I was still…

… puzzled by the fisherman’s gestures yesterday. When I rode down to Nikos’ this morning, Kostandis, a retired lawyer and one of the more sedate Club members, told me that the police inspector had suggested I call in at the police station “very soon”. Apparently, the word is out in the entire village. I was not exactly terrified, but my stomach hit my boots and I could feel the blood hiccupping in my vitals. In that moment, I knew I’d been rumbled. There’s no way I’m going to hand myself in, and I’m not sure whether I could actually be extradited, but I’ve decided to move on and try to hide better next time. I can only imagine some smartass has discovered this Carfilhiot blog, and has somehow tracked me down, which is a mystery, because it’s just another site among millions, a lodger in the neglected upload directory of a friend’s site (Well, at the time of writing it was, but we have moved on). I helped him move his website from an unsuitable ISP, and he said I could use any space I wanted within reason. If Google knows about it, I didn’t tell them… {O God, I just Googled Carfilhiot, and up we came – top of the list – how did that happen?}

Once alerted, no doubt the British police put out a call to all Greek islands, in the hope of locating me.

Unfortunately, there’s no ferry until Wednesday. I’ll catch that, and go to Athens while I sort out my next move. I don’t imagine my company has been compromised yet, but it’s only a matter of time, so it’s back to “brass plate” business again.

Now I know why I subconsciously wanted a boat. I could just have vanished into the Mediterranean.

As long as they don’t send the Black Maria for me, I should be OK here at home. I bought some provisions at the microscopic “supermarket”, and I’ll just lie low till Wednesday morning.

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