Will Adams - The Lost Labyrinth

'It's just, there's some confusion about the body we recovered from the wreckage last night,' said Angelos. 'It may not have been Mikhail Nergadze after all.'

Somehow, it wasn't the shock to Knox it might have been. Somehow, he'd almost expected it. 'Tell me,' he said, giving the Doberman a wide berth.

'The Citroen was rented to a Belgian businessman named Josef Jannsen. He flew in from Bruges to check out a nightclub down in Varkiza he was thinking of buying. He was due to meet the owners there last night, but he never showed.'

Knox jogged up a narrow cobbled road to a village square. A mountain spring was splashing into a carved stone drinking fountain. He scooped a mouthful of the icy melt-water before continuing on up. 'You're saying it was this guy Jannsen in the car, not Nergadze?'

'That's how it looks. According to one of the Georgians, Nergadze had a bunch of tattoos; but there weren't any on the body we found. Nergadze must have realised there'd be a major manhunt for him. This must have been his way of stopping it before it could get started. We think he waited in car-hire until this poor bastard Jannsen turned up. He killed him and cut off his hair and then traded clothes with him. Then he set the driver's seat as low and as far back as it would go, belted Jannsen in and sat on top of him.' A stout woman dressed all in black watched suspiciously from the shadows of her porch. 'Maybe he genuinely hoped to drive out,' continued Angelos. 'I can't say. But he certainly had a contingency plan. We know he'd been to that industrial area before. We found the second Mercedes in a lock-up there, along with the body of one of his men, the one who tried to steal his cash. So it looks as though he deliberately led us there, yelled out his name so we'd be certain it was him, then drove at that container.'

Knox nodded, picturing how it would have happened. 'He'd have waited till the last moment, then dived down passenger side.'

'Maybe that's why he chose a convertible, because the roof would shear off more cleanly. Or maybe that was just luck. And that's why it was raining cash. It looked like a lot of money, but it was only a fraction of what was in the case. We reckon he scattered it around precisely so that the first policeman to get to the car would be watching it, rather than the trees. Meanwhile, he'd have hidden the rest of the money along with some clean clothes and Jannsen's passport and wallet; I'll bet once he was out of the car and away, he collected them, cleaned himself up, then went calm as you like into the terminal. Only a crazy man would even contemplate such a thing, of course. But from everything you've told us…'

'Into the terminal?' asked Knox. The road deteriorated into an unsealed track. He jogged along it, his breath coming faster. A mule munched grass as it watched him pass. 'You're not saying he just flew out of there?'

'It looks like it,' admitted Angelos. 'At least, someone flew out last night, using Jannsen's name and credit card.'

'Nergadze,' said Knox. 'Where did he go?'

'This is why I don't want you getting alarmed,' said Angelos.

'Oh, Christ!' said Knox. 'He flew to Crete, didn't he? He's going for Gaille.'

'He can't be that crazy. He's on the run, remember. He must know we'll work it out eventually. He's certain to go to ground.'

'No,' said Knox. 'He's going for Gaille.'

A shout at the other end of the line. 'Bear with me,' said Angelos. Knox could hear angry voices, recriminations. He kept running, the phone clamped against his ear. The track grew worse. He saw a roadblock of boulders ahead, and two cars parked side-by-side in the trees. 'Okay,' said Angelos. 'Here's the very latest. Heraklion Airport has confirmed that Jannsen landed late last night. He hired himself a rental. A Mazda.'

'Don't tell me,' said Knox. 'Licence plate: HKN 1447.'

'How the hell did you know that?'

'Because he's here,' said Knox numbly. 'He got here before me.'

Argo surged irrepressibly through the gorse, cutting beneath the worst of the thorns, with Gaille, still hanging onto his leash, taking numerous scratches on her hands and arms. She half stumbled on a stone and cried out and hauled him back so violently that he stopped at last, if only in surprise, allowing her to recover her balance and glance back.

Iain was striding through the gorse behind her, but that wasn't what shocked her. What shocked her was that a third person had appeared, a man wearing jeans and a green sweatshirt and a plain blue baseball cap tugged down over his eyes, who'd also found the mouth of the path and was following them along it.

Iain must have seen the surprise on Gaille's face, for he whirled around. 'Who the fuck are you?' he demanded.

The man held up his hands to allay suspicion. 'Don't be alarmed,' he said. 'I'm a friend.'

Iain grabbed his Mauser from his shoulder, levelled it at the man's chest. 'I'll be the judge of that,' he said. 'What's your name? What are you doing here?'

'My name's Mikhail,' replied the man, spreading his arms as wide as crucifixion, but still walking towards Iain. He nodded pleasantly at Gaille. 'Your friend Daniel sent me. He's worried sick about you. You should have called him.'

'We can't get a signal,' she said.

'Ah,' he said. 'Is that all it was?'

'Stay where you are,' ordered Iain.

'Please lower that thing,' said Mikhail. 'I hate guns.'

'I said stay where you are.'

'I'm one of the good guys,' said Mikhail, continuing his advance. 'I can prove it.' He extended his left palm forward, like a policeman stopping traffic, then reached behind him with his right hand, and drew a hunting knife from his belt.

'What the fuck…?' muttered Iain, taking off the Mauser's safety-catch. 'Stay back!'

But it was too late, Mikhail was already on him. He swatted away the Mauser barrel with his left hand, then thrust the knife hard up beneath Iain's ribcage, lifting him off his feet for a moment, giving the blade a sharp, vindictive twist. The Mauser discharged with a futile crack, clattered to the ground. Mikhail pulled out the knife, allowing Iain to slump to his knees and onto his back, making ghastly keening and sucking sounds. 'Guns don't kill people,' Mikhail told him piously, as he wiped the blade on his sleeve and put it back in his belt. 'People kill people.' Then he picked up the Mauser and turned it on Gaille.

It was only now that she recognised him from the lift. He saw it in her eyes and grinned. 'I told you I had a good memory for faces,' he said.

The Mazda was locked, but Knox could see discarded packaging on the passenger seat. 'He's armed,' he told Angelos bleakly. 'He's got himself a hunting knife.'

'Don't do anything stupid. I'll send cars.'

'Cars?' asked Knox. 'How long before they get here? How long before they can get to Gaille?'

'A helicopter, then. I'll call the army.'

'It'll still be hours,' said Knox. 'I can't wait. Gaille can't wait.' The track zigzagged upwards towards the pass between two high peaks high above him, but he picked a more direct line and set off up it, as fast as he could without exhausting himself. A bell tolled on a distant slope, and monks began to chant. It sounded almost like a funeral. The ground was thick with purple lavender that buzzed with insects. He passed through a collar of scorched pines out onto steeper slopes of gaunt rock. It took all his strength of will to maintain his pace until he'd made it up to the mouth of the pass.

It grew easier at once, the flatter terrain and a cooling wind blowing in his face. He ran as fast as his weariness and the treacherous footing would allow. Gaille must have come this way with Iain. The thought reminded him of his earlier suspicions about his university friend. He'd forgotten them completely in the shock of Angelos' news about Mikhail, but surely they were worth reporting. He checked his mobile. He still had enough signal to make a call.