The Mediterranean Caper (13 page)

Passage after passage, like gaping mouths in the shadows, slipped by. Pitt kept his eyes trained on the ground, analyzing the dark red spots. At the honeycombed intersections he paused briefly, studying the trail. If the blood led up a tunnel and then returned it meant a dead end. Wherever the course indicated a single line he pursued it. His body was aching and his vision was hazy at the outer edges; a bad sign. He was bone tired and felt it to the deadening tips of every nerve ending. Pitt stumbled and would have gone down, but Giordino grabbed his arm in a wrench-like grip, holding him erect.

“Take it easy, Dirk,” Giordino said firmly, his voice followed by a faint echo. “No sense in overdoing it. You're not in condition to play All American hero.”

“It's not far,” Pitt said heavily. “The dog should lie around the next couple of bends.”

But the dog was gone. Only the hardened blood pools remained where the great white animal had thrashed out the final moments of life. Pitt stared mutely at the huge stains. The dank odor of blood permeated the passageway, adding to, but not quite overcoming, the musty atmosphere. He vividly re-created the attack in his mind: the dog's gleaming eyes, the leap in the dark, the knife sinking into warm flesh and the agonized animal howl.

“Keep going,” Pitt said grimly, all weariness forgotten. “The entrance is only another eighty feet.”

They plunged on amid the black depths of the mountain. Pitt didn't bother to watch the blood trail, he knew where he was to the inch: he so thoroughly recalled the feel of the walls and floor that he would have been completely confident of finding the door at a dead run without the flashlight and in absolute darkness. The light in his hand swayed in wild arcs as they pounded along into the modern corridor construction.

Suddenly the Dive Brite's beam probed the massive door, holding it in a dazzling circle of light.

“This is it,” Pitt said softly between labored gasps for breath.

Giordino pushed his way past and knelt to the ground, examining the inside bolts. He wasted no time; already his fingers were probing the slight crack that separated the door from the frame molding.

“Goddamn,” he grunted.

“What is it?”

“Big sliding latch on the outside. I don't have the equipment to jimmy it from this side.”

“Try the hinges,” Pitt murmured. He aimed the light toward the opposite side of the door. Almost before he said it, Giordino had snatched a short pointed bar from the flight bag and was prying the long pins from their rusty shafts.

Giordino laid the hinge pins lightly on the ground and let Pitt ease the door open. It swung noiselessly, only an inch, at his touch. Pitt peeked through the widening crack, taking a swift look around, but there was no one in sight, no sound, except their own breathing.

Pitt pulled the door aside and dashed across the balcony, blinking in the harsh sunlight, and hurried up the stairway. Giordino, he knew, was right on his heels. The doorway to the study was open, the drapes blowing inward in billowing folds from an offshore westerly breeze. He flattened against the wall, listening for voices. The seconds passed, ticking off to half a minute. The study was quiet. Nobody home, he thought, or if they are they're an awfully dead group. Pitt took a deep breath, turned quickly and stepped inside the room.

The study seemed quite empty. It was exactly as Pitt remembered it; the columns, classic furniture, the bar. His eyes sped around the room, stopping at the shelf containing the model submarine. He walked over and closely examined the workmanship on the miniature craft. The carved black mahogany that made up the hull and conning tower gleamed with a satin-like sheen. Every detail from the rivets to a tiny embroidered Imperial German battle flag looked fantastically real, so much so that at any second Pitt half expected to see a diminutive crew leap out of a hatch and man the deck gun. The neatly painted numbers on the side of the conning tower identified it as the U-19, a close sister of the U-boat that torpedoed the
Lusitania
.

Pitt whirled sharply from the model as Giordino's fingers dug deeply in his arm, as Giordino's head leaned closely to his own.

“I thought I heard something.” The voice was a mere breath.

“Where?” Pitt asked in a whisper.

“I'm not sure, I couldn't get a good fix on it.” Giordino cocked his head, listening. Then he shrugged. “Just imagining things I guess.”

Pitt turned back to the model submarine. “Do you recall the number of the World War I sub that was sunk near here?”

Giordino hesitated. “Yeah…It was the U-19. Why ask now?”

“I'll explain later. Come on, Al, let's get the hell out of here.”

“We just got here,” Giordino complained, raising his voice to a murmur.

Pitt tapped the model. “We've found what we came for…”

He froze into sudden immobility, listening, his hand motioning a silence signal to Giordino.

“We've got company,” he said under his breath. “Split up and circle around the far end of the room to that second column. I'll go along the windows.”

Giordino nodded. He hadn't even raised an eyebrow.

A minute later their stealthy paths met, joining behind a long high-backed sofa. Both men approached it cautiously and peered over the backrest.

Without moving, without uttering a word, Pitt stood rooted to the carpet. He stood there, it seemed to Giordino, for an eternity, his mind absorbing the shock of seeing Teri peacefully asleep on the sofa. But it was no eternity, it was probably only five seconds before Pitt acted.

Teri lay curled in a ball, her head resting on a huge humped armrest, her black hair falling in piles, nearly touching the floor. She wore a long red negligee that fluffed about her arms and covered her body from neck to toe, teasingly displaying the dark triangle below her belly and the two pink discs of her breasts through its diaphanous material. Pitt whipped out his handkerchief and had it firmly stuffed in her mouth before she fully woke. Then snatching the hem of her negligee he yanked it above her head and knotted it around the arms, making her completely helpless. Teri began to struggle back to full consciousness—it was too late. Before she could fully grasp what was happening, she was roughly thrown over Giordino's shoulder and carted off into the sunlight.

“You've got to be crazy,” Giordino mumbled irritably when they reached the stairway. “All this hassle to gawk at a toy and steal a broad.”

“Shut up and run,” Pitt said without turning. He kicked the passage door aside and let Giordino enter first with his kicking burden. Then Pitt pushed the door back into place, aligning the hinge shafts before inserting the pins.

“Why bother replacing the door?” Giordino asked impatiently.

“We got this far without detection,” Pitt replied, grabbing the flight bag. “I want to keep von Till in the dark as long as possible. I'm betting he saw the obvious evidence of my wounds after the dog's attack, and thinks I wandered off into this honeycombed maze and bled to death.”

Quickly, Pitt turned and ran through the corridor, holding the light low so Giordino, grunting under his struggling burden, could see where he was stepping. The thick coat of blackness, pierced by the small island of incandescence, opened briefly at their approach and then closed, returning the labyrinth back to its eternal night. One foot before the other, the endless routine repeated over and over. Their feet pounded across the hard floor, echoing through the darkness with a peculiar hollow sound.

The Dive Brite and flight bag clutched tightly in his hands, only dimly aware of the curious tingling in the pit of his stomach, Pitt rushed forward. Rapidly, with no attempt at stealthy caution, no expectancy of trouble, but with that strange inner sensation, half-belief of a man who has accomplished something he had thought was impossible. I'm on the path of von Till's secret and I've got his niece, Pitt said to himself again and again. But somehow a lingering fear prodded his mind.

Five minutes later they reached the stairway. Pitt stepped aside, holding the light on the steps, letting Giordino climb first. Then he turned, beaming the light back in the passage, taking a last look, and his face became grim. He wondered how few men and women too had suffered but escaped from that honeycombed hell. One thing, he thought, no one will ever know fully the history of the labyrinth. Only the ghosts lingered, the bodies had long since turned to dust. Then his mouth twisted and he looked away. Without another backward glance, he mounted the steps for the last time, vastly relieved at seeing sunlight again at the top landing. He was halfway through the rusting bars, vaguely aware that Giordino was standing oddly quiet with Teri still slung over a shoulder, when he heard a loud contemptuous laugh roar beside the archway.

“My compliments, gentlemen, on your exquisite taste in souvenirs. However, I feel it is my patriotic duty to inform you that the theft of valuable objects from historical sites is strictly forbidden under Greek law.”

Pitt froze while
his mind raced to absorb the shock. He stood there, one leg outside, the other bent awkwardly inside the passage for what seemed to him a lifetime. He threw the Dive Brite and the flight bag behind him down the stairway and then squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight: he could barely discern a vague, formless shape that detached itself from the low stone wall and moved in front of him.

“I…I don't understand,” Pitt mumbled dumbly, feigning a peasant kind of stupidity. “We're not thieves.”

Again the resounding laugh. And the blurred form transformed into the Greek National Tourist Organization guide who wore a broad, white-toothed smile beneath his great moustache; a swarthy hand gripped a nine millimeter Clisenti automatic pistol, the barrel aimed directly at Pitt's heart.

“Not thieves,” the guide said sarcastically in faultless English. “Then kidnappers perhaps?”

“No, no,” pleaded Pitt, a forced tremor in his voice. “We're only two lonely seamen on shore leave in a strange land having a bit of fun.” He winked and grinned a knowing grin. “You understand.”

“Yes, I understand perfectly.” The gun remained level and steady as a rock. “That is why you are under arrest.”

Pitt could feel a knot deep down under in his stomach, the dry, sandy taste of defeat in his mouth. God, this was a worse setback than he had feared: it could be the end of everything, a trial and then expulsion from the country. He kept the stupid, insipid expression on his face. Then he stepped forward from the gate, making an imploring gesture with his hands.

“You must believe me. We haven't kidnapped anybody. Look,” he said, pointing to Teri's upended and naked bottom. “This woman is nothing but a village whore we found wallowing in a pigsty of a
taverna
. She told us to take the tour of the ruins, promising to meet us at the amphitheatre.”

The guide looked amused. He reached out with his free hand and fingered the material of Teri's negligee, than ran his fingertips lightly over her smooth, rounded mounds, triggering a spasm of thrashing legs and feet.

“Tell me,” he said slowly. “How much did she charge?”

“At first she asked two drachmas,” said Pitt sullenly. “But after the fun and games she tried to hold us up for twenty drachmas. We, of course, refused to pay.”

“Of course,” the guide replied dully.

“He speaks the truth,” burst Giordino, the words rushed as if he couldn't get them out fast enough. “This dirty tramp is the thief, not us.”

“A masterly performance,” said the guide. “A pity it is wasted on such a small audience. We Greeks may lead simple, mundane lives compared to you of more sophisticated countries, but we do not possess simple minds.” He gestured the gun toward Teri. “This girl is no cheap prostitute. Expensive maybe, but not cheap. Her skin also makes you out a liar, it's far too white. Our island girls are famous for their rich, dark texture and full hips. Hers are much too narrow.”

Pitt said nothing. He watched the guide carefully, waiting for an opening. Any movement on his part, he knew, would trigger Giordino into instantaneous action. The Greek looked a dangerous man, cunning and alert, but there was no hint of sadistic antagonism that Pitt could see in the dark, sun wrinkled features. The guide beckoned to Giordino.

“Release the girl, let us have a look at her other end.”

Giordino, without taking his eyes off Pitt, slowly dropped Teri, letting her slide down his shoulder to the ground. She stood drunkenly for a moment, unsure of her balance, arms upraised in their trapped position, and swaying like a giant tulip in the wind until Giordino untied the knotted negligee above her head. As soon as she was free, Teri tore the gag from her mouth and stared at Giordino with white-hot hatred in her eyes.

“You bloody, rotten bastard,” she screamed. “What's the meaning of this?”

“It wasn't my idea, sweetheart,” said Giordino, his eyebrows arching slyly. “Talk to your friend over there.” He jerked his thumb toward Pitt.

Her head spun in Pitt's direction, and she opened her mouth to say something, but choked off the words with a gasp. The big hazel eyes reflected astonishment for an instant, then they changed with blinking speed to icy coldness, then to a glowing twinkle of warmth. She threw her arms about Pitt and kissed him fervently, too fervently, he thought, under the circumstances.

“Dirk, it really is you,” she sobbed. “Back there in the darkness, your voice…I couldn't be sure. I thought you were…I thought I'd never see you again.”

“It seems,” he said, grinning, “our meetings are a never-ending, constant source of surprise.”

“Uncle Bruno said you wouldn't call me, ever.”

“Don't believe all you hear from an uncle.”

Teri discovered the bandage on his nose and gently touched it. “You've been hurt.” Her voice held a blend of concern and distress. “Did Uncle Bruno do that? Did he threaten you?”

“No, I was climbing some stairs and tripped and fell,” he said, slightly distorting the truth. “That's all there was to it.”

“What is this all about?” the guide asked in exasperation. His gun hand was beginning to droop. “Will the young lady please be so kind as to tell her name?”

“I am the niece of Bruno von Till,” she said testily. “And I don't see how that concerns you.”

There was a sharp exclamation from the Greek and he took a couple of steps forward, studying Teri's face closely. For almost half a minute he stared at her, then slowly, with deliberate ease, raised the gun level again, still pointing at Pitt. Once, twice he tugged at his moustache, nodding in thoughtful perplexity.

“You may speak the truth,” he said quietly. “Then again you may be lying to protect these two unpleasant looking scum.”

“Your ridiculous insinuations are of no importance to me.” Teri thrust out her chin, matching its protruding uplift with her breasts. “I demand you put down that hideous gun and leave us alone. My uncle has great influence with the island authorities. One word from him and you'll find yourself rotting your miserable life away in a mainland prison.”

“I am well aware of Bruno von Till's influence,” the guide said indifferently. “Unfortunately it makes little impression on me. The final decision concerning your arrest or release rests entirely with my superior in Panaghia, Inspector Zacynthus. He will wish to see you. Any lies to him and your immediate futures shall be very lamentable indeed. If you will all please step behind the wall, you will find a pathway leading approximately two hundred yards to a waiting car.” He swung the gun from Pitt to Teri. “A warning, gentlemen. Do not entertain any thoughts of a foolish move. If I detect even a slight facial tic on either of you, I shall place a bullet in the brain of this delicate and lovely creature. Now, shall we proceed?”

Five minutes later they all reached the car, a black Mercedes parked inconspicuously under a copse of fir trees. The driver's door was open and a man dressed in a spotless ice cream suit sat casually behind the wheel with one foot solidly planted on the ground outside. At their approach he rose and opened the rear door.

Pitt looked at the man for a long moment. The contrast between the neatly pressed white suit and the dark ugly face presented an impressive picture. About two inches above Pitt's own height, the man looked like a chiseled stone colossus, and just as solid. He had the largest set of shoulders Pitt had ever seen, and must have weighted at least 260 pounds. The face was misproportioned and strikingly repulsive, and yet there was a strange sort of beauty about it; the kind that artists sought to capture on canvas. Pitt wasn't fooled. He could read a man who had an indifferent attitude toward killing. His paths had crossed many times with lovable looking brutes who murdered as if it were a run-of-the-mill, everyday routine.

The guide stepped back and walked around to the front of the car. He nodded at the other man.

“We have guests, Darius. Three little goats who have lost their way. We will take them to Inspector Zacynthus. They can stage their little act for him.” He turned to Pitt. “You will enjoy the Inspector's company; he is an excellent listener.”

Darius soberly gestured at the back seat. “You two in here, the girl rides in front.” His voice was what one would have expected, deep and rasping.

Pitt relaxed against the seat and ran through a dozen different plans for escape, each with less chance of success than the previous one. The guide had them by the testicles as long as Teri was present. Without her, he thought, he and Giordino stood tossup odds of overpowering the guide and grabbing the gun. There was also the possibility that if they made an attempt the guide wouldn't have the courage to shoot a woman, but Pitt wasn't about to risk Teri's life to find out. The guide bowed with obviously forced courtesy.

“Be a gentleman, Darius, and offer the lovely young lady your coat. Her…ah…prominent attractions might prove embarrassing and somewhat distracting as we drive.”

“Don't bother,” Teri said contemptuously. “I'll not wear that bloody ape's coat. I have nothing I want to hide. Besides, it'll give me great pleasure to see a greasy worm like you squirm.”

The guide's eyes grew cold, then he smiled thinly and shrugged. “As you wish.”

Teri lifted her negligee tightly around her thighs and climbed into the car. The guide followed, sandwiching her between him and the hulking Darius who hunched over the steering wheel. Then the Mercedes' diesel engine knocked into life and the car started rolling over the narrow, twisting road; on many stretches edged by deep and marsh covered ditches. The guide's flickering eyes bounced from Pitt to Giordino and back again, never once twitching the automatic glued to Teri's right ear. His determined vigilance and unflagging concentration was, it seemed to Pitt, unduly fanatical.

Pitt, warily watching for any negative sign from the guide, very slowly extracted a cigarette from his breast pocket and just as slowly lit it.

“Tell me, whatever your name is…”

“Polyclitus Anaxamander Zeno,” the guide offered. “At your service.”

“Tell me,” Pitt repeated without an attempt at pronouncing Zeno's full name. “How did you happen to be coiled back there at the passage when we came out?”

“I have an inquisitive nature,” Zeno said through a twisted smile. “When I perceived that you and your friend had mysteriously disappeared from my tour, I asked myself: What would those two surly looking characters find in the ruins that would interest them? The answer eluded my humble mind so I turned my gawking entourage over to a fellow guide and returned to the amphitheatre. You were nowhere to be found. Then I spied the broken bar in the gate…no great feat I assure you; I know every stone and crack on the site. Certain you would reappear, I sat and waited.”

“You'd have felt like an idiot if we hadn't.”

“It was only a question of time. There is no other way out of the Pit of Hades.”

“The Pit of Hades?” Pitt's curiosity was aroused. “Why do you call it that?”

“I find your sudden interest in archaeology quite unexpected. However, since you ask…” There was puzzlement in Zeno's eyes, yet a mixture of attention and amusement. “During the golden age of Greece, our ancestors held their criminal trials in the amphitheatre. This location was chosen because their juries consisted of one hundred elected townspeople. It was their contention, and a very wise one, that the more people who rendered a judgment, the more just the verdict. In a matter of circumstantial evidence, the defendant, if decided guilty, was given a choice of instant death or the Pit of Hades.”

“What was so bad about the pit?” Giordino asked, his eyes trained on the reflection of Darius' face in the rearview mirror, sizing him up.

“The pit was in reality not a pit,” Zeno continued. “But rather a vast underground labyrinth with a hundred different passages and only two openings, an entrance and a hidden exit, which was a closely guarded secret.”

“At least the condemned were given an opportunity to reach freedom.” Pitt flicked an ash into the tray on the armrest.

“The choice was not as opportune as it might appear. You see, the labyrinth contained a very hungry lion who had little to eat, except, of course, an occasional passing felon.”

Pitt's studied calm folded and his face turned grim, but he quickly gained control again. The picture of von Till's smirking features entered his mind again. Why did the old kraut, he wondered, use historical events to cloak his mysterious schemes? Perhaps this obssession for dramatics might prove to be the chink in von Till's armor. Pitt sat back and drew deeply on his cigarette.

“A fascinating myth.”

“I assure you it is no myth,” Zeno said seriously. “The number of condemned Greeks who died in the Pit of Hades, their screams echoing through the dark tunnels, is endless. Even in recent years, before the entrance was barred, several people wandered into the pit and vanished, swallowed up by the unknown. There is no record of a successful escape.”

Pitt flipped his cigarette through an open window into the passing countryside. He looked at Giordino, then more slowly at Zeno. A smug grin spread across his face and widened into a broad smile.