Текст книги "The Silver Stain"

Автор книги: Paul Johnston

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

TWENTY-FOUR

Luke Jannet was removed from his makeshift cell, allowed to use the toilet with the guard present and then handcuffed by his unplastered wrist to the same solid Cretan.

Mavros, wearing a loose green cotton combat jacket, came up to the pair.

‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘We’re taking you to Kornaria to swap you for my other half and Maria Kondos.’

‘Are you fuckin’ kidding?’ the director said, his eyes wide. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere near that place.’

‘Really? And there I was, thinking you were their new best friend.’

‘Yeah, well, that depended on me bringing a large amount of cash to the table.’ He glared at Mavros. ‘Cash I’d have got if you’d let Roufos do his job.’

Mavros held his gaze. ‘So you were going to take the proceeds of the coin collection. In return for what? Cutting Roufos in on the drug trafficking?’

‘The two things go together – in the same containers, I mean. It’s a perfect fit.’

‘A perfect fit that’s about to get too tight for comfort.’ Mavros laughed. ‘Don’t worry, they’re very hospitable up there. Or so Maria Kondos didn’t say.’ He turned on his heel and left the American moaning. Suddenly that stopped. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the guard had placed his very large fist in front of Jannet’s face as a warning. Scene over.

His phone rang shortly afterwards.

‘Oh, he lives and breathes,’ the Fat Man said, with heavy irony. ‘I’ve been trying you for hours. You turned yourself into a telephone exchange?’

‘Busy-busy, Yiorgo. About to go into action.’

‘Cinematic or vendetta?’

‘Primarily the latter.’

There was a pause. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Very. Niki’s been kidnapped. I’ve got plenty of help, but so have the opposition.’

‘Those drug-producing tossers?’

‘Correct. If. . if I don’t get out of this alive, you’ll have to tell my family.’

‘What? Alex, you’re hereby banned from doing anything dangerous, you hear?’ The Fat Man’s voice had gone up several octaves.

‘Too late for that, Yiorgo. Whatever happens, it’ll be on the news tomorrow. Kriaras is handling things in Athens.’

‘Oh, great. So why have you got to take any risks?’

Mavros sighed. ‘I told you, Fat Man, they’ve got Niki. But don’t worry, we’ve got some tricks up our sleeves.’

‘So now you’re Prince Charming, going off to rescue a fair damsel?’

‘I might also get back some stuff that belonged to my old man during the war.’

That shut Yiorgos up, but not for long.

‘Call the cops in Chania. They can take charge till Kriaras’s people arrive.’

Mavros laughed. ‘Listen to yourself, Yiorgo. The cops down here have been living off Kornaria for decades. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, Fat Man.’ He cut the connection before he heard his friend’s reaction to that. Communists weren’t supposed to be emotional and Mavros had never said those words to Yiorgos before.

Cara came over, dressed like Eleni and carrying a pump-action shotgun.

‘Reminds me of my second picture,’ she said. ‘Country girl who got raped and took out a whole village of freaks.’ She racked the slide. ‘Good to be carrying live rounds for a change.’ She peered at him. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Something in my eye.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Look, will you try to keep your head down? I’ve grown quite fond of you and I wouldn’t like you to get hurt.’

‘Aw, sweet.’ She kissed him, taking care not to touch his abdomen. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’ She unzipped her jacket to reveal a Kevlar vest. ‘Tightly constricted twin peaks.’

He laughed and they headed for the exit. In the parking lot, two long wheelbase Land Rovers and two large pickups were being loaded with various supplies.

‘There will be twelve armed men in the convoy,’ Haris said, glancing at his wife and Cara. ‘Plus two armed women.’

‘Keep them all out of sight for as long as you can,’ Mavros said. ‘It may be I can finish this on my own.’

‘And maybe I can sing Tosca,’ Eleni said, with a sardonic laugh. ‘This is a fight to the finish, Alex, and you know it.’

He nodded. ‘Let’s hope that Niki and Maria aren’t among the casualties.’

‘You forgot someone,’ Cara said. ‘Yourself.’

‘Leave him be,’ Haris said, pulling her back. ‘He’s getting his thoughts in order. He’s going into the village alone apart from that wanker of a director. The adrenaline has to be controlled.’

Mavros got into the second vehicle, a Land Rover, with Haris, while the women went in the third. The lead pickup was filled with four young Cretans, to deal with the expected road block. Jannet was with his escort in the last vehicle.

As they headed through the dark orange and olive groves, he looked up at the night. The snow on the mountains was visible, an almost full moon casting its pallid light over the line of ridges and summits.

‘Are you sure about the timing?’ Mavros asked Haris.

‘The sooner you walk up there the better. They’ll all be awake from sunrise, but the longer we wait, the more likely that one or other of our people will be spotted.’ He gave a guttural laugh. ‘It’s always best to take your enemy by surprise. Dhrakakis will assume you’ll leave it till the last minute to show up, having wasted your time trying to get the police interested.’

‘You sure your men will be able to extract the walkie-talkie passwords from the sentries?’

‘You’ve obviously never had a hunting knife in the immediate vicinity of your balls.’

‘Erm, not yet.’

Haris slapped him on the thigh. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t come near you.’

‘Best you observe the same principle.’

The Cretan glanced at him and then nodded. ‘Sorry, that was stupid.’

‘I appreciate the sentiment though,’ Mavros said. Then he slipped into a zone where the people he would be trying to save flashed before him – Niki, smiling bravely; Maria Kondos, as haughty as ever. Then his father appeared, his face younger and less care-worn than in the photos that Mavros’s mother had on display. Suddenly he understood. Although Spyros’s experiences on Crete – the paratroop landings, the Battle of Galatsi, the years on the run – had been terrible, it had been on the island that he learned the truth about violence: that it led to more brutality and heartbreak, and that no political system, even a communist one, could be built on blood-drenched foundations. Whatever happened in Kornaria, Mavros had to remain true to those principles. The rock that he had thrown into the Kornariate’s face had to be his last violent act.

The sky in the east was lightening to grey and the vehicles in the convoy turned off their headlights, following an order from Haris, relayed by walkie-talkie.

‘Roadblock in sight,’ said one of the men from the Land Rover in the lead. ‘Approaching on foot.’

That meant the men were splitting up and heading in a wide circling movement towards the pickup that had been parked across the road. Haris stopped the Land Rover and waited. Tension in the cab rose and Mavros struggled to keep his breathing regular. If they couldn’t get beyond this first barrier, the whole plan would be compromised – although Haris had told him he had reserve options.

‘How often have you done this kind of thing?’ Mavros asked, in a low voice.

Haris smiled. ‘You aren’t taping this, I hope. Not so often, and never on as large a scale as this. Crete isn’t like the rest of Greece, my friend. We have our own ways of justice. I don’t only mean vendettas. If someone persists in anti-social and damaging behaviour, he is taught a lesson. That is not a bad thing.’

‘Unless it gets out of control.’

‘You are worried this operation will go that way? I can understand that. But you must trust me, Alex, as I trust you. That is how the Turks and the Germans were driven out – we acted in unison.’

‘Freedom or death,’ Mavros said. ‘But this time you’ll be fighting against your fellow Cretans.’

Haris shrugged. ‘Criminals and bullies are the same the world over. Someone must stand up to them.’

There was a burst of sound from his walkie-talkie.

‘Road block neutralized. WT codes obtained. No serious injuries.’

‘You see?’ Haris said. ‘Now all we need is confirmation from the advance units.’

That came in three separate messages over the next ten minutes.

‘All is ready, Alex. Are you?’

Mavros nodded. His heart was beating at a normal rate and his breathing was regular. He got out of the Land Rover and checked his equipment, then watched as the pickup containing Luke Jannet came slowly alongside. The director had been gagged with duct tape. His guard unlocked the cuff on his wrist and attached it gingerly to Mavros’s belt.

‘Is everything that needs to be turned on?’ Haris asked.

‘Yup. Thanks for everything. I’m only sorry Mikis couldn’t be here to see this.’

The Cretan nodded solemnly. ‘He would have enjoyed it, but he’s better off in his bed. Now, Alex, bring your woman and the other one back.’ He stopped himself slapping Mavros’s back just in time.

Mavros dragged Jannet into the pickup and took the wheel.

‘Keep still if you want to stay alive,’ Mavros said.

The director, who had been told what Mavros was carrying, nodded vigorously.

The pickup moved slowly up the road, past the vehicle which had been moved out of the way. Mavros saw in the mirror that Haris’s men had taken the villagers’ mandilia, jackets and shotguns. He continued at low speed, avoiding the worst potholes and ridges, until they passed the sign announcing Kornaria. It had been riddled with pellets.

‘Welcome to Hell,’ Mavros said, glancing at Jannet. ‘This is going to be better than any film you’ve shot, asshole.’ The director’s face was white around the strip of black tape.

Mavros drove up the narrow street between the white houses. The shutters on some had been thrown open to take in the early morning light, but there were no people to be seen. He pulled up in the square and hauled Jannet out, then put his hand on the pickup’s horn. It wasn’t long before heads appeared at windows and men started coming out of doors, some of them carrying shotguns.

Mavros took his captive towards the kafeneionwhere he and Mikis had talked to the mayor. It wasn’t open yet. Then a metal door a few yards down the square swung open and Dhrakakis came out, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing a singlet, blue pyjama trousers and slippers.

‘You don’t look like the man behind a multinational drugs business,’ Mavros said. ‘More like a grandfather who’s just wet himself.’

As he’d expected, the words stung the mayor. Mavros held Jannet in front of him as the Cretan approached, his cheeks red. The next few seconds were decisive.

‘You’ll pay for insulting me, you Athenian arse-bandit,’ Dhrakakis said, as he came closer. ‘Look at you, hiding behind your hostage.’

‘Come and get him then, Grandpa,’ Mavros said, with a sharp smile.

‘ Ela, Louka,’ the mayor said, his arm extended towards Jannet.

Mavros waited as long as he could, and then pulled out the other handcuff attached to his belt and snapped it shut around Dhrakakis’s wrist. He unzipped his jacket and took out the detonator that was wired to the explosives on his chest, his thumb over the short plunger.

‘Tell your men to keep their distance,’ he said calmly to the Cretan. ‘If any of them comes within range, we three will turn into very small pieces. If you try to take the detonator from me, ditto.’ He laughed like a madman. ‘I know what you’ll have done to my woman and to Maria Kondos. I don’t give a shit what happens to me.’

This was another critical moment. If Dhrakakis thought he was bluffing, there would be no way out.

‘No, no,’ the mayor stammered. ‘Nobody has touched your woman. I swear it.’

‘Why should I believe you?’ Mavros demanded. ‘You run the most lawless village in Crete. You’ve bribed the police, the local authorities, the politicians, the bankers, anyone you could, to keep this place in business. What I want from you is a confession. Then I’ll let you go.’

It wasn’t obvious that he was wearing a wire, but Dhrakakis was the kind of scheming bastard who would immediately think of that. Mavros was hoping that he would talk, assuming he would subsequently be able to kill Mavros and destroy any recording device before others arrived.

There was a pause, and then the Cretan started to blab. With prompting from Mavros, he started to name every person who had received money from Kornaria. Some of them were a surprise – a television channel and newspaper owner, the director of a reforestation charity, a famous actress who had slept with various politicians. Other names were to be expected: government ministers; members of parliament; local officials and policemen, including Inspector Margaritis; the owners of hotels on the coastal strip, doctors, lawyers, customs officials – all had gained benefits of various kinds from their links to the village. Mavros also extracted the names of the Greek-Americans who were involved in the drug trafficking. The Tzannetakis family was conspicuous by its presence, as was the Kondoyannis clan.

‘Have you heard enough?’ Dhrakakis demanded.

Mavros nodded. ‘Now produce the women.’

The mayor gave the order to one of his henchmen, who had a bandage round his head – Mavros recognized him as the man he had hit with the stone. Soon after, Niki and Maria Kondos appeared round the corner. They were both pale and the Greek-American was limping, but otherwise they looked uninjured.

Mavros raised a hand. ‘Stop there!’ he shouted, when they reached the middle of the square.

‘You said you’d let us go,’ Dhrakakis said impatiently.

Mavros nodded, then took out his walkie-talkie. ‘Codeword “Maleme”, repeat “Maleme”.’

‘Received,’ came Haris’s voice.

‘Now what?’ the mayor asked.

‘Hold on a minute,’ Mavros said, waiting for the first smoke to rise above the houses to the east. ‘Oh, what’s that? Even though there are no trees up here, there seems to be a forest fire.’

Dhrakakis followed the direction of his gaze. ‘What have you done, you fucking bastard? To the cultivation sheds and warehouses, all of you!’

The booted men in the square ran towards the smoke, which was now thick black and roiling.

‘You bastard,’ repeated the mayor. ‘You-’ He broke off as Haris’s Land Rover and the other vehicles roared into the square and armed men jumped out. Only a couple of shots were fired in the air to clear out the last of the villagers.

Haris and three of his men surrounded Mavros and his captives and unlocked the cuffs from his belt, before cuffing the pair together. Dhrakakis groaned as he saw smoke to the north of the village as well.

Mavros ripped the tape from Jannet’s mouth. ‘Sorry, did that hurt? Well, it’s a hard life being a criminal. If you’re lucky the FBI will take you home – you really don’t want to spend time in a Greek prison.’

Luke Jannet lowered his head. Then Maria Kondos came up to the American-Greek and slapped the side of his head hard.

‘Let him go!’ came a shrill voice from the centre of the square.

They all looked round and saw Rosie Yellenberg with her arm round Niki’s neck and a pistol jammed in her ribs. ‘Get over here, Luke!’ she screamed, dragging Niki to the last of the pickups.

Haris nodded and the director’s cuffs were loosed. He ran to his sister.

Mavros made to follow him, but Haris grabbed his arm.

‘Wait,’ the Cretan said.

They didn’t have to do so for long. As Rosie and Luke manoeuvred Niki to the vehicle, Eleni Tsifaki and Cara Parks appeared from behind it. The former smashed her elbow into Jannet’s face and flattened him with a punch from the other hand. Cara kicked the pistol out of Rosie’s hand and then swung round on her other foot before delivering a knockout blow to the producer’s jaw. Niki sank to her knees and wailed Mavros’s first name.

‘Excuse me,’ he said to Haris. ‘She’s been through a lot.’

‘Excuse me,’ the Cretan said, removing the detonator from the charges. ‘You don’t want to go up in a cloud of fireworks.’

‘I think that’s going to happen anyway,’ Mavros said, then ran to his beloved.

TWENTY-FIVE

There could never have been so many vehicles on the unmetalled road leading to Kornaria before: police cars, marked and unmarked, TV vans, press personnel on motorbikes and in 4 x 4s. They were forced to the side by the fire engines that rumbled up to deal with the blazes in the drug sheds and warehouses. By the time they got there, only smoking remains were left and the firemen busied themselves ensuring that the flames didn’t spread to the village or to the sparse shrubs on the surrounding slopes. A helicopter hovered above the village and eventually set down on an old threshing floor. One of the men who climbed out was police commander Nikos Kriaras.

‘You didn’t leave us much to do,’ he said sourly, as paramilitary policemen spread though the village.

Mavros shrugged. ‘We couldn’t wait. I didn’t set the press dogs loose – one of the villagers must have. Look, Niko, this place has been screwing the western end of the island for decades. Someone had to do something and I couldn’t wait.’

There were a few shots in the distance, but the crowd of disarmed male villagers in the square was growing by the minute. They were surrounded by armed police.

Kriaras glowered at him. ‘And that person had to be you, eh?’

‘They had Niki. Would you have left your wife to these lunatics?’

The look on the policeman’s face was inscrutable. Mavros reckoned he might have, but he kept that to himself.

‘What about Roufos? Did you get him?’

Kriaras looked away. ‘Not yet. He seems to have bribed an engineer on the ship for his uniform.’

‘See what I mean about having to do things myself?’ Mavros said, shaking his head. ‘The kafeneionowner. Go easy on him. He gave me the lead to the Kondoyannis family. Don’t know why, probably in a feud with them. And Maria Kondos – I’m not sure if she’s a victim or if she’s involved in the dope trade. Make sure you take her into custody.’ Then he had another thought: David Waggoner.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, going over to one of the local women who had gathered to support their men folk and asking where the Englishman’s house was. He followed her directions to the west.

‘Do you want us to come with you?’ Haris called. He was with his wife, while Niki was talking animatedly to Cara Parks. Maria Kondos was standing alone a few metres away.

‘I’ll be all right,’ Mavros answered, hurrying down the lane. Suddenly he had a bad feeling about Waggoner. How would he be reacting to the events in the village he’d lived in and helped for decades?

A narrow track led to a two-storey stone house a couple of hundred metres beyond the edge of the village. The blue shutters were open and the terrace was covered in floods of bougainvillea and oleander blossom.

‘Waggoner!’ Mavros shouted, as he approached. ‘Are you there?’

There was no reply. He climbed the steps and looked to each side. There were a table and chairs on his right, a tray containing a small coffee cup and a half-drunk glass of water on the former.

‘Waggoner!’ He stepped through the bead curtain and into the cool house. The living area to the right had dull-coloured floors and was sparsely furnished with antique dark-wood pieces. Animal heads and regimental shields hung on the walls.

‘The hands go up, fucker.’

He recognized the voice and turned to see the shaven-headed Petros Lagoudhakis, leader of the far-right Cretan Renaissance, shove David Waggoner into the room, a pistol pointing at Mavros.

‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ the Cretan said. ‘Two shitbags instead of one.’

Mavros glanced at the Englishman. His face was pale and beaded with sweat and he looked diminished from the last time they’d met.

‘You realize the village is teeming with police?’ Mavros said.

‘Won’t take me long to finish you two.’

‘I suppose I’m in your sights because I made you dig your own grave the other night.’

Lagoudhakis glared at him. ‘You don’t get over something like that easily. Besides, I heard what you did to Mr Roufos.’

Mavros sighed. He was about to die because he hadn’t kept hold of the antiquities dealer. Phoning the Cretan from the ship would have been easy.

‘And him?’ he said, inclining his head towards Waggoner.

‘Him? He persecuted Herr Kersten for years, never mind all the Germans he killed in the war.’

Mavros stared at him. ‘Rudolf Kersten told you to kill him?’

‘Who else? Herr Kersten supported my organization in many ways.’

‘Was Oskar Mesner involved?’

‘Leave him out of it.’

Which meant ‘yes’, as far as Mavros was concerned.

Lagoudhakis raised the pistol towards Waggoner. ‘And let’s not forget that the British blocked the union of Crete for years in the nineteenth century and screwed up Cyprus permanently. This piece of shit was responsible for the death of several Cypriot freedom fighters. So go to meet them, murderer.’

Then Lagoudhakis went flying forward, smothered by a heavily-built figure with a bandage on his head. The weapon skittered across the floor as the neo-Nazi’s hand was smashed against the tiles.

‘Miki?’ Mavros said, his heart halfway towards his mouth. ‘What the-’

The Cretan dragged the now cowering Lagoudhakis to his feet and then planted a heavy fist in his belly. He hit the floor again and started writhing.

David Waggoner limped forwards and handed the pistol that he’d picked up to Mavros. He looked like he was already in another dimension.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mavros asked.

‘Pancreatic cancer. I’ve got a few weeks if I’m lucky.’ The former SOE man grimaced. ‘Or less – the pain is terrible.’ He looked at Mavros curiously. ‘Why did you come?’

‘I had a feeling you’d do something. . foolish.’

‘You were behind what’s happened to the village?’

‘Not on my own.’ Mavros glanced at Mikis. ‘What are you doing out of hospital?’

The driver grinned. ‘Watching your back.’

‘Thanks, but aren’t you supposed to be resting?’

‘Nah. Anyway, some fuckers from Dopetown took my Colt, remember? I want it back.’

Mavros smiled. ‘You might have a job talking the cops into handing it over.’

‘I have several friends in the police force.’

‘What a surprise.’ Mavros looked back at Waggoner. The old man was picking something up from his desk.

‘I was trying to protect you when I told. . told you to stay away.’

‘Guilty conscience?’ Mavros asked, not prepared to let him off the hook.

‘Something like that.’ Waggoner stepped closer. ‘Here, these are for you. There are photographs, a pen and some papers.’

‘You took them from my father?’

‘From Kanellos, yes.’ The Englishman hung his head. ‘We. . we beat him to find out if he was the traitor. He didn’t say a word. Then we found out who the real rat was and Kanellos was taken back to the city at night. His possessions remained with me by mistake.’

‘Why did you keep them?’

Waggoner shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I thought he deserved that. He was. . he was a very brave man. I should never have written what I did about him.’

Mavros looked at the photos. They showed a young Spyros, his moustache even thicker than it was later, surrounded by men in incomplete military uniforms, some wearing the Cretan mandiliand vraka. Their boots were in tatters and their weapons a mixture of elderly rifles and plundered German machine-pistols. But most striking were the smiles on their faces – they looked as if they truly believed they could defeat this and any other oppressor. The writing instrument was an old fountain pen made of dark-blue celluloid. He didn’t risk unscrewing it in case it was fragile. As for the writing, it was pages of text in a code he knew he would never be able to read – messages from the father he had scarcely known in a language legible only to long dead communist cipher clerks. At least, he thought, blinking back tears, Spyros had left a pen and not a weapon.

‘Thank you,’ he said to Waggoner. He couldn’t bring himself to shake the hand that had dealt pain to his father, but he gave him a restrained smile.

Mavros and the Cretan dragged Lagoudhakis on to the terrace, the former calling Kriaras to have the neo-Nazi picked up.

‘Right, Miki, let’s get you back to the bosom of your family.’

‘Speaking of bosoms, I heard your girlfriend was here. That means the delectable Cara Parks is up for grabs.’

‘I guess so. But bear in mind she’s a champion at kickboxing, karate and various other martial arts.’

Mikis grinned. ‘Some like them hot.’

Back in the village square, Mavros handed over the recording device to Kriaras. Haris had got one of his men to make a copy of the disk on a laptop, so they were covered.

‘Every single name Dhrakakis spouted better be arrested, Niko,’ Mavros said, ‘or I’m giving the disk to the press.’

‘What country do you think you’re living in?’ the policeman said, in a long-suffering voice. ‘Strings will be pulled, money will move between accounts, people will disappear. But don’t worry – there’ll be a big enough scandal.’ He caught Mavros’s eye. ‘Be thankful you haven’t been arrested for taking the law into your hands.’

Mavros laughed. ‘Hey, Hari,’ he called, ‘the commander wants to charge your men with damaging the Kornariates’ crops.’

The Cretan waved a hand in the air and went on talking to his wife and son.

‘The Tsifakis family is well connected, Niko.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Kriaras snapped. ‘Want a lift back to Chania in the helicopter?’

That may have a form of olive branch, but Mavros wasn’t interested. The less he was seen with the commander the better.

‘No, thanks. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up.’

‘Loose and legal, I hope.’

Mavros gave him a crooked smile. ‘Thanks for helping out – not that you won’t be using this success to further your career.’

That ended the conversation.

Later, the village began to empty as the men who had been arrested were packed into police vehicles. Mavros had given a provisional statement to a cop from Chania, who was on good terms with Haris.

‘At last,’ Niki said, seizing his arm. ‘My saviour has time for me.’ She kissed him long and hard on the lips. ‘Thank you, Alex. I knew I could rely on you.’

‘How did they treat you?’

‘Fine, really. I had food and drink. I think they were nastier to Maria.’

Mavros watched as Cara Parks cradled her assistant’s head in her arms outside the kafeneion. The actress saw his look and nodded slowly to him. The fact that Maria hadn’t asked for a doctor was encouraging. Two policemen were standing close by.

‘Let’s go,’ Mikis said, beckoning from the Land Rover.

‘Only if you aren’t driving,’ Mavros replied.

‘I’m driving,’ Haris said firmly. ‘In the back, Miki, and lie down.’

Mavros and Niki got in the front with him. They jolted down the track and, as it turned to the west, Mavros caught a glimpse of smoke rising from the area of Waggoner’s house. The fire engines had already left, but he didn’t intend to call them back. Let him go the way he wanted.

Niki sat up, startled. A medium-sized brown and black bird had flown up in front of the Land Rover and was flying at low altitude ahead of them, moving up and down as if it was surfing.

‘Hoopoe,’ said Haris. ‘They are beautiful.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Niki, smiling in pleasure.

The Cretan slowed as the bird swerved and perched on a wall. It wiped its long beak against an upper wing and then opened the crest on its head, the tall feathers quivering in the breeze. Its beauty was in stark contrast to the barren slopes, as well as to the horrors brought to the island by men who had jumped into the air from ugly aircraft during the war – horrors whose effects could still be felt.

Mavros felt the stain of violence that had come over him since he’d arrived in Crete finally begin to recede. His father’s face flashed before him and smiled in what he took to be encouragement. Mavros squeezed Niki’s thigh and huddled against her. Hoopoes were good and so was life.

As they wound down the mountainside, Haris Tsifakis began to sing: ‘Oh Crete, your earth is silver and your rocks diamonds. .’