Part 2 (1/2)

”Durete!”

Xenos whirled around, almost pus.h.i.+ng his gun into the face of an old man, who instantly paled. But the younger man who had called out the name was standing behind and to the side of the first man.

”You going to shoot everyone today?” He laughed. ”Or just your old friend?”

”You ain't that good a friend, Franco.”

The young man laughed again. ”You got that many in this room you can be so picky?”

Xenos shrugged as he lowered his gun, and allowed the old man-the taverna owner-and his sons, who were waiting outside, to round up the surviving soldiers and lock them in the cellar.

”What are you doing here, Franco? Xenos asked as he poured himself a gla.s.s of goat's milk five minutes later.”

The young Corsican sniffed at the pitcher, turned up his nose, then grabbed a nearby bottle of ouzo. ”You know this is a safe haven for my group.” He took a deep drink of the acidic wine. ”Just walking the property, like you Americans say.”

”No.”

”I haven't asked you anything yet.”

Xenos turned to the bar's mirror to study Franco's reflection. ”The answer's still no.”

”There's no trust left in the world, Durete. No trust.” He stepped out of the way as one of the soldiers with his throat cut was dragged out of the taverna. ”Something I should know about?”

”I thought you knew everything.”

”So did I.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes as the room was cleaned of all traces of the short-lived battle. The wall and floor were being scrubbed, fresh clay applied to the walls, tablecloths torn for gags.

”Okay,” Franco finally said. ”I heard some things.”

Xenos just poured himself another gla.s.s of milk.

Franco studied the man he'd known for ten years, but knew almost nothing about. ”Like I know that half the f.u.c.king Cypriot Army is looking to exterminate Xenos. And that the local Greek militia has orders to stay out of it.” He raised his eyebrows. ”I must admit, that did pique my interest.”

”I killed the Cypriot commander's son,” Xenos said simply.

”Yeah, I heard that too.” The briefest of pauses. ”Any particular reason? If it can be told, of course.”

Xenos took his gun from the bar and slid it into its holster. ”How long can you hold these guys?”

”How long do you need?”

A deep sigh. ”The son, and some of his friends, were running charters for college kids in the islands. Then stranding them here on Naxos, robbing and torturing the men, raping and sodomizing the women. Shooting videos of it and selling it to other tourists.”

”So?” Franco seemed completely unaffected, almost bored.

”I found their last charter. Including a nineteen-year-old girl who died naked and b.l.o.o.d.y in my arms.”

Franco looked into his a.s.sociate's eyes. ”I can hold them as long as it takes to get you off this rock.” He smiled broadly. ”Of course there's going to be a price, amico mio.”

Xenos put his knife in his boot, threw his last roll of bills on the bar, then started for the door. ”No, grazie. I can take care of myself.”

Franco roared with laughter. ”Of that there is little doubt!” He put a hand on the bigger man's shoulder. ”But let me do this for you. It'll make it easier for me to ask you for my favor.”

Xenos shook his head. ”I thought I already said no.”

”There are all sorts of no's.” He followed Xenos out onto the predawn street. ”And the job is in New York. Don't you have family in New York?”

Xenos stopped, with his back to the Corsican. ”I don't have any family,” he almost whispered, his dream gnawing at his consciousness. ”In New York or anywhere else.” He started off.

Franco watched him for a few seconds. ”But I do, Durete! I came to this G.o.dforsaken rock because of this. To find you! You can at least hear me out. You owe the Brotherhood that much.” He immediately regretted saying it.

Xenos turned around, slowly walking back to Franco. His face a frozen nothing mask. A soulless, blank evil.

”Io non devo niente a nessuno! Capito?” His voice was hoa.r.s.e, choked with violence and black possibilities. ”I owe no one a f.u.c.king thing. Not anyone.”

But Franco never backed down, never took a backward step.

”You owe us at least the courtesy of listening.” He paused. ”For that we will guarantee your safety off this island and back to Toulon.”

Xenos thought about it. The hills of Naxos were impa.s.sable and crowded with blind canyons, caves, and ancient labyrinths. He could easily avoid the army until calmer heads prevailed and the pressure came off.

But how many more young soldiers with an overdeveloped sense of duty would he have to kill between then and now?

”You have a car, Franco? Or we going to have to walk?”

Franco nodded slightly in silent understanding, then held up his hand. A minute later a windowless panel van rattled to a stop. ”Do I ever walk, amico mio?”

Five minutes later, after giving explicit instructions to the taverna owner and a.s.suring him of his group's protection against reprisals, Franco climbed into the van beside Xenos.

”I got a boat at Mikolas.”

Eighteen hours later, under cover of darkness, Xenos Filotimo sneaked aboard the fis.h.i.+ng smack Orphelin and, with the tide, escaped into the warm waters of the Mediterranean for the long voyage to the French port of Toulon.

Once clear of the waters off Naxos, the big man stretched out on the foredeck, his backpack as a pillow, and closed his eyes.

But he didn't allow himself to sleep.

The streets of Georgetown were about as different from the Greek islands as possible. The first frost of the year clung to the barren trees and bushes; the gra.s.s on the rolling hills was browning up, and people frowned with the sure and certain knowledge that winter was in offing.

But the streets of the Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., suburb were no less dangerous than those outside the taverna.

The two people saw each other at a distance, walking diagonally toward each other on two of the quaint paths that bordered the university. They both adjusted their pace to ensure coming together at the right point at the right instant. As they both did their sums in their heads.

Do I recognize any faces or cars?

Does anything appear different from how it should be?

Any windows open, exhaust coming from parked vans, workmen on power poles?