The Mediterranean Caper by Clive Cussler
“To whom or what shall we drink to?”
Von Till smiled. “You may have the honor, Major. Beautiful women. . . riches.. . a long life. Perhaps to the President of your country. The choice is yours.”
Pitt took a deep breath. “In that case I propose a toast to the courage and flying skill of Kurt Heibert, The Hawk of Macedonia.”
Von Till’s face went blank. He slowly eased Into a chair and toyed with his drink.” You are a very unusual man, Major. You pass yourself off as a garbage collector. You come to my villa and assault my chauffeur, and then you astound me further by proposing a toast to my old flying comrade, Kurt.” He threw a sly grin over his drink at Pitt. “However, your most outstanding performance was in seducing my niece on the beach this morning. For that feat I congratulate and thank you.
Today, for the first time in nine years, I saw Teri happily singing and laughing with an intense joy in living.
I am afraid you force me to condone your lecherous conduct.”
It was Pitt’s turn to act surprised, but, instead, he tossed his head back and laughed. “My apologies on every count, except slugging your perverted chauffeur. Willie had it coming.”
“You should not blame poor Willie. He was only acting on my orders to follow and guard Teri. She is my only living relative and I wish no harm to come to her.”
“What harm could possibly come to her?” Von Till rose and walked to an open terrace window and looked out over the darkening sea. “Over half a century I have worked hard and paid a great personal price to build a substantial organization. Along the road I also accumulated a few enemies. I never know what one of them might do for revenge.”
Pitt’s eyes searched von Till. “Is that why you carry a Luger in a shoulder holster?”
Von Till turned from the window and self-consciously adjusted his white dinner jacket over the bulge beneath his left armpit. “May I ask how you know it is a Luger?”
“Just a guess,” Pitt said. “You look like the Luger type.”
Von Till shrugged. “Ordinarily I do not act quite so mundane, but for the way Teri described you I had every reason to suspect doubtful character.”
“I must admit I’ve performed a few sinful deeds in my day,” Pitt said grinning. “But murder and extortion weren’t included.”
A scowl formed on von Till’s face. “I do not think you would be so flippant if you . . . how do you Americans say. . . were in my shoes.”
“Your shoes are beginning to sound very mysterious, Herr von Till,” said Pitt. “Just what kind of business are you in?”
Suspicion marked von Till’s eyes, then his lips faded to a phony smile. “If I told you, it might upset your appetite. That, my dear Major, would make Teri exceedingly angry since she has spent half the afternoon in the kitchen overseeing tonight’s dinner.” He shrugged in a typical European gesture. “Some other time, perhaps, when I know you better.”
Pitt spun the last swallow of scotch around in the glass and wondered what he had gotten himself into. Von Till, he decided, was either some kind of nut or a very shrewd operator.
“May I get you another drink?” asked von Till
“Don’t bother, I’ll get it.” Pitt finished the drink and walked over to the bar and poured another. He stared at von Till “From what I’ve read about World War I aviation, the circumstances behind the death of Kurt Heibert are nebulous. According to official German records, he was shot down by the British and crashed somewhere in the Aegean Sea. However, the records fail to mention the name of Heibert’s victorious opponent. They also fail to state if the body was found.”
Von Till idly petted the dog. His eyes seemed lost in the past for a few moments. Finally, he said, “Kurt waged his own private war with the British back in 1918. He seldom flew against them coolly or efficiently. He handled his machine wildly and attacked their formations like a man possessed with a spastic devil. When he was in the air, he cursed and raved and pounded his fists on the edge of the cockpit until they bled. On take-off he always revved his engine to a roaring full throttle so that his Albatros leaped off the ground like a frightened bird. And yet, when he was not on patrol and could forget the war for a few moments, he could be a man of great humor, much unlike your American conception of the German soldier.”
Pitt shook his head slowly with a hint of a smile. “You must forgive me, Herr von Till, but most of my comrades-in-arms have yet to meet a German soldier who was a barrel of laughs.”
The bald old German ignored Pitt’s remark. His
face remained serious. “The end for Kurt, when it came, was from a cunning British trick. They studied his tactics closely and soon learned that be had a weakness for attacking and destroying their observation balloons. A battle weary balloon was overhauled and the observer's basket was filled with high explosives and a uniformed dummy stuffed with weeds. A detonating wire ran to the ground and the British then sat and waited for Kurt to make an appearance.” Von Till sat down in a deeply pillowed sofa. He looked up at the ceiling, but he didn’t see It. His mind looked, instead, into a sky that existed in 1918. “They did not have to waft long.
Only one day later, Kurt flew over the allied lines and saw the balloon swinging slowly in the offshore breeze.
He no doubt wondered why there was no ground fire. And the observer, leaning on the basket’s railing, looked to be asleep, for he made no attempt to leap out and parachute to safety before Kurt’s guns turned the hydrogen filled bag into a cloud of fire.”
“He had no idea it was a trap?’ asked Pitt.
“No,” von Till replied. “The balloon was there and it represented the enemy. Almost automatically, Kurt dove to the attack. He closed with the balloon and his Spandan machine guns began raking the thin skinned gas bag. Suddenly the balloon erupted in a thunderous explosion that covered the entire area in fire and smoke. The British had detonated the explosives.”
“Heibert crashed over the allied lines?” Pitt queried in thoughtful speculation.
“Kurt did not crash after the explosion,” von Till answered, shaking his mind back to the present again. “His Albatros burst through the inferno, but the gallant plane that carried him faithfully through so many air battles was badly shattered, and he was seriously wounded. With its fabric wings torn and tattered, its control surfaces blown off and a bloody pilot in the cockpit, the plane staggered over the Macedonian coastline and disappeared out to sea. The Hawk of Macedonia and his legendary yellow Albatros were never seen again.”
“At least not until yesterday.” Pitt took a deep breath and waited for an obvious reaction.
Von Till’s eyelids widened on his otherwise expressionless face and be said nothing. He seemed to be weighing Pitt’s words.
Pitt immediately came back to the original subject.
“Did you and Heibert often fly together?”
“Yes, we flew patrol together many times. We even used to take up a two seater Rumpler bomber and drop incendiary bombs on the British Aerodrome which was located right here on Thasos. Kurt would fly while I acted as observer and bombardier.”
“Where was your squadron based?”
“Kurt and I were posted to Jasta 73. We flew out of the Xanthi aerodrome in Macedonia.”
Pitt lit a cigarette. Then he looked at von Till’s old, but erect figure. “Thank you for a very concise and detailed account of Heibert’s death. You omitted nothing.”
“Kurt was a very dear friend,” von Till said wistfully. “I do not forget such things easily. I can even recall the exact date and time. It happened at 9:00 P.M. on July 15,1918.” “It seems strange that no one else knew the full story,” Pitt murmured, his eyes cold and steady with purpose. “The archives in Berlin and the British Air Museum in London have no information concerning the death of Heibert. All the books I’ve studied on the subject list him as missing in a mysterious situation similar to the other great aces, such as Albert Ball and Georges Guynemer.”
“Good God,” snapped von Till, exaspe
“No trace of man or plane was ever found?”
“Nothing. Heibert’s brother searched for him after the war, but Kurt’s final resting place remains a mystery.”
“Was the brother also a flyer?”
“No. I met him on several occasions prior to the Second World War. He was a fleet officer in the German navy.”
Pitt fell silent Von Till’s story was too damn pat, he thought He had the strange feeling that he was being used, like a wooden decoy on a flight of geese. A faint ominous tingling stirred inside him. He heard a tapping
of high heels on the floor and without turning knew that
Teri had entered the room.
“Hello everybody.” Her voice was light and cheer.
Pitt swung around and faced her. She was wearing a mini-dress, designed like a Roman toga, that swirled about her slender legs. He liked the color—a golden orange that complemented her ebony hair. She looked at Pitt, her eyes immediately drawn to his uniform. Her face paled slightly, and she raised a hand to her mouth in the same gesture he had noticed on the beach. Then she smiled thinly and approached, radiating a beautiful and sexy warmth.
“Good evening gorgeous creature,” Pitt said lightly, taking her outstretched hand and kissing it.
Teri flushed, then looked up at his grinning face. “I was going to thank you for coming,” she said. “But now that I’ve seen through the naughty little trick You’ve played on me, I’ve a good notion to toss you out on your bloody. .
“Don’t say it,” Pitt interrupted. His lips curved devilishly. “I know you won’t believe me, but just this afternoon the base commander took me off the garbage truck, made me a pilot, and promoted me to Major.”
She laughed. “Shame on you. You told me your rank was under that of a sergeant.”
“No. I only said that I’ve never been a sergeant, and that’s the truth.”
She slipped her hand through Pitt’s arm. “Has Uncle Bruno been boring you with his flying tales of the Great War?”
“Fascinating me maybe, but not boring,” Pitt answered. Her eyes looked scared behind her smile. He wondered what she was thinking.
Teri shook her head from side to side. “You men and your war stories.” She kept staring at Pitt’s uniform and insignia of rank. This didn’t seem like the same man she had loved on the beach. This one was much more charming and sophisticated. “You may have Dirk after dinner, Uncle Bruno, but right now he’s mine.”
Von Till expertly clicked his heels and bowed. “As you wish my dear. For the next hour and a half, you shall be our commanding officer.”
She wrinkled her nose at von Till. “That’s awfully decent of you, Uncle, in that case my first order is for both of you to march to the dinner table.”
Teri pulled Pitt out to the terrace and led him down a sloping stairway that ended on a circular overhanging balcony.
The view was breathtaking. Far below the villa the lights of Liminas were blinking on house by house. And across the sea, the early stars began to poke their tips into a spreading blanket of black. In the middle of the balcony, a table was set with service for three. A large yellow globe containing six candles illuminated the setting and cast an intriguing glow over the table, turning the silver dinnerware to gold.
Pitt eased Teri’s chair back for her and whispered in her ear. “You better be careful. You know how stimulated I get in romantic atmosphere.”
She looked up at him and her eyes smiled. “Why do you think I planned it this way.”
Before Pitt could answer, von Till walked up followed by the giant dog, and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a young girl in native Greek costume materialized and set down an appetizer of mixed cheeses, olives and cucumbers. Next came a chicken soup, flavored with lemon and egg yokes. Then the main course; baked oysters mixed with onions and minced nuts. Von Till uncorked the wine,—Retsina-—a fine old Greek wine.
It’s resin flavor reminded Pitt of turpentine. After the serving girl cleared the dishes, she brought a tray of fruit and then poured the coffee made in the Turkish manner; the powdered beans settling like silt on the bottom of the cup.
Pitt forced down the strong unsweetened coffee and rubbed knees with: Teri. He expected a girlish grin but instead she looked at him with frightened eyes. It seemed she was trying to tell him something.
“Well. Major,” said von Till “I hope you enjoyed our little repast.”
“Yes, thank you,” replied Pitt “It was excellent.”
Von Till stared across the table at Teri. His face had set like stone, and his voice turned to ice. “I would like to be alone with the Major for a little while, my dear. Why don’t you wait in the study, we will be along shortly.”
Teri acted surprised. She shuddered faintly, gripping the edge of the table before she answered him. “Please, Uncle Bruno, It’s too early. Can’t you wait and have your little talk with Dirk later?”
Von Till shot her a withering look. “Do as your Uncle says. I have a few important matters I would like to discuss with Major Pitt. I am sure he will not leave before seeing you.”
Pitt found himself becoming angry. Why the sudden family crisis? he wondered. He took a long breath, sensing something very wrong. An odd prickle crept up his back; that old familiar feeling of danger. Like an old and trusted friend, it always tapped him on the shoulder and warned him when a nasty situation was brewing.
Unseen, Pitt slipped a paring knife off the plate of fruits and pushed it under his pant leg and into his sock.
Teri looked at Pitt, her face paling “Please excuse me, Dirk. I don’t mean to be a ninny.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry. I have a weakness for pretty ninnies.”
“You never seem to fail to say the right thing,” she murmured.
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears and she turned away and ran up the stairway.
“I am sorry for speaking so harshly to Teri,” the old German apologized. “I had to talk to you privately and she rarely appreciates my desire to converse without feminine interruption. It is often necessary to become firm with women. Do you agree?”
Pitt nodded. He could think of nothing worthwhile to say.
Von Till inserted a cigarette in a long ivory holder and lit it. “I am extremely interested in hearing about the attack yesterday on Brady Field. My information from that section of the island tells me it was a very old and unknown type of airplane that struck your facility.”
“Old maybe,” said Pitt, “but not unknown.”
“Are you saying you have determined the make of
airplane?”
Pitt studied von Till’s face. Silently be dawdled with a fork, then slowly laid it back on the tablecloth. “The aircraft was positively identified as an Albatros
“And the pilot?” The words came slowly from Von Till's tight mouth. “Do you know the Identity of the pilot?”
“Not yet, but we will shortly.”
“You seem confident of an early capture.”
Pitt took his time about answering. He slowly and methodically lit a cigarette. “Why not. It shouldn’t be difficult to trace a sixty year old yellow antique aircraft to its owner.”
A smug grin crossed von Till’s face. “Macedonian Greece is an area of rugged terrain and desolate countryside. There are many thousands of square miles of mountains, valleys and eroded plains where even one of your monstrous jet bombers could be hidden and never detected.”
Pitt grinned back. “Who said anything about searching mountains or valleys?”
‘Where else would you look?”
“In the sea,” P
far below. “Probably in the same spot where Kurt Heibert crashed back in 1918.”
Von Till arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to believe in ghosts?”
Pitt grinned. “When we were little boys we believed in Santa Claus. And when we became big boys we believed in virgins. Why not add ghosts to the list also?”
“No thank you, Major. I find cold facts and figures superior to superstition.”
Pitt’s voice was even and distinct. "That leaves us with another avenue to explore.”
Von Till sat erect, his eyes squinting at Pitt.
“What if Kurt Heibert is still alive?”
Von Till’s mouth dropped open. Then he caught himself and exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “That’s ridiculous. If Kurt were still alive he would be over seventy years old. Look at me, Major. I was born in 1899. Do you think a man of my age could fly an open cockpit plane, not to mention attacking an air field? No, I don’t think so.”
“The facts are on your side, of course,” said Pitt. He paused a moment, running his long fingers through his hair. “Still, I can’t help wondering if Heibert isn’t connected in some way.” His eyes shifted from the old German to the great white dog and he felt a vague tension grip his body. Intrigue hung heavily around them. He came to the villa at Teri’s invitation expecting only to enjoy a quiet dinner. Instead, he found himself engaged In a battle of wits with her uncle, a shrewd old Teuton who, Pitt was certain, knew more about the raid on Brady Field than he was telling. It was time to cast a spear and the hell with the consequences. He locked his eyes on von Till. “If the Hawk of Macedonia really did vanish sixty years ago and reappeared yesterday, the interesting question is; where did he spend his time between? In heaven, in hell. . . or on Thasos?”
A confused look replaced von Till’s arrogant mask. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
“Mean hell,” snarled Pitt. “Either you’re taking me for a complete fool or else you’re acting like one. I don’t think I should be telling you about the attack on Brady Field, but rather you should be telling me.” He lingered over the words, enjoying the situation.