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exceptional opportunity. It was something Markos had dreamed of.

Chapter Three
    W ITHIN TEN MINUTES, Markos drew up outside his home in Elpida Street. Like most buildings in the residential outskirts of modern Famagusta, it had several floors, each with its own balcony, and each occupied by a different generation.
    On the ground floor were Markos’ parents, Vasilis and Irini. On the first there was an empty apartment that would eventually be occupied by Markos’ younger brother Christos; on the second was his sister Maria with her husband Panikos. Markos lived alone on the top floor. If he leaned right out over the balcony, there was a glimpse of the sea and sometimes the possibility of a breeze. Everyone shared the rooftop, a permanent site for drying laundry. Rows of shirts, sheets and towels hung there, dry as paper after an hour. Rusty metal rods sprouted up like saplings, ready for another storey if ever needed for children of children.
    At this time of night Markos would not stop at his parents’ place, but in the morning he would sit in their small garden for ten minutes before going to work again. His father would usually have left for his smallholding by ten, but his mother would make him the sweet Greek coffee that he loved and take a break from her chores.
    When Vasilis and Irini Georgiou had built the apartments in the city, they had replicated in miniature everything they had enjoyed when they lived in the countryside. A vine that grew over a trellis to give them shade, five closely planted orange trees and a dozen pots from which his mother harvested more tomatoes than they could consume. Even the gerania had been propagated from cuttings of their plants in the village. There was also a tiny corner of the
kipos
fenced off with wire where two chickens scratched and fussed at the ground.
    For Irini Georgiou, the most important feature of the garden was the cage that hung just to the left of her door. Inside it was her canary, Mimikos. His singing was her joy.
    At three in the morning everything was still, apart from the cicadas.
    Markos found his key, let himself into the shared hallway and began to climb the stairs. When he reached the first floor, he could hear his brother, Christos, along with some other voices inside the empty apartment. There was nothing in there but the bare concrete of walls and floors and the sounds were magnified.
    Markos put his ear to the door and listened. His brother’s voice was raised, which was not unusual, but one of the other men inside sounded even angrier. He recognised the voice of another mechanic from the garage where Christos worked. Haralambos Lambrakis had exerted huge influence on his brother.
    The two brothers had always been close and fond of each other. There was a ten-year age gap and they had joshed and played around together for Christos’ entire life. Since he had been old enough to walk, the younger one had followed the older around, copying what he did and what he believed. He had idolised Markos.
    At the age of eighteen, Christos was far more radical than Markos had been at the same age. Just the previous morning they had argued over the burning issue of
enosis
between Cyprus and Greece. As a younger man, Markos had always believed passionately that this union should happen. He had been a member of EOKA, the National Organisation of Cypriot Fighters, and supported its cause when it was fighting for the end of British rule on the island. Since independence had been achieved a decade earlier, though, he had moved away from its extreme ideas.
    After the military coup in Athens five years before, most Greek Cypriots valued their independence from the mainland more than ever and no longer wanted unification with Greece. There was now rivalry between the Greek Cypriots such as Christos who still campaigned for
enosis
and those who did not, and between them hung the threat of violence.
    ‘Why have you become such a coward?’ Christos had screamed.
    ‘It’s