“One thousand Marlboro cigarettes, my gift to you.”

Goulos almost went berserk. “These things are like gold, so expensive. Almost too good to smoke, but I will.”

“Here, have one of mine for the time being and let’s have a drink,” Constantine said.

Goulos went to the cistern, opened it, and took out a bottle. “This is a German wine called Hock. Marvellous when cold and the cistern is better than an ice box.”

He got a corkscrew and opened the bottle, poured two glasses, and accepted one of Aleko’s cigarettes. “Wonderful.” He expelled the smoke. “So I die a little earlier. Who cares? I hear you’re doing really well with the smuggling these days.”

“Fair.”

“What nonsense, you make a fortune. So what do you want with your poor old cousin?”

Aleko poured more Hock. “You’re family, Goulos, and I love you, but if you let me down in this affair, I’ll kill you myself.”

“That important?” Goulos said. “Well, what are families for? So tell me.”

“Castle Koenig,” Aleko said.

Goulos stopped smiling. “You’ve got a problem there?”

“I could have. A serious problem. Tell me anything you can.”

“Well, this American family has owned it for years. The present member is, or was, a colonel in the Israeli Army, name of Levy. The family have always been well liked locally. He used to have holidays as a boy, learned some Greek, but these days” – he shrugged – “it’s not the same.”

“In what way?”

“Well, he always had caretakers, Zarchas and his wife, because he only came to the castle now and then, but about two months ago he fired them without explanation.”

“And then?”

“Five young men turned up, all Israelis. They’ve been there ever since. One of them, called Braun, does the shopping at the village store. He doesn’t have Greek, so uses English.” He poured Aleko another glass of Hock. “They’re there now, I know that for a fact, also Colonel Levy. What’s it about, Constantine?”

“Bad people is what it’s about,” Aleko told him. “I think they’re holding two women captive.”

Goulos smiled beautifully. “Now isn’t that a coincidence? Little Stefanos, my goat boy, was on the slope close to the castle a few days ago. He was in the olive grove looking for a stray, and he could see into the courtyard. Someone drove in in a vehicle, then two of the Israelis helped a woman out and took her in the main door between them.”

“My God,” Aleko said. “That’s it.”

“No, there’s more. He was up there again yesterday when the same thing happened, only this time the woman involved had to be carried inside.”

Aleko banged on the table. “Like I said, bad people, my cousin.”

“So what will you do about them?”

Aleko smiled. “Oh, something appropriate.” He stood up and shook hands. “Enjoy your cigarettes,” and he opened the door and went back to the Suzuki.

When he returned to the taverna, his nephews and Stavros were sitting at the bar, the only customers, Anna standing behind.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“First I phone Brigadier Ferguson, then I’ll explain.” He went through to the office and was back in five minutes. “Right,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

Ferguson had taken the call while seated in the back of his Daimler on the way to Farley Field. He had never felt such elation. He sat there thinking about it, then phoned the President on his mobile. Cazalet was in the sitting room at the White House having coffee and sandwiches with Teddy, when he took the call.

“Total confirmation, Mr. President. My local contact has established they are there.”

“Thank God!” the President said. “What happens now?”

“We’ll do whatever we have to tomorrow. I’ll be there with Dillon and Blake Johnson and my local people. I’ll keep in constant touch.”

“Thank you,” Cazalet said, then turned to Teddy. “They’re there,” he said simply. “They are there at Castle Koenig. Ferguson has had it confirmed.”

The one fly in the ointment was the weather. At Farley Field the rain fell monotonously as Ferguson was sitting in the small office the station commander had loaned him, talking to Blake and Dillon. Captain Vernon and Lieutenant Gaunt came in. Gaunt unfolded a chart across the desk.

“There we are, Brigadier, direct flight over France, Switzerland, northern Italy, and down the Adriatic Sea to Corfu.”

“How far?”

“Almost fourteen hundred miles.”

“How long will it take?”

“I’d normally say three hours to allow for any eventualities, but weather in mainland Britain is so bad at the moment that they won’t give me a departure time until eight A.M.”

“Damn!” Ferguson said.

“Sorry, Brigadier, nothing I can do.”

“Yes, not your fault. Proceed on that time scale, then.”

Vernon went out and Dillon opened the French window and looked out at the rain. “A hell of a night.”

“I know, don’t rub it in,” Ferguson said.

It was Blake who stated the obvious. “Even if we don’t get to Corfu by noon and still have to cross the island by Range Rover, it won’t make much difference. Whatever the plan, when it comes to attacking Castle Koenig, it must be under cover of darkness.”

Ferguson nodded. “You’re right, of course.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “A few hours sleep, gentlemen. Let’s grab them while we can,” and he led the way out.

It was still raining the following morning when they took off, rising through the bad weather steadily until they leveled off at fifty thousand. Sergeant Kersey brought coffee, and tea for Dillon, and retired.

“Can we go over again what Sergeant-Major Harley delivered?”

Ferguson told him, and Dillon nodded. “That seems adequate. I’m glad you remembered the door charges.”

Ferguson said mildly, “I would remind you, Dillon, that I have been doing this sort of thing for even longer than you.”

“Is that a fact?” Dillon said innocently. “I didn’t think you were that old.”

“A nineteen-year-old subaltern on the Hook in the Korean War, as you very well know.”

“I always heard that was a bad place,” Blake said.

“You could say that. Trench warfare, just like the First World War. You’d sit there in a regiment of seven hundred and fifty men and the Chinese would attack in divisional strength, usually around twelve thousand.” He shrugged. “Old men’s stories. Who cares?”

“Well, you got a Military Cross out of it, and that’s not bad for nineteen, you old bugger,” Dillon said. “Let’s look at that map again.”

Ferguson took it from his briefcase and unfolded it. It was quite simply a large-scale map of Corfu. “Here we are, Vitari, that’s Aleko’s village, and he said Castle Koenig was about fifteen miles north.”

“But not marked,” Blake said.

“Well, it wouldn’t be, it’s not that kind of a map.” Ferguson looked at Dillon. “You think it can be done?”

“Under cover of darkness, yes.”

“There is one problem. Aleko and his chaps are good men and as fine a band of cutthroats as I’ve ever used, but against Judas, or Levy, as I suppose we must call him now…” Ferguson shook his head. “A first-class soldier, and I would deduce that every one of his men has served in the Israeli Army.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dillon said. “This is a one-man operation anyway. Aleko and his boys simply land me and stand out to sea and wait for a signal to come back when needed.”

“The worst idea I ever heard of,” Blake Johnson told him. “I think you’ve forgotten how to count, Dillon. Levy has five men that we know of – that’s six including him – and we got that information from you. Now what the hell are you going to do? Sneak in there and kill them one by one like a bad action movie?”

“I know the interior of the castle, I know where to go.”

“You don’t damn well know. You were on the third floor, and so was Marie de Brissac, and you only know that because they took you down to the cellar. Oh, I was forgetting. They took you to the great man’s study, so you know where that is. Other than that, you know squat.”