The Mediterranean Caper

Weakly, he staggered behind the crouching Darius, who was too intent on killing Giordino to notice him.

Pitt aimed and kicked Darius between the legs. His toe collided with bone and something that was rubbery and soft. Darius released Giordini's head and threw his monstrous hands upward, fingers clawing at the air. Then he rolled over on his side, twisting about the floor in silent agony.

“Welcome to the land of the walking dead,” Pitt said, lifting Giordino to a sitting position.

“Did we win?” Giordino asked in a whisper.

“Just barely. How’s your head?”

“I won’t know till I look for it.”

“Don’t worry,” Pitt gri

Giordino gently probed his hairline between his fingers. “Christ, my skull feels like it has more cracks than a broken windshield.”

Pitt cast a wary look at Darius. The giant, ashen faced and breathing heavily, ‘was stretched out full length on the dusty floor, both hands clutched over his crotch.

“The party’s over,” Pitt said, helping Giordino to his feet. “Let’s disappear before Frankenstein recovers.”

Suddenly, the ominous click, the hollow thud of the door flung open against its stop, froze Pitt and Giordino in their tracks. They had no warning, not even a moment to brace themselves, nothing except the knowledge that time had run out and they could fight no more.

Then a tall, thin man with large sad eyes sauntered easily into the room, one hand shoved casually into the pants pocket of an expensive ivy-league suit.

He stared at Pitt pensively for a long moment over the bowl of a long-stemmed pipe, gripped tenaciously between uncommonly even teeth. Like an account executive who just stepped out of an advertising agency, he looked suave, neat and citified. His free hand, in a practiced gesture, reached up and removed the pipe.

“Sorry to invade your privacy, gentlemen. I’m Inspector Zacynthus.”

12

Zacynthus was hardly what Pitt had expected. There could be no doubt about it, the slurred accent, the neatly styled hair, the casual introduction: Zacynthus was an American.

Ten seconds, each spent scrutinizing every detail of Pitt and Giordino, elapsed before Zacbynthus slowly turned and looked down at the moaning Darius. Zacynthus’ face seemed glacial with elaborate indifference, but the tone of his voice betrayed bewilderment.

“Remarkable, truly remarkable. I didn’t think it was possible.” He looked at Pitt and Giordino again, this time with mixed doubt and admiration written in his eyes. “For a highly trained professional to even lay a hand on Darius is considered a great accomplishment, but for a pair of sad looking underdogs like you to wipe the floor with him is nothing short of miraculous. Your names, my friends?”

A devilish glint flashed in Pitt’s green eyes. “My little companion is David, and I’m Jack the Giant Killer.”

Zacynthus smiled a tired smile. "The day is long and hot, and you’ve incapacitated one of my best men.

Please don’t compound my misery with sick humor.”

“In that case, Dirk,” Giordino murmured slyly. “Tell him the one about the nymphomaniac and the guitar player.”

“Come now,” Zacynthus said, as if talking to children. “I have no time to waste on such drivel information if you please! We’ll begin with your correct names.”

“Screw you,” Pitt snapped angrily. “We didn’t beg to be dragged here by that ape who calls himself Zeno, and we didn’t ask to be pushed around by Earthquake MaGoon there on the floor. We’ve done nothing illegal immoral perhaps, but not illegal. if you hope to get any answers from us, I suggest you supply a few yourself.”

Zacynthus stared at Pitt. his lips pressed tightly together. “Your arrogance aroused my professional curiosity, he said tartly; During the years since I chose investigation as my life’s work I’ve confronted scores of shrewd and dangerous felons. A few have spit in my face and threatened revenge, some stood immovable and silent, still others begged on their knees for mercy. But you, my bedraggled friend, have to be different” He waved his pipe accusingly at Pitt. “By God, it’s classic, truly classic. I look forward to matching my wits against yours at the interrogation.”

He broke off as Zeno stepped into the room. The Greek started to say something, but his mouth hung open and his great moustache appeared to droop in astonishment when he spied Darius, now sitting up in a tight ball “Great thunderbolts of Zeus, my inspector, what has happened?”

“You should have warned Darius to be more careful.”

“But I did warn him,” Zeno explained apologetically. “Even then, for Darius to be overpowered; I did not think it possible.”

“My words exactly.” Zacynthus knocked the ashes from his pipe. “See what you can do for our poor friend. I’m going to take these men to my office and determine if they’re as cu

“After what they did here, do you think it wise, my inspector, to be alone with them?”

“I think they realize they have nothing to gain by further physical activity.” Zacynthus threw Pitt and Giordino a bantering smile. “Just to be on the safe side, Zeno, handcuff the little one’s right wrist to this clever devil’s left ankle. Not a foolproof restraint method, by any means, but at least it will make resistance somewhat inconvenient.”

Quickly Zeno pulled a pair of chromium plated handcuffs from a clip on his belt, unsnapped the ratchets and secured them into place, leaving Giordino in an awkward stooped position.

Pitt glanced up through the hole in the roof at the evening sky. It was darkening by the moment as the sunlight began to retreat. His back still ached, but he felt grateful that it was Giordino, and not he, who was bent double. He flexed his shoulders, wincing at the pain that erupted from every square inch of his torso, then he looked back at Zacynthus.

“What have you done with Teri?” ho asked quietly.

“She’s quite safe,” Zacynthus replied. “As soon as I can verify her claim of being von Till’s niece, I shall release her.”

“What about us?” Giordino’s voice reached up.

“In due time,” Zacynthus said curtly, motioning to the doorway. “After you, gentlemen.”

Two minutes later, with Giordino clumsily shuffling beside Pitt, they entered Zacynthus’ office. It was a small room but efficiently furnished; complete with detailed aerial photographs of Thasos tacked to the walls, three telephones, and a short-wave radio, conveniently placed on a table directly behind an old scratched and battered desk. Pitt looked around surprised. The whole set-up was too neat, too professional. Quickly he decided that his best hope still lay in a crude show of hostility.

“This looks more like the command headquarters of a general than the office of a two-bit police inspector.”

“You and your friend are brave men,” Zacynthus said wearily. “Your acts have proved it. But it’s stupid of you to continue the role of an oaf. Though, I admit, you do it very well.” He walked around the desk and sat down in an obviously unoiled swivel chair. “This time the truth. Your names please?”

Pitt paused before replying. He was puzzled and angry at the same time. The strange, off-beat operation of his captors puzzled him.

There was a curious feeling, almost a cold certainty in his subconscious mind that he had nothing to fear.

These people did not fit his conception of run-of-the-mill Greek policemen. And if they were on von Till’s payroll, why were they so dead-set on merely obtaining his and Giordino’s names; unless, perhaps, the cats were toying with the mice.

“Well?” Zacynthus’ voice hardened to a sharp edge.

Pitt pulled himself erect, and took a gamble.

“Pitt, Dirk Pitt, Director of Special Projects, United States National Underwater Marine Agency.