Jack Higgins
“They wander at will.”
    â€œWhat about patrols?”
    â€œThey stay in the fort,” she said. “They don’t like it out here at night. This is a bad place. There was a city here in ancient times. They say the cliffs crumbled beneath it and the sea swallowed every trace of it in a single night.”
    Which was a hell of a thought. Forty or fifty good men and I could have taken the whole damned island. So much for Greek military intelligence.
    â€œIt is not far now,” she said. “Half a mile, no more.”
    She carried on, leading the way across the plateau, and we climbed a boulder-strewn hillside. Not another word was spoken for the next fifteen minutes and quite suddenly, we came over the shoulder of the mountain and saw a house in a grove of olive trees below.
    A dog barked hollowly in the far distance. The girl said, “I will go down alone, just to make sure. Sometimes I have visitors. Men from the fort.”
    â€œIs it likely?” I said. “Do they come often?”
    â€œAs often as they feel the need,” she said gravely. “I am the only woman on the island.”
    Which was honest enough, however hard to take, but when she was out of earshot, I whispered to Johnson, “I’m going after her. If anything goes wrong, get the hell out of it.”
    He didn’t argue and I went down the hillside. The house was small and obviously very old and the yard between the back door and the barn was cobbled, the heavy smell of manure everywhere. I crouched beside a small haystack and waited.
    There was a slight, eerie creaking as the barn door eased open and someone said softly in Greek, “The gun—on the ground, quickly now.”
    I laid the sub-machine gun down carefully and stood up. The muzzle of a rifle prodded me in the back. It was all I needed. I swung to the left which meant that the muzzle of that gun now pointed into thin air, kicked himunder the knee-cap and had him facedown in the dirt in a second.
    The door opened, light flooded out, picking us from the darkness, and I saw that my antagonist was not much more than a boy. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen, with a thin, earnest face and a mass of curling black hair. He turned his head awkwardly to glance over his shoulder.
    â€œAnna!” he cried desperately. “It’s me, Spiro!”
    She touched me briefly on the shoulder. “It’s all right. Let him go.”
    â€œWho is he?”
    â€œOne of them,” she said. “A Red, but he loves me. He’ll do anything for me.” She gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “Men. Always the same, like children who can never have enough sweets.”
    Â 
    The plan of the fort Greek military intelligence had given me, the only one they could find, was about fifty years out of date and Spiro soon put me right on a few things.
    â€œThe walls are mostly in ruins,” he said. “Especially on the land side and there is no gate any more. Just the open archway.”
    â€œWhat about sentries?”
    â€œThere is someone on the gate at all times. Usually just one man. Most of the building itself is not habitable. They keep Tharakos in the central tower on the first floor.”
    â€œHave you seen him lately?”
    â€œEvery day. They take him out on the ramparts, just to show he’s still alive in case they’re watching from the ships. Mind you, I’ve never been very close to him.I’m not important enough. The officers see to him.”
    â€œAnd what about guards in this tower?”
    â€œThere’s usually someone on his door at all times. They’ve turned an old cell next to the entrance on the ground floor into a guardroom.”
    â€œWhy do you say usually? Are there times when there isn’t a guard up there?”
    â€œYou know how it is?” He shrugged. “Tharakos is locked in and his window is only one of those old arrow slits. How can he go anywhere? We aren’t like

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