The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (22 page)

“Personally I can think of a million better things, but considering the choice of an extended holiday in a Turkish prison, lead on
McDuff.”

“What can
Takis and I do?” said Kyriacos.

“Cut a few branches from that tree, strip the bark and make twenty or so thirty-centimetre pegs. We’ll need them to mark the safe path.”

“Can’t we dig them out?” said Takis.

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” said Petros. “These things are so crudely constructed and after the time they’ve been in the ground no one can predict what will cause them to explode. A couple of my men lost their legs in Afghanistan because of those things.” 

“Has anyone else a better suggestion?” said Maria.

“PK, get over here,” said Bear. He picked up a rifle, checked the magazine, and wandered towards the battered vehicle. He aimed and fired at the fuel tank. A hole appeared allowing the remaining diesel to spill out. He waited until the tank emptied. “I don’t suppose anyone’s got any matches.”

“A Browning nine-millimetre lighter,” said Maria.

Bear grinned.
“Forgot that. Thanks, Maria.” Diesel flowed freely, soaking the ground and forming a large pool. With his knife, he cut ribbons of canvas from the truck’s canopy and dipped them into the diesel. “Take cover everyone.” Carefully he lit the soaked canvas and tossed it into the pools of diesel. The fire spread unhurriedly. Flames flickered, glowed yellow until the process of vaporisation started. Fire and flames engulfed the truck and surrounding area. Thick black smoke gave off the pungent odour of burning diesel and rubber. It curled up into the morning air and drifted away.

Within twenty minutes, the fuel to feed the fire came to an end and not one mine exploded.

“Well that was a disaster. It’s back to finding mines the old fashioned way,” said Bear.

“Why not throw rocks?” said
Kyriacos, “I saw that in a film.”

“Kelly’s Heroes,” said Petros. “That’s the quickest way to get killed. Rock hits mine. Bang. Mine explodes splitting one
rock into a shit storm. What goes up must fall. Come on, Bear, we’re wasting time.”

“Both of you be careful,” said Maria.

Petros glanced at her worried face. “Don’t worry. I came top of the class in defusing mines.” A touch of over-confidence resonated in his voice.

“He gained a medal for survival,” muttered Bear. “The remainder of the class disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

“That’s not funny, Bear.” She walked towards him. “You should never have agreed to this.”

“It’s what we do,” said Petros. “In any event, we’re wasting time.”

Petros rested on his stomach on the damp earth at the line drawn by the wire fence and studied the ground in front. Bear lay alongside him. Every so often they halted when the tip of a knife touched something. With care they marked the location.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“It’ll be getting light soon,” said Kyriacos as his anxiety grew. He hated any form of idleness and placed
waiting
at the top of the list. “Shouldn’t we keep a lookout or something?”

“I’ll do a check,” said
Takis. “The walk will do me good.” He strolled to a grassy knoll. A stream of headlights in the distance proceeded along the road towards them. He scratched his head and returned. “PK, half the world’s headed in our direction.”

Irritated he replied, “Thanks,
Takis. I didn’t know that. What do you want me to do?”

“Find a way over or round No Man’s Land.”

Petros shot him an annoyed look.

Maria struggled to stay awake. Exhausted, she sat with her back against a rock. Dark shapes plodded in a thin line stretching across the fields, towards their position. At seven in the morning the light became bright enough to see everything. She and the others hadn’t slept; her eyes were heavy and full of grit. She glanced up at the hills on the other side of No Man’s Land. An old man sat on a rocky outcrop staring straight at them. She waved but he disappeared into the thickly wooded slope.

She switched her attention to the soldiers. “Kyriacos, how many?”

Her brother frowned.
“Forty plus. They’re walking in a long line and checking every conceivable hiding place. At their present rate, we’ll be locked up in a Turkish jail by midday. Bear, PK, how you doing?”

“See-
gha, see-gha,” said Bear. “We’re a third of the way. If you want more speed you’re welcome to join the party.”

Kyriacos
laughed. “I have an idea. Think I’ll play the English game of cat and mouse. What’s the range of these crossbows?”

“Good for a bulls-eye at three hundred metres, with luck, three fifty. Why?”

“Those soldiers will soon be here. I intend to scare the hell out of them.” Kyriacos picked up a crossbow and counted ten bolts. With something positive to occupy his mind, his impatience left him. He stretched and controlled a shiver; the night air had been damp and cold. At speed he zigzagged down the steep hill. He reached a rise in the slope, covered in trees and outcrops of rock. Confident he had not been spotted he made himself comfortable behind a large boulder, his ears strained for the slightest sound. From below, bushes rustled as men brushed them aside. Time to add confusion in the ranks, he thought. He adjusted the weapon’s sight to four hundred metres, aware this was an impossible shot. “Where are they?” he muttered as he raised the crossbow, squeezed the trigger, and loosed the bolt. One of the soldiers screamed and fell to the ground clutching his right shoulder. A dark stain spread across the man’s tunic.

Aware from experience of the effect on the men’s morale,
Kyriacos ran back up the incline putting as much distance between him and them.

A scattering of large rocks gave him concealment. Breathless, he waited, not moving. The troops took cover; a few of the more adventurous darted from one position to another. An officer in camouflage uniform shouted. They remained cautious in their approach. Rabbits ran and birds flew from the approaching troops.
Kyriacos caught sight of frightened men scanning every nook and cranny.

He rested the weapon on the top of a smooth boulder covered by the over-hanging branches of a tree. A movement to his right caught his attention. From out of the trees, a young
man appeared; Kyriacos fired. The bolt hit the confused conscript in the thigh and clutching it, he cried out and crawled away.

Bullets screamed over his head.
Kyriacos rested while the leading soldiers fired at anything and everything. No stability or determination existed with these troops. With luck, he thought, they’ll shoot themselves. Orders were shouted and the firing stopped. Warily he peered from his hiding place. From what he could see, the soldiers were withdrawing, assisting their two wounded comrades.

His stratagem complete, he remained out of sight. From behind and above him came the sound of rifle fire. Alarmed, he turned, smiled and leant against the rock: his sister lay between two boulders taking sporadic pot-shots with one of the captured rifles. She looked pale, her usual red lipstick completely gone and her lustrous black hair unkempt and tied in a crude ponytail. Her random shots shredded
leaves, struck trunks of trees and disorganized the troops.

“Keep it up, sis,” he said. “Every minute they lie prostrate gives us valuable time.”

Maria reached for another magazine and clipped it in position. “I’ve four full clips and then we’re in trouble. You might have detected I’m not trying to hit them but just scare them out of their wits.”

“It works for me,” said her brother as he glanced at his watch. Time was running out. Whatever happened next, they had to be across the minefield before the troops regrouped. Maria stopped firing and stared unblinking at the sky.

“Cover, everyone,” screamed Kyriacos. Gunfire from a fast moving helicopter raked the ruined truck and surrounds. On a steady course it roared past, circled, and returned, its fixed heavy machine guns operating continuously.

“Stay still and faces to the ground. They don’t know where we are,” shouted
Kyriacos over the din. “They’re trying to flush us out.”

Maria crawled between two large boulders hidden under a canopy of leaves. She breathed deeply to steady her nerves, raised her rifle, and adjusted her position.

Safe behind his bullet-proof shield, the pilot turned the craft for his next sweep. Saplings swayed and branches bent, battered by the downdraught.

Maria readied herself, aimed and fired short bursts until the magazine emptied. The wind from churning blades whipped her hair and clothes.

A short-lived mask of terror dashed across her face. Her pulse raced. The helicopter tilted, shuddered, its tail rotor in shreds. Bear’s words rang in her ears: hit the rotors. She had taken the risk but now they had precious time.

Petros broke into a run, his heart pounding like a drum. He grabbed her and pulled her close. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? What would your daughter do without a mother?”

She trembled, her face ghostly. Her arms slid around his body. A thin smile formed on her lips. Her voice shook. “Make her father’s life a misery. Told you I’m a crack shot.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “I love you, you stubborn woman.  Please don’t do that again.” He turned. “Well,
it’s back to groping in the mud. I wish the bastard had completed a few passes over the minefield.”

She grimaced. “I’d better get back to frightening little boys.”

“Be careful.”

Takis
picked himself up and strolled over. “Bloody marvellous. My little sister damages helicopters while I sharpen sticks for bossy boots.”

Maria laughed and fired at a rock embankment concealing half a dozen soldiers.

*  *  *

Kyriacos
turned and shook his head when he spotted Maria talking to a man dressed similar to a goatherd. He stood erect, barely five feet tall. A mass of grey straggly hair covered his head and face, apart from his alert, intelligent and penetrating dark eyes that remained unwavering.

“How did he get here?” asked
Kyriacos. “What does he want?”

Petros, plastered in mud and green from the vegetation, crawled from the minefield. “Leave him be.”

Kyriacos walked over, holding the crossbow. The man raised his hands.

Maria pointed to the rocky outcrop. “I saw him earlier. What are you doing here?”

The man answered in village Greek. “I’ve spent the last half an hour,” he waved his arm, “watching you. Why are you attempting to cross the minefield?”

“None of your damned business,” said
Kyriacos.

“We’re in trouble,” said Petros. “Go on your way and if anyone asks, forget you’ve seen us.”

“God Almighty,” said Maria. “This man was on the other side of the Green Line. He knows the way.”

Petros smiled and shook his head. “Is that true? Do you know the way?”

The old man turned his back on them and walked to the right of the minefield, “
Ella, ella
.”

“Wait,” shouted Maria.

The man’s eyes narrowed in astonishment. “What is more important than your lives? The soldiers will soon be here.”

“Icons,” said Petros. “They belong to the church.”

“Be quick.”

The four men split the number of icons into transportable bundles. Using the rope and canvas from the truck, they covered, hoisted, and tied them to their backs.

“We’re ready,” said Petros.

The old man sighed. “Stay close and do not wander. Many of my goats have been lost in this vicinity.”

Petros attempted to appear unconcerned. “You lead, my friend, and we’ll follow.”

Everyone took a deep breath and the Greek Cypriots made the sign of the cross.

“Okay,” said Bear. “God, I’m not one of your lot but we need help. If you get us out of this mess I promise to go to church at least once.”

In single file, they hiked through tall weeds, the footing wet and treacherous. Petros turned his head constantly, searching for any dangers. Rotten vegetation, ankle-turning stones and rabbit burrows abounded.

He cast a glance over his shoulder and checked on Maria. He grinned cheekily and she managed a feeble smile.

For a time they trudged on until a stream blocked their path. The old man pointed the way he intended to travel, keeping near the bank but in the water. Without any hesitation, he stepped into the ice-cold torrent.
“This way.” Waist deep, he advanced steadily against the flow. The current tore at his frail body but he remained steady.

“Do not put a foot or hand on the bank or you may lose it. The water has destroyed the mines planted in the bed of the stream years ago. I stalked the idiots who placed them.”

Cold, soaked and tired, they followed at the unbelievable pace set by the old man.

“Maria,” said Bear, “hold onto my belt and I’ll drag you. For God’s sake, don’t let go.”

“I’ll catch her if she does,” said Takis. “Can’t lose my baby sister.”

The banks of the stream began to rise, finally becoming vertical and forming a dark, narrow passage. They trudged along, with each step the sound of rushing water drawing closer. Suddenly daylight filled their eyes. The old man edged against the flow onto a sandy bank near to a waterfall. In half a dozen steps he led them into a small clearing surrounded by mature pine trees.

“Sit and rest.”

“Where are you going?” asked
Takis, his teeth chattering.

“Not far. The Turks will
be wanting to cross the minefield. I intend to give them a path.”

Petros pursed his lips and shook his head.

“What’s up, PK,” said Bear.

“I’m worried.” He stood. “I’m going to follow our friend.”

The old man jumped from rock to rock as nimble as a goat, descending the steep slope using trees and bushes for cover.

Operating like a large cat stalking, this wily old man amazed Petros. Several times he lost the track as he narrowly avoided fallen tree trunks and branches that appeared at head height. He continued to follow to an outcrop where any trace of the man disappeared. Breathing heavily, he stopped and climbed higher, crawled onto a slab of rock and lay prone. He studied the terrain and tried to figure out his location. To his right the tree-covered slope went on for thousands of metres. To his left, rifts carved by centuries of wind and rain channelled streams through the hillside. Confused, he returned to the others.

“I lost him.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?” said Maria, shivering.

“Let’s wait and see. I know we’re knackered but someone should stay awake. Just in case.”

“I doubt if anything will happen,” said
Takis. “I reckon we’re on the Greek Cypriot side.”

Petros sensed the group’s unease. He and the others jumped as the sound of someone or something barged through the trees. He and Bear stood perfectly still, listening but ready to meet their potential adversary. Bear pointed to his left, then to his right as the disturbance grew louder and closer.

“They’re not far away,” said Bear.

Crouched but remaining low, Petros crept along cautiously, watching where he placed his feet. One crack of a twig would destroy any surprise. He stopped at the tree line.
A few metres ahead, movement. He peered into the mass of trees and aged bushes that made up the undergrowth. The being altered its position; to his left more sounds. A chance existed, one in a thousand. He motioned with his hand to Bear; if they waited, the result could be the same. Both men charged as five wild sheep gave flight.

“What the –
?” shouted Petros.

Bear laughed. “You should see the expression on your face.”

The animals bounded past and vanished into the trees.

“They’re called
Mouflon,” said Maria. “A shy creature, rarely seen. The no-go zone has become a wild-life sanctuary. Just think, no one has been here for thirty years. To this day, the United Nations’ patrols stick to the roads.”