Krysalis: Krysalis (21 page)
The man called Heinrich produced a doctor’s bag and administered an injection. The effect was almost immediate. Iannis opened his eyes, tried to sit up. Barzel tapped Heinrich’s arm. “Get on with it.”
The other man began to address Iannis in Greek. Barzel had no idea what he said, but he assumed Heinrich was trying to soothe his “patient.” If so, he seemed to have little success; Iannis’ eyes bulged and his face, so pale a moment before, turned scarlet. After a while he realized that the straps were unbreakable and gave up struggling.
Heinrich dug into his bag and produced a roll of cloth. While Barzel watched with interest, he spread it out on the boy’s chest to reveal six syringes, each containing a different-colored liquid. His voice hardened; now Barzel knew he was explaining the effects of the various shots.
The boat began to pitch. That meant they had left the protection of the harbor, causing Barzel to breathe a little easier. He wanted a lot of water between him and Piraeus before what was going to happen next.
He looked down at the bunk. The boy had pure skin and an even purer look in his eyes. Good-looking, too.
Barzel felt a peculiar sweetness arise within him. There was something exquisite about having an untainted soul in your power. He cared nothing for physical torture, which gave him no pleasure, or the finer techniques of mind control. What delighted him was the
anticipation,
the waiting time, before the torturer went about his squalid, unartistic work.
Today his pleasure was destined to be short. Heinrich
looked at him and said in German, “This boy will talk.”
Barzel tossed the paperback aside. “Make it quick.”
When Heinrich spoke to Iannis the boy answered at once, the words tripping over one another in his anxiety to spill everything he knew. Suddenly Barzel heard a word he thought he recognized.
“What did he say about Kleist?” he shouted.
Heinrich held up a hand to stanch the boy’s flow and turned to Barzel. “He says he comes from Paxos, a small island to the south of Corfu, off the west coast of the mainland.”
“I know where Corfu is, you fool, go
on!”
“His father works for Kleist.”
Barzel clapped his hands together, once, and nodded.
“Yesterday, Kleist came to the island, with a woman. Blonde. About forty. Iannis was sent to Athens, almost immediately. Kleist gave him plenty of money and a document, explaining how he wanted it transmitted to London by fax.”
“A moment. Does Iannis speak any language other than Greek? Could he read the document?”
“No. Although he can recognize the Roman alphabet. He was worried at first that this might disqualify him for the job Kleist had in mind—”
“Whereas in fact it must have been a vital requirement.”
“Of course, to maximize security.”
“Shit! What else?”
“That’s all, so far.” Heinrich readdressed himself to Iannis. Another babble of Greek followed.
“He says he was told to visit the fax office every two hours and ask if they’d received an answer to the document they had transmitted for him this morning. If
there was a response, his instructions were to contact Kleist by phone, always a different phone, and spell the document to him. If nothing, he still had to report every evening at the same time. He was to sleep in a different hotel each night, and keep moving around during the day, until Sunday. Then he could go home.”
Before Barzel could speak, Iannis again broke out into a spirited monologue. Barzel looked at Heimich, who shrugged.
“It seems Iannis doesn’t want to go home. He spent part of today hunting for work. The season’s just begun. Hotels and restaurants will soon need staff.”
More voluble Greek. This time Heinrich smiled. “He’s hoping to pick up an American woman. Then maybe he needn’t ever go home.”
Barzel grunted. “Ask him, what did he think was the point of all this? Did Kleist say?”
During the conversation that followed, he never once took his eyes off the young Greek’s face.
“Nothing legal,” Heinrich said at last. “He says no one pays that well for legitimate errands.”
“Smart,” Barzel commented. “Is that all? Ask him about the woman.”
When Heinrich did so, Iannis’ expression changed. His face lost some of its terror, the eyes softened.
“He says she was beautiful. He would like to marry a woman like that one day. She looked tired, perhaps she was ill, but Iannis regretted being sent away.”
“Name?”
“He was told once, but he couldn’t remember. He was too busy giving her the eye.”
“Forty, blonde. Gerhard, Gerhard …” Barzel slowly shook his head. “Come up,” he said to Heimich.
Once on deck, Barzel rested both hands on the rail
and stared at the sea. He was holding Iannis’ paperback again, turning it over and over as he spoke.
“Do you want us to take you to that island now?” Heinrich asked him.
Barzel knew a desperate moment of indecision. “Yes. No! There’s something I have to do first, in England. But I can’t afford the time….” He tossed his head again, as if trying to shake the demons out of it. “Or can I …?”
“The husband?”
“Yes. It was his file, he holds the key to this. I don’t know what the hell’s going on. Kleist’s a mystery to me. Did he panic? Or is this part of a plan?”
Heinrich shrugged.
Barzel reached a decision. “I
must
speak to Lescombe. No choice. Take me back.”
“What do you want done with the boy?”
“Keep him safe, keep him happy. Make sure he phones Kleist every evening, as planned. The same message as tonight: ‘Nothing yet,’ okay?”
“Right. For how long?”
“Until Sunday—he was told he could go home then, isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes.”
“Or earlier if I say so.”
“And then?”
“Then?”
“The boy—what do you want us to do with him after Sunday?”
“Hm.” Barzel’s expression showed a touch of melancholy. For a long time he studied the crude picture of the front of the paperback, as if it held all of Kleist’s secrets.
“You say he doesn’t want to go home?” he said at last.
“That’s right.”
“I think he must have his wish,” Barzel murmured to the waters below. “Use plenty of anchor chain. And put him in a sack, I don’t want him surfacing. Oh, and, Heinrich …”
“Yes?”
“Make sure he’s well and truly asleep before you throw him over the side, hein?” Barzel hesitated, the memory of that innocent, bronzed face strong in his mind. He smoothed the cover of the book, once, twice. “None of this is his fault.”
16
Wednesday began with one of those peerless Greek mornings that normally only find their season in May or June, a brilliant perspective of long horizons and lofty cloud, of crystalline water and warm breezes.
Anna awoke to find herself lying in her low whitewashed room, now suffused with the warm savor of a Mediterranean morning. Sleepily she yawned and stretched. This wasn’t her bedroom … what was she doing here? Yes, of course: she had been ill. She had done these irrational things, for no apparent reason, her memory was failing, and Gerhard had agreed to look after her until David arrived at the weekend.
Thoughts of David sent her hands involuntarily roving across her breasts. How long to Saturday? Too long … but she might as well stay here until then.
Her bed stood opposite the only window. Someone had put a vase of fresh bluebells on the sill. She looked at the flowers, knew who had picked them, and sat up.
Dear Gerhard. Such an old-style romantic. Flowers … how like him.
David gave her a bouquet every Friday evening; he bought them from the same little stall by the entrance to Westminster underground station. How that memory made her yearn for him! His comforting voice, the feel of his strong arms holding her close … “David,” she whispered. “Why aren’t we together?”
She must telephone him right away. Gerhard would take her down to the harbor, where there was a phone. How wonderful that he spoke Greek; he could help with the operator.
She jumped out of bed, hastily pulling on her clothes. As she emerged into the hallway a few moments later, she became aware of odd sounds coming from Gerhard’s bedroom. Suddenly she felt curious to know what he could be up to. Why not give him a shock? Anna giggled. She slipped out of her sandals and padded across the breakfast area, along the corridor leading to the front of the villa. His door was ajar.
She sidled along the wall until she could look through the gap. As she did so, Gerhard straightened up from kneeling by the bed. He had his back to the door, unaware of her presence. He put something into his pocket.
For a second, Anna refused to believe what she had seen. Her first instinct was to challenge him. Then caution prevailed. She retreated, not daring to stop until she had regained the relative safety of the living room.
Gerhard had put a gun in his pocket.
“Good morning, Anna. How are you feeling today?”
Fortunately she was facing the sea, or he could not have failed to detect her unease. She clenched her teeth
until they hurt, widening her lips in the mockery of a smile, and turned.
“Much better, thank you, Gerhard. You?”
“Wonderful.” He seemed not to notice anything amiss. “Look at that … sunshine, blue sea.”
Anna, grateful for the respite, turned her back and stared out the window.
She must not let him think she knew. She must keep control. Her life might depend on that. Anna examined this latest instinct with wonder. Was she really in danger, from the man she’d trusted for nigh onto sixteen years?
Why didn’t she come straight out and ask him?
No. She knew somehow that everything depended on her not doing anything until she was alone. For now, safety lay in blanking out the recollection of that odious weapon in Gerhard’s pocket.
It hadn’t happened.
“I thought we might go for a picnic,” he said.
“Good,” she replied, keeping her back to him. “What a lovely idea.”
“So you’ve definitely changed your mind about leaving?”
“Oh, yes.” She managed a tense laugh. “I’d like to stay here forever, if I could.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. Then he turned serious. “Is something the matter?”
Anna struggled to find a satisfying answer. “I’m worried, naturally.”
“About what?”
“At home they’ll be waiting to arrest me, won’t they?”
“If you go back now, without waiting for the results of my preliminary overtures, then yes, I’m afraid they will.”
“Embarras des riches.”
“How do you mean?”
“Not one court case but two. First the trial for treason, then, when I’ve got a moment, there’s that claim for three million pounds to fight, the one I told you about, remember?”
“Yes.”
The words were coming out naturally, and they were the right ones to persuade Gerhard that she was completely ignorant of the gun.
“Oh …” Anna heaved a deep sigh. “The thought of going back to chambers and facing them all …”
“Outfacing them. You can do it.”
“Mm. I didn’t behave very well toward them. Not always.” She produced another little laugh from somewhere. “I’m sure a few more hours’ freedom won’t change anything, will they? And perhaps your … overtures will come to something.”
She drank a cup of coffee but could eat no breakfast. It was a silent meal.
Gerhard borrowed Yorgos’ car and drove them across to the west coast, where he kept a boat moored in one of the coastal hamlets. Anna stared out the car window, concentrating her entire attention on the scenery. In happier circumstances she could have fallen in love with this isolated place. The peach trees were a mass of white flowers, irises and marguerites were everywhere in full bloom, orange and lemon trees stood laden with young fruit. It was to be an olive year, and already buds were blooming on their twigs as they strove up toward the spring sky. Everything she saw appealed to her: geraniums, poppies, roses in tubs, peeling walls in need of paint, terraced, overgrown gardens, cocks crowing … how swiftly these things beguiled!
They took his boat, the
Medina,
to a smaller, uninhabited islet that lay to the south. There they swam in a deep place where you could see the bottom three fathoms down. It reminded Anna of a cathedral, with broad shafts of light pouring through limpid water straight onto the sand. Gerhard was in a lighthearted mood, first he ducked her, then held her tightly around the waist. Anna fought until she had no breath left and he had to carry her ashore, thinking it was all in play.