CHAPTER ONE - WRITTEN IN STONE

 RAYMOND B. STONE

WRITTEN IN STONE

He has wealth and power and an heir with hatred in his heart.

Both share a terrible family secret that is about to be exposed.

Enda Osin is a sharp cookie when it comes to political intrigue. His daily column in the Herald is controversial and popular. Upsetting the incumbents of the White House and Downing Street over an article concerning lost public investments worth millions in an American company, his editor has been forced to sideline him. He’s been assigned to write a series of articles for the Herald’s Sunday supplement about Paul Hrisacopolis, a shipping billionaire with a thirst for power in the European Union and a believer in Enosis for Cyprus. To help him is Art correspondent and photographer, Jessica Du Rosse, a beautiful and sophisticated West Indian half his age and with whom he is soon falling in love.

Hrisacopolis has offered to transport the Elgin Marbles, priceless artifacts that the British Museum has agreed to relinquish claim to, from London to Athens on board the flagship of his cruise line. He’s not only looking forward to partying on the cruise with influential European politicians who can vote him into a commissioner’s chair: news that his only surviving heir, a grandson, has agreed to end a family feud and return to the fold, restores respect in the family name. Apart from a few loose ends – and tongues – that have to be dealt with, the old man has everything going his way.

It doesn’t take Enda long to get entangled in the Hrisacopolis family mystery. Dating back to the dark days of the EOKA terrorist campaign from the fifties to the seventies, he and Jessica find themselves unearthing a secret that would rock Greek and Turkish societies and bring shame and disgrace to Hrisacopolis if made public. Foiling an attempt on their lives as they visit Cyprus, the pair learns of a heartbreaking story involving an illegitimate lovechild and a woman’s desperate bid to find freedom – a freedom that ends in tragedy. Another attempt is made on Enda’s life while he tries to piece more facts together in Istanbul, where records show that the grandson is dead.

Anthony Hrisacopolis has hatred in his heart for a grandfather who broke a promise to his mother and caused her to lead a life of poverty until her untimely death. On hearing the news that the Elgin Marbles are to be shipped by his grandfather, Anthony plans to kill his grandfather and destroy the marbles in a terrible act of revenge.

When Enda and Jessica embark on the cruise, they are soon aware that all is not what it seems and must expose an imposter, prevent a murder, and save the Elgin Marbles. 

A chapter a month will be posted here. They will probably get another polish before going off to be published. Please leave a comment of honest consideration. Your thoughts really count.

CHAPTER ONE

      ‘This is the BBC world service with Gerald Smythe. …President Nixon refused to hand over sixty four White House tapes subpoenaed by Special Prosecutor Jaworski, relating to the Watergate break-in. However, edited transcripts have been sent to the Judiciary Committee. The President will appear before Americans tonight on…

     The voice faded as George switched the radio off. America’s problems were not his.

      He rose from the bed, pulled on a pair of faded green cords and a T shirt. Then he sat back on the bed and pushed his feet into a pair of heavy boots. Tying the laces, he turned to Isia and gently placed a hand on her stomach. She rested her long fingers over his hand. Her face, half hidden beneath long dark hair, looked up at him, her hazel eyes searching his as he bent to kiss her.

      “I love you,” he whispered.

      She touched his lips with one finger. “I love you too but I’m frightened, George. Do you really have to go?”

      “You know I do. My men are waiting for me” He smiled. “Don’t be afraid. Haven’t I always come back?”

      “But George…”

      “Isia, please.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Tonight I’ll lead my men in the fight for Cypriot sovereignty. When this is over we’ll be together, I promise.”

      She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.          

      There was a light tap at the door. “Ready?” 

      “It’s time,” said George.

      Isia grabbed his hand as he turned to leave but said nothing. A squeaking floorboard broke the silence and she let his fingers slip through hers.

      George picked up the machine gun propped against the dresser, and opened the door. Without looking back he held a finger to his lips as Alexander started to speak.  “Outside,” he whispered.

      There was a dull thud as the door closed behind them. They walked to the wooden entrance, ducking their heads as they stepped under the low beam and out into the humid night air.

      Their boots crunched on the gravel as they strode to where two bicycles lay on the ground behind a small thicket. 

       “You are taking a great risk being here,” said Alexander, lifting a back pack onto his shoulders. “There are rumors amongst the men. They say your affair is a bad omen for our cause.”

       Picking a bike up, George turned to face the big man. “I’m marrying her.”

       Alexander stopped. “No!” He shook his head. “You can’t.”

       George raised a hand. “Shush! Keep your voice down.” He grabbed a strap on Alexander’s backpack. “Come on, hurry.”

      Alexander pulled away. “But George, what are you going to do?”

       “I’ve written to my father and told him.”

        “You’ve what?” Alexander’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But her family…. there’ll be murder…. .”

     George shook his head irritably. “She’ll leave to stay with friends if my father agrees. There’ll be no murder.”

       Alexander brushed a long strand of red hair from his face before mounting the other bicycle. “If  he agrees?  Of course he won’t agree!” He gripped the handlebars of his bike and lifting the front wheel, swung the bike around before slamming it to the ground, scattering gravel everywhere.

       George sat with one foot on a pedal. “Alex, enough, or we’ll be late.” He pushed off, peddling hard.

       Cursing, Alexander followed the disappearing figure along a narrow winding track. His bicycle rattled down the steep uneven ground, jarring his big frame. Clenching his fingers around the vibrating handlebar, he ducked under branches, brushed past tall undergrowth and prickly hawthorns that snagged his trousers. Avoiding small boulders and old stumps of Aleppo pine that protruded from both sides, he sped after George, through flashes of moonlight and menacing shadows as the moon appeared between craggy outcrops of towering rock. A small lizard scurried in and out of shadows cast by the bony fingers of a eucalyptus tree as both men rode by, and then disappeared into a black recess of rock.  

       A few minutes later the track came to an end. From there on a narrow path wound its way down between boulders, ever steeper as it neared a small cove and fresh water spring outlet. Hiding their bicycles in a wide crevice between two large boulders they hurried on, careful to keep their footing on the loose shale.

        Nearing the cove, Alexander stopped to rest against a boulder, breathing heavily.

        “We can’t stop, there’s still a fair way to go,” said George, looking back.

        Alexander took a deep breath. “I know. I want…” he gasped. His feet slipped on some loose stones.

        Both men ducked instinctively as a swarm of bats erupted into flight from an overhanging tree.

        They started walking again. “I want to say one thing without you getting mad?” continued Alexander. “You do realize this affair could ruin your father’s reputation?”

        “My father’s a hero, Alex, and when we return to Athens we’ll be heroes too. Now let’s get on.” George looked up at the sky. “If there’s a patrol in this area they might have heard the bats and investigate.” 

                They made their way down to the cove. The full moon, surrounded by the pitch black of night, shone down on the sea, bathing it in silver moonlight. A slight breeze blew inland, gently moving tall strands of grass back and forth at the base of the cliffs. At the north end of the cove a path, much steeper than the one they had descended to the south, would be their exit route. Above them, to their rear, rose a sheer cliff over one hundred feet high topped by thick undergrowth and hawthorns. George looked at their surroundings as they approached the opening onto the beach.

         He stopped at the entrance. Taking a goat skin purse from his pocket, he handed it to Alexander. “I know you disapprove, Alex, but I want you to do this for me if things go wrong.”

        Alexander flung the purse onto the beach. “You want me to pay that ….?” He stopped and turned away, hands on hips. “You’re asking a lot, George.”

        George drew close. “I have no-one else to ask, Alex, and she has no-one at all.”

        Several figures emerged from behind a group of large boulders at the base of the cliffs skirting the beach.

 Alexander turned and scooped up the purse. Stuffing it inside his jacket he whispered hoarsely, “We’ll talk about this later but if….you make sure your father holds no grudge against my family.”

       George gave the big man a light punch in the chest. “I’ve already explained to him in my letter that you didn’t know. Happy?”

       “No.”

      “Good. Now get the torches ready. I want this operation over and off the beach.”

        The men joined them and exchanged greetings with nods. Mostly unshaven, they were dressed in torn dirty clothing. For several months they had been fighting a guerilla war against the British Army, hiding out in the Troodos Mountains. Villages in the area had been afraid to give shelter or food for fear of reprisals. Some of them squatted, laying rifles and machine guns across their laps.

      George looked at Alexander. “Okay, let everyone have a torch and get them positioned up the beach.”

       The men took torches from Alexander’s backpack and walked off along the beach. Every few yards one of them stopped to take up his position. From there they crouched, waiting for George’s signal.

     George looked at his watch. The fishing boat carrying the new men was out by the point. They had to be off the cove as quickly as possible and taken to a hidden truck on the Dyo Potamoi road for a trip inland to safety. Before that there was a worrying three mile walk that took the men close to the British army firing range. With patrols everywhere they had to stay vigilant. The recent shooting deaths of two young off duty officers in a Famagusta nightclub had put the army on high alert, renewing their efforts to search out anyone connected to the National Organization of Cypriot Struggle.  

      Looking out to sea, George silently cursed the full moon. Athens only informed him of the new shipment after it left the mainland and in any case he knew trying to change the arrangements would have been to no avail. It was risky bringing men in under a full moon and the beach was the last place they needed to be caught. It was now too late to turn back.

       He strained to see a flashing lamp out to the north-west of the bay. When it came he waited for a second flash to be sure he’d seen the signal. He pointed his own flashlight up the beach and flicked the switch. Immediately, five lights flashed five times out to sea. They were answered at once by a red light that flashed three times.

       “I’ll get the men ready.” Alexander strode off.

       George stood for several minutes, breathing in the humid air. Shallow waves washed across the shingle and wet the toes of his boots before frothing into nothing. 

     “There’s a small motor boat coming in.” Alexander came running back across the beach, breathing heavily.

       “Right, get them off and send the boat back. How many are there?”

       “Fifteen men. The fishing boat is laid off further toward the point.”

       George’s heart beat faster against his chest. “Good. Now lead them out of here as fast as you can, Alex. I’ll cover the rear with two of our men. ”

       Both men ran in the direction of the boat. George could make out several figures jumping into the surf as they approached.

       Then night suddenly turned into day. A bright searchlight at the top of the cliff cut through the night, illuminating the boat and all around it. “Stay where you are! Lay down your arms and walk towards the light!”  The megaphone voice repeated the order.

       “On top of the cliff!” shouted George. “The bastards are hidden, get the light!” He raised his pistol and aimed at the top of the cliffs.

       A hail of bullets hit the searchlight but the figures on the beach could still be clearly seen in the moonlight. Both sides fired at each other as George’s men tried in vain to find shelter among the few scattered rocks. Tracers from the chattering automatic weapons on the cliff top bounced around, throwing up shingle. Running men were cut down in scything sweeps along the beach. Return fire from the beach ricocheted harmlessly off the boulders and cliff top. Within a minute there was hand to hand fighting as soldiers ran out into the open from the two paths either side of the beach.

      Alexander dropped to the ground next to George as a bullet kicked up stones beside him. “We can only swim out from here! We’re trapped!” Alexander grabbed George. “Come on, you can’t do anything for the men now! A patrol must have spotted the lights. For God’s sake, George, move!”

     The launch that landed the men had beached itself, engine running. Two lifeless figures were slumped in the after well and the forward cabin had been riddled with bullets. Splintered wood lay everywhere.

   Alexander ran to the boat.

       Occasional bursts of automatic gunfire still shattered the night. Two men on the beach held the enemy fire. Another searchlight lit the entire beach and both men were thrown backward under a hail of bullets.

       “Quick, George!”

   Alexander clambered onto the boat pulling George behind him.

       A single shot rang out. George slumped across the bow, blood streaming from his back. A photo dropped from his jacket pocket into the water.           

       The launch moved away from the beach, turned, and with a sudden burst of power, motored into the night.

       Several minutes later, a British officer walking among the casualties stopped to pick up the photograph as it danced in the ebb and flow of lapping water. He examined it by the light of his flashlight before putting it into his pocket.