Dimitri and Yanni, black-cowled figures in their rubber suits, were sliding under the rail on the other side of the Albanian boat. They stood up holding the Uzis ready, menacing figures.
Yanni said, “Good evening, Captain Bolo.”
The Albanian turned in alarm and Yanni fired a short burst that caught Bolo in the right arm and tore the Schmeisser from his grasp. Dimitri had already taken careful aim and loosed off a single shot that took one of the deckhands in the back of the leg. He went down and the other dropped his gun and raised his hands.
“I enjoyed that,” Aleko said. “Back on board, boys, and cast off.”
As the gap widened, Bolo stood clutching his blood-soaked sleeve, his face twisted with pain. “Damn you, Constantine.”
“You’re only a beginner.” Aleko waved. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other for a while.”
The boys went below to change, and Stavros made coffee while Aleko took the wheel. When the old man returned, he put the mug of coffee on the chart table and said, “One thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t we take back the cigarettes?”
“A bargain is a bargain.” Aleko grinned. “But I just called up the gunboat working the channel tonight. Lieutenant Kitros in command. He once served under me in the navy. I’ve given him their position, but it wouldn’t be much good without hard evidence.”
“The cigarettes?”
“Exactly.”
“You wonderful bastard.”
“Yes, I know. Now let’s get back home to Vitari.”
Vitari was a small fishing port on the northeast coast of Corfu, and home was a taverna on a hill overlooking the harbor. Anna was in sole charge, a handsome, heavily tanned woman who wore a headscarf and a traditional peasant dress in black. She was devoted to her husband, her only regret the fact that she’d been unable to bear him children.
There were a dozen fishermen in the bar, a young local girl seeing to their wants, and greetings were exchanged when the crew of the Cretan Lover entered.
“You three get a drink,” Aleko said. “I’ll be in the kitchen with Anna.”
She was at the stove, stirring lamb stew in a black pot, and turned, smiling. “A successful night?”
He kissed her on the forehead, poured himself a glass of red wine from a jug on the table, and sat down. “Bolo tried to take us.”
Her face darkened. “What happened?” He told her, and when he was finished she said, “The swine. I hope Kitros finds him. He should get five years.”
“Oh, Kitros will get him all right. I trained that young man myself.”
“You had a phone call from London, England. Brigadier Ferguson.”
Aleko straightened. “What did he want?”
“He just said it would be a big payday and that he’d call back.”
“That sounds interesting. He’s always paid well, anyway.”
“And so he should. Those drops you made him on the Albanian coast, that’s dangerous work, Constantine. If the Communists got their hands on you . . .”
He cut in. “You worry too much, woman.” He got up and slipped his hands around her waist. “It’s a good job I love you.”
Stavros and the boys came in with their drinks. “Still lovebirds at your age?” Stavros said.
“Oh, shut up and sit,” Anna said.
They did as she told them and she laid plates. Aleko said, “Anna tells me our old friend Brigadier Ferguson phoned me from London.”
They were all immediately interested. “What for?” Yanni demanded. “Albania again?”
“I don’t know,” Aleko said. “A big payday is what he said and he’s phoning back.”
“Hell, that sounds good,” Dimitri said.
Anna brought the pot and started to spoon out the stew. “Stop it, the lot of you, and just eat.”
It was perhaps ten minutes later that the phone rang in the small office and Aleko got up and went in.
“Brigadier,” he said in excellent English. “And what can I do for you? Albania again?”
“Not this time. Tell me what you know about a place called Castle Koenig.”
“About fifteen miles north of here on the coast. Owned by an American family for many, many years. Name of Levy.”