Mission of Murder, page 15
Turning away he retrieved his own automatic and his jacket from the grass, and again he wrapped the jacket carefully around his left arm in case he should encounter another of the guard dogs. He knew it was only a matter of time before another guard would turn up and free the dog. Again he held the automatic in his left hand as he moved off, while the knife, the only weapon he intended to use unless the alarm was raised, was gripped ready for instant use in his right. He didn’t even look back at the body he left behind him but moved down towards the low beach like a wraith in the night, a silent and exceedingly deadly wraith who would not hesitate to kill when necessary.
He knew that approaching the beach would be dangerous, for down there there would probably be another guard. But only by making his assault from that direction could he be sure of finding the high-voltage trip wire that he had spotted on his first visit. He knew that the wire would undoubtedly surround the whole of the villa, and if he failed to avoid it the merest touch would fry him to death.
He reached the soft sand of the beach, and wiping his knife clean on his shirt sleeve he gripped the blade in his teeth as he snaked along on his elbows and belly. He could neither see nor hear any indication of another guard, but on the open beach it would be foolish to take the risk of standing up.
The moment of cramp had passed now that he was moving once more and for that he was thankful. His confidence had been boosted high by his successful encounter with the first line of Valedri’s defences, and he had to remind himself firmly that haste and a single wrong move could still bring his progress to an abrupt and final halt. Now that he was this close to Valedri it would be madness to fail through any lack of the proper precautions.
He made himself move more slowly as he crossed the beach, and when he was level with the jetty he turned inland and began to squirm his way towards the villa. His eyes were fully accustomed to the night now and he found that he could just determine the outline of the building with its square, modern angles. As he closed in the sand beneath him gave way to low, gently rippling dunes that were scattered with tufts of coarse dry grass. Soon the sand gave way altogether and the ground became all grass. Larren’s pace became slower still for he knew that he must be almost on top of the electrified wire.
When he had first spotted the wire he had marked its position in his memory with the help of a small hillock just behind it, and now he strained his eyes over the terrain ahead in an effort to locate the hillock again. He was certain that he was following the same track along which Bruno had led Carla and himself up to the villa, but to his dismay he could see no sign of the vital landmark that he needed to locate the wire.
Slowly and tentatively he continued to inch his way forwards. The sand had clung in muddy patches to his wet clothing and many of the fine grains had penetrated to irritate his skin. His heartbeat was verging upon panic at the thought of what that sliver of wire could do if he were to stumble upon it accidentally, and his palms were beginning to sweat. His teeth ached where they clamped upon the blade of his knife and his eyes ached with the strain as he searched the ground in front of him.
Then he saw it, a small grassy knoll like a miniature ant hill, a few yards ahead and well over to his left.
He drank down relief like a rejuvenating wine as he realized that he was to the right of the track and manoeuvred himself back on course with deft movements of his elbows, hips and toes. The tiny hillock, not much more than a bump on the ground, had been approximately four feet behind the wire, and when Larren was within six feet of it he stopped.
He stared into the grass immediately before him, and even though he knew that the wire had to be under his nose he couldn’t see it. He closed his eyes for a few seconds to ease them and then looked again, but still he could see nothing but the long dry grass.
Very carefully he moved his left hand to smooth the thick grass blades to one side, his fingertips were tingling with anticipation and his hands were oozing sweat. He moved his fingers forward another two inches and felt his heart jumping violently. Then he saw it, a slender thread of silver less than six inches from his hand and barely visible in the darkness.
Cautiously he rose to his hands and knees and passed the upper half of his body over the wire, for a second he bridged it with the high voltage current flowing only inches below his belly, and then he brought each knee over in turn.
He moved on and this time the flow of relief left him feeling weak and almost dizzy. He had to stop and shut his eyes for a moment before he could strengthen his sagging muscles and continue his stealthy, snakelike approach to the villa. He covered the last sixty yards with every expectation of finding another guard, but the night was disturbingly empty. Now that he was close to the villa he passed beneath the decorative pine and olive trees that were planted thinly around, and he lay in the stygian blackness beneath one of the olives until he had convinced himself that he was still alone in the night.
His next difficulty now lay in entering the villa and locating Valedri, for he had no idea which room was the old man’s bedroom. The problem revolved in his mind but he knew that there were only two ways of finding his quarry; one was to search blindly and try every bedroom in the villa until he hit the right one, and the other was to make someone tell him what he wanted to know. The first he dismissed as being too risky, for even with his skill he knew that he could never search the whole villa without raising the alarm. In a normal household it might have been possible, but not among a small army of well-recruited bodyguards. The second method seemed by far his best angle of attack, and as he had no intention of deliberately tangling with any of the guards that could be avoided he was left with a choice of Carla or Antonella. Carla, as far as he knew, was still infatuated with him and might be useful later, but from what little he had seen of Antonella he had formed the impression that she was not as loyal to her ageing lover as she should be. Without hesitation he chose Antonella.
She had told him that her room was at the far end of the corridor that ran outside his own bedroom, and he also remembered that the corridor had ended in a large window that opened on to a balcony, and with this in mind he began to worm his way silently around to the side of the building. Here his probing gaze located the outline of the balcony halfway along the wall and some ten feet above ground level.
Larren wriggled closer and saw that the wall was smooth and that there were no cracks or footholds that would enable him to climb up. He cursed softly and then began to circle away until he could straighten up beside the bole of a tall, spreading pine some ten yards from the wall. Again he made absolutely sure that he was still alone before he moved. When he was satisfied he re-donned the crumpled jacket that was still wrapped around his left arm and slipped his automatic into the pocket. His knife went back into its sheath and then he sprinted swiftly towards the balcony and jumped. His hands clamped on the bottom of the railings and he pulled himself up and over in one fast, scrambling heave. He dropped flat on to his face, withdrawing his knife instantly and freezing into stillness.
There was no sound. No alarm. Nobody had witnessed his flying leap.
Carefully Larren rose to his feet and inspected the tall French windows behind him, and here fate was again relenting in apology for the vicious way she had treated him at first, for the windows were already slightly open. Larren guessed that Valedri was so sure of his outer defences that he had felt quite safe in leaving the windows ajar to allow the fresh air to circulate, for this far south a sealed house would have been unbearably stuffy. Larren blessed his good fortune and gently eased the windows open a fraction wider until he could slip inside.
From his trouser pocket he produced another item of his standard equipment, a small pencil torch which he flashed guardedly around the corridor. Antonella had said that her room was at this end, but as there were rooms leading off both sides of the corridor he still had a choice of two. So far he had been bearing left all night as he circled the island, and so far he had been lucky, and although he was not consciously thinking this he almost instinctively turned left again.
He switched off his torch once he had located the door, and then he turned the handle very softly. He eased the door open an inch and listened. After a few seconds his ears picked up the barely audible sound of regular breathing. Slowly he pushed the door until he could squeeze into the bedroom. The soft, even pace of the sleeper’s breathing did not alter and he knew that his presence was not even suspect. He closed the door behind him and again pressed the switch on his torch. The tiny beam angled down towards the carpet and it had been specially made so that it switched on and off with no betraying click.
Larren moved the torch cautiously about the room and then settled the beam on a small footstool beside the bed. A black brassiere and a very brief pair of black panties, both trimmed with wisps of red lace lay on the stool, and he knew without beaming his torch into the sleeper’s eyes that he had found Antonella.
Carefully he approached the bed and shone the torch on the lower end. The small circle of light picked out a shapely pair of feet close together, and he realized that as it was a warm night Antonella was lying on top of the sheets. He moved the torch higher, tracing the outline of trim ankles and neat calves. She was lying partly on her side and her body was bent into an S shape at the hips and knees. He caught his breath for a moment as the torch beam moved along the smooth golden line of her thighs, and then he saw that she was wearing a short, baby doll negligee that reached her hips but might as well not have bothered. The beam played higher to pick out the swelling curves of her breasts below the transparent material, and then he laid it gently on the bed beside her. He had seen enough to tell him where her head was positioned and the first she knew of his presence was the steel hand clamping down over her mouth and the sharp, biting caress of the knife-point pricking her throat.
Her body writhed instinctively on the bed, shocked into sudden terrified wakefulness. Larren held her down firmly and commanded softly, “Keep still, Antonella. I want some information and provided that I get it I won’t harm you, but if you decide to scream I’ll simply push this knife home and try elsewhere.”
Antonella stopped her feverish twisting and her body became stiff with fear. Larren sensed the panicky heaving of her chest, and he could hear her breath rasping harshly in her throat.
He went on quietly. “I think you’re a sensible woman, Antonella, so I’m going to take my hand from your mouth so we can talk. Please don’t disappoint me by doing anything foolish.”
He removed his hand and felt for the torch that he had laid beside her. Finding it he switched it on and saw her face, white with fear, staring up at him from the pillow. Her bronze-red waves reflected the rays of the tiny beam, and although her eyes were wide open he still could not define their colour.
He said, “In case you haven’t guessed, this is Simon Larren. And all I want to know is the position of the room where Valedri sleeps.”
At the mention of Valedri’s name some of the colour returned to Antonella’s cheeks and part of her fear was dispelled. And Larren knew that she was realizing that despite her own highly delicate position, his was almost as dangerous. Her red lips formed a very hesitant smile as she replied softly,
“Valedri will kill you for this, Larren. You should never have come back.”
Larren said calmly, “Let me worry about that. All I want from you are directions on where to find Valedri. Afterwards I shall have to ensure that you remain here safe and secure, but I won’t harm you and someone will undoubtedly release you in the morning.”
Antonella was becoming braver and her face was almost back to normal. “Why didn’t you ask little Carla?” she asked. “Surely she would be the one to help you. Just pop into her bed for five minutes and she’d probably do anything for you.”
Larren said flatly, “I think Carla is loyal to her father — but I have my doubts about you.” He moved the knifepoint just enough to scare her and demanded, “Now tell me where Valedri’s room is. I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”
Antonella flinched and then became still again. “I was right about you, wasn’t I, Larren? I knew you were no ordinary amateur.” Those undefinable eyes gazed up at him calmly and she went on. “But I don’t think you’re good enough to get away with this. Angelo’s bedroom is on the right at the other end of the corridor, the second one from the end. I’ll tell you because it won’t make damn all difference in the long run, and I don’t see why I should stick my neck out in the meantime.”
Larren said grimly, “If I don’t find Valedri in that room I’ll come straight back. I hope you realize that.”
“You’ll find him, and I hope for your sake that he kills you quickly.”
Larren removed the knife from her throat without answering, and she watched him uncertainly as he pulled a long length of cord from his pocket. He ordered her to roll over and she obeyed without a murmur as he secured her wrists behind her. He was working swiftly now, and pulling one of the sheets from beneath her he knotted it about her ankles. Finally he took the loose end of cord that trailed from her wrists and pulling her head back he tied it in a slack noose about her neck. She began to wriggle in protest but he silenced her with a soft warning.
“If you attempt to move about after I’ve gone you’ll strangle yourself,” he whispered grimly. “So just lay still and you’ll be all right.”
Antonella said bitterly, “You’re a real expert aren’t you?”
Larren again didn’t bother to answer. Instead he tore two strips off another of the sheets and deftly gagged her so that she could make no sound. Then he beamed his torch over her figure to survey his handiwork. He smiled and murmured softly,
“Goodnight, Antonella, and pleasant dreams.”
Her eyes radiated a strange, controlled hatred that should have been completely alien in such an enticing body, and she made no attempt to move as he turned away. His torch beam accidently shone up her bared thighs as he passed and he had to force the torch away and concentrate on his next move. He did not know whether Antonella had been telling the truth or whether she had only given him directions that would lead him into some kind of trap. But there was only one way to find out.
He closed the door of Antonella’s bedroom behind him and moved on down the corridor, the pencil torch again exploring ahead of him. When he reached the second door from the end on the right he stood beside it for long moments with his ears straining to catch any sound. Then at last he extinguished the torch again and tried the door. It opened with silent ease.
He inched his way inside and immediately heard the harsh breathing of a heavy sleeper. Caution forced him to wait a few minutes more, and then he exchanged his knife for his automatic and moved closer to the bed. He shone his torch directly on to the sleeping man’s face and felt a surge of elation as he recognized the swarthy features of the man he had come to kill. And before Valedri could blink into wakefulness he brought the butt of his automatic down on the man’s temple in a savage knockout blow.
CHAPTER 16: THE MAN WITH THE BALLET DANCER FIGURE
It was night, and Piraeus, the thriving port of Athens and the main shipping centre of Greece was quiet and almost deserted. There were a few pools of light and sluggish activity around some of the larger sea-going freighters that were preparing for departure, but most of the vessels were still and silent and carrying the minimum of lights. The large, sleek-lined ferries that trafficked between Piraeus, Patras and Brindisi, and their smaller sisters who carried tourists to and fro between the Aegean islands were all motionless at their berths. In one of the more remote corners of the docks a small fleet of six forty-foot fishing boats were moored. They were all built to the same design; two short masts and a cramped, paint-flaking wheelhouse that was not much larger than a sentry box, their decks were littered with rolled bundles of netting and smelled of the flaking scales of long dead fish. A man was climbing down from the quay to board one of the fishing boats, a craft with the name Xenia painted on its bows, he was a Greek, young and handsome and holding his left arm stiffly as though it had been recently injured. Thirty yards away, hidden completely by the black shadow of a warehouse wall, stood a second man, silently watching; he was a tall, slim man, also young and with the supple, graceful figure of a ballet dancer. The young Greek was Savino, and the man with the ballet dancer figure was the mysterious Adrian Cleyton.
Cleyton had been watching Savino from the moment he had witnessed the young Greek arriving with a lawyer to extract Christos and Dimitri from the police station. The man in whom he was really interested was Christos, but keeping watch on that deadly blue-jawed professional would be far too dangerous now that he had been forced to reveal his identity by rescuing Larren from the launch, and he felt that it was much safer to keep Savino under surveillance in his place. He knew now that Christos and Savino were brothers and that they were in this venture together, and he reasoned that if he was on the right track then one could lead him to the end of the trail just as easily as the other.
Cleyton knew that he had taken a grave risk in showing his face to Christos and Dimitri, and an equally grave one in stirring up Kravakos and the Greek police, but despite the risks he had had very good reasons for wanting Simon Larren to remain alive. When he had trailed Larren to Tourkolimano he had been an unseen spectator to the approach of the young man Nico, and he had watched as the British agent was led aboard the launch. When Nico returned ashore alone he had been counting the roll of grubby notes that Christos had thrown at his feet, and Cleyton knew instinctively that Larren had walked into a trap.
