The Divided Child (64 page)

           
We
stopped fifty feet away.
 
Robert
told me what he wanted me to say, and Geoffrey amended it slightly, using
language Michael would be more likely to find reassuring.
 
I listened to them both in numb
disbelief.
 
I wanted to cry out
that I wouldn't do it, that I wasn't about to play Judas to a little boy I'd
come to love, but the sight of that shiny gun pressed into the white folds of
Geoffrey's shirt and Robert’s finger shivering slightly on the trigger left me
mute.
 
I searched Geoffrey's face
for a sign, for some unspoken message of reassurance, but his expression was
stony and his eyes unreadable.
 
I
turned and started for the cave.

           
He
had to have a plan.
 
I knew
it.
 
I could feel it.
 
But what could it possibly be?
 
I thought again of his insistence that
Robert be limited to a single bullet.
 
He’d been equally insistent that I, not he, be the one to approach the
cave, while he remained behind to serve as hostage . . . .

           
I
stumbled.
 
A single bullet, and
Geoffrey the only one close enough for it to be used upon.
 
That was the plan.
 
Sacrifice himself, so Michael and I
could get away.
 
The only problem
was, I didn't want to get away if it was going to cost him his life.

           
Somewhere
close by, the same bird gave another plaintive cry.
 
If only I could get Robert to take a shot at me, then
Geoffrey might be able to jump him.
 
I started to turn . . .

           
Suddenly
something small and hard crashed into me and knocked me to the ground.
 
There was a shout, then the crack of
gunfire and a cry that made my blood run cold.
 
Struggling to throw off whatever was on top of me, I
clambered to my feet and ran toward the place where both men lay in a
terrifyingly still heap.

           
"Geoffrey!"
I cried, dropping to my knees and rolling Robert’s unconscious body off of
him.
 
Geoffrey's eyes were closed
and his white shirt was soaked with blood.
 
"Oh, God, no!
 
Please!
 
Don't you dare die
on me!"
 
I had to stop the
bleeding.
 
I fumbled with the
buttons of his shirt, and then, in desperation, simply ripped it open.
 
But where was the wound?
 
In confusion, I ran my fingers across
his chest and along his sides searching for it.

           
"I
know you find it difficult to keep your hands off of me, my dear, but really --
in front of the child?"

           
My
eyes flew to his face.
 
The emerald
eyes were open and glittering with mischief.
 
"The child?" I repeated stupidly.

           
"He
means me," chimed a familiar voice behind me.

           
I
turned.
 
He stood there, clothes
clinging to him damply, wet hair curling around his ears, looking like a dunked
elf.
 
I threw my arms around him.
 
"Oh, Michael, you're safe!"

           
He
regarded me apologetically.
 
"I hope I didn't hurt you?"

           
"Hurt
me?"

           
"When
he knocked you to the ground like a bag of potatoes," remarked a third
voice.
 
I looked up to find
Lieutenant Mavros, his hair and clothes similarly damp and a rifle slung over
one shoulder, kneeling down beside Robert’s inert body.

           
"It's
called a
tackle
, Ari," Michael corrected, "and I don't think
it's quite the thing to compare a lady to a sack of potatoes."

           
Geoffrey
struggled to sit up, and I tried to stop him.
 
"Don't!
 
You're hurt!
 
You shouldn't
be moving."

           
"Nonsense.
 
I'm all right," he insisted.
 
"Just nicked in the leg, that's
all."

           
"But
your shirt, it's covered in blood."

           
"Not
his blood," Mavros said, rising to his feet.
 
Geoffrey looked up at him questioningly.

           
"Well?"

           
"He
is dead."

           
"
Dead?
"
I exclaimed in disbelief.
 
"But how!
 
I don't
understand.
 
What happened?"

           
But
Mavros didn't answer.
 
Instead he
scanned the beach and demanded sharply, "Where is Demetra?"

           
"She's
up on the cliff," I told him.
 
"Robert hit her and knocked her out."

           
Mavros
set off at a run.
 
Geoffrey
struggled to his feet as if to follow.
 
"And where do you think
you're
going?" I growled,
pointing to the jagged rip in his left pant leg that was slowly being stained
with red.
 
"Have you
forgotten?
 
You've been shot!"

           
He
grimaced with pain, and replied irritably, "I'm well aware of the fact,
thank you.
 
I simply thought I
might be of use for a change, and go ring up the doctor."

           
I
dispatched Michael up to the house to telephone Dr. Aristides and the police,
then rounded on Geoffrey.
 
"I
suppose rescuing me from a murderer doesn't count as being of use?" In
true heroine-style, I ripped off a piece of my blouse and pressed it against
his leg to stop the bleeding.

           
He
replied through clenched teeth, "I didn't rescue you from Robert; Mavros
did."

           
"He
was hiding in the cave with Michael?"

           
"Yes."

           
My
gaze drifted unwillingly towards Robert’s still form and I shivered.
 
"Did he have to kill him?"

           
"If
he hadn't," Geoffrey replied harshly, "it might very possibly be you
lying there -- or Michael.
 
When
Michael ran out of the cave and knocked you down so Mavros could get a clean
shot, Robert came very close to shooting you both."

           
I
said slowly, "But you wrestled him for the gun, didn't you?
 
That's how you got shot in the
leg."

           
He
replied irritably, "I never managed to get the bloody thing away from
him.
 
If Mavros hadn't fired when
he did, well, there were five more bullets in that gun . . . ."

           
"
Five
!”
I exclaimed.
 
“So he
did
pull a switch!"

           
"Of
course.
 
He wasn't about to take a
chance on either of us really getting away."

           
"And
you knew that all the time?
 
Why
didn't you say something?"

           
"I
wanted him to think he'd tricked us.
 
Only if we believed we had a chance to escape, did our willingness to
betray Michael make sense."

           
"What
doesn't make sense to me is how you and the Lieutenant came to plan this little
rescue together in the first place.
 
Last time I heard, he was threatening to arrest you for
kidnapping."

           
"Let's
just say he and I reached an agreement based on our intersecting interests: I
wanted to save you from Robert; he wanted to save Demetra from becoming an
accomplice to murder."

           
"She
didn't really intend for me to get hurt, you know.
 
She was just so desperate to help Spiro, she went along with
whatever Robert suggested."

           
Jaw
clenched, Geoffrey pushed back my hair to expose my bruised face.
 
"You'll excuse me if I find it
difficult to be so forgiving."

           
I
looked up.
 
Far above, I saw Mavros
kneel down and then straighten up again with Demetra in his arms.
 
"Well, in any case," I said,
fighting the sudden ache in my chest, "it's over now.
 
The danger's done with, Michael's safe,
and you and Paul can go back to doing books instead of being partners in
crime."

           
The
emerald eyes regarded me intently.
 
"And you?
 
What about
you?
 
What are you going to do
now?"

           
I
tried to keep my voice steady.
 
"I don't know.
 
Go
home, I guess."

Chapter Thirty-Four

           
My
suitcases were packed.
 
My passport,
airplane ticket, and farewell gift from Kyria Andriatsis, a brooch-sized icon
of St. Spiridon, were all safely tucked away in my purse.
 
I scanned the room to make sure I
wasn't forgetting anything, then stepped out onto the balcony for one last look
at Corfu before leaving.

           
There
was a knock at the door, which I supposed was Yiannis come to drive me to the
airport.
 
"Come in!" I
called out in Greek, wanting a little more time to drink in the view and commit
it to memory.
 
"The door's
open!"

           
But
it wasn't Yiannis who emerged from the room and joined me at the balcony's iron
railing; it was Lieutenant Mavros, looking much too relaxed and happy to suit
my mood.
 
"I see now why
Geoffrey despairs at your lack of caution," he chided.
 
"What if I had been a burglar, or
worse?"

           
Dark,
lowering clouds gathered on the horizon signalling a storm on it's way.
 
"Sorry, but I'm in no mood for
lectures."

           
"Forgive
me, I did not intend one, especially as I am here to offer you my deepest
thanks. Your statement to Colonel Grammos that Humphreys alone was responsible
for your abduction, and that Demetra was merely a prisoner like yourself, has
persuaded him not to charge her as an accessory to Humphreys's crimes."

           
"You
don't have to thank me.
 
What I
told the Colonel was true in a way.
 
Robert tricked her into doing what she did, and he would have killed her
just as he planned to kill me, if you and Geoffrey and Michael hadn't
intervened."

           
"Still,
it was generous of you; more generous than Demetra expected or feels she
deserves.
 
She is ashamed of what
she did to you, and most anxious to ask your forgiveness, though she is not yet
in a condition to do so in person."

           
"How
is she?

           
"She
has a concussion, but the doctors do not think there will be any permanent
effect.
 
They say if she rests and
takes care she will be fully recovered in a few weeks."

           
"And
Spiro?
 
"

           
"Who
knows?
 
It is possible that with
Humphreys's confession to the murder and Geoffrey's request that the matter be
allowed to drop for the boy’s sake, the British may decide not to prosecute him
at all."
 
He smiled slightly
and shrugged.
 
"Spiro always
manages to land on his feet.
 
Even
when we were boys, he had the devil's own luck."

           
“There’s
one thing I still don’t understand.
 
That night in the square when Mrs. Baxter was shot.
 
I could have sworn I saw Demetra
skulking around in the shadows.
 
What was she doing there?”

           
Mavros
flashed an indulgent smile.
 
“She
was following her brother.
 
She
suspected he had been with a woman when Michael was attacked, and she thought
he was being gallant in withholding her name.
 
She hoped to learn the woman’s name herself and give it to
me.
 
She didn’t realize her brother
had a stronger reason for his silence than gallantry -- thirty thousand pounds,
to be precise.”

           
The
sea was darkening, turning from aqua to slate, and a brisk wind was beginning
to blow.
 
I looked down at my
watch.
 
"Well, Lieutenant, I’m
afraid you’re going to have to excuse me.
 
It's getting late, and I'd better go downstairs and see what's happened
to my ride to the airport."

           
He
stared at me in surprise.
 
"You are flying home?"