I don't often have anxiety dreams, but that night when I finally got to sleep I dreamed I was flying in instrument conditions, inside cloud, unable to see anything but blinding white through the windscreen. I looked at my instruments, but it was as if I'd suddenly turned terribly nearsighted. I wasn't able to read them. Gradually I could feel the plane start to go out of control and descend in a slow but unstoppable spin while I strained my eyes to see.

I awoke to find sunlight streaming in on my face through the window. I'd forgotten to draw the drapes the night before. Stumbling across the room to shut them, I looked at my watch. Nine o'clock. Out the window the sky was only partly clear. What looked like bad weather was moving in from the west. Damn. I went back, threw myself face down on the pillow, and fell asleep again.

A couple of hours later I was awakened by the sound of giggling. Instinctively flipping the covers over my bare bottom, I opened my eyes to see Orena and Anna approaching the bed, struggling under the weight of a huge silver breakfast tray. There was just time to jerk my legs out of the way before they set it down, rattling and sloshing, on the bed. While Anna hurried back to shut the door, Orena covered the spilled coffee with linen napkins. I winced, bleary-eyed, as one of them whipped open the drapes.

"To what do I owe this honor?" I asked them as they returned to the bed to perch happily. "It can't be Father’s Day."

"You've overslept," said Anna. "Please sit up."

I did, to make them happy, but without a crane or a jack there was no way of sliding my legs under the tray. So I crossed them as comfortably as possible and poured myself a cup of coffee while Orena added the milk and sugar.

"Petit déjeuner anglais," said Anna, lifting the cover off a steaming plate of eggs and bacon.

"I see you speak French."

"Mother and I have lived most of my life in France, she told me. "We're French subjects."

"What language was Louise speaking when she told Jeanne to go behind the bushes?"

"French, I think. Yes. French."

"Anna and I have decided..." said Orena suddenly, then broke off.

"Decided what?"

"That she was your wife," said Anna.

"Thanks for the information. Then you think she's not dead?"

"How could she be?" said Orena, buttering a piece of toast for me.

"It's good to know. Any other ideas on the subject?"

The girls hesitated, exchanging a glance. Orena didn't have the courage, so Anna said it. "We think Louise and her are spies."

"I see. And on whom are they spying, pray tell?

"We don't know."

"Have you noticed anything that might have given you this idea? Can you think of anything odd you've seen going on around here lately?"

"Ali's odd," said Anna.

"How so?"

"For one thing, Orena's dad never knows where he is. She says he's always complaining that Ali's off somewhere with the helicopter and he never has it when he wants it."

"I thought he just had to whistle and it comes."

Orena laughed bitterly. "Not since Ali took over."

"Then why doesn't your father fire him?"

"He says Ali's a good mechanic. It isn't easy finding a pilot who's also a mechanic. When you live on an island and cross water a lot, it's very important."

"What else does Ali do?"

The girls looked at each other with guilty expressions. "We can't tell you. You'd say something."

"I promise not to."

"You won't tell Orena's father?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

They exchanged another look. Finally Orena shrugged and looked down. Anna crept up to whisper in my ear. "When her father is away Ali sometimes stays overnight with Mrs. Koundiotes."

Having said this, Anna moved back next to her friend. Both girls sat looking at me, waiting for me to say something, make some kind of comment. I could see the pain in Orena’s eyes. She wanted me to help her understand the terrible things that were going on in her family between her father and mother and these strangers who came and went.

But what could I tell her? Only experience in life can help a person understand such things, and even then not always.

"Well, girls," I said carefully, "I’d say that this is their affair, your mother's and Ali's. It sure is none of my business. Now tell me more about these spies. Orena, do you think your father knows spies are around?"

"My father never notices anything," replied Orena with an exaggerated pout. "He and Orestes are only concerned with business. Spies could carry off the whole island and they wouldn't notice until their helicopters landed in the water." She smiled at Anna who laughed loudly at this joke.

"And Heidi?" I asked, not wanting them to get sidetracked again. "Where do you think she fits in?"

"Heidi?" Orena gazed off thoughtfully. "Let me see." By her sudden loquaciousness the girl was making a brave effort to erase the awkward mood of a moment ago. I felt terribly guilty making her conceal her pain under a layer of libertine crap. "Heidi? I don't think she's much of a spy. Spies don't come down with flu and get left behind. Anyway, she doesn't talk to us. Anna and I think she should go home with her husband and give up spying."

"She may decide to do just that. What do you girls think of her husband?"

Both Anna and Orena doubled over with gasps of disgust.

"Awful."

"Horrible."

"She seems very much in love with him," I said.

"It's not possible," said Anna flatly. "He's at least forty years older than Heidi and so horrible and fat. But if she does love him, it must be because he's a spy, too."

"Think they're in a plot together?"

"It's possible," the girl replied with her most sophisticated air. "I wouldn't put anything past them."

Having finished breakfast I was feeling a great need to stretch my legs. Recalling seeing a robe hanging in the bathroom, I asked Orena to get it for me. Both girls obediently closed their eyes as I got out of bed and put it on.

"Do you want to take a bath?" asked Orena.

"Do you think the tub is willing?"

The girls suppressed giggles. "Go into the bathroom," Orena told me. I did as she said. "Look into the bath," she called.

Water was swirling into the tub. I could hear giggling from the next room. Probably there was a button or something they pressed to make the water rise. Mine not to question how. Closing the bathroom door, I tossed the bathrobe at the wall hook and jumped in.

By the time I'd finished shaving, dressed and left the house, the sky was a solid layer of dark, fast-moving stratocumulus. Although a brisk wind whipped across the island, it wasn't particularly cold. Io Sirena, lying just on the eastern limit of the European weather system and not quite into the more clement Greek one, had a climate which was a combination of the two.

I'd already seen most of the south side of the island, so now made my way along a dirt track toward the north. The wind, which was coming from that direction, grew stronger as I advanced. I was glad I'd worn a nylon windbreaker over my sweater. After several minutes of walking I found myself on the opposite coast. Not far below, the blue-green water seethed in waves and eddies against the island, crashing on the rocks, the spray flinging high.

I continued northwest along the coast. From the air I'd noticed some sort of small building over that way. Moments later I reached it. It stood just in the lee of the island's tip, in a small cove. In contrast to the main house, this building was just four whitewashed walls and a roof. A small sign on the door indicated that it was the de-salination plant. I tried the door but it was locked.

Wandering inland I came across the "digs." Unless another excavation site existed on the island, Libby had been exaggerating. Obviously no one had done any work here in some time. The walls of the excavations were crumbled and smoothed by wind and rain. In fact, this whole part of the island felt uninhabited and abandoned.

Making my way forward into the wind, I returned to the de-salination plant. Approaching it, I heard voices coming from inside. There was only one window on that side. It was shuttered, but putting my ear against the wood I could just make out two voices, one male, one female. They were arguing about something, but I couldn't make out their words.

In any case, it wouldn't be difficult learning who they were. There was only a single window and door in the whole building. All I had to do was wait for them to come through one of them. I was about to sit down on a convenient rock, when something small and deadly smacked into the whitewashed masonry next to my eye. Almost simultaneously I heard the crack of a rifle not far away.

Diving to the ground I rolled, jumped to my feet, and started running for cover. Rifle bullets were snapping past me as I went. With no trees nearby, the only place to seek shelter was down in the digs. Seconds later I threw myself into the first hole. Since it wasn't very deep and as I didn't relish the idea of my tail getting shot off, I started crawling on my stomach like a rat in a labyrinth, trying to find some way to get out of the immediate area while staying as protected as possible.

By this time the firing had stopped. Unable to find a way out of the digs on the far side, I raised my head quickly to look back and see if I could make out who'd been shooting. To my surprise, I did catch a glimpse of a figure dressed in dark, bulky clothing disappearing behind some rocks on the hill above.

But why shoot at me? Was it to keep me from seeing who was inside the building? Or had someone actually tried to kill me? Or both?

First things first. Returning to the plant I found a place where I could sit out of sight and still keep an eye on anyone coming or going. But although I was there a half hour, nobody appeared. Probably they'd left after the shooting started. Having a feeling I wasn’t going to learn any more even if I spent the day there, I headed back toward the relative safety of the house.

I was almost there when I changed my mind and went down to the Helio. I kept my gun hidden in a special place under the instrument panel and wanted to check that it was still there. Also, since I planned to leave that afternoon – as soon as Mueller had said whatever he had to say to his wife – I wanted to check over the aircraft. The water I'd found in the fuel during our stopover at Naples might not have been an accident after all.

In fact, I was beginning not to like the way things were developing. I'm no hero and wasn’t getting combat duty pay either. If someone was trying to scare me off, I was perfectly ready to abandon the field, leave Io Sirena, and return directly to Paris. Except for one thing. One person. Jeanne. I had to find her. And to find her I had to stay and let things happen any way they would.

The Helio's door was locked, and there were no signs the lock had been tampered with. The gun was in its place. I looked around the small cabin. Unlike in airliners, no cleaning crew had been through to vacuum and straighten up. It had a messy, abandoned look. I decided to straighten it up and as I was doing so was surprised to find Mueller's sample case was missing. That was funny. I was almost sure I'd left it inside. But perhaps Ali had taken it up to the house.

Having folded the charts and straightened up the cabin, I opened the baggage compartment door. Screwed onto a rack behind the Honda was my tool kit. I took out a screwdriver to open up the inspection panels and got to work. A small airplane is a simple thing, simple to operate and simple to sabotage. When you take off over water from a STOL strip there aren't trente-six places to land if something fails or comes apart.

It took me over an hour to check out the part of the plane that wasn't engine. I'd just taken out the ladder to start on the rest, when who should come along but Ali. He saw what I was doing and came over.

"Hi, Ali," I said. "Been out for some rifle practice?"

If he understood, he made no sign. "Mechanic," he grunted, pointing from his eye to the engine. I climbed down and up he went.

For the next few minutes he went over the engine as gently as a doctor checking for a fracture, looking at the wires, the connections, the mounting. He un-screwed the battery caps, then went away and came back a moment later with a plastic bottle. He must have known what was on my mind because he shook a little of the water into his hand and licked it up, then shook some into my palm. It tasted like water all right, not gin or sulfuric acid. I hoped it was distilled, but on that island it would almost have to be by definition. And anyway, I was too polite to ask.

Finished with the battery, he checked the oil. My Helio is a big oil gulper, and I usually carry along a few cans of the stuff, one of which I now passed up to him after personally twisting open the top to make sure the seal was unbroken. At this, Ali's reproachful eyes met mine, and I felt like a cad. After adding the two liters, he examined the dipstick, grunted, replaced the oil cap, and backed down the ladder.

"Okay," he said gruffly, waving at the plane. "You inspect." Motioning for me to climb up the ladder and see that he'd done no harm, he turned his back and walked away toward the Jet Ranger.

It was hard to believe that Ali would have sabotaged my plane right over my nose, so to speak, but I climbed up and gave a look. At least there were no loose wires lying around. I'd check it again before takeoff. Ali's apparent kindness did get to me. If he wasn't the one taking shots at me and putting water in the fuel, he might be a nice guy after all. If he was putting in some overtime to help out lonely Mrs. Koundiotes, that might be to his credit, too.

Closing the engine cowling, I locked the cabin door. "Thanks, Ali," I called, starting up the path toward the house. Ali, attaching some hardware underneath the chopper, gave a short wave of his hand without turning his head.

As I walked, back up toward the house there were a lot of unanswered questions on my mind. For instance, what was the story on the two I'd heard arguing in the de-salination plant? Next, who took the shots at me and why? Was I getting too close to finding out something I wasn't supposed to know? And how come Ali was being so nice to me all of a sudden, when I could almost bet he was the one doing the shooting?

To start with question one, who could the female voice have belonged to? I'd already met four or five females since arriving at the island. The only one I suspected was mixed up in something clandestine was Heidi. Heidi was supposed to see her husband that afternoon, but perhaps they'd already met in the plant.

But then why the secrecy? If it wasn't Mueller she was speaking to, then maybe it was Ali. In that case, Mueller could have been out in the rocks taking pot shots. Only that didn't make sense either. Why would Mueller want to kill me when he needed me to fly him off the island? Unless, of course, he was only trying to frighten me for some reason. In which case, where would he have gotten the rifle? He hadn’t had one in the plane. Unless it had been inside the so-called sample case. Yes, that was possible, but I still couldn't see the motive.

The trouble with situations like this, I was thinking as I poured myself a drink at the bar, is that if you think hard enough and long enough you'll soon begin to suspect everybody. Even Anna and her mother, Libby, could be involved. Even Koundiotes and Orena. When secret hanky-panky is involved, even sweet old grandmas fall under suspicion.

There seemed to be nothing to do about it but wait and see and try to remain alive in the meantime. For starters, the sooner I was off this island, the better I'd like it. And the first thing I wanted to ask Mueller next time I saw him was where I could contact Terry for instructions regarding Louise's whereabouts in the Middle East. Now that Othe was destroyed, I had no way of contacting my client.

I was pondering this problem when Mueller came into the room. He looked the picture of relaxation and good humor, wearing a tan suit, not the dark, bulky clothing worn by the person who'd taken shots at me earlier. But then one wouldn't expect him to arrive dressed like a commando.

"Good morning, Mr. Tschetter," he said. "Or should I say good afternoon?"

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly one thirty. "Been sleeping late?" I asked him.

"No, I was out for a walk. It is a beautiful island, nicht?'"

"Talk to your wife yet?"

"Not yet. Mr. Koundiotes says something has been arranged for this afternoon. Some sort of game. Or hunt. He says I will find her then. Has he given you a map?"

"A map? No."

"I think he will. This is going to be something like an Easter egg hunt, I believe. I have a map, you will have yours."

"Koundiotes must have had a short, tough childhood."

"That's possible. Now he's having it a second time, better." The German looked at his watch. "I don't know where everyone is. The island is small and full of people, but you seldom see anyone until suddenly they appear."

"I was wondering," said I, "whether you still intend leaving with me this afternoon."

He looked at me in surprise. "That is still the plan, no?"

"What about your wife?"

"Heidi? Either she will accompany us to the Middle East or I will send her home to Germany from Athens. Obviously she cannot stay on here indefinitely. Koundiotes is a generous host, but one cannot take advantage too long of anyone's hospitality."

"You said yesterday that Terry Rolland told you Louise was in Beirut. Did she give you any more information than that? Like how I'm to find her there?"

"Yes. I have some addresses."

"Could I have them? Just in case you decide not to come?"

"If I so decide, of course you can have them. But I will come with you. I have made up my mind."

"And what about Mrs. Rolland herself. Did she tell you how I was to contact her in the future for further instructions?"

"Yes, yes, all that is settled."

"Would you mind telling me?"

"When the time comes. In the meantime I can tell you that you will have the thousand dollars from me for finding my wife. Mrs. Rolland says there will be two thousand more for you if you find Louise. That should be a good incentive, nicht?"

I had to force myself not to go over, take him by the throat, and shake him like a rat. Sure, money might have been what had brought me into this affair, but it wasn't money making me take this kind of shit from Terry and Mueller. From now on I was in it for one reason only – to find my wife. The trouble was, I couldn't let them know this. I had to pretend to play their game, otherwise it could blow everything. Somehow I'd have to keep my cool around this son-of-a-bitch. If Jeanne hadn't been involved, I'd have told him what he could do with his lousy money right then and there.

I was trying hard not to glare at the German when Koundiotes entered. "Ah, there you are. I understand from Orena that you both have had a late breakfast. Then are you ready to start? Mr. Tschetter, here is your map. I'm sure a navigator such as yourself will have no difficulty. Each map shows the way to a small pavilion. Mr. Tschetter will be going to Venus, Mr. Mueller to Hermes, and I will be going to ... ah ... Diana." He looked from one of us to the other. "Is it clear?"

Everything was clear except why, but we both nodded. "Good. I’m sure there is no chance for confusion. As I say, the hunt is in the mind, not in the legs. We are not eighteen anymore."

I was about to point out that I wasn’t seventy-five either, but who knows, maybe the day would arrive. Maybe in a decade and a half, when I reached the magic half-century mark, I'd start chasing Dianas in the woods, too. I was tempted to tell Koundiotes about the shooting that morning, but was pretty sure he wasn't responsible for that and didn't want to mention it in front of the German. If Mueller was the gunman in question, he knew about it already; if not, there seemed no need to tell him just yet.

The map Koundiotes handed me was delicately drawn in brown ink. The paths, the trees, the shape of the island itself had been done with great care and even a loving familiarity. Some gal had done it, that was for sure. Orena? The blond but bogus Mrs. Koundiotes? It was too perverse to imagine that the real Mrs. K had done the drawing. Under the circumstances I wouldn't have blamed her for mapping the participants into quicksand or onto crumbling promontories above the sea.

"Unfortunately," said Koundiotes, as we were about to go our separate ways, "it is a very small island, so I suggest you walk slowly and let your imaginations do the wandering. Anticipation in these things is one of the most enjoyable parts of the adventure. You will notice that the paths indicated to you on the maps are not the shortest distance between here and the pavilions."

What he said was true. The route drawn on my map was circuitous. I noticed that it would lead me back up in the direction of the digs before bringing me around to a point that was central but nearer the south coast, not far from where I'd descended to the beach the evening before. There, a few simple pen lines indicated a small circular-shaped pavilion surrounded by pillars and labeled "Venus."

I didn’t need to spend much time deciding that I wasn't going to play by the rules. I'd head east, not north, after leaving the house and approach the pavilion like a commando instead of a Casanova. And I'd be armed.

"Then are you ready?" asked Koundiotes. "Ready, Mr. Mueller?"

"I'm ready," said Mueller.

"I think you already know whom you will find," laughed the Greek.

"Yes, I think so."

"And I, too. I do not like surprises. The only one who does not know what to expect is Mr. Tschetter."

"I'm ready for anything," I told him.

"You will improvise?"

"If necessary."

"That's why I like Americans." Koundiotes smiled. "Always prepared."

"We do our best."

I waited until the others were out of sight, then set off in the direction I’d decided on. I figured I’d go down past the airstrip to get my gun and see what my friend Ali was up to, then work my way around the island on that side.

The Helio, when I got to it, looked the same as when I'd left it earlier. Juliette Tango was there, but Ali was nowhere to be seen. Taking out my gun, I put it into my shoulder holster, ready for action.

Had the Helio been sabotaged while I was away? I put my hand on the prop. If only airplanes could talk. Well, I thought, in a way they can. They can shudder when their magnetos start to go, cough when they’re being deprived of fuel, chatter and shiver when their carburetor freezes, and scream when their revs get too high. They can purr like a pussycat when all's going well, but most eloquent and thought-provoking of all is the silence they provide when, in the middle of the air, their engine quits.

I ran my finger along the prop's leading edges, checking for nicks. And yet, I thought, with all these kinds of speech the airplane wouldn't be telling you anything your eyes couldn't read. You can check the state of the mags during the run-up by watching the rev counter. The fuel can be monitored on the fuel quantity and pressure gauges. A freezing carburetor can be anticipated on the outside air thermometer and confirmed by the manifold pressure gauge. All the same, the ears have it. They're the early warning system. Unlike eyes, you don't have to point them at something to get the message. Awake or asleep, they stand guard for assaults coming from all directions.

Leaving the airstrip I started following the coast around toward the north, sticking to the high ground above the beach. Even so, on an island with relatively few trees it was hard not making a target of myself. As I walked, my eyes were scanning and my all-azimuth ears were processing sounds. A homo sapiens is not an inconsequential piece of equipment. Of course, Humpty Dumpty was not an inconsequential egg.

After walking several minutes I could see the pavilion slightly ahead and above me. The drawing indicated that the pillars went all the way around the small, circular building, but didn't show where the front entrance might be. I figured the entrance would be on the southeast side, away from the prevailing wind. As this was the side from which I was now approaching, I stayed below the brow of the hill until I'd passed the pavilion, then scrambled up the volcanic rocks to arrive from what I hoped was the rear.

I could have saved myself the trouble. Inside the circle of pillars the house was made almost entirely of glass. Drapes there were, but none had been drawn shut. Figuring that anyone living in that house wouldn't throw stones, much less shoot bullets, I walked right on up. Maybe some beautiful creature awaited me after all.

"Why, if it isn't Mr. Tschetter. What a pleasant surprise."

As the familiar English accent reached my ears I had to chuckle. Koundiotes, that son-of-a-gun. What did he have on his mind?

She moved through the glass room surrounded by Doric columns like some sort of buxomy pigeon in a cage. "Come right in, out of the wind. Whatever are you doing wandering about on such a day?"

"I think I'm playing hide-and-seek," I told her. I was glad to note as I came through the automatic sliding glass door that inside the "walls" it was warmer than I'd expected it to be. I looked around for the source of heat.

"It's coming from the floor," Libby told me. "Please sit down. I'm sorry there isn’t a chair to offer you."

"The bed's fine. I'm good at improvising."

"I'm sure you are," she remarked archly.

As a matter of fact, the only item of furniture in the entire room was an enormous round bed. It was hard keeping a straight face when I thought of Koundiotes, who at that very moment was probably rolling on the floor slapping his thighs thinking of my predicament.

"Some tea? I'll put the kettle on."

"A tea kettle? Here?" At this point nothing would have surprised me.

"There are cups and a little machine here in this cupboard. I haven't yet figured out how it works. It may want a shilling."

"I'll have a look."

The cupboard in question turned out to be a neatly stocked bar containing a small ice compartment as well as a spigot for boiling water which you could obtain by pressing a button to heat the water and then operating the tap. In about two minutes I was sitting on the bed stirring my tea like a middle-aged dowager, while Libby, who didn't fly even as a passenger, was curled up around a tall cognac and water. She probably had as much reason to get drunk as I did to stay sober.

"What do you suppose the other guests are doing today?" Libby inquired.

"I suppose Mueller's finally seeing his wife. They're in some neighboring pavilion."

"Good for them. If s just the sort of afternoon for a nice poke. Of course, I'm too old for that sort of thing myself, but it makes me happy to know others are enjoying themselves."

I watched her face. It wasn’t a come-on, nor fishing for compliments. It might even have been a warning. I'm sure your husband isn't of the same opinion.

"Jack? Jack doesn't go in for that sort of thing. Really not. Let me see. When was the last time? Anna is now fourteen, so that makes..."

"Hey, c'mon," I interrupted her. I didn't want to hear.

"That makes fourteen years nine months ago. That's Jack."

"But that's not you."

"No," she conceded carefully. "For me it's been slightly more recent. But not for at least two years. Two years ago, when I turned forty, I decided enough was enough. I'd reached the age where they really couldn't expect you to do it anymore. It's probably the only advantage of old age, that you can put that sort of thing behind you."

The cognac was rapidly removing the English starch from Libby's flesh and bone. As she spoke, the movements of her arms became more sweeping. The muscles of her face relaxed and the flesh became slightly puffy. Her mouth lost its elasticity and became a carmine smear. There were still no vibrations, not even soggy ones. I knew she wouldn't suddenly launch herself at me. Her drinking didn't help her lose her strict sexual inhibitions. On the contrary, it encouraged her to enforce them with utter abandon.

"What don't you like about sex?" I asked her.

"Everything. Especially those dreadful cocks. Awful looking things." She shuddered. "Saw one once. Never again."

"How could you avoid it?"

"Quite easy, that. Cover them up with the bedclothes. Keep the room dark. Purple they are, with horrid veins. One look put me right off."

I figured if the conversation continued like this much longer I’d never be able to look in a mirror again, much less get it on for anyone. It seemed like a good idea to change the subject. "Have you and Anna decided whether you’re flying out of here with me this afternoon?"

"That’s very kind of you, Chet, but we really can't. Nothing would make me set foot in an airplane. Not just yours, I want you to know. I have a complete horror of flying. And that's odd, isn't it, because I used to be an air hostess."

"No kidding."

"Absolutely. Had no fear of anything in those days. Nothing bothered me. The worst storms, the turbulence, I couldn't have cared less. Never gave it a thought."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, there was this one run we used to make which everyone hated. You had to stay awake and on your feet for about twelve hours. One day it was my turn to make that flight and I had a terrible cold. A friend of mine, some poor, shy girl – also a stewardess – was always trying to do nice things for me. She said she'd go in my place. I let her." Libby paused and took another sip of her drink. "On that flight a wing fell off the plane. They were all lost. Every one of them."

"And you never flew again."

"No, I kept flying. For about a month. But everything was changed. I was always up in the cockpit making sure everything was all right, driving the crew around the twist. It lasted about a month, then I had to stop. I was simply too terrified. That was nearly twenty years ago, and I've never set foot inside an aircraft since."

"I don't think I'd advise you to."

"On the other hand," continued Libby, "Anna's all packed and ready."

"She wants to go?"

"No keeping her. She's even packed my suitcase. She says that the main thing is to get off this island. Once in Athens, she says, we can return to France by train. Is that right?"

"Probably. I'd have to look at a map, but it sounds okay."

"How far is it from here to Athens?"

"In my plane? I guess about an hour."

"I'd never survive. And even if I did, you wouldn't. I'd drive you mad screaming the whole way. I have a terrible scream. Listen."

Putting up her head and taking a deep breath Libby opened her mouth and let go a long, high even scream that was so piercing, so irritating, that I begged her to stop. It went on and on. I wanted to strangle her. No urgency, no emotion, no terror in that scream. It was a scream devised less to call for help than to drive people crazy.

"Please," I begged, holding my ears.

At last she stopped. "You see what I mean? Do you think you could fly for an hour with that going on?

"I wouldn't even get off the ground."

"I’ll tell Anna to unpack the bags."

Some other time I’d have broken Koundiotes’ head for fixing me up on a cloudy afternoon with a nutty broad like Libby. Today she fit the bill. During the last few months, thinking Jeanne dead, I'd been like a dead man sexually. And now that I suspected – no, knew that my wife was alive – as far as Brian Tschetter was concerned there was only one woman walking on the same planet with him.

Libby was just pouring me a second cup of tea when through the glass wall I caught sight of a figure running toward the house. I pointed her out to Libby.

"Good gracious. It's Anna. What a naughty child. Her father’s told her a thousand times that running's bad for the heart."

"I think something's happened."

"Why, is she crying? I'm sorry, I haven't my glasses."

Crying, shrieking, whatever you wanted to call it, as she got nearer it was clear the child was in a half-demented state. "C'mon," I said to Libby.

As we ran outside Anna saw us and stopped, her hand pressed to her heart, gulping for air. "Mummy!" she wailed. "Mummy."

"I'm coming, darling," cried Libby. "I'm coming."

Side by side we ran, half tripping on the rough, rocky ground. I held back to let Libby reach her daughter first. After nearly colliding, Libby grabbed Anna by the shoulders and shook her. "Now, Anna, get control of yourself. Tell me what's happened."

"It's Heidi," wailed the girl. "She's fallen on the beach."

"On the beach? What beach? Where?"

"By our house!" shrieked the child. "She's dead."

"Fallen dead on the beach. Anna, are you making this up? If you are, you know what your father…"

"No, no. She fell from the top of the ... of the ... falaise."

"Cliff?" translated her mother.

"Yes, the cliff."

The three of us had already started to run. "Have you told anyone else?" panted Libby.

"Everyone knows," said Anna.

"Is someone with her?"

"They're all there."

We slowed to a fast walk. "Then it didn't just happen."

"Ten minutes ago," swore the girl, crossing her heart. "I found her. She wasn't dead yet. She talked to me."

Libby and I exchanged a glance. Anna must have seen Heidi die. A rotten piece of luck for the kid. "Now, Anna," said Libby after a moment, "I want you to organize yourself and tell me exactly what happened."

Calmed by her mother's presence and aware she now had our undivided attention, Anna began her story. She'd been playing inside the house with her dolls when she saw an arm waving to her on the beach. She went outside, walked a short way, and saw the arm belonged to a young woman who was lying on the sand. It was Heidi. She wasn’t wearing any clothes and at first Anna thought she was sunbathing, except there was no sun. Anna came nearer to hear what she wanted to say.

"What did she say?" I prompted, seeing Anna hesitating.

"Something about her husband."

"Can you remember?"

"Heidi said, ‘It wasn't my husband. Tell Ali...' And then she stopped."

"Tell Ali what?"

"She died," replied Anna. The two streams of tears which had stopped while she told her story suddenly poured down her cheeks. Throwing her arms around Libby, she buried her face in her neck. "I want to leave this island," she wept.

"Now, Anna, try and pull yourself together. You’ve had a bad scare but it’s over now."

"If it happened to you you'd be worse than I am," shouted the child angrily. "You'd be screaming like anything." She stamped her foot at her mother. "I want to go away from here. Now."

"We’re going. Chet has said he'll fly us to Athens."

The tears stopped and Anna's face brightened. She looked at me shyly. "In your airplane?"

"Yes."

She turned distrustingly toward her mother. "You promise to come, too?"

"I wouldn't leave my little pou."

"I'm not so sure." Anna sighed darkly. "Anyway, I've packed for both of us. My dolls are packed, too."

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with dolls?" I kidded her.

She gave me a black look, put her thumb in her mouth, and pressed close to her mother's side.

"Sorry about that," I apologized.

Reaching the cliff we started down the stairs to the beach. It was clear that Anna had been right: everyone seemed to know about Heidi's fall. From a distance I could make out several figures, Koundiotes and his young mistress – they must have been pulled out of the sack for the occasion – Orestes and Orena, Ali and a plump figure swathed in dark woolen shawls, Mrs. Koundiotes. Everybody seemed to be talking at once except for Mueller, who was standing to one side. Curious to hear what he had to say, I walked over to him.

"She wasn't my wife," Mueller said as soon as he saw me. "We both realized it had been a mistake as soon as we saw each other. She became very disturbed and rushed out of the pavilion. I don’t know whether she accidentally fell off the cliff or threw herseIf."

"If it wasn't your wife, who was it?"

"Someone called Heidi Mahler, not Mueller."

"Kind of funny Terry would send you all the way here for the wrong person."

He shrugged. "A case of mistaken identity."

"I wonder."

"You can look at her papers. The name is almost the same. I don't know who she was, but I think she lied about her identity to Mrs. Rolland. My wife has been missing for six months. It has been in the German newspapers. This girl must have known this and used her name."

It sounded reasonable – except for one thing. Heidi had really thought she was going to see her husband that afternoon. Her real husband. The filmy negligee she'd put on for the occasion was still caught on some bushes on the edge of the cliff. Instead of her husband, she'd gotten Mueller. But why had she wanted Anna to tell Ali? What did he have to do with Heidi except that he'd brought her to the island?

I looked around for Ali. He was nearby talking with Mrs. K. Or rather, he was listening while she talked. She looked mad as hell about something and Ali was getting the full brunt of her displeasure. As she was speaking Greek, I couldn't understand her. But Orestes could help me.

"Orestes," I said to the young man standing sadly near the sheet-covered figure. "What’s your mother saying?"

He listened a moment, then replied, "She’s telling him it's his fault what happened."

"Why would she say that?"

Orestes shrugged. "Maybe because Ali brought her to the island."

"But I brought Mueller and nobody thinks Heidi's death was my fault."

Sighing deeply, Orestes shook his head. "I don't know. She isn't always rational."

"What do you think happened to Heidi?"

"I think she killed herself."

"For what reason?"

"She was just a silly woman. Or maybe she'd been on Io Sirena too long. You can go batty here. Look at my mother."

"What about her?"

"The loneliness went to her brain. She's become a ham radio operator. How’d you like your mama to be a ham radio operator?"

"I don’t know. How did she get into that?"

"Ali brought in the equipment and set it up for her. They spend half their time in the radio shack."

"Where's that?"

"It's called the de-salination plant, but actually the fresh water distillery is now on this side of the island."

I was about to ask him some more questions, but he was called away by his father for a family huddle.

I didn’t like any of this. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late but there was still time to get off the island and reach Athens that afternoon. It was up to Libby and Anna whether they wanted to come along, but I was going to take Mueller with me. I didn't know what part he'd played in knocking Heidi off the board, but I needed him if I was going to stay in the game myself. At this point he was the only person who could lead me to Jeanne – and I wasn’t going to leave him behind.

Little as I liked Mueller, two others seemed to like him even less. Dark, angry looks were being sent his way by Mrs. K and Ali. I had the feeling if I didn't get Mueller off the island in the next half hour, those looks would kill.

After about ten minutes of heated discussion, the Greek family Koundiotes seemed to come to a decision. Leaving the group, Mr. Koundiotes signaled Mueller and me to join him.

"I apologize deeply for what has happened," he told US. "We are obliged to make certain rather fast decisions. First of all, we have decided not to mention this young woman's death to the authorities. No one here seems to know who she is or the exact circumstances of her death. You can't imagine what we will have in the way of publicity if this ever reaches the journalists. So we have decided simply to bury her in a deep grave here on Io Sirena, although there is some disagreement as my wife thinks the body should be buried at sea. In any case, this is a small matter if handled correctly.

"Now, I understand Bravo Romeo has arrived from its revision. I shall return to Athens with my son and daughter in that. You need not hurry. My wife suggests that you and Mr. Mueller pass the night here and leave tomorrow. My wife has certain things to attend to in the house before she can get away. But tomorrow she will join me in Athens. Ali will fly her there in Juliette Tango."

"That sounds fine with me," I said. Mueller also nodded.

"Good. Then it's settled. I need not tell you, gentlemen, that I rely on you to say nothing at all about what happened here today." He looked from one of us to the other. If he had any worries about our keeping our mouths shut, they were unnecessary to say the least.

During, the last few minutes an idea had been forming in my mind. I'd been looking at the beach. It was about twice as long as the landing strip and oriented even more into the wind. When Koundiotes left us I walked a little ways up it. The sand near the edge of the surf was relatively hard and as far as I could see, except for a few pieces of driftwood which I tossed farther up on the sand, there'd be no problem landing.

I walked back. "Mueller," I said, "could you be down here with your bags ready to go in fifteen minutes without anyone seeing you?"

"They will see me."

"Make sure they don't."

"I can be here," he said.

I went over to Libby. She was talking with her daughter, annoyed that Anna was still making a fuss about what had happened. Such displays of emotion were apparently reserved for herself.

"Libby, Anna, I'll be taking off in fifteen minutes. Are you coming with me or not?"

"Yes," said Anna. She looked blackly at her mother. "Yes, we're going. Do you want to end like Heidi?"

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until tomorrow morning?" asked Libby. "God might take me quietly in the night."

"The Koundioteses think we’re staying over. Don’t let anyone know any different. I’m just afraid I won’t have a viable airplane by tomorrow morning if we stay here. Or a live German."

Libby was visibly distressed. "All right, then. But you'll have to wait while I get the cognac bottle. I'll need something."

I explained what I wanted them to do. By now the others were leaving the beach, climbing back up toward the house. Ali was carrying Heidi's body, which was wrapped in the sheet. I told Anna and Libby to be ready at the far end of the beach. Mueller would be there, too. I told them I wouldn't turn off the engine so that they should approach the plane very carefully from the side or rear, careful not to walk into the prop which would be turning, even if they couldn't see it.

"If it weren't for this child..." Libby paused. "Well, it's decided. We'll be waiting at the far end in fifteen minutes, and we won't walk into the propeller."

"Great. See you then, I hope."

As the two women went toward their house, I headed back up the cliff. There was no time to lose. Koundiotes and his kids had gone up in a hurry to pack and I guessed they'd be taking to the air very shortly. I wanted to be down at the Helio at the same time without letting Ali or Mrs. K see me.

Back at the house I threw my things into my bag, concealed it in my nylon windbreaker, and started toward the door. Voices in the hall stopped me. As they grew fainter I peered out. It was Ali and Mrs. Koundiotes.

I was almost positive, seeing Mrs. K in these clothes, that she'd been the one shooting at me earlier that afternoon. In which case the voices I'd heard coming from the de-salination plant, or radio shack, had been those of Heidi and Ali. Their argument could have concerned her meeting with the German. At that time, apparently, neither knew Mueller wasn't her husband. Now Ali was getting hell from Mrs. K about Heidi's death, but I didn't know why. Either the young woman had killed herself or Mueller had thrown her over the cliff. Either way, Mrs. K felt it had been Ali’s fault. Obviously they and Heidi had been involved in something together.

If this was the case, then I was allied with Mueller on the other side of the fence. Most likely they considered me just a hired pilot. Well, I hadn't exactly been given a chance to choose sides, and now it was too late to try and change things. Ali and Mrs. K would never trust me enough to tell me where to find Jeanne, even if they knew. I had no choice but to stick with Mueller – and hope I found my wife and Louise before he did.

The coast clear, I started to make my way out through the series of glass rooms and gardens that made up this incredible house. Under other circumstances it would have been a great place to spend some time. With certain obvious exceptions, the company was good, the food first-rate, and the view fantastic. One little thing did bother me. The rather cavalier way they disposed of guests who’d outstayed their lifespans. And since around here you didn’t know from hour to hour when or where the grim reaper would strike, you started getting kind of nostalgic feelings for mainland institutions like policemen and doctors.

"Oh, Mr. Tschetter, are you leaving, too?"

I froze in my tracks, bent my mouth into a smile, and turned to see Orena standing behind me. She had what looked like a pile of freshly ironed blouses in her hands.

"No, no," I said. "I'm not flying until tomorrow. Just wanted to check out the plane."

"Will you be going to Athens? Anna said you might fly her and her mother there."

"Could be, could be. Nothing really definite as yet."

"Well, I'll say goodbye down on the strip. Daddy says we're taking off in five minutes, so I really have to rush. Anna has our Athens address, so please look us up."

She hurried off. When I got down to the strip, Koundiotes, his girlfriend, and Orestes were already there ready to go. A man I hadn't seen before, their other pilot, was pre-flighting one of the Jet Rangers.

"Have you seen Orena?" Koundiotes asked me. "I want to get going."

"She'll be here in a minute."

"She'd better be." Koundiotes watched me open the Helio's luggage door and put in my bag. "What's that?" he asked, seeing the motorcycle.

"A Honda."

"Very practical. I wish we could have something like that in the Bell. But then what do you do with the luggage and passengers when you land at the airport?"

"You ride the Honda and the passengers walk to town carrying their bags."

Koundiotes laughed. "The way business is going, we may all be walking and carrying our own bags soon."

My job in the short time remaining was to open the light, compact rear jump seats I'd had installed for passengers when the Honda was on board, and readjust the position of the bike. Libby had been briefed to bring along the least amount of stuff possible owing to the space and weight problems. Even so, it would be cramped for them, and the front tire of the bike would practically be acting as an armrest between their two seats. The problem wasn't so much one of moving the Honda as securing it again, and now a shout from Orestes, who had caught sight of his sister arriving and had run to help her with her bags, forced me to abandon the effort.

"Hang onto your plane," Orestes yelled as they ran past. The rotors were already turning and the two ran bent low to avoid the deadly blades. I needed no urging to get into my aircraft. It was what I'd been waiting for. Now was the time to get my own engine turning without the noise tipping off my friend Ali. The noise of the chopper would mask the Helio's.