wall. “Jesus,” he said softly. “A fella could tire of this in no time at all.”
There was a sudden flurry in the water and a rat slipped across his right leg. He brushed it away. “So there you are, you little rascal. Now behave yourself.”
FIVE
A s they’d allowed him to keep his watch, Dillon was aware of the time, although whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn’t sure, for time seemed to stretch into eternity.
He remembered noticing that it was four o’clock in the morning and then, in spite of the circumstances, he must have dozed because he came awake with a start, a rat leaping from his shoulder, and when he checked the time again, he found that it was seven-thirty.
Not long after that, a light appeared up above and Judas leaned over. “You still in one piece, Dillon?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Good. We’ll take you up.”
The bucket came down, Dillon scrambled his feet into the bucket and was hauled up slowly. As his head passed the brick wall, he saw Judas, Aaron, and Arnold standing there.
“My God, but you stink, Dillon, you really do.” Judas laughed. “Get him out of here, Aaron, and carry on as I suggested.”
He ran up the stairs ahead of them and Aaron said, “I’ll take you back to your room. I think you need a shower.”
“Or three or four,” Dillon said.
He stripped in the bathroom and put the contaminated clothing into a black plastic bag Aaron had provided. Halfway through the second shower Arnold appeared and took the bag away. Dillon tried another shower and then a fourth. As he reached for a towel, Aaron glanced in.
“Fresh clothes on the bed, Mr. Dillon.”
“The right size, I trust.”
“We know everything about you.”
“Shoes? What about shoes?”
“Those, too. I’ll be back when you’re dressed.”
Dillon dried his hair, shaved, then went into the bedroom to discover fresh underwear, a checked shirt, jeans and socks, and a pair of sneakers. He dressed quickly and was combing his hair when the door opened and Aaron appeared.
“That’s better. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“You could say that.”
“Then come this way.”
He opened the door, led the way out and along the corridor, and stopped at another door. He opened it and stepped to one side.
“This way, Mr. Dillon.”
Marie de Brissac, at her easel, turned. She hesitated, paintbrush in hand, and Aaron said, “I’ve brought you some company. I’ll bring breakfast in a moment.” The door closed and the key turned.
“Sean Dillon.” He held out his hand. “Countess, is it?”
“Never mind that. Marie will do—Marie de Brissac. Did you have a bad time?”
“A bad night, certainly. I’ll pinch one of those cigarettes if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
He lit one and blew out a plume of smoke. “Do you by any chance know where we are?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. And you?”
“I’m afraid not. Last I recall, I was in a fishing port called Salinas in Sicily. I know by my watch that I was at least twelve hours at sea, but I was unconscious most of the time.”
“The same with me. I was in Corfu when they kidnapped me. A plane ride was mentioned and then a needle in the arm, and I knew nothing until I woke up here.”
“But what in the hell is it all about?” Dillon asked, and the door opened and Braun, not Aaron, came in with a tray.
“Good morning, Mr. Dillon—Countess.” He put the tray down. “Scrambled eggs, toast, marmalade, and English breakfast tea. Much better for you than coffee. I’ll be back.”
He went out and Dillon said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s eat it while it’s hot.”
“I agree,” she said.
They sat on either side of the table and talked as they ate. Dillon said, “So we don’t know where we are. Could be Italy or Greece, maybe even Turkey or Crete. Egypt would be a possibility.”
“A wide choice, but who are you, Mr. Dillon, and why are you here?”
“I work for a
There was a sudden flurry in the water and a rat slipped across his right leg. He brushed it away. “So there you are, you little rascal. Now behave yourself.”
FIVE
A s they’d allowed him to keep his watch, Dillon was aware of the time, although whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn’t sure, for time seemed to stretch into eternity.
He remembered noticing that it was four o’clock in the morning and then, in spite of the circumstances, he must have dozed because he came awake with a start, a rat leaping from his shoulder, and when he checked the time again, he found that it was seven-thirty.
Not long after that, a light appeared up above and Judas leaned over. “You still in one piece, Dillon?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Good. We’ll take you up.”
The bucket came down, Dillon scrambled his feet into the bucket and was hauled up slowly. As his head passed the brick wall, he saw Judas, Aaron, and Arnold standing there.
“My God, but you stink, Dillon, you really do.” Judas laughed. “Get him out of here, Aaron, and carry on as I suggested.”
He ran up the stairs ahead of them and Aaron said, “I’ll take you back to your room. I think you need a shower.”
“Or three or four,” Dillon said.
He stripped in the bathroom and put the contaminated clothing into a black plastic bag Aaron had provided. Halfway through the second shower Arnold appeared and took the bag away. Dillon tried another shower and then a fourth. As he reached for a towel, Aaron glanced in.
“Fresh clothes on the bed, Mr. Dillon.”
“The right size, I trust.”
“We know everything about you.”
“Shoes? What about shoes?”
“Those, too. I’ll be back when you’re dressed.”
Dillon dried his hair, shaved, then went into the bedroom to discover fresh underwear, a checked shirt, jeans and socks, and a pair of sneakers. He dressed quickly and was combing his hair when the door opened and Aaron appeared.
“That’s better. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“You could say that.”
“Then come this way.”
He opened the door, led the way out and along the corridor, and stopped at another door. He opened it and stepped to one side.
“This way, Mr. Dillon.”
Marie de Brissac, at her easel, turned. She hesitated, paintbrush in hand, and Aaron said, “I’ve brought you some company. I’ll bring breakfast in a moment.” The door closed and the key turned.
“Sean Dillon.” He held out his hand. “Countess, is it?”
“Never mind that. Marie will do—Marie de Brissac. Did you have a bad time?”
“A bad night, certainly. I’ll pinch one of those cigarettes if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
He lit one and blew out a plume of smoke. “Do you by any chance know where we are?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. And you?”
“I’m afraid not. Last I recall, I was in a fishing port called Salinas in Sicily. I know by my watch that I was at least twelve hours at sea, but I was unconscious most of the time.”
“The same with me. I was in Corfu when they kidnapped me. A plane ride was mentioned and then a needle in the arm, and I knew nothing until I woke up here.”
“But what in the hell is it all about?” Dillon asked, and the door opened and Braun, not Aaron, came in with a tray.
“Good morning, Mr. Dillon—Countess.” He put the tray down. “Scrambled eggs, toast, marmalade, and English breakfast tea. Much better for you than coffee. I’ll be back.”
He went out and Dillon said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s eat it while it’s hot.”
“I agree,” she said.
They sat on either side of the table and talked as they ate. Dillon said, “So we don’t know where we are. Could be Italy or Greece, maybe even Turkey or Crete. Egypt would be a possibility.”
“A wide choice, but who are you, Mr. Dillon, and why are you here?”
“I work for a
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