by Nick Carter
Kriezotou finally got hold of himself. "Of course," he agreed. "I will do everything I can. I am so relieved that Nikkor is not behind this!
"A smear campaign is in progress through one newspaper, and most of it is directed against Colonel Anatole Kotsikas. It has even been suggested that Kotsikas is a traitor and owes his allegiance to Moscow. This is not true. Kotsikas is liberal, but he is not a Communist He is the moving force behind the recent political reforms and the sponsor of the forthcoming general elections."
"Anybody else?" I asked.
Kriezotou sighed. "Yes. The attacks have also been directed against the men who generally vote with Kotsikas — Colonels Plotarchou and Glavani. In fact, the man who poses as your secretary, Nikkor, came to me recently with the information that all three of these men are to be — murdered."
Erika and I exchanged looks. Stavros was getting down to his business. His kind of business.
"Do you know anything specific?" I asked Kriezotou.
"Well, a little. I was asked to arrange for a meeting of these three men with yourself, Nikkor. But then the man I thought was your secretary called. He said that they were arranging the meeting for the penthouse. I believe it is at this meeting that an attempt will be made on the lives of the three colonels."
"We have to find out exactly what Stavros has planned and when," I said.
"Yes," Kriezotou agreed. "I have been absolutely frantic about this. I could not believe that you wanted this."
"It will all be well," Minourkos assured him.
I wished I could agree with him. It appeared Stavros was on the verge of a bloody takeover, and we had to stop him before it happened. "Call the junta leader Kotsikas and try to find out whether the Stavros people have contacted him," I said to Kriezotou. "Don't mention the possibility of assassination yet."
"Very well," Kriezotou replied. "Kotsikas may talk to me. I will certainly try."
"And you, Mr. Minourkos," I said, "are going to be able to help, too. You can get in touch with the leaders of the two bases where Stavros' military groups are being kept. I suspect that if the Athenians were to give Stavros any trouble when this multiple assassination is supposed to occur, Stavros would try to move these special troops to Athens very quickly to quell any reaction. I would like you to tell the leaders at these camps to stay there and not to move their troops unless they hear from you personally."
"Very well, Mr. Carter," Minourkos agreed.
"It's pretty clear that Stavros cannot just kill these men without some subterfuge." I looked over at Kriezotou. "Do you think he might try to make the whole thing appear an accident or the work of some radical political group?"
Kriezotou arched his graying brows. "Either that, Mr. Carter, or he will try to throw some dirt on them in the way of propaganda just before he kills them so that they will have lost the sympathy of the people."
Seven
The three of us returned to the hotel. Minourkos had wanted to stay with Kriezotou, but I had been afraid that would be too dangerous. If for any reason Stavros distrusted Kriezotou, he might storm into the general's residence without warning. I didn't want him to find Minourkos there if he did.
We had a meal sent to Minourkos' room and afterwards Erika and I went to her room. We soon got around to discussing Stavros.
"I just can't sit here and wait to see what Stavros has in mind for the junta leaders," I said as we sat on a small sofa sipping brandy that Erika had ordered.
Erika moved against me. She kissed me gently on my cheek. "You can't just storm into the penthouse, as you yourself said," she commented. Her long hair glinted in the dim light.
"No," I said, moving a hand onto her thigh. I turned to her, and we kissed lightly. "But I can go to the penthouse and try to get inside. I might be able to get a look at their defensive set-up."
She kissed my cheek and neck, and a small chill, a pleasant one, inched along my flesh.
"How would we manage that?" she asked in that throaty voice while her hand started unbuttoning my shirt.
"We wouldn't," I corrected her. The hand was becoming very distracting. "I would go up there alone on some ruse."
A long, white thigh slid over my lap, and her dress hiked up exposing the beginning of a rich curve of buttocks. Her hips moved against me. "But I would like — to go with you."
The warm lips touched mine again. Her tongue moved delicately to my mouth, probing and seeking. Her right hand had moved much lower and found what it was after, and I couldn't think of Adrian Stavros anymore.
"I'm going alone," I whispered. "Tomorrow."
I reached into her dress and caressed her breasts. The sweeping curves were soft yet firm, pressing eagerly against my touch.
"All right, darling," Erika breathed into my ear.
"Good," I said softly. "No more arguments."
"Would I argue with you," she said, pressing her mouth to mine.
The kiss was a long one, and Erika was ready. When it was over, she began undressing me. I took over, and she got up and walked to the big double bed across the room. She pulled the dress off, then the bra and pink bikini panties. She was vibrant and beautiful. Every curve of her body was perfect She flung herself onto the soft bed and lay there waiting for me. I didn't delay. In another moment I was beside her on the bed, reaching and grasping and touching her body, feeling it melt against mine as the passion built in both of us.
"Oh, Nick," she said, touching me, her breath coming unevenly.
My hands found her roughly, and I moved over her. A few seconds later there were lovely sounds coming from her. She became a clawing, raging, primitive woman, losing all control as she thrust to accept fulfillment deep inside her.
Later, after Erika had fallen asleep, I left her bed and quietly went to my own room. She didn't awaken.
The next morning I left Erika and Minourkos at the hotel and went to the Apollo building. I had obtained a uniform from a local crew of window washers who worked regularly in the building and who were allowed access to the penthouse with a pass. Minourkos had helped me forge a pass and I had also blackened my hair at the hotel and pasted on a dark mustache so I would appear to be Greek. I lied to the guard outside, a uniformed building employee, saying that Madoupas had ordered the penthouse windows to be cleaned.
I couldn't even get on the special elevator until I had identified myself. The elevator operator was obviously one of Stavros' men. A gun bulged under his blue uniform. He eyed me and my pail suspiciously as we rose to the penthouse. No other elevator went up there and, according to Minourkos, the one stairway leading down from the top floor was blocked off and guarded.
When I got off the elevator, I found myself in a plush corridor that ran from the front to the rear of the building. It had thick pile carpeting and planters and fancy chandeliers hanging from a high ceiling. Two guards sat at a desk at the entrance to the penthouse. They were Stavros' hired thugs, part of his personal army. Minourkos' own guards, who had been few, had to have been dismissed shortly after the secret takeover of the penthouse.
One of the two men, the taller, came to meet me in the middle of the corridor. He was anything but friendly.
"What is your business?" he demanded.
I responded in my best Greek. "Is my business not obvious?" I asked. "I come to wash windows."
"Who sent you?"
I pointed to a cloth patch on the uniform that bore the name of the small window washing business."
"Did your employer have orders from the penthouse?"
"If they didn't, I would not be here," I answered. I took a big gamble. "I heard Madoupas' name mentioned."
The other man scowled darkly from the table. He had light hair and a very tough look, and I figured him to be one of the men Stavros had brought with him from Brazil As he studied my face, I felt that he was seeing right through my disguise.
"Hmmph," the man beside me grunted. "Turn to the wall and place your hands against it."
I had wondered how careful they
would be about weapons. I had left Wilhelmina at the hotel and had taken Hugo, the stiletto, off my arm and strapped it to the inside of my right ankle. I hadn't wanted to go into the lion's den without any defense. I turned around and held my breath as the thug frisked me with expertise. After checking out my torso and arms, he worked slowly down my left leg to my knee. Then he moved down my right thigh toward the knife. He got to the knee and passed below it. My stomach tightened. He stopped just an inch or so above the handle of the stiletto.
"All right," he said. "Turn back and let me see your identification."
I pulled out the phony card, and he examined it carefully. Without saying anything, he took the card to the other man and showed it to him. The man finally nodded and the tall, dark one returned, handed the card back, and looked into the pail.
"All right. He will take you inside."
"Thank you," I said humbly.
The second man rose from the desk and studied me carefully as I went to meet him. I was beginning to feel that it would be easier and much less trouble to get into Fort Knox. He opened the door, and I preceded him into the interior of the penthouse.
I was inside the fortress at last It was a formidable feeling, considering my vulnerability if they found me out. The chances were, if that happened, I would never leave the building alive. And the way Stavros chose to kill a spy might not be the most pleasant way to die.
We had entered a spacious living area. It was luxurious to a fault. Rich carpeting covered two levels of floor, and the high ceiling was painted with a mural depicting a scene from ancient Greece. On the far side of the room was a wall of glass overlooking the city, opening onto a small balcony by way of a sliding glass door. That was where I would begin my work. I turned and saw expensive furniture all around the room, much of it antique. Ancient urns rested gracefully on polished tables.
To my right through a partially open door I could see another room with desks and cabinets that apparently had been converted into an office by Stavros. To my left there was a corridor with rooms off it, apparently bedrooms and living quarters.
"I will begin on the large windows here," I said.
"You wait here," the man who ushered me in commanded.
I hunched my shoulders. "Of course."
He went into the office and disappeared for a moment. I moved to my right so that I could see the inside of the room better. There were several dark-suited men moving about and somebody talking on a telephone. It seemed to be a communications center. There were probably a half dozen men in that one room. While I waited, two other men walked from the corridor into the big room where I was, gave me a look, and also went into the office. Stavros had plenty of people here — maybe a dozen or more at any given time. And there was little doubt that most of them wore guns and knew how to use them.
In a few minutes the man who ushered me in reappeared and returned to the corridor outside without speaking. He was followed out of the office by another man, one who wore his hair long and looked like a student radical who had outgrown his clothes and hair style. He was dressed sloppily and carried a big revolver openly on a shoulder holster over a fringed leather vest.
"How long does this take?" he asked in English.
I guessed that he, like the man at Paracatu, was an American. Stavros had taken a hard core of political activists with him.
I answered in broken English. "How long? Maybe half hour, maybe hour. Depends how dirty the windows."
"Madoupas doesn't remember calling you people." He peered at me through large, blue-lensed granny glasses. His face was slightly pockmarked, and his lips were very thin, almost non-existent. From AXE files I identified him as a crony of Stavros; he was known as Hammer, a real nice fellow who was believed to have murdered two women by strapping sticks of dynamite to their waists.
"No, he not call?" I took a scrap of paper from my pocket and studied it. "They tell me Mr. Minourkos' place."
At that moment another man came into the room and stood beside Hammer. He was rather short and dark and obviously Greek. I had seen a photo of Salaka Madoupas in the AXE files and this man looked exactly like him.
"I don't recall calling any window washers," he said in English for the benefit of Hammer. "When did you come here last?"
"I not recall without records," I answered nervously. "One must have records, you understand."
Hammer walked over to me arrogantly. "But you have been here before?"
I hesitated. "Yes, before."
He pulled the revolver and aimed it at my face. Its barrel was unpleasantly close. "Tell me what the kitchen looks like."
A trickle of perspiration broke loose under my left arm. I tried to recall the description of the kitchen that Minourkos had given me. "It is large with sink and cupboards! What is this anyway?"
"Oh, let him get started," the fake Madoupas said.
Hammer ignored him. "How many windows in the kitchen?"
I wondered how fast I could get to the stiletto if I dropped to the floor at his feet. But then I remembered that the kitchen was an interior room on the corridor of the building, not on the outside wall. "Why, it has no windows," I said innocently.
Hammer's finger was tight against the trigger. Slowly the whiteness of the knuckles disappeared, and he dropped the gun to his side. A man in a short-sleeved shirt came from the office.
"The Plaka Service people say they sent a man over," the fellow reported to Hammer.
I tried to keep the relief in my face from showing. I had bribed the girl at the Plaka office to support my story if the need arose, but had worried whether she would really follow through.
Hammer holstered his gun. "Okay. Clean the damned windows," he ordered. "But make it fast."
"Yes, sir," I said. "Mr. Minourkos sometimes wishes to talk about our sailing days long ago. Will I see him before I leave?"
Hammer gave me a blistering glare. "You will not see him," he said. "Get on with your work."
"Thank you," I said.
They allowed me to go down the corridor to fill the pail with water, and I got a quick look at the physical layout of the suite. When I began on the big windows, everybody left me alone. I had seen what I had come for and was trying to think of a graceful way to cut my visit short when a group of men came from the office and began discussing Stavros' affairs openly without noticing me. I was on the balcony with the door open.
"Both camps are ready," one man said. "I think we should recommend to Stavros that we make our move as soon as…"
Another man stopped him and pointed to me. The first man turned away and spoke again in hushed tones. At that instant, however, three other men came striding into the room from the interior corridor, and I was treated to the big bonus of my visit. The ramrod-straight man in the forefront was Adrian Stavros. He was of medium height with a receding line of dark hair. He looked very much like the photographs that I had seen, a rather ugly, hard-faced fellow who looked older than his thirty-odd years. But he was still a dynamic-looking man. He had a good breadth of shoulder and held himself like a West Point graduate. He was in shirtsleeves, a dark tie pulled down at the neck. He carried a sheaf of papers in his hand and seemed very tired.
"All right, let's make this meeting brief," he said to the others in the large room. I noticed that Tzanni wasn't there. He wasn't important enough in this organization. "Rivera, what's the latest report from Mykonos?"
Standing there, looking at this small group, remembering how cleverly they operated, I almost felt respect for Adrian Stavros.
"…and the commander says that the groundwork is completed and the troops…"
Stavros suddenly looked up and saw me for the first time. He motioned toward an underling, took several steps in my direction, then stopped dead, raw anger in his face.
"Who the hell is that?" he bellowed.
One of Stavros' men came up to him apprehensively. "I believe somebody said he was here to wash the windows."
"You believe!" Stavros yelled loudly. He lo
oked and saw my pail on the balcony beside me and the rubber-edged tool in my hand. "You! Get in here!" he ordered.
If Stavros was annoyed enough and decided he wanted to dispose of me, no one would question his judgment. I walked casually into the room. "Yes?"
He turned from me without answering. "Who let him in here?"
Hammer, standing in a corner, strode like a panther to the center of the room. "He's all right. We checked him out."
Stavros turned and glared hard at his gunman for a long moment while a black silence filled the room. When Stavros spoke, it was in a low voice. "Am I surrounded by idiots?"
Hammer gave him a sour look. Then he turned to me. "Okay, window washing is over for today."
"But I have just begin! Mr. Minourkos always want all windows washed. He say…"
"Goddamn it, leave!" Hammer screamed.
I shrugged. "My pail…"
"Forget it."
I walked quietly past Stavros, and he watched me all the way. On the way down to the street in the elevator, I made mental notes of the soundproofing, the communication lines, and the locks that secured the doors of the small lift. I wondered whether I had aroused Adrian Stavros' suspicions. My visit had certainly been worthwhile. I had not only gotten a good look at the man I hoped to kill, but I had also noted the physical layout of his fortress. The elevator was the only way of gaining entrance, and I knew what to expect when we got inside.
When I arrived back at the hotel, Erika and Minourkos were waiting for me in my room. As soon as I walked in the door and Erika saw that I was all right, she thrust a newspaper at me. I read the bold headline.
OFFICIAL ALLEGES KOTSIKAS CONSPIRACY
Minourkos clucked his tongue.
"Some cabinet member, a little known figure named Aliki Vianola, says he has evidence that Kotsikas plans a sell-out to the Communists and that the lives of other junta leaders are in danger."
I scanned the first column of print. "So it appears that the general's guess was right," I said. "Stavros throws a shovel of dirt at Kotsikas to confuse the issue just before the meeting in which he plans to murder him and his colleagues."
