Jake had set his alarm early again and was down in the kitchen when Alesandro arrived. But the greengrocer shook his head as soon as he saw him.
‘No, my friend. I see nobody today and no letters for you.’
‘Nobody in the monastery kitchen?’
‘Nobody. I have a key and I come and I go and nobody sees me and I sees nobody.’
‘And the taverna?’ Jake asked hopefully.
But Alesandro shook his head again.
After he’d driven away, Jake sat down on the stone wall around the carob tree, running over the events of the previous evening. Who had it been in the RIB? He closed his eyes, trying to make the mental image more vivid. The monk had looked like Taki, but something was different about his face.
After the boat had left, he had taken a good look around the monastery grounds, walking through the trees with the torch off, relying on his memory of the slow curves of the path. It was pitch dark under the protection of the trees and he stopped where the path became faintly visible in the light of the stars. The monastery lay ahead and the glow from a few lit windows showed the path snaking lazily up the lawn to the basement door.
He had gazed at the building for a full five minutes, alert for any danger signals. It was so still he would surely hear the RIB returning, but the bay lay quietly in darkness behind him. He dared himself to step out into the open and walk on up the path to the basement door. Or walk through the cumquat grove? But that would arouse suspicion if anyone did happen to see him. No, he was in the robe, so simply walk up the path to the door. He hadn’t worked out what he would do if the door was unlocked; he first had to steel himself to walk across what he had come to regard as enemy territory.
The gold coloured key was in his pocket and if he was seen he could sprint to the gate. Courage or perhaps recklessness drove him on and, his heart thumping, he set off up the path, forcing himself not to walk too fast.
But nothing happened as the monastery loomed above him and he reached the door unchallenged. He put his face to the small window pane but the basement was in darkness with no light showing except the green glow from the pilot lights in the kitchen. He turned the handle and pushed, but the door was firmly locked.
‘Hey, you’re miles away,’ a voice called. Jake jumped and opened his eyes; in his imagination he was still roaming the monastery garden.
Rob was in his jogging gear and looking at Jake quizzically. Jake grinned, mostly in relief, and filled him in on what he had seen.
‘Mate, your dad’d go mad as a meat axe if he knew you were doing stuff like that.’
‘Rob, I can’t just sit around hoping Zoë’ll come back.’
‘Maybe, but things are grim enough without you getting into bother…’
‘Don’t worry, I know my dad pretty well. He wouldn’t blame you,’ but he went on mischievously, ‘Unless, of course, he’s asked you guys to keep a close watch on me.’
Rob grinned.
‘He has, hasn’t he?’ Jake said accusingly.
‘Listen, Jake, he knows you pretty well too – fourteen years of experience! To be honest, he’s worried about what you might get up to.’
‘I just want to find Zoë.’
‘Sure, but don’t do anything crazy and tell me if you want help.’ He held out his right fist and Jake punched it lightly with his.
‘Keep in touch, right?’ Rob called as he set off on his run.
Jake watched him go. He must be careful what he said. He seriously didn’t want to get gated.
Jake worked with Matt and Green Group on kayaking classes in the morning. It went well, but his mind wasn’t really on what he was doing. Over lunch, his dad told him that the police had checked out the four businesses with Syntagma in their names and had found nothing unusual at any of them.
‘The detective told Mum they’d upset a number of people in the process,’ his dad said. ‘She’s now fully briefed them about Selena’s story, so we’ll see what they do.’ He looked at Jake and added, ‘Sorry if that blows Selena’s secret but the priority is finding Zoë.’
Jake wondered if he should write a note for Selena to send with Alesandro, but if Spyros found it before she did that would create even more problems. And going to the taverna to try to see her wasn’t a good idea either.
After lunch, Jake helped Matt and Rob set up an abseiling session at the cliff beyond the olive grove.
Matt chatted happily, completely in his element. ‘Yeah, there’ll be a few who’ve done it before, but most will get scared silly, like they did on the Fun Run.’
But Jake was feeling gloomy; worried that he had got Selena into trouble. Would the police question her and Warren? They should, but would they? Not if they assumed monks could do no wrong. His parents still clung to the belief that the police were their only realistic chance of finding Zoë. He supposed he could hardly blame them for that. Maybe he should try to visit Bill Blizzard, wherever they were holding him, but that might not be allowed.
Matt asked him to try the harness before the grommets arrived. The sit harness was made of broad nylon tapes and quickly adjustable. The abseiler could control the rate of descent with a special device, a figure-of-eight descendeur that the abseiling rope passed through.
He was kept busy throughout the afternoon, first at the top of the cliff and later down on the shingle beach, completely absorbed in what he was doing. He preferred being at the base of the cliff and seeing the smiles of relief and sensing the feeling of achievement as the abseilers reached safe ground again.
At the end of the session he stayed behind on the beach while the last of the grommets made their way up the steep path to the top of the cliff. It was the end of the afternoon’s classes, or Happy Hour as they called the free time before supper.
He hunted around on the shingle for flat stones to skim on the sea. A pang of guilt that he hadn’t thought about Zoë for several hours made him skim a stone extra hard. It skipped five times before hitting a small wave and disappearing. He’d done his share of helping with the course today and it had certainly taken his mind off things. But after supper he’d go back to the monastery. He really had no doubt that the answer to Zoë’s disappearance lay there.
He turned for a fresh supply of flat stones and was surprised to see Cath sitting on the shingle watching him, her hair more golden than ever in the late afternoon sun.
‘You thought you were alone, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘I wanted someone to walk back with.’
‘Sure.’ Jake had hardly spoken to her during the week except once or twice in the windsurfing sessions. She got to her feet in an easy movement, picking up a stone as she did so and, coming down the beach, flicked it across the water.
‘Not bad,’ he said as it skipped seven or eight times before sinking below the surface.
He skimmed another that bombed completely but his next one matched Cath’s throw.
They spent the next ten minutes in companionable silence, skimming one stone after another, before Jake reluctantly said he had to get back.
‘Can we go round by the beach instead of through the olive grove?’ she asked.
‘It’s further, but sure, if you want to.’
‘You’re so lucky to live here,’ Cath said as they set off.
‘Yeah, really lucky,’ Jake replied, but for how much longer he wondered.
‘The abseiling was scary at first, but Matt, Rob and you were great; really made me laugh and relax.’
Jake grinned at the complement but noticed Cath glancing over her shoulder to the cliff top.
‘Someone up there?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘You’re very perceptive.’
‘It’s Doug, right?’
Her smile widened. ‘We all laughed at the classic way you dealt with him. Except Doug; he’s been plotting revenge.’
‘And tomorrow’s Friday, so this is his last chance.’
‘I heard him say something about an ambush in the olive grove.’
‘What a pain! Another problem and my dad’ll gate me for sure.’
They had reached the jumble of giant layers of rock that formed the headland. Jake jumped up onto the first level and held out his hand to Cath.
She smiled at him and he thought for a moment that she was going to ignore his offer of help and make her own way up. She looked very capable of it. But she reached up and took his hand and he pulled her up.
‘Thanks for keeping me out of trouble,’ he grinned.
She smiled and squeezed his hand very slightly before letting go.
He climbed up onto the next level and this time she took his hand without hesitation. They repeated the process four more times before reaching the top of the headland where the expanse of Zengounas Bay stretched out below them.
She led the way down and offered her hand to him this time. On the final drop down to the sandy beach she lost her footing and they slithered down the smooth rock face together.
They were suddenly very close, standing on the sand and laughing, still holding hands. They were about the same height, this fifteen-year-old girl and him, and her green eyes held his. Her laugh turned into a wide smile and she touched his cheek with her free hand. After a moment, her hand slipped around the back of his head and she pulled him gently to her. Her lips parted slightly and she kissed him.
All too soon she pulled away, saying, ‘C’mon, Jake, we’ll be late,’ and still holding his hand, started off down the beach.
When Jake got back his parents were setting off on what they had decided was to be their final night of ‘touring the tavernas’ as Matt had labelled it. The effort had resulted only in a few false trails and nothing positive and they were all fed up with it. Rob and Matt would go along as well after they had given the groups a briefing on the Friday Project.
Jenny was left in charge and Jake told her he would be heading up to the old bench after he’d had something to eat. He got a stern look and was told to be careful.
The early evening air was still warm as he set out through the village, his thoughts not about Zoë this time. As he and Cath had climbed over the headland he had wondered who it was she was actually keeping out of trouble; Doug or him. Her embrace seemed to answer that question, although maybe she just felt sorry for him. But he’d remember her kiss for a long time.
He waited at the bench until it was almost fully dark. There had been no sign of anyone and he put on the robe, which he had taken home the previous evening, unlocked the gate and walked confidently down the hill into the monastery grounds. Apart from a few cicadas calling, the night was calm and peaceful, but when he reached the pine tree opposite the jetty he slipped in behind its protective branches.
Shortly after dark seemed to be the right time if something was going to happen, but as he kept watch, he prepared himself for a long wait.
This really was not what he had planned for his half-term.
The moon had not yet risen and the stars were especially bright, but the bay and surrounding trees were dark and spooky, with high branches creaking now and again in the evening breeze.
After about half an hour, a pinprick of light appeared through the trees and Jake’s heart rate ticked up. Someone with a torch was walking down the path from the monastery. The light flickered and turned this way and that. There was another torch behind, flicking on and off erratically. He watched, puzzled and apprehensive. It was a scene similar to Sunday night after he had escaped from the basement.
He felt suddenly vulnerable and retreated to the comparative safety of the clearing behind the boathouse. There was a limited view along the path past the jetty from the bushes by the boathouse door. He edged as far forward as he dared, but ready to slither back into the clearing.
The sound of subdued voices carried across to him. One of the torches swung wildly, the beam piercing the darkness and he ducked instinctively.
When he put his head up again, the beam of the torch shone briefly on a group of people, each of them hooded in monks’ robes. The torchlight shone momentarily on objects lying on the ground at the feet of the eerie figures. He couldn’t make out much detail but realised that the second torch had been flickering because of the people moving in front of it.
They seemed to be waiting for something. The two people holding the torches were standing slightly apart from the others, behaving rather like teachers on a school outing, chatting quietly while keeping their distance. It was too far for Jake to hear what they were saying, but he decided that the intonation was wrong for English.
Without warning, lights came on and Jake hastily retreated behind the screen of bushes. His heart was pounding as he turned and peered out cautiously through the foliage. The lights on the crosses were on, bathing the bay and surrounding trees in a soft yellow glow. Could they be something symbolic? The people at the storeroom were now visible and he could see that the objects they had with them were suitcases and sports bags. Everyone in their identical black robes was silent and expectant. They must be the pilgrims that Taki had told him about.
He became aware of a dull roar, growing closer and suddenly the black RIB motored slowly into the bay. The noise of the engine reduced to a deep throated burble as the boat was turned and brought astern up to the jetty where it bumped gently against the timber piles.
Eight of the group were making their way to the jetty, struggling along the path with their luggage. The two holding the torches were encouraging but not helping them while the others, Jake counted another eight, remained at the storeroom.
‘Come along, people,’ the coxswain called out. Jake recognised Warren’s voice immediately. He peered through the bushes to get a better look. So this was the person who had infatuated Selena and who Taki obviously hated.
He was standing near the illuminated cross holding a rope that secured the RIB. Like everyone there, he was dressed in an anonymous black robe but that couldn’t disguise his height and solid build. The hood of the robe was down and the yellow light accentuated his blond hair and tanned face. Jake reluctantly conceded that Selena was right; he supposed he did look strong and handsome.
The luggage was piled onto the foredeck and the passengers took their places, four on the high seats behind the driving position and four on the bench seat across the back. The boat was heavily loaded and there was an undercurrent of anxious conversation.
Warren talked to them as though they were children. ‘You’ve been on the boat before, so settle down and keep quiet.’
Having loaded everyone, they waited. The two men with torches were still chatting on the path not far from the boathouse door. He was only a metre or two from them and could hear every word that they said. Unfortunately it was not a language that he even recognised, let alone understood.
Eventually Warren tied the rope to the metal cross and came over to join them, cupping his hands as he lit a match.
‘No need to wait,’ he told them, lighting a cigarette.
‘Scorpion coming?’ one of the men asked.
‘Yeah, he’s going over to Italy to visit our people over there.’
‘If he coming, we wait,’ the other man said in heavily accented English.
‘Scared of him, eh?’ Warren sounded amused and the two men laughed nervously.
They stood on the path, smoking in silence. They were so close that Jake could smell their body odour over the cigarette smoke.
‘Why are the bladdy lights on?’ a deep voice demanded from some distance away. ‘It’s like Christmas here.’
Warren swore softly before calling out, ‘Waiting for you, Scorpion, so you can see where you’re going.’
‘Man, I’ve told you to leave the lights off unless you are actually navigating. Geeze, but you’re careless,’ he complained, coming up to them.
‘Okay, Scorp, I hear you,’ Warren replied without sounding at all repentant. ‘You ready to go?’
‘Would I be here if I wasn’t ready?’ Scorpion shot back, irritated.
‘Who is skippering the trawler tonight?’ Warren seemed to be trying to make conversation.
‘It’s Carlo Montaldi,’ Scorpion replied. ‘Now, have you got the food for Syntagma?’
Jake drew in his breath sharply.
‘Yes, it’s on the boat…’ Their voices faded as they walked along the jetty to board the RIB. The engine started and Jake felt safe peering out again. The boat was pulling slowly away from its berth with Scorpion standing at the console next to Warren. Jake had not been able to get a good look at him and with the hood of his robe pulled up, he was simply a dark sinister shape.
The powerful boat was surprisingly quiet and the sound soon faded away into the night as it headed towards the open sea. The lights on the crosses went off abruptly and the only light was the glow of a cigarette that one of the monks was smoking.
Jake settled down to see what would happen next. After about twenty minutes, the monks turned their torches on again and walked to the storeroom where the remaining eight people waited patiently. Jake decided to risk getting a bit closer to the action and made his way carefully through the bushes to the tall pine tree.
By the time he got there, the group was coming down the path carrying their luggage. He was taking a chance, but it was dark and they wouldn’t expect anyone to be hiding in the trees.
‘You wait here. You quiet. Boat come,’ one of the monks said before they set off together towards the monastery. The torches bobbed and weaved as they walked up the path and disappeared from view. It was totally dark and after some desultory conversation, again in a language that Jake didn’t recognise, the pilgrims, if that’s what they were, lapsed into silence.
Jake knew what to expect this time and after another five minutes he heard the low rumble of the boat’s engine. One or two of the group exclaimed in surprise as the lights on the crosses came on. The RIB appeared in the bay a few moments later with only the coxswain on board. He was robed but Jake could tell from his build that it was Warren.
As before, the boat was turned in the bay and brought astern up to the jetty, facing out, ready for an easy departure. The lights on the two crosses illuminated the scene with their eerie yellow light.
‘Okay, load her up,’ Warren said, looping a single rope around the cross. The passengers knew what to do; one stood on the foredeck while another passed him one piece of luggage after another. The others hung back on the path and watched. Meanwhile Warren was throwing items from the back of the boat onto the jetty. Jake craned his neck to see and realised that it was a collection of monks’ robes. Warren climbed up onto the jetty, picked up the bundle in his arms and carried it to the old store building. He shouldered the door open and threw the robes inside, before closing the door and strolling back to the boat.
‘Okay, people, keep quiet,’ he ordered as he jumped back onto the RIB. ‘Get on board and find a place to sit.’
But the luggage had been loaded to one side of the foredeck and Warren told two of the passengers to restack it more centrally.
The remaining passengers shuffled down the jetty and dutifully stepped onto the boat, some more agile than others. Jake looked at them curiously, trying to glean some useful information. They were all in robes with the hoods pulled up so there was not a lot he could learn. He was fairly sure two of the eight were women. If they were the pilgrims, why were they creeping around at night?
Warren was absorbed in the task of rearranging the suitcases and spoke angrily to one of the men who didn’t understand what he wanted. The others stopped boarding to watch the drama unfold.
‘The boat is obviously out of balance,’ he was saying irritably. But the man looked at him blankly and Warren shook his head and picked up a suitcase. ‘Geeze, I’ll damn well do it myself.’
Jake made a snap decision. Almost without thinking he stepped out from behind the pine tree and quietly took his place behind the last of the passengers. Warren was still busy with the luggage as Jake boarded the RIB and joined four others on the bench seat across the back of the craft. He deliberately didn’t look at anyone and, as far as he could tell, they ignored him. Being last aboard, he sat next to the bulbous inflatable hull, hunkering down and pulling the hood of his robe tightly around his face.
His heart was pounding as his mind raced with all the possible things that could go wrong. There were only eight pilgrims in the boat so one more person was quite significant, but on the last trip he hadn’t noticed any headcount being made.
‘All aboard?’ Warren called from the driving position in the centre of the boat. He unhitched the rope from the cross and, with an increase in sound from the powerful engine, the boat moved slowly forwards and turned towards the mouth of the bay.
Jake looked over the side so that his face couldn’t be seen. They were slipping through the narrow entrance channel and he could make out the slabs of grey rock only a metre or two away. How was Warren able to see where he was going with so little light? Then it went dark in the bay behind them and the boat became livelier as it encountered the slight swell of the open sea.
Warren shone a torch around before turning back to the controls. The boat swung slightly to the right and accelerated, but Jake kept looking over the side, avoiding the person next to him in case they realised that, despite the identical robe, he was not one of them.
It had all happened so quickly from that decision to board the RIB and now, with the land dropping away fast behind them and on a boat with nine complete strangers heading he had no idea where, it felt like a crazy dream. Where could they be going? Warren had mentioned Italy, but the last time the boat had come back in less than half an hour and Italy was at least eighty miles away. Warren had talked to Scorpion about a trawler so the RIB must be the shuttle out to a bigger ship that was going to Italy. All the passengers had luggage except him, which would really make him conspicuous when they disembarked, but they were all in monk’s robes so he might get away with it. What would happen after that was in the lap of the Gods.
The boat skimmed apparently effortlessly across the water. The lights of Corfu were receding rapidly and Jake reckoned they were heading north-east, diagonally away from the north coast of the island. After about ten minutes the engine note eased slightly and he risked a glance forward. There was a small ship not far ahead of them, riding at anchor, with only a few lights showing. It looked like an ordinary fishing trawler but it was difficult to make out in the darkness. They must have been seen because floodlights came on high on the mast and on the roof of the wheelhouse near the stern, bathing the central part of the trawler in harsh white light. Rust streaks showed on cream paintwork and Jake had a glimpse of the green, white and red of an Italian flag at the stern before the RIB turned again.
Warren flicked a switch and subdued lighting came on at the console and on the foredeck. He called out loudly, ‘Take off your robes.’
Jake’s heart sank. Now he would be discovered.
Several of the passengers didn’t understand, so Warren pulled his own robe over his head to demonstrate what he meant. Now in jeans and a tee-shirt, he threw the robe onto the foredeck while steering the boat with one hand. They all understood now and set about disrobing. Two young men sitting on the bench seat next to Jake pulled off their robes before walking unsteadily forward to the foredeck, holding onto the seats for support and threw their robes onto the growing pile. Jake had taken off his robe to show that he understood, but stayed where he was.
They were getting close but not yet in the glare of the floodlights. Everyone was focussed on the trawler up ahead and he was alone at the back of the RIB.
Act fast or get found out!
He dropped to the deck on his hands and knees and forced himself sideways under the bench seat. He hoped nobody had noticed as he pulled the robe over himself as best he could before the RIB bumped alongside the bigger vessel and the wash of light lit up the entire craft.
It was a tight squeeze, the floor was ribbed and dug into his chest and legs and water on the floor soaked into his jeans. But by pulling the robe away from his face he could see out with one eye. He had a view of the rail of the trawler and two swarthy crewmen looking expectantly over the side.
The engine shut down and the throbbing of the bulkhead next to his right ear subsided and stopped. A rope amidships held the RIB against the side of the trawler, and the passengers started climbing up a short rope ladder that had been thrown down by the crewmen.
The two young men who had been sitting next to Jake were first, climbing up easily with sports bags over their shoulders. Then a big man wearing thick corduroy trousers and a sweater struggled up with a big suitcase. Two women followed him, one laughing as the ladder swayed. A crewman laughed too, a gold tooth glinting as he reached down to gave her a hand up. Next, three middle-aged men in business suits, one with a rucksack, took turns to board the trawler. The remaining bags and cases were passed up to the other crewman who threw them dismissively onto the deck behind him.
The last person up the ladder was Brother Warren. He climbed over the rail of the trawler and stood in Jake’s line of sight talking to the crewmen. His tee-shirt did little to hide his muscular build and it was obvious from the crewmen’s expressions that they were in awe of him. The conversation concluded, Warren turned and vaulted over the rail and the boat rocked as he landed on the foredeck.
Jake shrank back under the seat. He absolutely did not want to be discovered. All was quiet for a few minutes and then he heard voices. A gruff voice on the trawler and Warren responding from the driving position of the RIB.
He risked pulling the robe away from his eye again. A thickset middle-aged man in a khaki shirt was leaning on the rail looking down into the boat. He had a broad face mostly hidden by a bushy beard and moustache with black eyebrows that almost ran together. Not a face to easily forget. Jake slowly pulled the robe back into position.
But when he spoke, Jake recognised the voice from earlier; it was Scorpion. He thought of pulling the robe back again to try to see the tattoo, but decided to play it safe and lay completely still.
‘Man, a message from our friends. They’re expecting the coast guard patrol at 10:30, so hold off bringing the other lot until 11:30, just to be safe. Then we set sail.’
‘Okay, 11:30,’ Warren called out. ‘Then you’re taking a turn past Syntagma before heading to Italy?’
‘Ja, that’s right. Now, listen, I’m bushed,’ Scorpion said. ‘I’m going to catch some shuteye.’
Any further discussion was lost to Jake as the engine of the RIB was started. After a few moments the boat moved slowly forward before surging ahead as it cleared the trawler. He braced himself as the boat turned tightly before settling down on a straight course. They were going much faster now, presumably back to Monastery Bay. Jake tried to think through the conversation that he had overheard but the boat was thumping over small waves. All he could focus on was not being thrown about too badly. What would happen when they got back? Hopefully Warren would simply leave the boat and not check it over. Scorpion had accused him of being careless; Jake hoped he’d be careless again.
Eventually the roar of the engine reduced and the boat slowed. They were in calm water, presumably approaching the bay. Sure enough, lights came on ahead of them.
Jake eased out of his position under the bench seat. He lifted his head cautiously and peered forward between the seats. They were already through the entrance channel with the dark bulk of the boathouse looming up on the right. Warren, again in his robe, was standing at the controls, silhouetted against the illuminated cross on the jetty.
The eerie yellow light that picked out the delicate metalwork of the cross revealed another group of pilgrims. They were robed with their hoods pulled up, throwing their faces into deep shadow. Jake forced himself back under the seat again.
There was a surge of water as the boat went astern momentarily and stopped. The engine was cut, water slapping against the hull the only sound.
‘The last eight ready?’ Warren was speaking to someone on the shore.
‘Yeah, ready, Warren.’ A foreign voice; probably the other monk. Jake sensed the robed figures with the invisible faces gazing down into the boat and he lay totally still.
‘Change of plan,’ Warren laughed without humour. ‘Take them back inside, we’re not doing the next run ‘til 11:30.’
The other man said something that Jake couldn’t hear. ‘Bring them back at 11:30, okay?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ He didn’t sound too pleased.
‘Oh, and put these robes in the store.’
The engine was started again and the boat pulled away from the jetty and manoeuvred in the bay. Bright lights came on after a few minutes, the engine died and the boat rocked as Warren stepped onto the wooden walkway in the boathouse. Jake stayed where he was until the lights went out and the door was closed firmly.
As soon as he heard the sound of the key turning in the lock, Jake wriggled out of his hiding place. He scrambled onto the walkway and looked out cautiously through one of the boathouse windows.
He was in time to see Warren, his robe swirling around him, striding up the path towards the monastery. As he reached the storeroom, he stopped and turned towards the boathouse. Jake ducked involuntarily, but Warren simply blipped a remote control towards the boathouse and the lights on the crosses went out. His torch snapped on and he continued up the path to the monastery, following the monk and the eight would-be passengers.
Jake looked at his watch: a few minutes to ten. His mind raced with the possibilities, but before he could do anything, he would have to get out of the boathouse. He tried the door but, as he thought, it was locked.
That didn’t make a lot of sense because the sea gates at the other end of the building stood wide open. But the only way out was to swim. He stripped down to his boxers and wrapped his jeans, shirt, fleece and trainers in the robe, making the parcel as secure as he could in the darkness, tying it with the robe’s cream cord. The easiest way into the water was to get back into the RIB and slip over the inflatable side. He put his bundle of clothes on the floor of the boat and eased over the side. The water was eerie and uninviting and he held onto the rope along the inflatable hull for a few moments, before letting go.
He swam slowly on his back, holding the bundle clear of the water. It was difficult to see where he was going as he swam out of the boathouse, turned and made for a point midway between the boathouse and the jetty, kicking with his feet and using his free hand. After a minute he put his feet down experimentally and found sand, but he listened intently before emerging from the water.
He used his fleece to dry himself roughly before pulling on his clothes and the robe, which flapped as he walked quickly up the path through the trees. When he got to the car park he took off the robe and tucked it under a bush.
There was about an hour and a half before the boat was due to go out again. Scorpion was going, as Warren had put it, to take a turn past Syntagma on the way to Italy. This opportunity would not come again, but what could he do on his own?
Doug had said he wanted a real challenge; well, here was one.
