The Mediterranean Caper (Dirk Pitt 2)

“My compliments, gentlemen, on your exquisite taste in souvenirs. However, I feel it is my patriotic duty to inform you that the theft of valuable objects from historical sites is strictly forbidden under Greek law.”

11

Pitt froze while his mind raced to absorb the shock. He stood there, one leg outside, the other bent awkwardly inside the passage for what seemed to him a lifetime. He threw the Dive Brite and the flight bag behind him down the stairway and then squinted, Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight: he could barely discern a vague, formless shape that detached itself from the low stone wall and moved in front of him.

“I . . . I don’t understand,” Pitt mumbled dumbly, feigning a peasant kind of stupidity. “We’re not thieves.”

Again the resounding laugh. And the blurred form transformed into the Greek National Tourist Organization guide who wore a broad, white toothed smile beneath his great moustache; a swarthy hand gripped a nine millimeter Clisenti automatic pistol, the barrel aimed directly at Pitt’s heart.

“Not thieves,” the guide said sarcastically in faultless English. “Then kidnapers perhaps?”

“No, no,” pleaded Pitt, a forced tremor in his voice.

“We’re only two lonely seamen on shore leave in a strange land having a bit of fun.” He winked and grinned a knowing grin. “You understand.”

“Yes, I understand perfectly.” The gun remained level and steady as a rock. “That is why you are under arrest.”

Pitt could feel a knot deep down under in his stomach, the dry, sandy taste of defeat in his mouth. God, this was a worse set-back than he had feared: it could be the end of everything a trial and then expulsion from the country. He kept the stupid. insipid expression on his face. Then he stepped forward from the gate, making an imploring gesture with his hands.

“You must believe me. We haven’t kidnapped anybody. Look,” he said pointing to Teri’s upended and naked bottom. “This woman is nothing but a village whore we found wallowing in a pig sty of a taverna. She told us to take the tour of the ruins, promising to meet us at the amphitheatre.”

The guide looked amused. He reached out with his free hand and fingered the material of Teri’s negligee, than ran his finger tips lightly over her smooth, rounded mounds, triggering a spasm of thrashing legs and feet.

“Tell me,” he said slowly. “How much did she charge?”

“At first she asked two drachmas,” said Pitt sullenly. “But after the fun and games she tried to hold us up for twenty drachmas. We, of course, refused to pay.”

“Of course,” the guide replied dully.

“He speaks the truth,” burst Giordino, the words rushed as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “This dirty tramp is the thief, not us.”

“A masterly performance,” said the guide. “A pity it is wasted on such a small audience. We Greeks may lead simple, mundane lives compared to you of more sophisticated countries, but we do not possess simple minds.” He gestured the gun toward Teri. “This girl is no cheap prostitute. Expensive maybe, but not cheap. Her skin also makes you out a liar, it’s far too white.

Our island girls are famous for their rich, dark texture

and full hips. Hers are much too narrow.”

Pitt said nothing. He watched the guide carefully, Waiting for an opening. Any movement on his part, he knew, would trigger Giordino into instantaneous action. The Greek looked a dangerous man, cunning and alert, but there was no hint of sadistic antagonism that Pitt could see in the dark, sun wrinkled features. The guide

beckoned to Giordino.

“Release the girl, let us have a look at her other end.”

Giordino, without taking his eyes off Pitt, slowly dropped Teri, letting her slide down his shoulder to the ground. She stood drunkenly for a moment, unsure of her balance, arms upraised in their trapped position, and swaying like a giant tulip in the wind until Giordino untied the knotted negligee above her head. As soon as she was free, Teri tore the gag from her mouth and stared at Giordino with white hot hatred in her eyes.

“You bloody, rotten bastard,” she screamed.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“It wasn’t my idea, sweetheart,” said Giordino, his eyebrows arching slyly. “Talk to your friend over there.” He jerked his thumb towards Pitt.

Her head spun in Pitt’s direction, and she opened her mouth to say something, but choked off the words with a gasp. The big hazel eyes reflected astonishment for an instant, then they changed with blinking speed to icy coldness, then to a glowing twinkle of warmth. She threw her arms about Pitt and kissed him fervently, too fervently, he thought, under the circumstances.

“Dirk, it really is you,” she sobbed. “Back there in the darkness, your voice . . . I couldn’t be sure. I thought you were. . . I thought I’d never see you again.”

“It seems,” he said grinning, “our meetings are a never-ending, constant source of surprise.

“Uncle Bruno said .you wouldn’t call me, ever.”