The Mediterranean Caper (Dirk Pitt 2)

Giordino was not to be hurried. He ignored the threat from Darius and spoke as calmly as if he were asking Pitt to pass the potatoes. “My cross draw is sheer art, but actually I’m faster from the hip. Which would you like to see first?”

“About now,” Pitt said more curious than amused, “I’d settle for a fast draw from the crotch.”

“Stop! Enough!” Zacynthus gestured his pipe irritably. “I suggest you be sensible and cooperate.”

“How do you intend to keep us on ice for three weeks?” Pitt asked.

Zacynthus shrugged. “The jail on. the mainland has excellent accommodations for political prisoners. Colonel Zeno here might be persuaded to use his influence and get you a cell overlooking the—” Zacynthus’ mouth abruptly dropped open in midsentence; his brown eyes narrowed in helpless rage and he froze as immobile

as a City park statue.

A tiny gun, no larger than an ordinary cap pistol, had suddenly materialized in Giordino’s hand, the pencil thin muzzle pointed directly at the spot between Zacynthus’ eyebrows. Even Pitt was caught off guard. Pure logic told him that Giordino had been bluffing; the last thing he or anyone else expected was for Giordino to produce an honest-to-god firearm.

15

A gun, no matter if it looks small and insignificant or massive and downright mean, is always a perfect attention getter. To say that Giordino was the center of attraction would be a classic understatement He played the role to the hilt; the automatic held at full arm’s length, a grim smile on the face. If academy awards were given for sheer bravado, ‘he’

d have won at least three.

For a long moment no one spoke. Then finally Zeno rammed a fist into one hand. A wane smile etched his swarthy face. “It was I who said you two men were cunning and dangerous, and yet, I am foolish enough to keep offering you new opportunities to prove it.”

“We don’t relish these embarrassing little scenes any more than you do,” Pitt said equably. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse us, we’ll close up shop and go home.”

“No sense getting shot in the back.” Giordino Waved the baby automatic negligently at the three narcotics officers. “We’d better borrow their guns before We exit stage right.”

"That won’t be necessary,” Pitt said. “No one is going to pull any triggers.” He looked into Zacythus’ eyes, then into Zeno’s—and found them thoughtful and speculative. “It’s really a stand off. You’re tempted, but you won’t shoot us from behind because you’re all honorable men. Besides, it wouldn’t be practical, the investigation of our deaths would only prove to be a messy affair. Von Till would love that. On the other hand, you know damn well we won’t shoot back because we don’t have nearly enough at stake to kill any one of you.

“Patience, I ask nothing but patience on your parts

for the next ten hours. I promise you Zac, we will meet again before sunset, and on much friendlier terms.”

Pitt’s voice seemed strangely prophetic, and the speculative look in Zacynthus’ eyes changed to blank puzzlement.

Pitt was briefly tempted to prolong the game of cat and mouse, then he thought better of it Zacynthus and Zeno appeared resigned to defeat, but not Darius. The huge brute moved two steps forward, his face was

flushed with anger and his fists opened and closed like the shells of two giant South Pacific clams. It was clearly the time to beat a quick and orderly retreat.

Pitt moved slowly around the front of the truck, using the hood and fenders as a barrier between him and Darius. He climbed behind the steering wheel, wincing slightly as the sun splashed seat burned his naked thighs and back, and started the engine. Giordino followed him into the cab, never taking his eyes off the men beside the Mercedes, the gun very level in his hand. Then calmly, without any sign of desperate speed, Pitt smoothly shifted gears and aimed the truck toward Brady Field and the First Attempt’s whaleboat dock. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then to the road and back to the mirror again several times until the three figures in the road disappeared when the truck rounded a curve through an ancient grove of olive trees.

“Nothing like a gun to even the odds,” Giordino sighed, leaning back comfortably against the seat.

“Let’s see that popgun.”

Giordino passed it butt first. “You’ll have to admit, it came in damn handy.”

Pitt studied the Lilliputian gun, looking up from time to time to dodge potholes in the road. He recognized it as a vest pocket Mauser, twenty-five caliber, the type European women favored for protection; it could easily be concealed in a purse or garter. It was only good for close-in work; past ten feet the accuracy, even in the hands of an expert was hopeless.

“We must consider ourselves extremely lucky.”

“Lucky hell.” Giordino grunted flatly. “That little baby evened the odds Why do you think the old time gangsters called a gun an equalizer.”

‘Would you have pulled the trigger if Zac and his boys had decided not to cooperate?” Pitt asked.

“Without hesitation,” Giordino replied confidently. “I’d have only winged them in the arms or legs.

No sense in killing someone who keeps you supplied with Metaxa brandy.”

“I can see you have a lot to learn about German automatics.”