“Yes, that’s true,” admitted Lewis. “But at the moment I see no reason to take such steps. The Greek government has assured me they’re offering, their complete cooperation in finding the pilot and plane.”
“But if you thought you had reason,” pressed Pitt. “Wouldn’t you also order Commander Gunn to remove the First Attempt from the Thasos area?”
Lewis’ eyes narrowed. “As a safety precaution, of course. That white ship makes one hell of an inviting target for an aerial sniper.”
Pitt flicked his Zippo and lit a cigarette. “Believe It or not, sir, that’s your answer.”
Giordino and Lewis looked at each other and then at Pitt, puzzled.
Pitt continued. “As you know, Colonel, Admiral Sandecker ordered Giordino and myself to Thasos to investigate the strange mishaps that have occurred during the NUMA’s offshore operations. This morning, while conversing with Commander Gunn, I discovered evidence of a sabotage which leads me to believe that there’s a definite connection between the raid and the accidents aboard the First Attempt. Now, if we take this assumption one step further, we begin to see that Brady Field was not the main objective of our reincarnated adversary. The raid was only an indirect means of removing Commander Gunn and the First Attempt from Thasos.”
Lewis looked at Pitt thoughtfully. “I suppose the next question is why?”
“I don’t have an answer yet,” said Pitt. “But I’m certain our mysterious friend and his flair for dramatics has a high powered reason behind his game. He wouldn’t go to such devious lengths for penny ante stakes. He’s most likely hiding something of great value and the NUMA researchers on the ship are in a position to stumble onto it.”
“That something you speak of could be sunken treasure,” Lewis’ lips gleamed wetly.
Pitt pulled an overseas cap out of his suitcase and set it jauntily on his head. “That’s one obvious conclusion.”
A faraway look came Into Lewis’ eyes and he said softly, “I wonder what it could be and how much it’s worth?”
Pitt turned and faced Giordino. “Al, contact Admiral Sandecker and ask him to research all possible lost or sunken treasure troves in the Aegean Sea within spitting distance of Thasos and send us the data as soon as possible. Tell him it’s urgent.”
“Consider it done,” Giordino said. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning in Washington so we should have an answer by breakfast.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Lewis boomed.
“The sooner I get answers, the sooner I can get the Pentagon off my back. Is there any way I can help?”
Pitt glanced at his watch again. “As the Boy Scouts say—Be Prepared. That’s all we can do for the present. You can bet Brady Field and the First Attempt are being closely observed. When it comes apparent no one is being evacuated and the oceanography ship still floats out there on the Aegean, we can expect another visit from the yellow Albatros. You’ve had your fun, Colonel It’s my guess Commander Gunn’s turn is next.”
“Please tell the Commander,” said Lewis, “I’ll give him whatever assistance I have at my disposal.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Pitt. “But I don’t think It would be wise to warn Commander Gunn just yet.”
“For God’s sake, why not?” gasped Giordino.
Pitt grinned coldly. “So far, all of this is pure conjecture. Besides, any preparation on board the First Attempt would be a dead giveaway of our intentions. No, we’ve got to bait our unknown World War I ghost and bring him out into the open.”
Giordino looked at Pitt evenly. “You can’t risk the lives of the scientists and ship’s crew without giving them a chance to defend themselves.” “Gunn is in no immediate danger. Our ghost pilot will undoubtedly wait at least one more day to see if the First Attempt departs before he attacks again.” Pitt smiled until the mirth lines etched into the sides of his eyes. “In the meantime, I’ll put my creative talents to work on a plan for a trap.”
Lewis got to his feet and faced Pitt. ‘For the sake of those men on the ship, I hope you come up with a good one.”
“No plan is considered foolproof, Colonel,” replied Pitt, “until after it’s been applied.” Giordino walked toward the door. “I’ll run over to Base Operations and send that message to the Admiral.”
“When you’ve finished,” said Lewis, “drop by my quarters for supper.” Twisting his moustache, he turned to Pitt. “You’re invited too. I'll give you men a real treat and whip up my renowned specialty: scallops with mushrooms in white wine sauce.”
“It sounds very appetizing,” said Pitt. “But I’m afraid I must decline. I have a previous dinner engagement. . . with a very attractive lady.”
Giordino and Lewis could only gawk at him in dazed amazement. Pitt tried to look nonchalant. “She’s sending a car to pick me up at the main gate at six. I have just two minutes and thirty seconds to get there, so I’d best be leaving. Good evening, Colonel, and thank you for your invitation. I hope you’ll give me a rain check." He faced Giordino. “Al, let me know the minute the Admiral’s reply comes in.” Pitt turned and opened the door and left the room.
Lewis slowly shook his head. “Is he bull-shitting or does he really have a date with a girl?”
“I’ve never known Dirk to bull-shit about women, sir,” said Giordino. He was beginning to enjoy Lewis’ state of shock.
“But where did he meet her? To my knowledge he hasn’t been anywhere except the field and the ship.
Giordino shrugged. “Beats me. But knowing Pitt as I do, It wouldn’t surprise me if he picked up a girl on the hundred yards between the main gate and the First Attempt’s loading dock.”
Lewis’ booming laugh cracked across the room. “Well come along, Captain. I’m not a sexy girl but at least I can cook. How about some of my scallops?”
“Why not?” said Giordino. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all afternoon.”
5
The furnace-like atmosphere cooled slightly as the fading sun fell to the west beyond the Thasos mountains. Long crooked shadows from the mountains’ tree-lined summits had moved down the slopes and were touching the seaward edge of Brady Field when Pitt passed through the main gate. He stopped on the outer road and inhaled the pure Mediterranean air, enjoying the inner sensation of having his lungs tingle. The habitual call for a cigarette tugged at his mind, but he pushed the urge aside and took another deep breath, looking out to sea. Beyond the rolling surf, the setting sun painted the First Attempt a colorful golden orange. The visibility was crystal clear, and at a distance of two miles his eyes could pick out an amazing amount of detail on board the ship. He stood quiet and still for almost a full two minutes, lost in the beauty of the scene. Then he glanced about, looking for the car that Teri promised to send for him. It was there, sitting off to one side of the road like a palatial and sumptuous yacht resting at anchor.
“Well I'll be damned,” Pitt muttered, spotting the car. He moved closer and his face betrayed an admiration for fine automobiles. It was a Maybach-Zepplin town car, complete with a sliding glass partition separating the enclosed passenger compartment from the driver, who sat in the open exposed to the sun. Behind the large double-M ornament on the radiator, the hood stretched back six feet and ended at a low split windshield. giving the car an image of great brutish power. The long flowing fenders and running boards gleamed black but the coachwork was painted a deep multi-coated silver. It was a classic among classics: superb Teutonic craftsmanship evident in every fitting, every nut and every bolt. If the 1936 Rolls-Royce Phantom III typified the British ideal of silence and distinguished mechanical efficiency, then its German counterpart was found in the 1936 Maybach Zepplin.
Pitt stepped up beside the car and ran his right hand over a gargantuan spare tire that sat solidly mounted in the front fender well. He grinned a grin of satisfaction and relief as he noted the tire’s tread was deeply grooved in a diamond-shaped pattern. He patted the big donut-like tire a couple of times and then turned and looked
into the front seat.
The driver sat slouched behind the wheel, idly drumming his fingers on the door frame. He not only looked bored, but he yawned to prove it He was dressed in a gray-green tunic that strangely resembled the uniform of a World War II Nazi officer. but the sleeves and shoulders bore no insignia. A high brimmed cap covered his head, and the blond color of his hair was betrayed by the brief hint of his sideburns. Old fashioned silver-rimmed spectacles covered his eyes and glinted in the setting sun. A long thin cigarette dangled conceitedly from one corner of a curled lip. giving the driver an aura of smugness and arrogance; an image he made little effort to conceal.
Pitt Instantly disliked the driver. Putting a foot on the running board, he stared penetratingly at the uniformed figure behind the steering wheel. “I think you're waiting for me. My name is Pitt.”
The yellow haired driver did not bother to return Pitt’s stare. He merely flipped his cigarette over Pitt’s shoulder onto the road, sat up straight and turned the ignition switch. “if you are the American garbage receiver,” he said in a heavy German accent, “you may get in.”
Pitt grinned and his eyes hardened. “Up front with the foul smelling rabble or in back with the gentry?
“Wherever you choose,” the driver said. His face turned crimson but he still did not turn or look up.
“Thank you,” said Pitt smoothly. “I’ll take the back.” He pushed down on a huge chrome handle, swung the vault-like door open and climbed into the town car. An old roll style curtain perched over the partition window and Pitt pulled it down, closing off all sight of the driver In front. Then be settled back comfortably into the soft and luxurious morocco leather upholstery, lit a cigarette and prepared to enjoy the early evening ride across Thasos.
The Maybach’s engine quietly came to life and the driver shifted through the whisper silent gears, moving the Immense car over the road in the direction of Liminas.
Pitt rolled down a door window and studied the fir and chestnut trees dotting the mountain slopes, and the age-old olive trees lining the narrow beaches. Every so often, small fields of tobacco and wheat broke the uneven landscape and reminded him of the small farms he had often seen when flying over the southern United States.
Soon the car cruised through the picturesque village of Panaghia, splashing an occasional puddle that marred the elderly cobbled streets. Most of the houses Were painted white to reflect the summer heat. The roofs rose into the fading sky and nearly touched as their eaves leaned toward each other over the narrow Streets. In a few minutes Panaghia was left behind the Liminas soon came into view. Then the car abruptly turned, skirting the main section of the little city, and pointed its dinosaurian hood up a dusty cliff road. The incline was gradual at first, but quickly wormed into a series of steep hairpin curves.
Pitt could sense the driver struggling at the wheel of the Maybach; the lumbering town car was designed more for casual rides on the Unter den Linden than spring-breaking tours up mule trails. He looked over sheer precipices at the sea and wondered what would happen if another car came from the opposite direction.
Then he could see it ahead; a huge white square against the darkening gray cliffs. At last the curves ceased and the big diamond treaded tires slid smoothly onto the hard surface of a drive.
Pitt was adequately impressed. In size, the villa nearly matched the splendor of a Roman Forum. The grounds were well kept and there was an atmosphere of wealth and good taste. The entire estate nestled in a valley between two high mountain peaks and overlooked a sweeping panorama of the Aegean Sea. The main gate of a high wall opened mysteriously, apparently pulled by someone unseen, and the
chauffeur drove up a neat fir-lined drive without ceremony and braked at a flight of marble steps. In the center of the stairway a large archaic statue of a woman carrying a child stared down mutely, greeting Pitt as he stepped from the Maybach.
He started to climb the steps when he stopped suddenly and returned to the car.
“I’m sorry driver,” said Pitt. “But I didn’t catch your name.”
The driver looked up, puzzled. “My name is Willie. Why do you ask?”
“Willie. my friend,” Pitt said seriously, “I must tell you something. Will you step out of the car for a moment?”
Willie’s brows wrinkled but he shrugged and stepped from the car, facing Pitt. “Now Herr Pitt, what do you wish to tell me?”
“I see you wear jackboots, Willie.”
“Ja, I wear jackboots”
Pitt flashed his best used car salesman’s smile “And jackboots have hobnails, don’t they?”
“Ja, jackboots have hobnails.” said Willie irritably. “Why do you waste my time with such nonsense? I have duties to perform. What is it you wish to say?”
Pitt’s eyes grew hard. “My friend, I felt that if you want to earn your peeping-Tom merit badge, it’s my duty to warn you that silver-rimmed spectacles reflect the sun’s rays and can easily give your hiding place away.”
Willie’s face went blank, and he started to say something, but Pitt’s fist slammed into his mouth, cutting off the words. The impact jerked Willie’s head up and back, throwing his cap in the air. His eyes turned dull and empty, and he slowly swayed like a falling leaf to his knees. He knelt there looking dazed and lost. A stream of bloody mucus dropped from his broken nose and splattered over the lapels of his uniform, creating, what Pitt thought, a rather artistic effect against the gray-green material. Then Willie pitched forward onto the marble steps and folded into an inert heap.
Pitt rubbed the knuckles of his bruised hand, grinning in cold satisfaction. Then he turned and jogged up the steps, taking three at a time. At the top he passed through a stone archway and found himself In a circular courtyard with a glass-like pool in its center. The entire courtyard was encircled by twenty or more majestic life-sized statues of helmeted Roman soldiers. Their sightless stone eyes somberly stared at their white reflections in the pool as if searching for long forgotten memories of victorious battles and wars of glory. The deepening shadows of evening covered each figure with a ghostly cloak, giving Pitt the weird sensation that at any second the stone warriors would come alive and lay siege to the villa.
He hurried around the pool and stopped at a massive double door at the far end of the courtyard. A large bronze knocker in the shape of a lion’s head hung grotesquely on the door. Pitt raised the grip, banging it down hard. He turned and glanced at the courtyard again. The entire setting reminded him of a mausoleum. All it lacked, he thought, were a few scattered wreaths and some organ music.
The door swung open silently. Pitt peered across the threshold. Seeing no one, he hesitated a moment. The moment turned into a minute and the minute into two. Finally, tiring of hide-and-seek, he braced his shoulders, clenched his fists and stepped through the portal into an ornately decorated anteroom.
Tapestries depicting ancient battle scenes hung from every wall, their needlework armies marching in unison toward battle. A high dome capped the room, and from its arched apex, came a soft yellowish light. Pitt glanced around and saw that he was alone so he sat down in one of two carved marble benches that adorned the middle of the room, and he lit a cigarette. Time passed, and soon he began a futile search for an ashtray.
Then silently, with no warning, a tapestry swung aside, and an old, heavy-set man entered the room, accompanied by an immense white dog.
6
Pitt, mildly stunned, looked warily at the gigantic German shepherd and then into the face of the dog’s elderly master. The evil unsmiling features, so familiar on the late, late movies on television, sat entrenched on a typical round German face, complete with the shaven head, shifty eyes and no neck. Thin lips pressed tightly together as though their owner suffered from constipation. The body fit the villainous image too; heavy set in a rotund frame of solid tissue with no flab. All that was missing was a riding quirt and the polished boots. For an instant Pitt thought, “the man you love to hate, Eric von Stroheim, had returned to life
and stood ready to direct a scene from Greed.”
“Good evening,” the old man said in a suspicious guttural tone. “You are, I believe, the gentleman my niece invited to dinner?”
Pitt rose, one eye on the huge panting dog. “Yes sir. Major Dirk Pitt at your service.”
An expression of surprise furrowed the brow below the tight skinned head. “My niece led me to believe You were under the rank of sergeant, and your military Occupation was garbage collecting.”
“You must forgive my American humor,” said Pitt, enjoying the other man’s
confusion. “I hope my little deception has caused you no inconvenience.”
“No, a little concern perhaps, but no inconvenience.” The old German extended his hand and studied Pitt closely. “It is an honor to meet you, Major. I am Bruno von Till.”
Pitt clasped the outstretched hand and returned the stare. “The honor is mine, sir.”
Von Till lifted a tapestry, revealing a doorway. “Please come this way, Major. You must join me for a drink while we wait for Teri to finish dressing.”
Pitt followed the flat form and the white hound down a dark hallway that led into a large cavernous study. The ceiling arched at least thirty feet high and was supported by several fluted ionic column shafts. The furniture, classic in its simplicity, sparsely dotted the floor and lent an air of grace to the imposing chamber. A cart was already laid with unusual Greek hors d’oeuvres, and a recessed alcove of one wall housed a completely equipped bar. The only item of decor, Pitt noted, that seemed out of place was a model of a German submarine, resting on a shelf above the bar.
Von Till motioned Pitt to sit down. “What will be your pleasure, Major?”
“Scotch rocks would be fine,” replied Pitt, leaning back in an armless couch. “Your villa is most impressive. It must have an interesting history.”
“Yes, it was originally built by the Romans in 138 B.C. as a temple to Minerva, their goddess of wisdom. I purchased the ruins shortly after the First World War and rebuilt it into what you see today.” He handed Pitt a glass. “Shall we drink a toast?”