“David, nobody thinks it’s funny,” Marie told him.
He opened the door and turned. “You think I enjoy this, Countess? I like you. I like you a great deal. Isn’t that a huge joke?”
He went out, locking the door, and Hannah said, “Poor boy, I do believe he’s in love with you.”
“Well, it won’t do him any good or me,” Marie said. “But let’s get on with the scrambled eggs, and we might as well open the champagne.”
“Why not?” Hannah said. “You know the story about Louis Roederer Cristal and why it’s the only champagne bottle you can see through?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“It was designed by Tsar Nicholas of Russia. He said he wanted to be able to look at the champagne.”
“And look how he ended up,” Marie de Brissac said and popped the cork.
At that moment the Cretan Lover, Stavros at the wheel, passed Castle Koenig a few miles off shore. Aleko was also in the wheelhouse, Yanni and Dimitri worked at the draped nets. Aaron, on the battlements with Moshe, focused a pair of Zeiss glasses, bringing the boat into sharp focus. He lowered them.
“Just a fishing boat.”
Moshe took the glasses from him and took a look. “The Cretan Lover. Yes, I’ve seen that one tied up in Vitari when I go for supplies.”
He handed the glasses back to Aaron, who said, “I’ll be glad when it’s over, one way or the other, but over.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Moshe said and walked away, an MI6 slung from his left shoulder.
In the wheelhouse, Aleko focused the old binoculars from his navy days, and every line of the castle came into prominence, sharp and clear.
“Two men on the battlements,” he said softly, “one of them with a rifle.” He ranged across the bay. “Seagoing motor cruiser on one side of the jetty, speedboat on the other and a powerful one from the look of it. I bet that baby does thirty knots.” He nodded to Stavros. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go home.”
As they turned out to sea, Stavros said, “You’d need an army to get into a place like that.”
“Maybe not. Let’s see what Ferguson comes up with.”
When the Gulfstream landed at Corfu Airport, it taxied under instruction to a remote area where there were older hangars and a number of private planes. There was a police car waiting there with a driver, a young captain standing beside it. He came forward as Ferguson led the way down the ladder.
“Brigadier Ferguson?” he said in fair English, and shook hands. “My name is Andreas. Colonel Mikali phoned me from Athens with orders to offer you every facility.”
“That’s kind of him,” Ferguson said.
“Customs and immigration are taken care of, and I have a Range Rover for you. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Help us load our stuff and we’ll be off,” Ferguson said.
The various cases were manhandled from the cargo hatch into the Range Rover, and Captain Andreas departed.
“Very obliging, this Colonel Mikali in Athens,” Dillon said. “Here we are, importing arms into the country. Does he have any idea what we’re about?”
“Of course not,” Ferguson said, “but he does owe me a few favors.” He turned to Vernon and Gaunt, Kersey standing behind them. “Gentlemen, you’re probably as intrigued as hell, but there’s nothing I can say at this point except that you’ve never been part of anything so important. If our efforts come to fruition tonight, your next destination will be Washington.”
“Then we’d better get on with refueling, Brigadier,” Vernon said.
Ferguson got into the rear of the Range Rover, Blake in the passenger seat at the front, and Dillon took the wheel.
“So, this is where it gets interesting, gentlemen,” he said and drove away.
When they pulled up outside the taverna at Vitari, Aleko came down the steps to greet Ferguson as he got out of the Range Rover.
“Hey, Brigadier, you look younger.” He embraced Ferguson fiercely and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Stop all that Greek nonsense,” Ferguson admonished him. “This is Sean Dillon, these days my main enforcer.”
Dillon shook hands. “You come well recommended,” he said in passable Greek.