The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (23 page)

They were startled when the old man re-appeared. “The world is full of clowns, my friends. The Turks will soon discover that you’ve crossed the line and will be looking for your route. I have given them one.”

“You’ve done what?” said Maria.

“Do not worry. They will not find us.
Ella, ella
, we have a long walk before we are, like you say, out of the wood.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A dull, watery sun accompanied by black storm clouds filled the morning sky. Sergeant Celik drove the jeep through the narrow lanes finally stopping alongside the parked trucks.

He jumped out.
“A shambles, Captain. These morons couldn’t catch a rabbit in a box.”

“Call them back and regroup,” said Captain
Yilmaz.

‘Yes, Sir.”
Celik surveyed the slope and the position held by the escapees. “Corporal, anyone wounded?”

“Two, Sergeant. They’re resting in the rear of truck two. The medic has no idea how to remove a crossbow bolt.”

“A what?”

“A metal bolt from a crossbow.”

“Captain, let me take charge. They’ll be dead or captured in less than an hour.”

Yilmaz
stared at him. “You have a plan?”

Celik
shook his head. “Haven’t you figured it out? They have four rifles with limited ammunition. So far they have not hit any of our men except the two injured by a crossbow. I don’t believe they want to. I recommend a frontal assault.” 

“That’s madness,” said
Yilmaz.

Celik
grabbed his arm and whispered, “The colonel wants them dead. So do I. A constant volley will keep their heads low. We attack. No problem.”

Yilmaz
traded glances with Celik. “And your plan is?”

Celik
removed his Makarov from its holster. “Obliterate them. Corporal, divide your men into three groups.”

Several minutes elapsed before the corporal returned. “In three squads as ordered, Sergeant.”

“Wonderful,” said Celik. “Now order one.” He pointed to the higher ground on the left. “And another to the right. This is known as a flanking movement, Corporal. Are your radios working?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Order your flanks to fire five rounds at three minute intervals. I will lead the centre group.”

The firing commenced, each group aiming at the escapees’ last known position.
Celik, in his jeep, urged the centre to stop, fire and move on. Halfway up the slope he used the radio. “Stop firing.” He watched and waited. No return fire. 

He surveyed the hilltop position and taking a deep breath drove up the rock-strewn slope, skidding to a halt. He killed the lights, stopped the engine and stepped out onto the muddy earth. For a moment he remained still, watching.

Soldiers quickly arrived, mooched and gawked at the damaged wagon. Others continued to search for those they understood to be escaped prisoners.

“Corporal,” shouted Sergeant
Celik, “take your men back to the troop carriers and return to base. They’ve crossed the border. Our authority ends here.”

The young corporal mustered his men and like the untrained rabble they were, ambled towards their wagons.

“Not like you to quit,” said Captain Yilmaz.

“Who said I’m quitting?” said
Celik. “Those morons,” he pointed to the retreating troops, “missed what’s right in front of them.”

“And what might that be, Sergeant? Am I acting thick?”

Celik grabbed him by the arm. “Captain, they went across the minefield and marked the way.”

Captain
Yilmaz shook his head. “You’re mad.”

Celik
, with a glint in his eyes, walked towards the broken fence, slipping on the greasy surface of crushed vegetation. “Captain, the markers go straight to the other side. The colonel promised us a tidy sum if we recovered the icons. Think about it, enough to retire and live in luxury.”

“Sergeant, we have two choices, go back to the barracks or follow these thieves.”

The sky darkened and a heavy downpour began, drenching the two men.

Captain
Yilmaz shook his head. “I’d like the money but I can’t see us catching them.”

“Your loss, Captain.”
He jumped into the jeep and started the engine. “Are you coming?”

“You go on and
be the colonel’s favourite. If a United Nations’ patrol finds you, what are you going to tell them?”

Celik
did not answer. He lined up the centre of the jeep’s bonnet and edged towards the first markers that indicated the safe path. He pressed the accelerator a fraction. The rear wheels spun on the water-logged ground. The jeep hurtled ahead and stopped. He engaged the four-wheel-drive and it pulled away, slewing across the ground.

The captain, tired, bored and disinterested, lounged against a tree and sheltered from the rain.

One, two, three explosions thundered. Massive flames erupted from the earth, orange and black smoke curling upwards. The jeep, its fuel tank shattered, emptied its contents, lifted, burst into flames and flung Sergeant Celik into the air. He fell, bloody, blinded, disorientated and dragged himself in the wrong direction, further into the minefield.

“
Celik!” Captain Yilmaz ran, his mouth open in disbelief, shouting, “Towards me. Towards me.” Bile filled his throat. He wanted to vomit.

One more mine blasted a disfigured carcass into the air. The corpse jerked like a puppet with tangled strings, its arms and legs moving in ridiculous directions.

Captain Yilmaz, deafened by the blast, stood as a petrified tree, paralysed and in shock. He attempted to straighten his legs. Blood streamed from his right eye, nightmarish images dancing in his mind from the heat of the metal splinter that stuck from his eye like an arrow in the bull’s-eye of a target. He staggered, confused, his mind in a place where he could do as he wished. Demented with pain, he swayed before collapsing, his blood pooling in the tracks left by the jeep. For a few seconds his carcass jerked until life deserted him.

Chapter Thirty

An explosion attracted the team’s attention.

“Did you hear that?” said Petros, looking at the old man, who had introduced himself as
Antonis Zane.

“I told you the world is full of idiots,” said the old man, whose eyes showed a glimmer of remorse. “Come,” he said, “we are wasting time and it’s getting late.”

Back in the water they moved steadily through the pine forest. Above them stretched a million more trees. The light, filtered by an intricate web of branches, gave little help. They slogged onwards; rock walls rose on either side of the stream, while vegetation formed a canopy over their heads. The watercourse narrowed and water cascaded from a crack high in the sandstone cliff.

Antonis
turned onto a narrow ridge. “Sit. Rest. From now on it gets difficult.”

Maria, breathing heavily, made a face as she sat. Her arms, legs and shoulders ached.
“How much?”

“Steeper, but not much further.
Two miles.”

“Is it dangerous?” said Petros as he rubbed his calf muscles.

Antonis nodded. “More rock than vegetation and the path is limited. This whole district has over the centuries suffered from earthquakes. The small valleys are faults cut smooth and eroded by the heavy rains, eliminating trails. This year many streams are flowing for the first time in a hundred years.”

A shaft of light covered them but gave no warmth. “Come,” said
Antonis, “we are wasting time.”

In stages, using muscles rarely tested, they clambered up through the trees, helping each other to climb a few metres, stopping then starting again. Their fingers bled from the
countless cuts. The ground became steeper until they found themselves on a wide ledge.

Petros gazed in both directions. His head spun. The cliff face fell away, dropping vertically to the pine forest. He shut his eyes and counted to ten.

A calloused hand rested on his shoulder and Bear whispered, “I’m going to pull you from the edge.”

“Thanks.” Petros leant against the rough rock. “Need to take a breather. Have a problem with heights.” He breathed deep and slow and with dogged purpose forced himself to be calm.

Maria grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Don’t look.”

Antonis
shouted: “
Ella, ella
!”

The pace quickened on the level surface. Below, vegetation and trees covered everything. They rounded a bend and found a fall of rocks blocked their path. The route ahead did not appear to exist and the old man had vanished.

The trail here was uncertain but Petros trudged forward until he came to the end. The sight of a vertical slit that sliced into the rock face made him chuckle. He stopped, removed the icons from his back and peered into the crack. Ahead, a faint glimmer of light.

“Everyone stay here and rest. Bear,
Takis, you might find this a squeeze.”

The rough sides of the opening brushed his shoulders as he entered. After a few metres the crevice widened. He gasped at the cavern which opened before him.

Antonis busied himself lighting a fire of dry carob twigs and added thicker pieces as it flared. The smoke spiralled upwards through a natural chimney. The high roof of the chamber remained out of sight. The light from the solitary oil lamp sent eerie shadows flickering across the cavern’s surface, and a spring ran from the wall into a sink full of crystal-clear water that overflowed into a cut in the floor. The smell of burnt wood clung to the rocks. Petros saw a double bed fitted snugly into a recess, and rusty paraffin lamps hanging from steel rods in the walls. The longer he stood there the more he realised this was where Antonis lived.

The old man beckoned to him. “
Ella, ella
.”

“I’ll get the others,” said Petros and he retraced his steps. “You’re not going to believe this,” he told them. “It’s
Antonis’s home.”

“At the moment, PK, I don’t think we give a shit,” said Bear. “We’re wet, cold and knackered. Anywhere dry and out of the wind will make us happy.”

Takis hesitated at the narrow entrance. “Jesus Christ, PK, I’ll need to breathe in to get through there. We’ll need to pass the icons one by one.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Petros. “It opens out after a few metres. Maria, you go first. I’ll bring up the rear.”

In less than ten minutes, they had warmed themselves by a roaring log fire.

Antonis
sat in a roughly-hewn wooden chair, contentedly smoking his pipe.

“From the furnishings, this looks like your home,” said
Takis.

Antonis
blew a plume of smoke. “My home since we had a misunderstanding with the British Cypriot freedom fighters, and sometimes their whole families hid here for months on end. In fact, General Grivas used it as his headquarters.”

“Did you fight the British?” asked Petros.

“Yes, I did, in my own way. Look, the British obtained Cyprus by cancelling their agreement with Turkey who sided with Germany in the First World War. In 1925, the island officially became a Crown Colony. Many believed this was the first step to being united with our motherland Greece. We were wrong and that premise cost people their lives. Now we are an independent nation and part of the European Community.

“I remember the conflict well but I never hurt anyone. My son was killed by the army while planting a fake bomb.”

“What do you mean by fake?” asked Takis.

Petros studied
Antonis’s face but it remained passive. “Please listen. My family, like many others, manufactured bombs to maim and kill the British troops, but our hearts were not in it. So we made ones that produced smoke and flame but always failed to explode. I was just doing my job.”

He continued. “For the length of the conflict the soldiers never found this place and I didn’t tell anyone. Let’s be fair, the average soldier had no argument with us,
nor we with them. The majority of them were national service men. I’m sure most of them counted the days before they went home, hopefully in one piece. On the odd occasion when a patrol got a bit close, I put a dozen dead snakes near the entrance. This did the trick and they ran. Unfortunately, during that time renegade elements on both sides enjoyed the bombing and killing. Thank God for all of us, only a few. This,” he said, waving his hand in the air, “is cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Every now and then I move into my little house on the other side of the mountain. I own the land as far as you can see in every direction. The villagers think I’m crazy and I do nothing to dispel that myth. You can appreciate from the carvings on the walls that man has occupied this cave and its recesses for centuries.”

Takis
stretched his arms in the air and yawned.

Antonis
grinned; the light of his past shone from his eyes. “I have blankets and the girl can use my bed. Washing will be in cold water. Won’t do you any harm.” He indicated a wood-fired stone oven. “My stove is heating and I’ll wake you when the meal is ready.”

Bear licked his lips.
“Food! What are you cooking?”

Takis
interpreted. “A traditional dish,
kleftico
. Goat cooked with potatoes and herbs in its own juices.”

“How long before
it’s ready, Takis?”

“Five hours give or take half an hour.”

“Don’t forget to call me. My stomach’s shrunk two inches.”

Antonis
looked at Maria and pointed to the bed. “Go and sleep, girl, before you drop. Undress under the covers and I’ll dry your clothing by the fire.”

*  *  *

Not surprisingly, everyone became aware of their exhaustion. Maria collapsed onto the bed, slid beneath the rough wool blanket and removed her clothes, and holding the coarse cloth to her breast she hastily dumped them on the floor. Antonis wandered over, picked them up and smiled.

“If my bra and panties turn you on, you need to go into
Limassol on a Saturday night.”

He chuckled. “Girl, I may be old but I’ve no need to give good money to those women. Many who wear black are grateful for my company on a winter’s night. Now rest.”

She smiled, wrapped the blanket around her and let sleep overtake her.

The men, relieved to be alive, settled and rested. Petros grinned as Bear snored. He sat back with a sigh, his whole body aching more than he could ever remember, then closed his eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.

Antonis sat in his chair and puffed his pipe while those around him slept. He thought of the old days when friends and colleagues filled his home. Young men and girls had given their lives – for what? A divided island whose people were scattered throughout the world. At peace, he dozed as the meal simmered.

*  *  *

The clanging of metal against metal woke Petros and his team. The aroma of cooked meat filled the cavern, tormenting their taste buds.

“
Ella
, eat.”

A solid pine table stretched from one end of a recess to the other. On it six metal plates, full of steaming food waited. Everybody hurried to the table, sat on the log benches and ate heartily, the goat meat so tender it fell off the bones. Two bottles of rough red wine filled pewter tankards.

“
Yah mas
,” roared Takis.

“
Yah mas
,” shouted everyone in unison.

Petros glanced at his watch.
“Time for us to finish our journey.”

Kyriacos
interrupted. “What do we owe you, Antonis, for saving our lives?”

“Nothing, but can I set my old eyes on the icons? God sent me to find lost goats and I found lost sheep.”

Maria grabbed Petros’s hand. “Show him the icons. He believes in our God.”

Petros beckoned to
Takis. Together they removed the crude wrappings and in the half-light placed them in a row alongside each other.

Antonis
wandered over to the first icon, gave the sign of the cross and dropped to his knees. In what became an endless ceremony he repeated the same devotion forty times.

“Thank you,” he said. “They are worth much money. Wrap them well and may God go with you.”

Petros and Bear replaced the coverings.

“Time to leave,” said Petros.

Maria hugged and kissed Antonis.

“This way, and stay close.” The old man pointed. “These mountains are a maze of passages. In the rainy season, most
fill with fast-flowing water which disappears into crevasses and vast underground caverns.”

They followed him through a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns of varying dimensions. Ice-cold water dripped from the high ceilings, soaking them. With a long slog through a narrow tunnel they came to a heavy canvas curtain.
Antonis pulled it aside to open a wooden door built into the rock wall. They entered the kitchen of a small croft-like dwelling. It consisted of one large room with tiny windows.

“My winter home; it’s easier to keep warm when the snows come.” He strode to the main door and opened it. Petros followed him onto a wide terrace carved out of the hillside. Low, hand-built natural stone walls bordered the perimeter. “Over there,” he pointed, “in the distance you can see the lights of
Kykkos monastery. It’s the largest in Cyprus. They chose its position perfectly for isolation and meditation. Unfortunately, these days tourists by the coach load arrive every hour or so. By the way, they have a museum full of religious artefacts collected by the monks. They will relieve you of your burdens and organise transport.”

Maria, followed by Bear,
Takis and Kyriacos, walked out of the cottage, stood side by side and stared at the twinkling lights in the distance. Not a breath of wind disturbed the leaves. A dark blue sky lit by the gibbous moon created a peaceful ambiance. For the briefest of moments, everything in the world gave the impression of being wonderful.

The men shook
Antonis’s hand and thanked him once again.

Petros turned and beckoned. “Come on, let’s finish the job.”

In a line, they followed the narrow track. When Petros glanced back, Antonis was gone and the small croft-like building blended into the hillside.

Chapter Thirty-One

Petros led his weary team towards the monastery. The pine trees came to an end and they walked through well-tended vineyards.