“Over here, Mr. Lomax,” he said. “There’s an old olive tree growing in the corner.”
“Good man.” Lomax laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Let’s get moving. We haven’t got much time.”
The boy went first and Lomax followed. The mortar between the stones had started to crumble, giving good footholds, and wedged between the olive tree and the wall he made quick progress. Within a few moments he-was on top.
The boy led the way along several walls, finally dropping down into a timber yard. He crossed to a large double gate, opened a judas and peered outside. After a moment he nodded and went through the narrow opening.
They were standing in a stone-flagged alley which ran between high walls. It was a place of shadows, the only light a street lamp bracketed to the wall half-way along.
Yanni turned to speak. From somewhere in the darkness at the other end of the alley there was a movement and a voice cried in Greek. “He’s escaping! The Englishman is escaping!”
At the same moment, two shots were fired so close that to any but the trained ear they might have sounded as one. Yanni started to run and Lomax jerked the automatic from his hip-pocket to return the fire. He pulled the trigger and the gun jammed.
Still clutching the useless weapon, he turned and ran, eyes fixed on the lamp half-way along the alley. Steps pounded over the flags behind him, the sound echoing from the walls. Again there was a shot and something whispered past his ear.
At that moment Yanni was passing under the lamp.
He turned to look back and Lomax hurled the automatic at the lamp, plunging the alley into darkness, and pushed him forward.
A moment later they reached the end of the alley and Yanai called breathlessly over his shoulder, “Careful, Mr. Lomax. We’re back on the waterfront.” He slowed to a trot and turned the corner straight into the arms of a burly fisherman.
He cursed angrily and grabbed the boy by the shirt. Lomax moved in fast, caught the man’s right wrist and flung him against the wall, using his hip for leverage.
“Run for it, Yanni!” he said urgently and the boy darted across the road and disappeared into the shadows.
The fisherman lurched forward, great hands reaching out, and Lomax took a quick step back and kicked him in the stomach. As the man went down he became aware of confused shouting and turned to see that he was standing no more than fifty yards away from The Little Ship.
A truck was parked outside, the rear already packed with men, and others stood around it. Quite clearly in the light from the windows he saw Nikoli Aleko looking towards him. There was a sudden roar from the crowd as he was recognized and Lomax ran for his life.
He turned into the steeply shelving street that led to the square, his feet slipping on the cobbles, and behind him was aware of the deeper note of the truck’s engine as it surged forward to meet the hill.
Voices rose on the night air, urging the driver on, and several men jumped to the ground and ran after him, able to make better time on the steep slope than the heavily laden truck.
Once he slipped and fell and a sound like hounds in full cry lifted into the night and then he was on his feet and running into the square.
Someone fired a shotgun. He ducked as pellets whistled through the air above his head and the jeep arrived on the scene, skidding broadside over the damp cobbles as Katina braked sharply.
She stood up, a rifle to her shoulder, and loosed off four shots that ricocheted from the ground in front of the truck, bringing it to a halt and sending those on foot diving for cover.
She waited for him, the collar of her sheepskin coat turned up, her face carved from stone, holding the Winchester sporting rifle with the telescopic sight. The gun he had given her that night at the farm so long ago.
He almost fell into the passenger seat and she handed him the Winchester and said calmly, “What about Yanni?”