle them, quietly and privately. And they would split the gold. But now it was getting late. In the past two days Voko had called by this time to report they were digging. It was unlike Voko not to keep in touch. Zakros picked up the phone and dialed.
* * *
As Michelle had realized, disposing of a body was not as easy as one would have thought. Particularly when one was pressed for time and worried about the body being found. That’s what bothered Khoury. He had been too tired and distracted to think clearly about it before, but he realized now that if Metaxas’ body was found and his family was able to add it all up, his death would point to Khoury. They would track Khoury for the rest of his life. The gold would be useless if he couldn’t enjoy it in peace. On the other hand, if the body was never found, he could always stick to his cover story and blame the disappearance on Voko. Metaxas’ family hated Voko and would believe anything against him. But Metaxas’ corpse suffocated in paint, would point undeniably to Khoury. He would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. They would have to do a good job of hiding the body. It would be best if they could do it at night, sticking it in a cave where it might not be found for years, where the remains could not be easily indentified, where there could be plausible denial. But on the other hand, they had to hurry. They had to make the Brindisi ferry tonight.
“We can’t just dump it down a ravine or gorge. There are too many people wandering over these mountains. It would be found in no time. We’ve got to find something better,” Khoury worried aloud. They had just passed through Kalamabaka and were climbing back into the mountains. The road was steep and winding. The temptation to throw the body over one of the steep cliffs in a deserted area was great. With each mile their options narrowed. There was no way they could risk driving onto the ferry with the body still in the back.
As they searched for a logical spot, the camper started to move more and more slowly.
“If we spend much time at this speed, we’ll miss the ferry,” said Ritter.
“Goddammit, don’t you think I know it?” snapped Khoury. “But we just can’t toss it any place.”
“How about down there?” said Michelle. The mountainside sloped steeply away from the road toward a stream about 250 yards below. The forest was thick with pines and rocks. “We can cover it with rocks.”
Ritter looked at the map. They had just passed through the small village of Orthovouni. The next town wasn’t for over twelve miles. Orthovouni was some two miles behind them.
“Probably as good a spot as any,” said Ritter.
“Okay,” grumbled Khoury. “Let’s try it.” He pulled the camper off onto the narrow shoulder. They looked around. No signs of civilization. A truck passed on the other side of the road, heading toward Trikala. Traffic was steady on the road, but there was no evidence of any human activity in the area off the road itself.
They stepped out of the camper and stretched their arms and legs. After another brief look around, they quickly opened the back and pulled the body out. It was heavier than they had remembered.
“Just slide it down,” said Khoury. “We’ll take it about halfway and try to cover it there.”
Michelle stayed with the camper while they slid down the hill with the body. About 150 yards below the road, they reached an almost level spot thickly covered with fir trees. “In here,” said Khoury. “We’ll cover him with these rocks.” He and Ritter piled rocks and branches over the wrapped body. The mound was not particularly conspicuous. It would not be hard to find if someone was searching for it, but a casual hiker would never notice it. As they scrambled back up the hill, they reassured each other there was little if any chance of anyone accidentally coming upon the corpse. By the time anyone would, it would be so badly decomposed, there would be no chance of making a proper identification.
Khoury was feeling considerably relieved as they climbed in the camper and drove off. Michelle was delighted she no longer had to share the back with a corpse. She asked Khoury to open the sun roof. The spring sunshine was lovely, the fresh mountain air invigorating. If she had looked up through the roof at the proper angle, however, she might have seen Alexis Kalergos, a local shepherd, pulling up his trousers on the hillside above them on the other side of the road. Enjoying his daily constitutional, he had casually watched the whole thing. He was wondering what kind of garbage they had dumped.
* * *
Christofos Zakros was concerned. No one knew where Voko was. No answer at home. His wife had also vanished. This was highly unusual. He had not checked with his office since the night before. It was now late in the afternoon. The nagging thought was growing within him that perhaps something was wrong. Voko’s office said Lieutenant Doriacles had also not reported for duty. The lieutenant’s wife said she had not seen him since the day before, when he told her he was off on a special assignment. He had given her no details. He never did. Zakros realized he was the only person who knew what Voko and Doriacles were up to. After all, it was an unofficial act. That was the whole point, to keep it private. Was it possible something had happened to them? Zakros hated to show his hand. Perhaps Voko and Doriacles were busy disposing of the bodies of the foreigners and simply had no time to check in. If he said something too soon, he might spoil it. On the other hand, if something had gone wrong, there would be no time to lose. He would have to act fast. He was not sure what to do. He consulted his watch. Almost dinnertime. He finally decided. He would wait until after dinner. If he still hadn’t heard from Voko by then, he would start making some checks. He was trying to remember. What was the name of the village Voko said the foreigners were hiding in?
* * *
The last ferry of the day left Igoumenitsa for Corfu just before eight P.M. It was a typical local car ferry with a long low deck in front for vehicles and a retractable ramp for driving them on and off. At the rear were the engines, bridge, and passenger accommodations. A small snack bar served coffee, spirits, sandwiches, and other light food. It was not the best food they had tasted, but it was the first solid nourishment they had consumed in nearly twenty hours, and the cold lamb sandwiches were wolfed down hungrily. Ritter enjoyed a frosty beer with his sandwich. The snack bar was placed so they could keep a watchful eye on the camper as they ate, to make sure no one decided to take an unauthorizd peek at the boxes in the back.
“You both could do with a shave,” said Michelle. She reached out and rubbed Ritter’s face affectionately.
Ritter sipped deeply on the beer. “We’ll try to freshen up a bit before we go through customs,” he said. “If we look too grubby, we might attract attention. Normally, there is no customs inspection for tourists at Corfu. That’s what we want—to look like three happy tourists who’ve had a good time spending their money in Greece. We want to be waved through like everybody else. No special treatment, please.”
Khoury was staring at the camper at the end of the ferry. It was all there. And they were getting close. No mistakes now, they were almost home. “Just three average tourists,” he added. “With the usual souvenirs.”
The ferry shuddered as it pulled into the quay at Corfu. The three got into the camper and drove off the ramp and into the city. It was a few minutes past nine-thirty p.m. They would have just enough time to drive onto the Brindisi ferry.
The town of Corfu was a busy, picturesque port of call for steamers plying between Brindisi and Piraeus, the port city of Athens. It was still early in the year, and the legions of sun seekers who in a few months would flock over the city’s imposing sixteenth-century Venetian fortress were still in their living rooms worrying their travel agents. The modern harbor extended along the northwest edge of the city from the Adriatic steamer berths where they planned to catch the Brindisi ferry. The drive along the quay from the Igoumenitsa ferry berth below the fortress was quiet. They passed the Corfu customs headquarters at the base of the fortress.
“There it is,” said Khoury.
“There what is?” asked Ritter.
“Customs. Let’s hope they are having a dull day and will continue to have one.”
“I have never wished anyone a more routine, quiet day in my life,” said Michelle. She was combing her hair and working on her face. The rich, enticing scent of French perfume filled the camper.
“Christ, what’s that?” said Ritter.
“A little diversionary scent,” answered Michelle. “All us tourists wear it.”
Khoury glanced in the rearview mirror. Michelle was changing into a fresh blouse. Her bra was briefly in view.
“Watch where you’re going,” she said, noticing his backward glances.
He smiled. It was a shame such a lovely thing had been wasted on Ritter for the entire trip. Ahead was the steamer ticket office, and beyond that, passport control and customs. Khoury tensed. This was it.
They pulled up to the office. It was already dark, but the brilliant port lights illuminated the scene in artificial sunshine. As they stopped to buy the tickets, Michelle got out of the camper and made a show of stretching her elegant arms and legs. The movements showed off her fine, trim body. In the artificial light she looked fresh and sexy, with no hint of the troubles of the past few days. Yes, there were tickets and space. Two cabins? No problem. They were lucky it was so early in the season. In just a month or so, reservations would be needed far in advance to get a cabin, much less two. The ticket taker looked at the men and at Michelle stretching herself like an expensive cat under the arc lights. He tried to guess which man she would be sharing the cabin with. He bet himself it was the sandy-haired American.
Michelle climbed back into the camper and they edged up to passport control. Khoury handed over their passports, with Michelle’s and Ritter’s American documents on top. They never bothered Americans. The immigration officer looked at them, taking a satisfying second look at Michelle. She winked at him. He smiled. “Enjoy your stay?”
“We just loved Greece,” she said from the back. “Most beautiful country I’ve ever seen.”
The man beamed with pride. He never got tired of hearing the tourists tell him how lovely his native country was. He stamped their passports and waved them through. The next moment was the big one. Customs. Khoury edged the camper up to a customs officer. He held the passports out the window; again the American papers were on top. The man signaled them to stop. He accepted the passports and examined them carefully.
“Anything to declare?”
“No,” said Khoury. The man wiggled his nose. That was some perfume. He peered inside the dark camper. Michelle looked forward, smiling demurely at him.
The man returned the smile, handed the passports back, and waved them through. It was ten o’clock. In an hour they would be on the high seas, safely out of Greece and on their way to Italy.
* * *
The phone rang. It was one of Voko’s deputies, the nondescript Lieutenant Koufala.
“We have spoken with Pangolis, the headman.”
“Well?”
“He admits the three foreigners stayed in Mouzakion, but he insists they left with a man named Metaxas late yesterday evening. We have talked to a distant relative of Metaxas. They stayed at his house. He started talking when we took his wife into custody. He says they were looking for something in the hills outside of the village, artifacts. He said it was a dig for some historic goods that involved politicians in Athens. Claims he doesn’t know who.”
Artifacts, thought Zakros. Of course. Not a bad cover story. The kind of thing the simple villagers would believe. But the mention of the Athens politician was something new. He wasn’t sure how that figured in. “But they didn’t see Colonel Voko?”
“No, they swore they hadn’t. It is always hard to say with these peasants, but I doubt if they did see the colonel.”
“I assume you are searching the area?”
“We have a number of men out looking. But it is a large place. They could have been digging anywhere.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing really. We’ve received a preliminary report from the constabulary at Kalamabaka. It’s sketchy; a local shepherd claims to have seen two men and a girl in a camper with Greek license plates pull a body out of the vehicle and conceal it on a hillside beyond the village of Orthovouni.”
“Has the body been identified?”
“Not yet. Those local idiots just sent a vehicle for the corpse.”
Voko? Zakros thought. Two men and a girl. It was possible. Along the Kalamabaka road. That meant they might be heading for the coast. For Corfu. With the gold. He looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock.
* * *
The luxury ferry Carissa, put into service in 1963, had a gross tonnage of 5,500 and carried in great comfort, according to the shipping company’s prospectus, six-hundred passengers and sixty cars. Smart modern lounges and an excellent dining room as well as a swimming pool, an open-air bar, and comfortable cabins made it a pleasant way to cross the Adriatic.
After parking and locking the camper in the vehicle hold, they made their way to their cabins.
Ritter and Michelle spent nearly thirty minutes scrubbing each other in the shower, delighting in the luxury of making love under a stream of endless hot water. Their bodies were still sore from the dig, but the hot soak and the lovemaking relaxed them both. As Michelle rubbed her hair dry, Ritter shaved.
“I’d almost forgotten how good hot water feels on sore muscles,” said Michelle.
“I’d almost forgotten how good hot water feels on some not-so-sore muscles,” replied Ritter. “And then there are some things one never forgets.”
“So I noticed.” She smiled, forming a kiss on her lips.
“You’re obviously feeling better.”
“Hot water does wonders for me.”
“Only hot water?”
She smiled again. She also was feeling better. “Let’s get dressed. Elias will be waiting. Besides, my appetite is coming back with a vengeance. I’m really hungry.”
“We’ll certainly know what to give you the next time you have an upset stomach.”
Khoury was already at the bar when they reached the main deck. He had also freshened up, and with a clean shirt and a jacket and slacks, he was again the Khoury of old, very much at ease in luxury surroundings. They had a quick drink together and went to the dining room.
“Pardon me if I forgo the goat cheese,” said Ritter, “but I think a beefsteak will look pretty good to me. In fact, I think I could eat two. With a mixed salad and some good French wine.”
“What, no retsina?” teased Khoury.
“Only for her,” said Ritter, nodding at Michelle.
They all laughed. The dinner was excellent. The lights were dim, and soft dance music drifted softly out of the sound system. The harsh reality of the past few days began to recede.
“One more hurdle,” said Khoury. “But it shouldn’t be any real trouble. We will declare every bit of what we have. After all, there is no law against bringing gold into Italy. With the declaration form we get, there will be no problem in taking it out on the other end. In eighteen hours the gold should be safely in Switzerland.”
“Amen,” said Ritter. “I’ll drink to that.”
“I’ll buy,” said Khoury expansively. “What are you having?” A waiter stepped forward and collected the dessert plates. “We’ve got to have a good-night drink.”
“Not me,” said Michelle. “I’m tired. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to the cabin. It’s already after midnight, and we’ll be docking in less than six hours. I need a bit of beauty sleep.”
“Go ahead,” said Ritter. “We’ll just have a quick one. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“Good night, Michelle,” said Khoury. “See you in a few hours.”
Michelle smiled, nodded, and headed for the cabin.
“Lovely girl,” said Khoury as she walked off. “You’re a lucky man.”
“We couldn’t have done it without her,” said Ritter. “She came in handy several times.”
“She did indeed,” agreed Khoury. “I’m sorry now I opposed her coming. It worked out fine.”
They each had a quick cognac. “Spin around the deck before retiring?” said Khoury.
“Why not?”
They paid and stepped out onto the main promenade deck. The night was cool and bracing, slightly overcast. There was no moon. Only a few stars peeked through the clouds. The deck was deserted. They strolled along for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh sea air. Ritter stopped and peered over the side at the white foam churned up by the large ship. The loud rushing sound as the ship cut through the water was a reassuring one, taking them farther and farther from Greece with each moment. Ritter looked out across the sea. Too dark to see anything. There were no lights. He turned back. Suddenly, it was obvious what had happened to Voko’s Swedish-made m/40 automatic. Khoury was pointing it at him.
“What’s this?” said Ritter.
“The end of our partnership, I’m afraid,” said Khoury. “As they say, it’s been fun, but it’s time to part. As a final gesture of goodwill, however, I’m giving you a choice. You can dive over the side and swim for it, or we do it my way.”
“Not much of a choice.”
“Up to you.”
“What about Michelle?”
“She’s expecting you. She’ll open the door with no problem. Then she will have the same choice through the cabin porthole. Maybe you can make it together.” He didn’t believe it.
“She said she didn’t trust you. I should have believed her.”
“Too late now. I’ll count to five. When I reach five, you’ll either be swimming or it’s shark-bait time. One … two… three…”
Michelle’s hand hammered professionally across the side of Khoury’s neck. The blow stunned him. Before he could recover, she reached under him between his legs, and summoning all her strength, flipped him over the side. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“I think he said he could swim,” Ritter said.
“I really hope so,” she replied.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “He’s got the keys to the camper in his pocket.”