Nest of Spies

by Geoffrey Davison

  ‘I am surprised you thought it necessary for us to meet at all,’ Fletcher remarked.

  Veti made a despairing gesture with his hands.

  ‘Unfortunately your presence tonight could interfere with my plans, and if that happened my principals would be most upset.’

  ‘And just who are your principals this time?’ Fletcher asked. ‘The Russians or the Albanians?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Veti retorted.

  ‘Purely academic,’ Fletcher said. ‘It surprises me that you are interested at all. One can hardly think that Rassitz shares your doctrines.’

  ‘We aren’t trying to convert him,’ Veti remarked dryly. ‘Only to use him.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ Fletcher asked.

  Veti smiled. ‘Let us stop being naive, Fettos. We are well aware of your Rhodes Conference next month. Need I say more?’

  No, Fletcher thought. There was no need to spell it out; he knew the rest. An armed Rassitz on Cyprus would wreck the conference. It would never get off the ground.

  ‘Why should Rassitz deal with you?’ Fletcher asked. ‘They have their own supply.’

  ‘Rassitz wasn’t aware he was dealing with us until I told him.’

  ‘You told him?’ Fletcher asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ Veti said patiently. ‘You see Pula was doing quite a lot of double dealing, so we decided to cut out the middle man and deal direct.’

  ‘Was?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘He won’t any more,’ Veti said. ‘In fact he won’t be practising anymore.’

  So Pula was dead, Fletcher thought. It didn’t unduly surprise him. He had been a fool to play the Turks and the Communists, one against the other.

  ‘And Rassitz was still prepared to do business with you?’

  ‘Yes. It was too late for him to do an about-turn, and our goods are so tempting.’

  ‘Just what are you supplying Rassitz with?’ Fletcher asked seriously.

  Veti remained silent, contemplating his answer.

  ‘It is too late for you to stop Rassitz now,’ he said finally, ‘so I can tell you. He has a shipment of short range guided missiles!’

  Missiles! Fletcher thought. My God, no wonder there had been so much secrecy. With a battery of guided missiles Rassitz would be able to call the tune. But that wasn’t all.

  ‘He also has on board a number of technicians to supervise the siting arrangements.’

  A pregnant silence followed his remark. Even the wild noises from behind the curtained door seemed to disappear.

  Fletcher’s brain only registered the fact that Communist-supplied guided missiles and crews were being supplied to Rassitz for use on Cyprus. If they ever reached the island the present delicate equilibrium would become unbalanced. The island would erupt. But it could escalate into a major conflict, not only between Greece and Turkey, but between East and West.

  Now Fletcher realised why the Russians had passed on this information to Spencer. This was not of their doing. They saw the danger of creating another Cuba, even in miniature. But the Albanians, backed and pushed by the Chinese, were more adventurous — or reckless. As for Rassitz — he was only the vehicle for getting the missiles on to the island, and in his blind drunken lust for power he was prepared to deal with anybody.

  Fletcher had most of the picture now. Pula, the middle man, offering a shipment of missiles to Rassitz. Dr Sleitser, alias Lofer, providing the cover for building up the stockpile and shipping them to Cyprus. But the weapons had to come from a Communist state, instead of the West. This was a private arrangement Pula had made. This was what Salunda and Kasim had suspected — that they were being supplied with Communist weapons and being made a tool for Communist intrigue. This was what Kasim had found out and that was why he had been murdered.

  ‘What about the war heads?’ Fletcher asked flatly.

  ‘Conventional,’ Veti replied. ‘But they could be otherwise!’

  At least that was some consolation, Fletcher thought. So far nothing nuclear had arrived on the island — so far!

  A drunken reveller suddenly stumbled through the curtains. Veti gave a sharp order for him to be ejected. The man at the window turned and watched Fletcher whilst the drunk was quickly removed.

  ‘What about Sleitser?’ Fletcher asked, taking advantage of Veti’s readiness to talk. ‘Is he one of your men?’

  Veti gave a deep chuckle as if he found the question amusing.

  ‘For a man who has arrived at the critical place almost on the appointed hour you know very little,’ he said.

  ‘I travelled the short direct route,’ Fletcher said, ‘and fast!’

  Veti looked impressed.

  ‘Dr Sleitser was formerly Colonel Loferbraun of the German Army of Occupation, here in Greece. He was in command of coastal artillery. When he left Greece he was sent to work on the V bomb. So you see, Fettos, what a useful man he was to Pula. Not only did he know the right site for his archaeological camp, but he also had the necessary type of background to impress the Turks.’

  Veti was being remarkably frank. He must be very confident of success, Fletcher thought.

  ‘You haven’t got all the answers,’ Veti added quietly.

  Fletcher looked at him, puzzled by his remark. What did he mean? What else was there for him to find out? Was he referring to Kasim’s murder, or to the attempt on his life?

  ‘Why don’t you tell me then?’ he asked.

  Veti shook his head.

  ‘No, Fettos, we’ll leave that as a surprise for you!’

  The man at the window called to Veti who went and joined him. Fletcher stood up to see what they were looking at, but was ordered to sit down again.

  Veti gave a grunt of satisfaction. Rassitz or some of his party had arrived! It was time for Fletcher to leave. Somehow he had to get out of their clutches and stop Rassitz getting on that boat. He glanced at the man with the gun. He had the hard look and the steady hand of a professional. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it had to be done. Even Salunda was now secondary to stopping Rassitz.

  Again the drunk staggered into the room, but his time he was accompanied by another equally intoxicated reveller. Fletcher’s pulse quickened. Behind the mask of one of them was Mario! Fletcher recognised his clothing and the scar on his forearm. He braced himself and gripped the legs of the stool on which he was sitting.

  Veti gave an impatient cry.

  ‘Get them out!’ he shrieked.

  Again the man at the window covered Fletcher with his gun, as his friend struggled to eject the two drunks. One of them appeared to be on the verge of collapsing. He clung on to the man, his arms around his neck.

  Fletcher remained motionless, waiting for his opportunity. Veti brought out his own automatic and waved the man at the window to go to the other’s assistance. Hurriedly the man crossed the room, his revolver still in his hand. When he reached the drunks, he raised his arm as if to strike one of them on the head. But Mario must have been waiting for the move and with all his weight he butted the man, sending him backwards on to the floor.

  Instantly Fletcher made his move. His stool flew across the room like a rocket and hit Veti in the chest. Veti gave an almost hysterical shriek as Fletcher lunged for the curtained opening. Fletcher felt a grab at his clothing, but he disentangled himself. He didn’t like leaving Mario, but it had to be.

  At the doorway he flung himself bodily into the carnival crowd. Instead of making for the Syrian’s house he headed towards the square. Veti would expect him to try to stop the Turks, but Fletcher had another idea. Ikarios! Unless he was mistaken, Ikarios was hunting the same thing as he was, and Ikarios had a naval frigate anchored off the bay. There wasn’t time to harbour grievances, not with a boat load of guided missiles a few kilometres away, ready to sail for Cyprus.

  The harbour front was even more congested than before and the crowd more intoxicated. Any second Fletcher expected to feel a bullet smack into his back. He knew Veti would not hesitate to fire now. He had abuse
d their hospitality. It would be total war from now on. His only hope was to get to Ikarios before they caught up with him.

  As he fought his way through the crowd he noticed the frigate was still in the same position that it had been before. He only hoped Ikarios was also.

  Eventually he managed to force his way into the foyer of the hotel where he had seen Ikarios on the balcony. It was deserted, except for a women sitting in a small office, reading a newspaper as if the carnal exhibition of revelry which was going on around her was an everyday occurrence.

  Fletcher dashed over to her.

  ‘Inspector Ikarios,’ he said. ‘Where is he?’

  She looked him up and down.

  ‘Damn you,’ Fletcher fumed. ‘Where is he? It is important.’

  ‘First floor room seven,’ she said calmly, and leant forward and pressed a button on her desk. In the foyer a bell started ringing.

  Fletcher was halfway up the stairs before it stopped. As he reached the first-floor landing, the door to room seven opened and Sergeant Nepolis appeared, gun in hand. He smiled when he saw Fletcher. Not a pleasant, welcoming smile, but that of a man who was about to settle an old score.

  ‘I want to see the Inspector,’ Fletcher said, ignoring the man’s menacing attitude. ‘It is important.’

  He brushed past the Sergeant and entered the bedroom. Ikarios, who was standing by the balcony door, gave a visible look of surprise. His eyes narrowed.

  ‘You, Fettos,’ he snarled.

  ‘I have some information for you, Inspector,’ Fletcher said quickly. ‘Important information.’

  The Inspector’s face didn’t relax.

  ‘About what?’ he snapped.

  ‘Abdul Rassitz,’ Fletcher said.

  The Inspector and the Sergeant exchanged quick glances.

  ‘What about him?’ the Inspector asked. His tone was only slightly less aggressive.

  ‘He is on the island,’ Fletcher said, ‘collecting a party of terrorists together to sail for Cyprus.’

  The Inspector started to laugh.

  ‘You must be mad,’ he sneered. ‘Besides, what do you know about Rassitz?’

  Fletcher looked first at the Inspector and then at the Sergeant. They were both watching him. The Sergeant had his back to the door, and the gun was still in his hand. Fletcher tried again.

  ‘I tell you it is true, Inspector. Rassitz and some of his men are on the island.’

  ‘And how are they going to get off?’ Ikarios asked.

  ‘They are in league with Dr Sleitser, the archaeologist. He has a boat hidden in a cave near his camp.’

  ‘Very good,’ Ikarios said nodding his head, ‘very good. Now we not only have a Turkish terrorist in our midst, but also a German gun-runner.’ He turned to his Sergeant. ‘What do you make of this, Sergeant?’ he asked. ‘We come here looking for a murderer and end up with an army of terrorists.’

  ‘I would like to know how he got his information,’ the Sergeant said acidly.

  Ikarios came up closer to Fletcher.

  ‘So would I,’ he snarled.

  He flung his hand across Fletcher’s face, but Fletcher had been expecting the move and parried the blow. He controlled his temper. What was the Inspector playing at? As a member of Greek Security he would know that Rassitz was in the area, and he had been very quick to look into Kronos’ death. Why was he suddenly acting the innocent?

  ‘I don’t know what your game is, Inspector,’ he fumed, ‘but I am warning you that Rassitz is on the island and will be sailing for Cyprus. Use your head, man. Do you think I would come bursting in here unless I knew what I was saying?’

  ‘How do you know all this, Fettos?’ the Inspector asked, a mocking expression on his face. ‘You are only a simple fisherman. Remember?’

  He stormed over to the balcony and closed the louvred shutters. Fletcher was trapped with two armed sadistic policemen. He was in for a rough time. He cursed himself for having come to the hotel. He should have gone to the Syrian’s house. The Inspector and the Sergeant stood looking at him. It was only a question of who intended to make the first move.

  A knock at the bedroom door eased the tension. The Sergeant cast a quick glance at the Inspector and then went to the door. Fletcher watched closely. An automatic appeared in the Inspector’s hand and Fletcher knew he wouldn’t need much encouraging to make him use it.

  The Sergeant opened the door and stood to one side as two men entered the rom. One of them was Andros Zonakas! But the other man was also familiar. He was the man who had been on the pier reading a newspaper when Fletcher and Mario had last visited the island! Their presence killed any lingering doubts Fletcher might have had of being able to persuade the Inspector to help him. He knew now what their game was; he wasn’t going to need Veti to tell him.

  Zonakas was surprised to see him. He slowly placed his hat on a nearby table and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘This is indeed unexpected.’

  ‘So you are at the back of this after all,’ Fletcher sighed.

  Zonakas smiled. A confident, conceited smile.

  ‘I must confess I have taken more than a passing interest.’

  ‘Why?’ Fletcher asked. ‘Are you trying to wreck the conference?’

  ‘Oh no Stefan. We want the conference to proceed as planned. Only we want it to go our way.’

  ‘And if Rassitz and his men get to Cyprus, you think that will help you?’

  Zonakas pursed his mouth and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘Will Rassitz get to Cyprus?’ he asked.

  ‘So that’s your game,’ Fletcher muttered. He recalled Veti’s remarks about Pula. He had been a double agent working for the Communists and the Greeks, not working for the Turks, as Fletcher had thought!

  A flood of answers raced through his head. Salunda and Kasim’s suspicions had not only been about the Communists, but also the Greeks. She had felt they were being used and she was correct. Zonakas had planted Pula and Dr Sleitser as bait to get Rassitz within their grasp. He had even used the Communists to help them.

  Fletcher couldn’t help but admire his ingenuity. The promise of a boat load of missiles must have been very tempting to Rassitz. So tempting that he had taken the bait. But he would never get them to Cyprus. Zonakas intended to see to that. Zonakas and the naval frigate anchored off the harbour. When Rassitz left the island, he would be intercepted and exposed to the world as an aggressor and a Communist dupe.

  The Turks would be the warmongers, the trouble makers. The Greek would have scored a double victory. They would have Rassitz safely behind bars, or six foot under the ground, and they would have strengthened their claim for ‘enosis’.

  But Zonakas’ scheme had come adrift. Veti had found out that Pula had been playing the double agent. It wasn’t a popular game to play, and he had paid the price. But Veti had also visited Rassitz! He had gone to protect the interests of his principals so perhaps there was another ace in the pack, of which Zonakas was not aware!

  ‘Clever?’ Zonakas asked like a schoolboy fishing for compliments.

  ‘Very,’ Fletcher agreed. ‘But let me give you a warning. The Communists don’t like to be monkeyed about. They become very annoyed.’

  Zonakas wasn’t worried.

  ‘So long as Veti gets paid, he won’t cry.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ Fletcher said and added: ‘Have you seen Pula during the past twenty-four hours?’

  Zonakas looked up sharply.

  ‘You have been busy,’ he sneered.

  ‘More than you think,’ Fletcher retorted, ‘and I would suggest your boys here drag themselves away from the carnival and do the same. You might find things aren’t as you imagine. You might also find Pula’s body!’

  Zonakas’ face clouded over and Ikarios gave an impatient snort.

  ‘If he knows something we’ll get it out of him,’ Ikarios said angrily.

  Zonakas relaxed again.

  ‘Stefan, I th
ink you are playing with us,’ he said lightly. ‘You British like your sport.’

  The Inspector snorted and made an unpleasant remark.

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t get so emotional, Inspector,’ Zonakas sighed. He looked at Fletcher. ‘Take him away,’ he snapped. ‘He is beginning to bore me.’ He turned his back on Fletcher and walked over to the balcony doors.

  It was the signal the Sergeant and his colleague had been waiting for.

  ‘We’ll meet again, Zonakas,’ Fletcher said, before he was grabbed.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Zonakas replied, but Fletcher didn’t hear him. He was being bundled out of the room. At the head of the stairs he struggled to get out of their grasp. The thoughts of being pummelled with a truncheon gave him extra strength. He felt one of his arms come free and he swung round to lash out at his other capturer, but before he even connected, a crashing blow to his head sent him reeling down the stairs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The movement of the truck brought Fletcher back to consciousness. He was lying on the floor, his hands tied behind his back and his mouth gagged. His head throbbed and ached. Each time the vehicle went over an uneven section of track, the vibrations sent a wave of shooting pains through his body.

  He moved his feet and felt someone lying beside him. He heard the mumble of voices around him — German voices! He tried to think clearly. The last thing he could remember was talking to Ikarios and Zonakas. He had been bundled out of the room and then the blow to his head. But they had not taken him to the police station! Why hadn’t they done that? Was it because of Zonakas? Would he have been too much of an embarrassment for him?

  Again he heard German voices. He was being taken to Sleitser’s camp! Zonakas was going to let Sleitser dispose of him. It would solve all his problems. His role in the plot would never come to light.

  Fletcher moved his position and saw Mario lying beside him. He was also bound and gagged. Fletcher wondered who had delivered him into the hands of Sleitser. Veti or Ikarios?