Katia first, hear it from her straight, look her in the eyes. If it was a set-up, and they were waiting for him at Xilares, he’d know as soon as he saw her. ‘Turn here.’
Crowbar skidded the 4WD into a high-speed turn, accelerated down a side street.
‘Three blocks, on the right, the apartment building.’
Crowbar pulled up a hundred metres short. The street was quiet, quaint limestone homes nestled within lush gardens, the yellow lights of evening flickering between dark, swaying branches, the sounds and smells of evening meals drifting in the air, a mother’s call, a child’s shriek, the clinking of pots and crockery. They sat in the darkness a moment, let silence cover them.
‘What do we do about Rania?’ said Crowbar. ‘Without the Patmos Illumination, Medved won’t deal.’
‘You heard the curator. They’re pretty close. All we need is a few minutes. Less. By the time Medved figures out it’s not the real thing, we’ll have Rania out.’
‘We may not get that chance.’
‘It’s all we’ve got. We’re just going to have to play it out, broer.’
‘That’s if we can get to her. The RV is out of town, west of the old airport, on the border. There will be roadblocks up at all the main roads out of the city.’
‘We go the back roads, then.’
‘Maybe,’ said Crowbar. ‘Risky. We get caught up in a roadblock and you can say a long goodbye to Rania.’
Clay looked over at the dark silhouette of his friend. ‘Time for you to go, oom,’ he said. ‘You’re not implicated in any of this yet. I’ll take it from here.’
Crowbar smiled. ‘Fok jou, Straker. You can’t do it without me. Now get going. If Katia’s telling the truth, we’ll go to Xilares, get the boy. They won’t be expecting us.’
‘And if she’s not?’
‘We go anyway. Fight our way in if we have to.’
Clay nodded, stepped out onto the pavement, every sense tingling, endorphins flooding his system, the biggest high. ‘If I’m not down in ten, come and get me.’
Crowbar nodded, looked at him a moment then drove off, disappearing down a side street.
Clay started towards the building, careful to keep his stump in his jacket pocket. At the adjacent corner he crossed the road and stopped in the shadow of a large pine tree outside the throw of the streetlights. Katia’s flat was on the southeastern corner, overlooking the road. Lights blazed. Curtains fluttered through an open patio door. From where he stood Clay could see someone moving inside, a woman. Clay stood for a while in the darkness then saw her stride out onto the balcony, light a cigarette, exhaling long with her head back, blowing the smoke up into the night. It was Katia. She’d taken three puffs when she jerked her head around, looked back into the flat. Then she flicked the cigarette over the balcony and hurried back inside. Clay watched the orange end spin like a flare to the ground and land on the pavement in a puff of embers.
Less than two hours now until the rendezvous with Medved, until Rania. Jesus, he breathed to himself, if … But he didn’t allow himself to continue the thought. He buried it. Destroyed it. Focused back on what he had to do right now. That’s how you stayed alive. This was what Hope had been trying to explain to him that night off the Syrian coast. It wasn’t that you were forced to do things for which you were not designed. It was the exact opposite. It was a hell of a thing.
A car pulled up outside the building. Clay sank back into the shadows. A couple got out. He heard voices, laughter, farewells in English. At the doorway, the man reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys, fumbled with the lock and opened the glass door. Clay started moving across the street. The woman giggled as the man ushered her inside with his hand in the small of her back, drifting downward. They were inside the well-lit lobby, heading for the stairs. Clay sprinted along the pathway and grabbed the door handle just before it clicked closed.
Clay stood at the bottom of the stairwell. He could hear the couple making their way up. Whispers, a slap on bare skin, more feminine giggles, then a door closing. Silence. Clay moved quickly up the stairs, emerged onto the fourth floor landing, found Katia’s door. He stood a moment in the corridor, listening. The muffled sounds of Greek pop music from the