Hearts of Stone by Simon Scarrow Page A

acknowledged, then quickly looked round at the boat, noting the clean paintwork and orderly appearance of the craft and its equipment. ‘This looks splendid.’
    Stavakis climbed aboard and made his way to the controls in the small pilot house. A moment later the engine coughed and turned over and, after the application of a little choke, settled into a steady rhythm. Water spat from the exhaust pipe. Satisfied that it was running smoothly the fisherman emerged to untie the mooring ropes and ease his boat away from the dock. As it drifted out he returned to the wheel, slipped the engine into gear and eased the throttle open. With a gentle shudder Athena moved away from the quay and cut a wide easy arc across the calm water of the harbour before passing the weathered mole first built by the Venetians centuries before.
    Peter, Andreas and Eleni sat on the foredeck, legs hanging over the side, revelling in the air washing over their skin and through their hair. Their fathers sat amidship, holding the stays to steady themselves. The German had brought his hat but the brim lifted and threatened to carry away and he had to hurriedly remove it and tuck it under his spare arm. The fisherman, who knew no other life than the sea, regarded his passengers with amusement as they grinned with unalloyed delight. Glancing up at the peaks on the mainland he saw that there was no sign of the thin clouds that usually heralded a stiff breeze later in the day. The Ionian rarely experienced any storms in the summer months, but sudden, powerful winds often sprang from nowhere, and passed just as quickly, leaving the sea flat and airless.
    They passed through the narrow stretch of the channel at Kariotes and the sea opened out in front of them, the mainland to their left and the coast of Lefkas to their right, and ahead in the distance the islands of Sparti, Skorpios and the larger Meganissi, the main feature of the day’s trip. Here and there were the bright triangles of distant sails, clearly visible against the startling blue of the sea. Thin trails of smoke from powered vessels were the only marks against a flawless turquoise sky.
    Muller turned and shaded his eyes as he stared towards Lefkas, picking out the hill beyond which lay the small valley he had devoted years of his life to exploring. It seemed to diminish in significance before his eyes, yet he, and only he, knew of the great secret it contained. One which he would reveal to the world when he was good and ready. And then he would bask in the astonishment and admiration of his peers and share the same legendary reputation of the great Schliemann himself.
    ‘It is a beautiful sight,’ Thesskoudis broke into his thoughts. The policeman had discarded his cravat for the day and wore a light jacket over an open white shirt. He smiled warmly at the German. ‘Truly I am blessed to call the island my home.’
    ‘Indeed. It is something of an oasis in a troubled world.’
    Thesskoudis gave a dismissive wave. ‘Forget all that. Such things come and go.’
    ‘I hope you are right. But my superiors in Munich are sufficiently concerned to call us back.’
    ‘Bah, a gang of nervous old women. Pay them no mind. After all, your Chancellor, Mr Hitler, is hardly likely to want another conflict unleashed upon the world. He served in the Great War and knows the face of battle. He will not let your people endure that again.’
    ‘I suppose not.’ Muller made himself smile. ‘I should not worry.’
    ‘There! We’ll make a Greek of you yet!’
    Katarides had been listening as he sat, face raised towards the sun, eyes closed, drinking in its warmth. ‘Perhaps this is how diplomacy should be settled. A few men sharing a boat trip. Who would not find cause to agree on terms in such a paradise? Our leaders have forgotten the simple pleasures. Those are all that matter. The rest is detail but they mistake it for the truly important aspects of life. They have lost their souls.’
    ‘And you seem to