grown even longer and now bounced off the tall white barrier as if it were chrome, half-blinding him. The light danced with dust motes, too, which made what he could see of the wall hazy and indistinct. It seemed almost to undulate. With so much visual interference, he could not make out the buildings behind it. He studied the beach, but there was no dinghy or rubber raft resting there.
Pursing his lips, he lowered the binoculars and contemplated the setup. He was intrigued by that tall, very solid-looking wall that seemed to enclose the promontory.
He hurried belowdecks to the storage room, where he remembered seeing a plastic bucket. He stripped to his shorts again and folded his clothes, Walther, and stiletto into the bucket. Back topside, he carried his belongings down the swaying rope ladder to the darkening sea. He slid into the cool water, and, pushing the bucket in front of him, swam toward the coast, creating as little ripple as possible, since white water reflected sunlight and could attract attention.
He was tired as he closed in on landfall, wearied by the stress of events as well as by the day's rough travel. But as he stopped to tread water so he could scrutinize the white wall, fresh energy coursed through him. The wall was higher than he had gaugedat least fourteen feet. Even more interesting was the sharp, rolled concertina wire that ridged its top like a crown of thorns. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to discourage trespassers.
Contemplating that, he swam quietly on toward the end of the promontory, the temperature of the seawater and air dropping as twilight spread like an inky hand. The point's terminus was overgrown with what looked like an impenetrable mass of vegetation and palm trees. He continued swimming on around but still saw no sign of buildings.
Then he smiled soberly to himself: There on the beach lay the dinghy and rubber raft, pulled close up to the thick growth. This was progress.
The strength of his stroke improved, and he continued farther on until he spotted a place where the wilderness ran so close to the sea it almost seemed to drop into it, and the white wall had ended in tribute to the density of nature's green wall. Again he stopped to tread water, this time watching the coastline for movement. After a time, he pushed his bucket ashore toward the thick vegetation and crawled up onto the sand, still warm from the day's sun. He lay there a full minute, feeling his heart pound against the beach, absorbing the comfort of the warmth.
At last, he pulled himself up and ran barefoot into the vegetation where he soon found a tiny glade, dark and shadowy, filled with the scents of rich earth and growing plants. Under a date palm, he dressed quickly, stuck his Walther into his waistband, strapped the stiletto into a sheath Velcroed to his calf, and hid the bucket.
He moved through the trees and bushes, keeping the beach in sight, until he ran into a dirt trail. He crouched to study it. There were footprints with treads characteristic of athletic shoes like the ones he wore. The most recent printsa jumble of several different sets of feetled away from where the raft and dinghy were tied.
Encouraged, he took out his Walther and followed the trail inland for another fifteen yards until it ended at a vast open area in the grip of night's growing shadows. There were olive trees and date palms and beyond them a rise of land. On it stood a large white villa crowned by a white dome inlaid with mosaic tiles. He had seen that dome from the boat.
The sprawling villa appeared completely isolated, and at first glance it seemed deserted, too. No one worked or strolled in the gardens, and no one sat in the blue, wrought-iron furniture that was arranged artistically on the long terrace. Neither could he see anyone through the open French doors. No cars or other vehicles were visible. The only movement was from gauzy curtains, billowing from the open windows. But then voices came from somewhere in the distance. They were raised in unison in a marchlike rhythm, while an occasional gunshot echoed faintly from somewhere far away. Obviously, there was more here than the ordinary visitor might expect.
As if to prove the point, a man wearing a British camouflage uniform and with an Afghan puggaree on his head appeared at the far corner of