The Mediterranean Caper (Dirk Pitt 2)

They both laughed and sat down together on Pitt’s towel and talked while the hot sun reluctantly began its climb over the Aegean Sea. As the blazing orange ball threw its first golden rays over the shimmering horizon, Pitt gazed at the woman in the new light and studied her closely.

She was about thirty and wore a red bikini swim suit. The bikini was not the exaggerated brief kind, even though the lower half began a good two inches below the navel. The material had a satin sheen to it and clung tautly to her body like an outer layer of skin. Her figure was a beguiling mixture of grace and firmness: the stomach looked smooth and flat and the breasts were perfect, not too small but not too large and out of scale.

Her legs were lo

ng, creamy colored and slightly on the thin side. Pitt decided to overlook this faint imperfection and swung his eyes to her face. The profile was exquisite. Her features possessed the beauty and mystery of a Grecian statue and would have rated near perfection except for a round pockmark beside her right temple. Ordinarily the scar would have been covered by her shoulder length black hair but she had thrown her head back as she watched the sunrise and the ebony strands angled back behind her shoulders, touching the sand and revealing the thin blemish.

Suddenly she turned and caught Pitt’s examining stare.

“You’re supposed to be watching the sunrise,” she said with a bemused smile.

“I’ve seen sunrises before, but this is the first time I've ever come face to face with a lovely, genuine Grecian Aphrodite.” Pitt could see her dark brown eyes flashing with enjoyment at his compliment.

“Thank you for the flattery, but Aphrodite was the Greek goddess of love and beauty, and I’m only half Greek.”

“What’s the other half?”

“My father was German.”

“in that case I must thank the gods that you look after your mother’s side.”

She gave a pouting glance. “You’d better not let my uncle hear you say that.”

“A typical kraut?

“Yes, indeed. In fact he’s why I happen to be on Thasos.”

“Then he can’t be all bad,” Pitt said, admiring her hazel eyes. “DO you live with him?”

“No, actually l was born here but I was raised in England. I suffered through school there and when I was eighteen I fell in love with a dashing motorcar salesman and married him.”

“I didn’t know car salesmen could be dashing.”

She ignored his sarcastic remark and continued. “He loved to race cars on his time off, and he was good at it too. He won trials and hill climbs and sporting car events,” She shrugged and began drawing circles in the sand with her finger. Her voice became strange and husky. “Then one weekend he was racing a supercharged MG. It was raining, and he skidded off the course and hit a tree. He was dead before I could reach his side.”

Pitt sat silent for a minute, staring at her sad face. “How long ago?” he asked simply.

“It’s been eight and a half years now,” she replied in a whisper.

Pitt felt dazed. Then anger set in. What a waste, he thought. What a rotten waste for a beautiful woman like her to grieve over a dead man for nearly nine years. The more he thought about it the angrier he became. He could see tears welling in her eyes as she lost herself in the remembrance, and the sight sickened him. He reached, over and gave her a hard backhand slap across the face.

Her eyes jerked wide, and her whole body tensed from the sharp blow. It was as if she was struck by a bullet. “Why did you strike me?” she gasped.

“Because you needed it, needed it badly,” he Snapped. “That torch you carry around is as worn out as an overcoat. I’m surprised someone hasn’t taken you over a knee and spanked it off. So your husband was dashing. So what? He’s dead and buried, and mourning over him for all these years won’t resurrect him from the grave. Lock away his memory somewhere and f orget him. You’re a beautiful woman—you don’t belong chained to a coffin full of bones. You belong to every man who turns and admires you as you pass by and who longs to possess you.” Pitt could see his words were penetrating her weak defenses. “Now you think about it. It’s your life. Don’t throw it away and play ‘Camille’ until you’re withered and gray.”

Her face was distraught in the morning sun, and her breath came in sobs. Pitt let her cry for a long time. When she finally raised her head and turned it towards him, he could see that her cheeks were streaked with tears, mixed with tiny grains of sand, clinging to the wetness. She looked up at him, and he caught the gleam in her eyes. They were soft and scared-looking, like a little girl’s.’ He lifted her in his arms and kissed her. Her lips were warm and moist.

“When was the last time you had a man?” he whispered .

“Not since.. .“ Her voice trailed away.

Pitt took her as the long shadows of the rocks crept upward over the beach, shielding their bodies from the sun. A flight of sandpipers circled overhead and descended upon the damp sand at the water’s edge. They scurried back and forth, playing tag with the surf. Every so often one of the birds would cast a beady eye at the two lovers in the shade, staring for a fleeting instant before returning to the chore of stabbing its long curved beak in the sand for food.

The shadows shortened as the sun rose higher in the sky. A fishing boat chugged by a hundred yards from the end of the rocks.

The fishermen, dropping their nets in the water, were too busy to notice anything unusual on the shore. At last Pitt drew back and gazed down at Teri’s serene and smiling face.

“I don’t know whether to ask for your thanks or your forgiveness,” he said softly.