The President’s Daughter

The other four were in the main saloon, the weapons laid out on the table. Aleko was wearing a black nylon dive suit and Dillon and Blake had already put on the jump suits and flak jackets.

“You didn’t mention rain,” Blake said.

“Because the weathermen got it wrong as usual. This little lot was due mid-morning tomorrow.” Aleko shrugged. “On the other hand, good cover as long as you don’t mind getting wet.”

“A fair point,” Dillon said. “What about the other fishing boats?”

“They’ve gone up in stages, which will look nice and normal, and it’s usual to work together with the bigger nets in the sardine season. If they check them from the castle, they’ll only see working fishermen.”

“Excellent,” Ferguson said.

Aleko lit a cigarette. “So, we go in, I drop you on the beach by the jetty. How long do you think this thing will take?”

“Half an hour,” Dillon said. “At the most. It’s got to be straight in and hit them hard and out again, or not at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could always kill them,” Aleko said.

“Now there’s a possibility,” Dillon replied.

“So, this is the way it goes. We join the other fishing boats, move in a little closer to shore. Yanni and Dimitri get the nets out. We’ll have the inflatable on the other side of the boat from the shore, load up, and I tow you in.” Aleko picked up four signaling flares. “These are mine. Nice and red. You take two each in case of mistakes. Fire one on your way out of the castle and we’ll come to the end of the jetty in the Cretan Lover to pick you up.”

They all sat there thinking about it. It was Ferguson who said, “Your friends in the other boats, what do they know?”

“They think it’s some kind of smuggling thing as usual. Once they see us go, they’ll leave quietly themselves.”

They all sat there quietly and it was Dillon who said to Ferguson, “Do you want to call you-know-who on your mobile?”

Ferguson shook his head. “The only call I want to make to that man now is to tell him we’ve succeeded.”

“Fine,” Blake Johnson said. “Then let’s do it.”

Marie de Brissac stood at the window, peering out into the rain. “There are fishing boats, I can see the lights.”

Hannah was just finishing dinner. She reached for a glass of water and drank, then went to join her. “It’s a strange feeling, life going on out there, and here we are in durance vile, as they used to say in the historical novels I read as a child.”

“I used to like the fairy stories by the Brothers Grimm,” Marie said, “and it’s the same feeling. They were always locking young women up in towers. Wasn’t there one about a girl whose hair was so long, she let it down from the window for her rescuer to climb up?”

“I think that was Rapunzel,” Hannah said.

“What a pity,” she said quietly. “If Mr. Dillon comes, I wouldn’t have long enough hair.” She gave a sudden dry sob, turned, and grabbed at Hannah. “Suddenly, I’m afraid. It’s so close now.”

“He’ll come.” Hannah embraced her fiercely. “He’s never let me down, not ever. You must believe that.”

She held Marie close, and looked out at the falling rain and in her head she was saying, Oh Sean, you bastard, where are you? Don’t fail me now.

Raphael was on the battlements, his MI6 slung from one shoulder, examining the fishing fleet through night glasses. Their red and green riding lights were plain and each had a pool of light in the stern from a deck light. There were footsteps and he turned and found Aaron and Levy approaching.

“Nothing to report, Colonel,” Raphael said. “The fishing fleet, but everything else quiet.”

Levy was holding a golfing umbrella against the rain. He handed it to Aaron. “Give me those,” he said and took the night glasses from Raphael.

He adjusted them, bringing the images of the boats into sharp focus, the fishermen at their nets. It was the same with the Cretan Lover, Yanni and Dimitri working away in the rain. What he didn’t see were Blake Johnson and Aleko on the starboard side facing out to sea, slipping the Aquamobile over to float, half-submerged, beside the inflatable.

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