Paul Johnston - The Silver Stain

‘You forgot someone,’ Cara said. ‘Yourself.’

‘Leave him be,’ Haris said, pulling her back. ‘He’s getting his thoughts in order. He’s going into the village alone apart from that wanker of a director. The adrenaline has to be controlled.’

Mavros got into the second vehicle, a Land Rover, with Haris, while the women went in the third. The lead pickup was filled with four young Cretans, to deal with the expected road block. Jannet was with his escort in the last vehicle.

As they headed through the dark orange and olive groves, he looked up at the night. The snow on the mountains was visible, an almost full moon casting its pallid light over the line of ridges and summits.

‘Are you sure about the timing?’ Mavros asked Haris.

‘The sooner you walk up there the better. They’ll all be awake from sunrise, but the longer we wait, the more likely that one or other of our people will be spotted.’ He gave a guttural laugh. ‘It’s always best to take your enemy by surprise. Dhrakakis will assume you’ll leave it till the last minute to show up, having wasted your time trying to get the police interested.’

‘You sure your men will be able to extract the walkie-talkie passwords from the sentries?’

‘You’ve obviously never had a hunting knife in the immediate vicinity of your balls.’

‘Erm, not yet.’

Haris slapped him on the thigh. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t come near you.’

‘Best you observe the same principle.’

The Cretan glanced at him and then nodded. ‘Sorry, that was stupid.’

‘I appreciate the sentiment though,’ Mavros said. Then he slipped into a zone where the people he would be trying to save flashed before him — Niki, smiling bravely; Maria Kondos, as haughty as ever. Then his father appeared, his face younger and less care-worn than in the photos that Mavros’s mother had on display. Suddenly he understood. Although Spyros’s experiences on Crete — the paratroop landings, the Battle of Galatsi, the years on the run — had been terrible, it had been on the island that he learned the truth about violence: that it led to more brutality and heartbreak, and that no political system, even a communist one, could be built on blood-drenched foundations. Whatever happened in Kornaria, Mavros had to remain true to those principles. The rock that he had thrown into the Kornariate’s face had to be his last violent act.

The sky in the east was lightening to grey and the vehicles in the convoy turned off their headlights, following an order from Haris, relayed by walkie-talkie.

‘Roadblock in sight,’ said one of the men from the Land Rover in the lead. ‘Approaching on foot.’

That meant the men were splitting up and heading in a wide circling movement towards the pickup that had been parked across the road. Haris stopped the Land Rover and waited. Tension in the cab rose and Mavros struggled to keep his breathing regular. If they couldn’t get beyond this first barrier, the whole plan would be compromised — although Haris had told him he had reserve options.

‘How often have you done this kind of thing?’ Mavros asked, in a low voice.

Haris smiled. ‘You aren’t taping this , I hope. Not so often, and never on as large a scale as this. Crete isn’t like the rest of Greece, my friend. We have our own ways of justice. I don’t only mean vendettas. If someone persists in anti-social and damaging behaviour, he is taught a lesson. That is not a bad thing.’

‘Unless it gets out of control.’

‘You are worried this operation will go that way? I can understand that. But you must trust me, Alex, as I trust you. That is how the Turks and the Germans were driven out — we acted in unison.’

‘Freedom or death,’ Mavros said. ‘But this time you’ll be fighting against your fellow Cretans.’

Haris shrugged. ‘Criminals and bullies are the same the world over. Someone must stand up to them.’

There was a burst of sound from his walkie-talkie.

‘Road block neutralized. WT codes obtained. No serious injuries.’

‘You see?’ Haris said. ‘Now all we need is confirmation from the advance units.’

That came in three separate messages over the next ten minutes.

‘All is ready, Alex. Are you?’

Mavros nodded. His heart was beating at a normal rate and his breathing was regular. He got out of the Land Rover and checked his equipment, then watched as the pickup containing Luke Jannet came slowly alongside. The director had been gagged with duct tape. His guard unlocked the cuff on his wrist and attached it gingerly to Mavros’s belt.

‘Is everything that needs to be turned on?’ Haris asked.

‘Yup. Thanks for everything. I’m only sorry Mikis couldn’t be here to see this.’

The Cretan nodded solemnly. ‘He would have enjoyed it, but he’s better off in his bed. Now, Alex, bring your woman and the other one back.’ He stopped himself slapping Mavros’s back just in time.

Mavros dragged Jannet into the pickup and took the wheel.

‘Keep still if you want to stay alive,’ Mavros said.

The director, who had been told what Mavros was carrying, nodded vigorously.

The pickup moved slowly up the road, past the vehicle which had been moved out of the way. Mavros saw in the mirror that Haris’s men had taken the villagers’ mandilia , jackets and shotguns. He continued at low speed, avoiding the worst potholes and ridges, until they passed the sign announcing Kornaria. It had been riddled with pellets.

‘Welcome to Hell,’ Mavros said, glancing at Jannet. ‘This is going to be better than any film you’ve shot, asshole.’ The director’s face was white around the strip of black tape.

Mavros drove up the narrow street between the white houses. The shutters on some had been thrown open to take in the early morning light, but there were no people to be seen. He pulled up in the square and hauled Jannet out, then put his hand on the pickup’s horn. It wasn’t long before heads appeared at windows and men started coming out of doors, some of them carrying shotguns.

Mavros took his captive towards the kafeneion where he and Mikis had talked to the mayor. It wasn’t open yet. Then a metal door a few yards down the square swung open and Dhrakakis came out, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing a singlet, blue pyjama trousers and slippers.

‘You don’t look like the man behind a multinational drugs business,’ Mavros said. ‘More like a grandfather who’s just wet himself.’

As he’d expected, the words stung the mayor. Mavros held Jannet in front of him as the Cretan approached, his cheeks red. The next few seconds were decisive.

‘You’ll pay for insulting me, you Athenian arse-bandit,’ Dhrakakis said, as he came closer. ‘Look at you, hiding behind your hostage.’

‘Come and get him then, Grandpa,’ Mavros said, with a sharp smile.

‘ Ela , Louka,’ the mayor said, his arm extended towards Jannet.

Mavros waited as long as he could, and then pulled out the other handcuff attached to his belt and snapped it shut around Dhrakakis’s wrist. He unzipped his jacket and took out the detonator that was wired to the explosives on his chest, his thumb over the short plunger.

‘Tell your men to keep their distance,’ he said calmly to the Cretan. ‘If any of them comes within range, we three will turn into very small pieces. If you try to take the detonator from me, ditto.’ He laughed like a madman. ‘I know what you’ll have done to my woman and to Maria Kondos. I don’t give a shit what happens to me.’

This was another critical moment. If Dhrakakis thought he was bluffing, there would be no way out.

‘No, no,’ the mayor stammered. ‘Nobody has touched your woman. I swear it.’