Von Till arched forward in a curt, precise bow. "I'm sorry, Major," the old German said slowly and very deliberately. "Our interesting little chat has come to an end. Please forgive me if I fail to provide the traditional blindfold and last cigarette." He said nothing more, the evil, venomous smirk on his face spoke for him, and Pitt braced himself for the almost certain blast from Darius' gun.

18

18

A gun roared: not the sharp bark of a Luger, but the heavy, ear-stunning roar of a big bore, .45 Colt automatic. Darius shouted in pain as the Luger flew from his hand into the water. Giordino, in a uniform at least two sizes too large nimbly leaped off the dock onto the sub deck and shoved the Colt into von Till's left ear. Then he turned to admire his marksmanship.

"Well, what do you know, I even remembered to remove the safety."

"Nice going," Pitt said. "Errol Flynn couldn't have made a more dramatic entrance."

Their faces confused and uncomprehending, von Till and Darius stood frozen in mute shock. The hot floodlights glared through the mist, burning it away completely, and the guards on the ledge could see that something totally unexpected had occurred on the sub's deck. As if drawn by one string all five men raised their machine pistols and aimed them directly at Pitt.

"Keep your fingers off the triggers." Giordino's voice boomed against the rock walls "Shoot Major Pitt and I splatter your boss's brains halfway to Athens. Shoot and you all die. There are guns trained on your hearts—I'm not bluffing. Look at the tunnel."

If there was one thing in the cavern whose supply outdistanced its necessity, it was the machine pistol. There were ten more of them in the hands of the toughest bunch of men Pitt had ever seen. They were grouped in loose formation around the tunnel entrance, four in the prone position, three kneeling, and three standing. Pitt almost had to look twice to make them out clearly; their black and brown camouflaged field dress blended perfectly into the craggy shadows. Only their maroon berets, the hallmark of an elite outfit, betrayed their presence to the casual eye.

Giordino continued: "Now please turn your attention to the submarine at my rear."

It wasn't exactly the straw that broke the camel's back, but it was the ugly, air-cooled machine gun, gripped by a fiendishly grinning Colonel Zeno on the I-Boat's conning tower, that broke the bodyguards' will to fight. Slowly they lowered their guns and raised their hands in the air; all except one, he hesitated and paid the price.

Zeno fanned the trigger of his weapon. Two bullets, no more, spat from the air-cooled barrel in one brief blast. The unthinking, unfortunate guard slumped soundlessly to the ground and rolled limply into the water, staining the brilliant cobalt blue with a growing cloud of red.