Her chest heaving, Bethania pulled some tissue paper from her bosom. Giving it to the children, she directed them to the trees and bushes.

Sam had returned and with hands on hips he said, "Yiayia, you are fit as a fiddle today. I'm glad to see your hip is not bothering you. When I awoke at your yell, I thought we were being chased by New Dawn gangsters!"

She laughed and said, "My hip? Ne, yes its better! Sam, there is good news! Were you listening? Did you sense *'ruach ha-kodesh?'"

* Hebrew for Holy Spirit

Chapter 22 Dale's Misadventure.

They ate freshly picked figs, bread and soft goat cheese for lunch, sitting in the shade of a cl.u.s.ter of evergreen oak trees. Bethania mentioned that these types of oaks were the remainder of old forest trees that originally grew on the island.

"But that was long ago, before I was a child," she told them. Ever so often she would glance at Dale and smile. And again she would think, Ne! He was a doorkeeper after all!

Dale would grin in return. His white smile was a definable contrast to her yellow teeth and her gold fillings. Bethania's gray strands stuck out from under her scarf, giving her an Einsteinian appearance but the gleam in her eyes had brightened since her morning revelation.

"Lira! Adi! Girls come and wipe your hands. We're leaving," she called to the girls who had wandered into the oaks. They stood by themselves, talking in whispers.

As the Liraz Klein and her younger sister approached, Dale walked hurriedly to the oaks and then beyond into the scrub trees. He had barely disappeared from sight when he heard the roar of motorcycles coming along the mountain road. Concealed in the shadows and foliage, Dale stood watching the bend in the road. One, two, three... six motorbikes came into view. The machines were not the regular mopeds and ancient scooters seen about the island. The cafe racers were new, all chrome and black.

He saw Bethania hurriedly push the sisters into the bed of the truck. Pulling down the canvas cover, she proceeded around to the pa.s.senger's door as Sam prepared to speak with one of the six.

A moment later, Bethania bustled toward Sam and a squat, thick muscled biker, who had turned his bike off in front of the truck. The other motorcycles with their riders were grouped fifty feet beyond, engines running. The old woman carried the half case of cigarettes.

Taking the leader by the hand, she brought him to the back of the truck and lifted the tarp. Dale watched as the words were exchanged and the cigarettes given. When the motorcycles disappeared, three going up the hill and the others going down, Dale came out of the trees.

Sam ran to him. "Good thing you stayed hidden! They are looking for you!"

Sam climbed into the driver's seat as Dale helped Bethania up on the opposite side. Sam with Bethania's help answered Dale's questions.

"Those are the New Dawn agents we've been telling you about. Many of them are foreigners and all of them from the mainland. They are not Corfiats!" Bethania said adamantly.

Sam, with his singled framed spectacles was driving now. "They will be back. Prepare to duck down. And then, Yiayia, you throw those things on him if we get stopped again," Sam said as he nodded toward a blanket, jacket and Bethania's characteristic red sweater.

"No! That cannot work," Bethania remarked. "We need a story. He is a hitchhiker..."

"I'm a hitchhiker from South Africa and I speak Afrikaans. I speak English but not American English," Dale said tentatively.

Sam said, "I like that. But you look American. Do something with your hair and you need a scarf. Yiayia, give him that one on your head."

The scarf didn't help.

Just outside of Avliotes, the truck was waved over. Without a word of explanation, Dale was dragged from the front seat and hauled across the graveled shoulder to the high gra.s.ses where two muscled men dropped him. Pain pulsated as grit and dirt mixed with blood where the skin was sanded away on the back of his legs and elbows. Still, Dale kept to his story. He reasoned, they wanted an American not an Afrikaner. Stereotypically, Dale looked the part. He had spent enough time in South Africa to play the part of an Afrikaner, as well.

Karlo, the point-man of this particular motorcycling threesome had Sam b.u.t.tonholed against the tailgate while Bethania hovered about in the background. He was the same man who had received the cigarettes from her hours earlier. Sam stuck to the story too. Karlo, pushed Sam back into the truck cab telling him to "be off." Bethania, climbing slowly into the pa.s.senger side protested.

"Mind your own business, hag!" he shouted in Greek although his face was only a few feet from hers. He jumped off the cab footstep and waved vigorously, pointing up the road to Avliotes. Sam put the truck into gear, starting forward as Karlo marched behind the truck toward Dale and his accusers.

Thrump-thru-rump. And again, thrump-thru-rump! Sam looked suspiciously at Bethania. The front right tire was flat. Looking past her, Sam saw Karlo look briefly back at them but he continued toward Dale and the others. "I need to check the tire," he said to Bethania. She nodded.

They had gone but a dozen meters, not even on the main thoroughfare yet. Sam pulled on the emergency brake and turned off the engine.

The air was hissing to escape, as Sam inspected the tire. A thin metal rod looking very much like a woman's st.u.r.dy bobby pin protruded from the tire valve. He pulled it free and the noise stopped. The tire was not completely flat but it could not be driven upon. He looked at Bethania. Her window was down. She was looking past him to the men standing over Dale.

"The hand pump, it's in the back. I put it there, myself," she told him.

He handed her the hairpin. "Yes, I saw you when we stopped at lunch. I'll get it and I'll tell the girls to stay quiet," he replied as he started for the rear of the vehicle.

Dale stuck his head between his knees not wanting to pa.s.s out.

Who knows what they'll do to me if I blackout?

Between kicks, Karlo asked Dale a number of questions including why he had no paperwork.

"I told your friends here... I was robbed in Athens and I came over here hoping to find work in the vineyards. My papers are gone and the way things are right now, I may never get it straightened out!" Dale gritted his teeth between thoughts.

Karlo lit a cigarette, turning his back on Dale's beating. After some minutes he hailed Sam. "You! What are you doing with that wheel? Come here!" Sam was actually procrastinating at Bethania's orders. The tire had been inflated but he was spinning it and fiddling with the decrepit car jack, trying to look busy.

Slapping the sand from his greasy hands, Sam came forward as Karlo's companions hefted Dale up. They pa.s.sed Karlo and Sam, heading for the truck. The paisley scarf left in the dirt.

"Take him into town. We cannot... not now but we want to talk to him some more. You know the tavern behind Georgios?" Karlo said and then proceeded to give Sam directions. Sam nodded. He knew where it was.

As the sun was setting, making another gorgeous horizon, a synagogue was burning in Madrid, Damascus was being leveled and three motorcycles headed for a local restaurant in a northern town on the isle of Kerkyra.

Chapter 23 Winning the Lottery.

"Mac, you said to stay under the radar but you didn't say I couldn't communicate at all!" Zeff said defensively while pulling his fingers through his hair.

Mac stood with arms folded just inches from the bulkier Zeff. Neither man knew who would win a physical scuffle although at first glance, if the argument came to blows, Mac looked the underdog.

The entire boat heard his response as his voice was near to a shout. "You gave away the farm!" The D'Almatan accent thickened beyond normal. "I don't care if it was Merry's friend! Merry knows not to show every ace in her hand but you..." spat Mac, turning to pace about the compact salon. Finally, Mac said, "I am thankful the internet, cell phones and every other piece of modern foolery has been down otherwise we would have some welcoming party tomorrow when we arrive at the backdoor!"

It was true that much of satellite communications had ceased some days before. An EMP (electromagnetic pulse) had been used against India by Pakistan causing a temporary blackout of satellite networking worldwide.

"Okay, I get it!" replied Zeff hotly. "I'll go in with Tino. Let me go." Zeff was afraid but he feared more his own wimpish behavior. He knew he was selfish and spoiled; the realization unfolded before him as he traveled with selfless Mac and the Serendipity crew and yet, he faced his self-interest indifferently. Being chicken-hearted was another story.

Am I really a coward? Si, es verdad!

The last months traveling from Mexico and now arriving at the Grecian Island of Kerkyra had been a love/hate journey of self revelation. Without the money, family notoriety and intellectual pride that had buoyed him for his first thirty years, Zeff found he was actually weak and morally shallow.

Tino and Junior had fled the salon where a meeting was being held for tomorrow night's incursion onto Kerkyra. They went opposite directions once the information came forth that Zeff and Tina had been corresponding. Only Zeff who had naively mentioned the email texts was in the dark about Mac's explosive response.

"Oh? I send you with Tino and now both of you get captured and tortured. That is a great suggestion!" huffed Mac.

At the word 'tortured,' Zeff's eyebrows shot up.

S. Okay. I am a coward but I will go anyway.

Zeff could not fake his typically proud stance before Mac any longer. "I'm sorry. I think perhaps I should go alone. You need Tino." Zeff labeled himself as Mac's right hand man but the truth was Tino did the job of three men while Zeff was only three-quarters seaman.

Mac didn't want to send either man to do a job that he, himself could do quickly and efficiently. He couldn't go. Neither man could sail the boat to D'Almata. The final two hundred miles would be the trickiest because of international skirmishes erupting in open waters.

Mac stopped pacing. Standing before Zeff he said quietly, "In the old days, I would just throw you over the p.o.o.pdeck but we are short on crew. Besides, I like you and you are not ready to meet your Maker. So, I'll send you ash.o.r.e. If you return good. If not, I'll pray for your soul."

Relieved, Zeff felt like he had won the lottery. Later as he lay his head on his pillow, he wondered about his joyful response to throw himself into danger to regain Mac's approval. His own psychology training reminded Zeff that he was human to the core; his hope for acceptance and appreciation were embedded and one within the heart of man... within his own heart.

Closing his eyes, Zeff would have fallen into a restless sleep except he saw words written in gold lettering parading across his imagination:

Your regard the esteem of mere men... this Malak of D'Almata, and not Me? Fear rather Him who can destroy both body and soul in h.e.l.l!

Mystified, Zeff open and closed his eyes once again trying to recapture the mental marquee. Forgetting where he was, he sat up banging the cabin overhead. He recalled that Mac was above deck on watch, Zeff pulled on his shorts and grabbed up his Spanish Bible. Rubbing the growing b.u.mp on his forehead, he went up in search of Mac and the G.o.d he served.

Chapter 24 Ridiculous!.