Authors: David Hagberg

Critical Mass (29 page)

BOOK: Critical Mass

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THE NARROW STAIRWAY THAT LED FIVE HUNDRED FEET DOWN to the stone dock from the monastery had been cut from the living rock late in the seventeenth century, and countless pairs of sandal-shod feet had worn grooves into the steps. It followed the inside of a huge crack in the cliff face that wasn't visible from the sea.

DÃ¼renmatt and the other three men were huddled out of the rain just within a ten-yard-wide overhang. A starlight scope set up on a tripod was trained out to sea.

“Any sign of him yet?” Spranger asked when he reached the bottom.

The four men looked up, startled. They hadn't heard him coming. Nobody said a thing.

“How far off is he?” Spranger asked. He was excited now that he was about to come face-to-face with McGarvey.

“Something's gone wrong, General,” DÃ¼renmatt said worriedly.

“What are you talking about?”

“The
Thaxos
went down, but the fishing vessel is heading away from, not toward us.”

“Impossible!”

“See for yourself, Herr General,” Lessing said, stepping away from the starlight scope.

Spranger hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe it. McGarvey's ex-wife and daughter were here. The man knew they were here. He had to respond. He had to come here to rescue them.

“Nothing from the boat?” he asked.

“If Karamanlis and that other fool had been successful we would have heard from them by now,” DÃ¼renmatt said. He glanced out toward the dark horizon. “If that sonofabitch is going for help we'll be cornered here.”

“The chopper is ready to fly.”

“Pardon me, General, but if the CIA puts pressure on the Greek government we might be grounded.”

Spranger forced himself to calm down. This had become too personal, he decided. McGarvey was not the dark man, he was nothing more than an ex-CIA field officer. A good one, an assassin, but just another man for all of it. An impediment to the main plan, nothing more. And he would be eliminated tonight, one way or another.

Looking through the starlight scope he felt just a moment's unease, recalling his conversation with Yegenni Radvonska in Rome.
“I'd go one-on-one with him,”
Spranger had told the KGB
rezident. “You would lose,”
the man said.

At first he could make out little or nothing in the drizzle and mist.

“To the left,” Lessing prompted at his shoulder.

Then he had it. The
DhodhÃ³ni
was definitely heading away from them, back toward the north point of the island.

Spranger slowly swept the powerful night-vision scope across the open water to the approximate position where the
Thaxos
had gone down in two hundred feet of water. The scope was Russian-made, but the light-intensifying electronic circuitry had come from M.I.T.

There was nothing to be seen in the darkness. But the scope was just a machine and could not perform miracles. McGarvey could be out there in the water, perhaps in a rubber raft, heading this way.

He swept the scope back toward the departing
DhodhÃ³ni,
which had altered course to clear the headland. Somebody had to be piloting it.

McGarvey was returning to Thira.

Spranger straightened up. “He's returning to port,” he said.

“Let's go to the chopper now, General,” DÃ¼renmatt said.

“Are you frightened of this man? All of you, against one man?”

“After what the Russians told us, and what he did in Tokyo, and now â¦” DÃ¼renmatt let it trail off.

“He's going for help, Herr General,” Lessing said.

Everyone was looking at Spranger. He shook his head. “He won't ask for help. He'll show up in Thira, and then come here by land.”

“Call the port. Warn Theotokis.”

“I think not.” Spranger smiled and shook his head. “The Greek owns this island. He's told us often enough. Let's leave it to him. If he kills McGarvey for us, well and good. If not, we'll do the job ourselves when he shows up here.”

DÃ¼renmatt started to protest, but Spranger held him off.

“He will come here, Peter. Tonight. And we will kill him. I don't want a big fuss made in town.”

Again DÃ¼renmatt looked out to sea. “The sooner we are off this island and safely in Athens where we can disperse, the better I will feel.”

“We'll all feel better when we've taken care of this irritation,” Spranger said, and he ignored the odd look the other man gave him. “I want one man down here, and the rest up top.” He too glanced out to the dark sea. “He's received a two- or three-hour stay of execution, and given us a rest, nothing more.”

The only light in the small cell came from the open door to the corridor. Liese Egk, wearing a dark, one-piece nylon jumpsuit, the front zipper pulled low, leaned against the doorframe, an indolent expression on her face. She'd been standing there, unmoving, unspeaking, for the past ten minutes, and Kathleen, huddled on her bunk, had become agitated. Elizabeth, however, standing by the small window, understood that the woman wanted to provoke them. It was a game.

“What do you want?” Kathleen asked in a shaky voice, finally breaking the silence.

Liese grinned, her teeth perfectly even, dazzlingly white. “Your daughter. She and I are lovers, didn't you know?”

Kathleen's hands went to her mouth. She was shivering.

“The drugs have cleared out of my system,” Elizabeth said, matching the German woman's grin. It was bravado, but the gesture made her feel a little better.

Liese's smile broadened. “I'm glad to hear it, little girl. I like a partner with, what do you call it? With spunk.”

“You'll need to kill me first.”

“Elizabeth!” her mother cried.

“Not you,” Liese said. She took a nine-inch stiletto from under her jumpsuit at the nape of her neck. “But if I killed your mother â¦ If I threatened to carve my name on her chest then you might cooperate. Maybe?”

“My God,” Kathleen screeched. “Are you a monster? Are you crazy?”

Liese eyed her calmly. “Yes. I think I probably am both, and more. So, you see, I wouldn't hesitate to carry out my threat.”

Elizabeth stepped away from the window, placing herself between her mother and Liese. “You'll have to go through me first.”

“Little girl, you can't imagine how easy that would be for me.”

Spranger entered the great hall section of the father superior's residence and was headed for the stairs to the dormitory area where the women were being held when he heard his name being called. The sound came from a distance, distorted.

He stopped in mid-stride and turned around, cocking his head to listen.

“Spranger, I'm coming for you.”

His walkie-talkie lay on the table, its processing light winking red.

“Spranger, do you copy? I'm coming for you.”

It was McGarvey. Spranger cautiously approached the table. He'd never heard the man's voice, he'd never met the
American, but he knew it was McGarvey. He started to reach out, but his hand stopped almost of its own volition.

“Do you hear me, you son of a bitch? I'm on my way.”

Spranger picked up the walkie-talkie and keyed the talk switch. “I'm waiting,” he said softly, and he hit the transmit button.

ANY LINGERING DOUBTS MCGARVEY MAY HAVE ENTERTAINED about Kathleen and Elizabeth being on the island left him with Spranger's two words. He resisted the urge to get back on the walkie-talkie and warn the man what would happen if any harm came to them. The German knew of him; undoubtedly he still had connections with the KGB, which maintained an extensive file.

Impatiently he advanced the throttle all the way forward to its stop, and the fishing boat surged ahead, her bows crashing into the rising seas as they rounded the north point.

He'd been stupid to radio them. By now the Germans would have to know that he was on his way back to Thira. They had undoubtedly been watching from the monastery. They would warn Theotokis, who would be preparing a reception committee on the docks.

For a few moments he toyed with Lipton's suggestion that he stand off and call for help. Spranger and his people could be isolated on the north end of the island. They would not be able to escape.

But Spranger was capable of revenge. He would not allow himself to be captured, and before he was cut down he would make certain that Kathleen and Elizabeth died.

McGarvey's jaw tightened. It would do no good to send Lipton's assault force onto the island. Spranger had set this trap to lure McGarvey out of Japan and kill him. This would be a one-on-one fight. Which suited McGarvey just fine.

Ten minutes later, the seas calmed as he came into the temporary lee of a small uninhabited volcanic island to the
west, and McGarvey lashed the wheel amidships so that the boat would maintain its course unattended for a minute or so.

Retrieving his leather overnight bag from a corner of the wheelhouse, he took out a spare clip of ammunition and reloaded his Walther.

Next he took the walkie-talkie out onto the narrow starboard walkway and without hesitation tossed it overboard. There would be no farther communication between him and the STASI leader, nor would the Agency be able to track him any longer.

He was on his own, and it was better like this. “Excess baggage is the bane of the field officer.” It was axiomatic.

Back inside, he caught a glimpse of Thira's lights to the southeast. He unlashed the wheel, made sure the throttle was all the way forward, and steered directly for the port, every muscle in his body, every fiber of his being girding for the upcoming fight.

Big swells were running into the harbor, making all the fishing boats on moorings and at the docks work hard against their restraining lines. Even the sleek 180-foot Athens morning ferry tied up along the main quay moved nervously, the car tires dangling from her port side protecting her hull from damage against the concrete dock.

It was very late. No traffic, vehicular or pedestrian, moved along the quay, or along the main street that led up into the town proper. The rain had intensified, and as McGarvey closed with the quay a hundred yards to the north of the big ferry boat, he could see the drops bouncing off the cobblestones and the red tile roofs.

Unaccountably the rain made him sad, and even frightened; not for himself, for his own personal safety, but for Kathleen and Elizabeth and what this experience would do to them.

Their lives would forever be altered. He was less concerned about Elizabeth's mental well-being. If anyone could bounce back it would be she. She was very strong, her will almost as fierce as his own. But Kathleen wasn't so strong.
She had been incapable of staying married to him because of the tension his absences caused her. Now she was in the middle of an operation, her life and the life of her daughter in jeopardy. She wouldn't fare so well, no matter the outcome, and he was frankly worried about her.

The rising wind was out of the east, shoving the boats against the docks. Twenty yards out, McGarvey cut the , engine, revved it in reverse to slow his rate of approach, then shut the engine off, allowing the
DhodhÃ³ni
to drift the rest of the way. He didn't bother with dock lines, or with the rubber tires stacked on deck, ready for fending off.

On deck he braced himself as the boat slammed into the quay with a sickening crunch. She bounced away; and immediately the wind and swells smashed her into the concrete dock again. Within an hour she would probably batter herself to death. But it didn't matter; Karamanlis was dead, and McGarvey wouldn't be coming back this way.

Timing his move with the motion of the boat, he leaped up onto the dock and darted directly across the quay into the shadows along the line of warehouses. Nothing moved. There were no shots. Only the wind moaning in the rigging of the boats, the protesting squeal of rubber tires being crushed against the docks, and the
DhodhÃ³ni
beating herself against the unyielding concrete, disturbed the night.

Keeping to the shadows but moving fast, McGarvey made his way the block and a half to the taverna where Karamanlis had taken him to see Uncle Constantine. It was the only establishment open on the docks so far as McGarvey was able to tell. No lights showed from any of the windows here, and only a hazy yellow glow spread from the open taverna door.

McGarvey turned and hurried around the block behind the taverna where he found an unlocked gate into a long, narrow courtyard beside what appeared to be an apartment building. The courtyard was muddy and filled with trash. He picked his way down its length, where he had to force another tall gate that opened into a passageway exposed to the sky. A trough had been set into the cobblestones, no doubt for use as an
open sewer in ancient times, and, by the smells, still being used for the same purpose today.

Stepping across the trough, he tried the back door into the taverna. It opened silently on well-oiled hinges, as he'd hoped it would. During his interview with Theotokis, McGarvey had watched the comings and goings of the Mafia boss's people. More than half of them had used the back door. It was a regular route for them, apparently, when they wanted to come or go unnoticed by an observer on the docks.

He found himself in a tiny kitchen area, a pantry to his left and a stone urinal trough in a tiny room to the right. A dim light came from behind the copper bar through a swinging door.

McGarvey watched for a moment. Constantine Theotokis was seated alone at a back table. He was reading a newspaper, a bottle of red wine and a single glass in front of him. Obviously he was waiting for someone. Probably Karamanlis and Papagos to return and tell him what had happened.

A thick-necked man with an enormous belly leaned against the bar, apparently reading over Theotokis's shoulder. A double-barrel sawed-off shotgun, its pistol grip stock well used and shining dully in the light, lay on the bar at the man's back. These two were waiting for trouble.

McGarvey took out his Walther, switched the safety catch to the off position, cocked the hammer and stepped through the swinging doors.

The big man spun around and started to grab for the shotgun, but McGarvey was across to him in two steps, the Walther pointed directly at the man's face.

“Stand down,” McGarvey said softly.

Theotokis was looking over his shoulder at them, his body absolutely still.

“If need be I'll kill you both. Believe me, I don't care one way or the other.”

“Do as he says, Georgios,” Theotokis instructed his bodyguard. “I believe Mr. McGarvey is a man who will listen to reason.”

BOOK: Critical Mass

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