They hastily covered the dinghy with sand and rocks and then Boyd distributed the sub-machine guns. They moved off at once, Alexias leading the way and Lomax bringing up the rear.
The sand was deep, and once he stumbled and cursed softly and then they were on a narrow path that mounted steeply through a ravine to the top of the cliffs.
Alexias held up a hand and moved forward cautiously and raised his head above the lip of the ravine. After a moment, he waved them on and they crossed a plateau of short, burnt grass and climbed a boulder-strewn hillside.
No word was spoken for at least half an hour and then they came over the shoulder of the mountain and saw a house standing in a grove of olive trees in a small valley below.
Alexias paused to get his bearings and then went down the hillside through the shadows, not bothering to follow the path which zig-zagged its way along the terraces of vines.
The house was in darkness and they crouched by the fence and Lomax checked his watch. It was barely nine o’clock and he frowned. “They must go to bed early.”
Alexias shrugged. “They lead a hard life, these people.”
“Maybe so,” Lomax said. “But we’re not taking any chances.” He turned to Boyd. “You go round to the front and I’ll cover Alexias from this side, just in case.”
Boyd moved off into the darkness and they gave him a couple of minutes before moving. Lomax dropped to one knee beside a horse trough in front of the barn and Alexias continued across the yard and mounted the steps to the porch. He opened the door cautiously and went inside.
Somewhere a horse moved uneasily in its stall and a dog barked hollowly in the distance. A small wind kicked dust into his face and Lomax wiped it away with the back of his hand and narrowed his eyes, wondering what was happening in the house.
There was a slight, eerie creaking as the barn door swung open and someone said softly in Greek, “Put down your gun and raise your hands.”
It was the voice of a woman who, considering the circumstances, seemed surprisingly calm. He propped his sub-machine gun against the horse trough and turned to face her.
The barrel of a shotgun prodded against his chest and he saw that she was only a young girl, her head barely reaching the level of his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Who are you?”
He calmly pushed the barrel of the shotgun to one side. “There’s no need for that. I’m a friend. A British officer. I’m looking for Nikoli Pavlo. Is he at home?”
She leaned forward, her face a white blur in the darkness. When she spoke, the tone of her voice had altered perceptibly. “No, he isn’t here.”
“I see,” Lomax said. “May I ask who you are?”
“Katina Pavlo, his daughter.”
There was a soft whistle from the porch and he picked up his sub-machine gun. “Let’s go inside. I think you’re in for a surprise.”
She followed him across the yard and when they mounted the steps to the porch, Boyd was standing in the doorway. “There’s no one at home,” he said. “But there’s a fire in the living room and the lamp’s still warm.” He broke off when he saw the girl. “Who’s this?”
“The daughter of the house,” Lomax told him. “She was hiding in the barn.”
He brushed past Boyd and entered a stone-flagged kitchen with whitewashed walls. Another door led into the large living room which was furnishe’d very simply. A log fire burned in an open hearth and a wooden ladder gave access to the loft through a trapdoor in one corner.
‘Alexias was in the act of lighting a lamp which stood on the table in the centre of the room. He replaced the glass chimney and turned. For a long moment he and the girl stood looking at each other and then she dropped the shotgun and ran straight into his arms.
He lifted her from the ground and swung her round in a circle. “Katina, my little Katina! How you’ve grown.” He put her down and held her at arm’s-length. “Where’s your father?”