The Mediterranean Caper by Clive Cussler

costume materialized and set down an appetizer of mixed cheeses, olives and cucumbers. Next came a chicken soup, flavored with lemon and egg yolks. Then the main course: baked oysters mixed with onions and minced nuts. Von Till uncorked the wine— Retsina —a fine old Greek wine. Its resin flavor reminded Pitt of turpentine. After the serving girl cleared the dishes, she brought a tray of fruit and then poured the coffee made in the Turkish manner, the powdered beans settling like silt on the bottom of the cup.
    Pitt forced down the strong unsweetened coffee and rubbed knees with Teri. He expected a girlish grin but instead she looked at him with frightened eyes. It seemed she was trying to tell him something.
    â€œWell, Major,” said von Till. “I hope you enjoyed our little repast.”
    â€œYes, thank you,” replied Pitt. “It was excellent.”
    Von Till stared across the table at Teri. His face had set like stone, and his voice turned to ice. “I would like to be alone with the major for a little while, my dear. Why don’t you wait in the study, we will be along shortly.”
    Teri acted surprised. She shuddered faintly, gripping the edge of the table before she answered him. “Please, Uncle Bruno, it’s too early. Can’t you wait and have your little talk with Dirk later?”
    Von Till shot her a withering look. “Do as your uncle says. I have a few important matters I would like to discuss with Major Pitt. I am sure he will not leave before seeing you.”
    Pitt found himself becoming angry. Why the sudden family crisis? he wondered. He took a long breath, sensing something very wrong. An odd prickle crept up his back; that old familiar feeling of danger. Like an old and trusted friend, it always tapped him on the shoulder and warned him when a nasty situation was brewing. Unseen, Pitt slipped a paring knife off the plate of fruits and pushed it under his pant leg and into his sock.
    Teri looked at Pitt, her face paling. “Please excuse me, Dirk. I don’t mean to be a ninny.”
    He smiled. “Don’t worry. I have a weakness for pretty ninnies.”
    â€œYou never seem to fail to say the right thing,” she murmured.
    He squeezed her hand. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
    â€œI’ll be waiting.” Suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears and she turned away and ran up the stairway.
    â€œI am sorry for speaking so harshly to Teri,” the old German apologized. “I had to talk to you privately and she rarely appreciates my desire to converse without feminine interruption. It is often necessary to become firm with women. Do you agree?”
    Pitt nodded. He could think of nothing worthwhile to say.
    Von Till inserted a cigarette in a long ivory holder and lit it. “I am extremely interested in hearing about the attack yesterday on Brady Field. My information from that section of the island tells me it was a very old and unknown type of airplane that struck your facility.”
    â€œOld maybe,” said Pitt, “but not unknown.”
    â€œAre you saying you have determined the make of airplane?”
    Pitt studied von Till’s face. Silently he dawdled with a fork, then slowly laid it back on the tablecloth. “The aircraft was positively identified as an Albatros D-3.”
    â€œAnd the pilot?” The words came slowly from von Till’s tight mouth. “Do you know the identity of the pilot?”
    â€œNot yet, but we will shortly.”
    â€œYou seem confident of an early capture.”
    Pitt took his time about answering. He slowly and methodically lit a cigarette. “Why not? It shouldn’t be difficult to trace a sixty-year-old yellow antique aircraft to its owner.”
    A smug grin crossed von Till’s face. “Macedonian Greece is an area of rugged terrain and desolate countryside. There are many thousands of square miles of mountains, valleys and eroded plains