“Old maybe,” said Pitt, “but not unknown.”
“Are you saying you have determined the make of
airplane?”
Pitt studied von Till’s face. Silently be dawdled with a fork, then slowly laid it back on the tablecloth. “The aircraft was positively identified as an Albatros
“And the pilot?” The words came slowly from Von Till's tight mouth. “Do you know the Identity of the pilot?”
“Not yet, but we will shortly.”
“You seem confident of an early capture.”
Pitt took his time about answering. He slowly and methodically lit a cigarette. “Why not. It shouldn’t be difficult to trace a sixty year old yellow antique aircraft to its owner.”
A smug grin crossed von Till’s face. “Macedonian Greece is an area of rugged terrain and desolate countryside. There are many thousands of square miles of mountains, valleys and eroded plains where even one of your monstrous jet bombers could be hidden and never detected.”
Pitt grinned back. “Who said anything about searching mountains or valleys?”
‘Where else would you look?”
“In the sea,” P
itt said pointing at the black water
far below. “Probably in the same spot where Kurt Heibert crashed back in 1918.”
Von Till arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to believe in ghosts?”
Pitt grinned. “When we were little boys we believed in Santa Claus. And when we became big boys we believed in virgins. Why not add ghosts to the list also?”
“No thank you, Major. I find cold facts and figures superior to superstition.”
Pitt’s voice was even and distinct. "That leaves us with another avenue to explore.”
Von Till sat erect, his eyes squinting at Pitt.
“What if Kurt Heibert is still alive?”
Von Till’s mouth dropped open. Then he caught himself and exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “That’s ridiculous. If Kurt were still alive he would be over seventy years old. Look at me, Major. I was born in 1899. Do you think a man of my age could fly an open cockpit plane, not to mention attacking an air field? No, I don’t think so.”
“The facts are on your side, of course,” said Pitt. He paused a moment, running his long fingers through his hair. “Still, I can’t help wondering if Heibert isn’t connected in some way.” His eyes shifted from the old German to the great white dog and he felt a vague tension grip his body. Intrigue hung heavily around them. He came to the villa at Teri’s invitation expecting only to enjoy a quiet dinner. Instead, he found himself engaged In a battle of wits with her uncle, a shrewd old Teuton who, Pitt was certain, knew more about the raid on Brady Field than he was telling. It was time to cast a spear and the hell with the consequences. He locked his eyes on von Till. “If the Hawk of Macedonia really did vanish sixty years ago and reappeared yesterday, the interesting question is; where did he spend his time between? In heaven, in hell. . . or on Thasos?”
A confused look replaced von Till’s arrogant mask. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
“Mean hell,” snarled Pitt. “Either you’re taking me for a complete fool or else you’re acting like one. I don’t think I should be telling you about the attack on Brady Field, but rather you should be telling me.” He lingered over the words, enjoying the situation.
Von Till was on his feet in an instant, his oval face contorted with anger. “You have probed too far and too deep. Major Pitt, into areas that don’t concern you. I shall take no more of your absurd implications. I must ask you to leave my villa.”
A look of contempt crossed Pitt’s face. “Whatever's fair,” he said turning to the stairway.
Von Till glared at him bitterly. “No need to return through the study, Major,” he said pointing to a small doorway that clung to the far wall of the balcony. “This corridor will lead you to the front entrance.”
“I’d like to see Teri before I leave.”
“I see no reason to prolong your presence.” Von Till blew a contemptuous cloud of smoke toward Pitt’s face, driving home the angered words. “I also demand that you never see or talk to my niece again.”
Pitt’s hand clenched into fists. “And if I do?’