hand.
“What are you doing?”
Her tumble had disarranged her dress, dragging down the neckline. She seemed not to notice.
“You can’t go back there,” he said. Very deliberately, he let his gaze drift from the hovering knife to the exposed skin below her collarbone. A bud of white lace peeked out from under the black dress.
She tugged it back into position with a snort of disgust. “Why not? First you come, when I never wanted to see you again, and an hour later there are two
malakies
tearing apartmy house like animals. Am I supposed to think that’s a coincidence?”
“Almost certainly not.”
“Then how in hell can you tell me what to do?”
“Because if you walk through that door, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” Grant pointed. Through the window they could see a mess of splintered wood, smashed china, broken photographs and scattered ornaments littering the floor. The barrel of the gun was almost invisible against the chaotic background. Even if you’d seen it, you might have mistaken it for just another piece of debris lying on the floor. Only when it twitched did some incongruity of light and shadow alert the eye.
Marina, who had spent long hours of reconnaissance looking for exactly those tell-tale signs, saw it at once. “One of them stayed behind.” She lowered herself back into the gully. “Do you think he saw us?”
“If he had, we’d know about it.”
“Then we can surprise him.” Her eyes gleamed with savage delight—the look he knew so well from the war. As the Germans had found to their cost, there was nothing the Cretans loved so much as a blood feud. “You’ve got your gun. I’ll distract him by the door and you can get him through the window.” Doubt flickered into her eyes as she saw Grant shaking his head. “Why not?”
“Because every hour he sits there waiting is an hour we’ve got to get away.”
They walked for most of the day, toward the great massif of mountains that rose across the eastern horizon. Just before dusk they found an empty shepherd’s hut in a high meadow, whose previous occupant had left wood, blankets and two tins of field rations, probably relics of the war. Grant built a fire and they huddled round it in their blankets. Down in the valleys it might be spring, but up on the mountain winter lingered. Patches of snow filled the hollows in the north-facing hillside and the summit still wore its white winter coat. A chill wind whistled around them and Grant pulled his blanketcloser. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to wrap it round both of them, as they’d done so often on cold nights during the war, but he didn’t try.
After they’d eaten, Marina took out the book. She held it up to the fire, letting the flames play over the pages. Grant fought back the fear that a stray ember could end their quest before it even began.
“Two months before the invasion, Pemberton went to Athens. I thought it was strange he went then—everybody knew the Germans were coming and he almost couldn’t find space on the ferryboat with all the soldiers going to the front. But he said he had to go. When he came back, something was different. He didn’t say, but I could see he had some new obsession. It was always the same, if he found a new site, or some artifact he couldn’t place. The lights in the villa burned late, and he became distant and tense. Of course, everyone was tense in those last days, so we didn’t notice so much. In April he disappeared for a week on his own. Afterward I found out he had been on the east of the island, toward Siteia. He was looking for something.”
“Which is why you’ve brought us east?”
“Yes.” She stared at the book, her smooth face wrinkled in concentration. “If he found something, he would have written it in here.” She combed her fingers through her loose hair. “But I can’t find it.”
Grant edged round to peer over her shoulder. Row upon row of neatly printed symbols swam
“What are you doing?”
Her tumble had disarranged her dress, dragging down the neckline. She seemed not to notice.
“You can’t go back there,” he said. Very deliberately, he let his gaze drift from the hovering knife to the exposed skin below her collarbone. A bud of white lace peeked out from under the black dress.
She tugged it back into position with a snort of disgust. “Why not? First you come, when I never wanted to see you again, and an hour later there are two
malakies
tearing apartmy house like animals. Am I supposed to think that’s a coincidence?”
“Almost certainly not.”
“Then how in hell can you tell me what to do?”
“Because if you walk through that door, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” Grant pointed. Through the window they could see a mess of splintered wood, smashed china, broken photographs and scattered ornaments littering the floor. The barrel of the gun was almost invisible against the chaotic background. Even if you’d seen it, you might have mistaken it for just another piece of debris lying on the floor. Only when it twitched did some incongruity of light and shadow alert the eye.
Marina, who had spent long hours of reconnaissance looking for exactly those tell-tale signs, saw it at once. “One of them stayed behind.” She lowered herself back into the gully. “Do you think he saw us?”
“If he had, we’d know about it.”
“Then we can surprise him.” Her eyes gleamed with savage delight—the look he knew so well from the war. As the Germans had found to their cost, there was nothing the Cretans loved so much as a blood feud. “You’ve got your gun. I’ll distract him by the door and you can get him through the window.” Doubt flickered into her eyes as she saw Grant shaking his head. “Why not?”
“Because every hour he sits there waiting is an hour we’ve got to get away.”
They walked for most of the day, toward the great massif of mountains that rose across the eastern horizon. Just before dusk they found an empty shepherd’s hut in a high meadow, whose previous occupant had left wood, blankets and two tins of field rations, probably relics of the war. Grant built a fire and they huddled round it in their blankets. Down in the valleys it might be spring, but up on the mountain winter lingered. Patches of snow filled the hollows in the north-facing hillside and the summit still wore its white winter coat. A chill wind whistled around them and Grant pulled his blanketcloser. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to wrap it round both of them, as they’d done so often on cold nights during the war, but he didn’t try.
After they’d eaten, Marina took out the book. She held it up to the fire, letting the flames play over the pages. Grant fought back the fear that a stray ember could end their quest before it even began.
“Two months before the invasion, Pemberton went to Athens. I thought it was strange he went then—everybody knew the Germans were coming and he almost couldn’t find space on the ferryboat with all the soldiers going to the front. But he said he had to go. When he came back, something was different. He didn’t say, but I could see he had some new obsession. It was always the same, if he found a new site, or some artifact he couldn’t place. The lights in the villa burned late, and he became distant and tense. Of course, everyone was tense in those last days, so we didn’t notice so much. In April he disappeared for a week on his own. Afterward I found out he had been on the east of the island, toward Siteia. He was looking for something.”
“Which is why you’ve brought us east?”
“Yes.” She stared at the book, her smooth face wrinkled in concentration. “If he found something, he would have written it in here.” She combed her fingers through her loose hair. “But I can’t find it.”
Grant edged round to peer over her shoulder. Row upon row of neatly printed symbols swam
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