The Greek Key tac-6

by Colin Forbes

  While Dimitrios and Constantine had worked in the fields, Anton had been sent to a select school near Berne in Switzerland – away from the fleshpots of Athens. A school where discipline was strong, where he had learned to speak English and German.

  But Petros had taken the precaution of bringing him home during the holidays for Petros' own kind of discipline. He had hammered into the boy's head that his half-brothers, Andreas and Stephen, had been murdered'- that the family must take their revenge. A cloud of poisonous hatred hung over Devil's Valley.

  It had been a long struggle. First the Civil War from 1946 to 1949 between the Communists and the anti-Communists. Breaking out soon after World War Two had ended, it had gone on until the Communist guerrillas were defeated. So many wasted years,

  Only recently had Petros been able to devote all his efforts to his vendetta. He had reached the stage where he was quite unable to realize it had become an obsession, filling his every waking moment, A stray thought crossed his mind. The Communists.

  Why – after all these years – had the Russian, Oleg Savinkov, reappeared in Athens? He was one of the old school, a Stalinist. And the new man, Gorbachev, was a very different leader, they said. Savinkov, once called The Executioner, did not fit the new pattern Petros heard about in the cafes of the village he visited. To play checkers, to listen to the gossip. Above all to get the first hint of a farmer in trouble. Someone whose land or stock he might buy for a pittance.

  Why had Savinkov changed his name to Florakis? The Russian did speak Greek fluently. And he had bought a small farm adjacent to Petros on the coast. But why had. he made a point of meeting him when Petros was sitting alone in a cafe? The Russian had handed him an envelope crammed with drachmae. A large sum – so large Petros, greedy for money, had not accepted at once.

  'What do you expect me to do for this?' he had asked bluntly.

  'Only one thing – which fits in with your own purposes. You make sure no Englishmen visit the island of Siros and poke around up near Mount Ida.'

  'You expect me to kill them?' Petros had demanded.

  'It is up to you.' Savinkov had shrugged. 'Maybe you rough them up a bit. You could sabotage their car – the mountain roads are dangerous.'

  'And how do I get in touch with you?' Petros had asked, testing Savinkov, 'Walk across to your farm?'

  'Never. And you know me only as Florakis. That is why I am paying you…'

  Since then Petros had kept the money inside the same envelope in his Athens bank. For Petros this was an act of unprecedented willpower. But one day he might wish to sever all connection with the man who had appeared like a ghost. Then he would throw the money back at him.

  But why, he asked himself for the twentieth time, should Savinkov take an interest in the murder of Andreas all those years ago?

  20

  Inside a first-floor room above a taverna in the Plaka, the sole occupant, Oleg Savinkov, was also reflecting on the past. A wiry thin-faced man in his sixties, with blank grey eyes, he sat at a table in his shirt-sleeves and mopped beads of perspiration from his forehead.

  The evening heat confined by the rabbit warren of narrow twisting streets was ferocious. He drank more mineral water; years ago he had stopped drinking any kind of alcohol. Years ago… In 1946 he had been a young man of twenty, known and feared in Greece as The Russian – or The Executioner. Sent to Greece by Stalin personally because of his talent – his talent for assassination.

  1946. Stalin had agreed at Yalta that Greece should come within the British sphere of influence. But when the Greek Communist ELAS movement rose up in revolt and looked like taking over the strategic country – with its potential great Russian naval base at Piraeus – Stalin quietly betrayed his promise.

  Savinkov had been smuggled into Greece from Bulgaria. His mission had been brutally simple: to assassinate all the leaders of the Greek right-wing EDES movement fighting the Communists. He had succeeded – up to a point. Five top EDES leaders fell victims to his high-powered rifle. Hence his nicknames – The Russian and The Executioner.

  But he had failed to take out the chief EDES leaders. Enough remained at the head of their troops to defeat the Communist uprising eventually. Savinkov had decided wisely not to return to Russia: Stalin demanded one hundred per cent success.

  By this time Savinkov had learned Greek fluently and he merged with the landscape, working on a remote farm in Macedonia. The years passed and he seemed to have become the forgotten man. That was until he received discreet word from the Soviet Embassy that someone important wished to meet him.

  The visit of General Lucharsky, a Deputy Chief of the Soviet General Staff, to Greece was never reported in the press. By 1986 Savinkov was settled in the Cape Sounion area, owning a small farm growing figs and olives. He had saved money, obtained from a small bank a mortgage to buy the property. He had applied for the loan in the name of Stavros Florakis. Over the years he had obtained sufficient forged papers to establish a new identity as a Greek citizen.

  Here he had taken a risk. After some hesitation he had contacted one of the Communist ELAS leaders who had gone underground, the man with whose group he was working when the whole revolt fell apart. It was a greater risk than he realized since this benefactor kept a discreet and distant line of communication open with the Soviet Embassy in Athens. But this man had seen no reason to inform on Savinkov – his own relations with the Russians had been precarious. Until 1986…

  Florakis-Savinkov drank more mineral water. He wouldn't sleep, he knew. The oppressive heat would last all night long. Plus the babble of voices and bouzouki playing which drifted upwards through the dense humidity and through the open window.

  1986. He had been visited at his farm late one evening by the ELAS leader who had provided him with the papers of a Greek citizen. The man's arrival had been a shock -it was Savinkov's first intimation that he had been watched, that they knew where he was.

  He had been invited to meet an 'important visitor' to Athens. That was after he had been asked a number of questions about his reaction to the change of leadership in Russia. Savinkov had been frank – thinking that if he was candid the invitation which worried him might be withdrawn.

  No, he did not approve of Gorbachev's glasnost. This was not the real Communism he had risked his life for during the Civil War. it was a dangerous departure from Lenin's creed, and so on. To his surprise an appointment had been made for that same evening. His visitor would drive him to Athens.

  His destination turned out to be the Hilton Hotel. He was escorted to a room on the second floor where a man wearing a lightweight grey business suit had opened the door and ushered him inside. Tall and lean with the face of a fox, he wore a pair of dark glasses and offered Savinkov vodka. He refused, mentioned that he had not touched alcohol for forty years.

  'I am Colonel Gerasimov of the GRU,' his host said as they sat facing each other across a small round table.

  General Lucharsky was confident his deception would never be penetrated. His photograph had never appeared in a newspaper and the general public abroad didn't know of his existence. He was weighing up his guest as he poured himself a glass of the vodka, a fact Savinkov was aware of. Mention of the GRU had reassured him – as intended -since it was a GRU colonel who had accompanied him to the Bulgarian border in 1946.

  'We are very worried about General Secretary Gorbachev and his crazy glasnost,' Lucharsky commented.

  He had no doubts about coming straight to the point: Doganis, who had brought Savinkov to him, would have checked his outlook. And for a man of sixty-one Savinkov looked very fit – more like forty. Already Lucharsky was fairly sure they had selected the right man.

  'He is ruining Lenin's work,' Savinkov agreed, 'but why am I here?'

  He spoke slowly. It was many years since he had conversed in his native language. But he had taken the precaution of reading novels in Russian and he found the language coming back fast.

  'You were once trained as a radio operator,' Luch
arsky said. 'Is that not so?'

  'Yes. Before I came to Greece to do a job in 1946…'

  'To kill reactionary Greek leaders.' Lucharsky leaned forward. 'We need a liaison man who can communicate by radio in English. I understand you are fluent in that language?'

  'I learned it in the days when I served as a waiter in hotels here to make money to buy my farm. I keep it up by talking with English people during the tourist season…'

  'Good. You are just the man we need.' Lucharsky smiled. His wide mouth made him look even foxier. A conspirator type, Savinkov was thinking. 'You will have to operate the latest type of transceiver. Doganis will train you in the use of the instrument, will give you the codes, the wavebands, the times for transmission. England, you see, is two hours behind Greece.'

  England? Savinkov was startled. In the old days he used to think very fast and he found his brain moving into high gear again. The man watching him from behind the tinted glasses would be in his forties. He would show him he was not dealing with some dumb peasant.

  'There could be a technical problem. Transmitting over that distance.'

  'Doganis tells me you have high mountains, very lonely, near your farm. You could use one of your donkeys to take the transceiver to a peak. From there transmission will be top-class.'

  'Yes, it would.' They had thought this out very carefully. Which gave Savinkov confidence. But he needed to know exactly what he was doing – and why. He sat up straight, staring at the glasses.

  'In the old days I never operated in the dark. I must know what this is all about, Colonel.'

  'An independent type. Good,' Lucharsky repeated. 'Really I have already told you. Gorbachev must be removed before he can do any more damage. There is a group inside Russia – high up – which is determined to replace him by a correct type of leader. The trouble is we have to be very careful. He has ears everywhere – inside Russia. So we have reactivated an organization outside the motherland. Partly here in Greece, partly in England. You will be the link. Doganis will deliver the messages you must send. At other times our associate in England will send you signals at certain times arranged in advance. That's it. And Doganis is your sole contact. Never go near the Soviet Embassy here.'

  'Who am I communicating with in England?'

  'The codename is La Jolla – a small place in America.

  Doganis will explain everything. Oh, by the way, when you leave here he will drive you to a room we have rented for you over a taverna in the Plaka. I think that is all.' Lucharsky glanced at his watch.

  'I don't see how this is going to bring down Gorbachev. And I will be risking my freedom. Greek counter-intelligence could trap me and I would be a spy.'

  'You are right.' Lucharsky pursed his thin lips. They had reported Savinkov was intelligent and self-reliant. A thought occurred to him. 'You are not married, we know. What do you do for a woman when you need one? Any permanent girlfriend?'

  'None. I would have had to entrust her with my secret. If we had quarrelled one day she might have betrayed me. I have an old woman who comes daily to the farm to cook for me and two men who work on the land. When I need a woman I go into the city here and pick one up. Always a different one. That way, no complications.'

  'You are very well organized. And now you will excuse me?'

  'I still don't see how you are going to replace Gorbachev – even operating a group safely from outside.'

  This was the crunch. By now Lucharsky had made up his mind – time had not eroded Savinkov's training, his reliability, his faith in the cause. Lucharsky waved a hand as though swatting a fly.

  'If necessary we await our opportunity – preferably when he is abroad – and kill him. You object to that?'

  'Why should I? In the past 5 have killed enemies of the cause.'

  Doganis had been waiting for him outside the room and had led him to a Citroen parked in front of the taxi rank outside the hotel. It had been a baking evening as Savinkov stared at the car.

  'What happened to the Peugeot you drove me to Athens in?'

  'We change cars. Frequently. It is good security. Get in. Now we will go to the Plaka. Inside the locked boot there is an old suitcase. Inside that is the transceiver. You start training tonight…'

  And, Savinkov thought as he poured yet more mineral water, it was inside this room a year ago that Doganis had produced from a worn, shabby suitcase a superb large transceiver. They had practised half the night, Savinkov tapping the key while the machine was switched off. He had been surprised how quickly he had mastered the machine -so different from the one he had used in 1946.

  Later that week Doganis had again visited his farm and the training had continued until Savinkov could operate it blindfold. His greatest shock had come that first evening here in this room when he had tackled Doganis about the clandestine organization working outside Russia.

  'Colonel Gerasimov told me they have reactivated an organization – an apparatus – outside the motherland. What does that mean? I do need to know what I am doing,' he concluded aggressively.

  'You might as well know. We may have to send a stranger to you with a message. This will identify him. The apparatus which has come alive again is the Greek Key.'

  21

  Newman escorted Christina through the large bar at the Hilton and down the staircase leading to the Ta Nissia, the main restaurant. It was located at a lower level from the vast entrance hall paved with solid marble. Christina paused at the bottom step and grasped Newman's arm.

  'Oh, look, that tempts my taste buds madly.'

  Facing them was a vast open fireplace and over the fire spits revolved slowly, cooking the food. The lower spit supported a whole roasting pig. On the long spit above it chickens were turning slowly and an appetising aroma drifted towards them.

  'No need to consult the menu,' Newman joked. 'I've reserved a corner table…' He gave his name to the maitre d' who escorted them past a huge cold buffet table into a spacious room shut off from the outside world.

  They settled themselves at the table and Newman sat alongside Christina on a red velvet banquette, his back to the wall so he could watch the whole room. He glanced at her as she studied the menu. 'You're looking superb in that dress, what there is of it. It suits your figure.'

  She glanced at him wickedly. 'Maybe a little too revealing.'

  'I'm happy.'

  It was the one item of clothing they had purchased in Kolonaki she had not allowed him to see. A strapless, low-cut dress of black velvet, it hugged her closely. 'You'll have to be careful not to drop anything down the front,' he remarked, with a quick look at the upper half of her well-formed breasts.

  'You would think of that.' She giggled. 'I've decided. No starter. Spit-roast chicken for me. And it's nice to have a man who's so well-organized.' She nodded towards the ice bucket where a bottle of champagne rested half-concealed beneath a white napkin.

  'Veuve Cliquot.' He looked at the waiter standing to take their orders. 'We'll start on the champagne right away – and we can order now…'

  She waited until they were alone. 'Are these the opening moves in an attempted seduction?'

  'You brought the subject up.' He lowered his glass. 'First I need to hear all about Harry Masterson.'

  'I thought there'd be a catch.' She sighed. 'What do you want to know?'

  'Everything. From the very beginning. How you met him would be a good opening.'

  'I like this place. It's the first time I've been here. Silly, isn't it?' She gave him a bewitching smile. 'I suppose it is because I live here. A strange room, very cleverly designed.'

  He looked round. The walls were constructed of very solid rough brown stone. Set back into the walls at intervals were alcoves containing Greek pottery – beautifully shaped vases and jugs. A soft glow illuminated the room and the windows were high up and recessed into the solid stone. At 8 p.m. there were only a few tables taken, but more guests were filtering in. Newman refilled their glasses.

  'Now, about Harry Masterson,'
he said firmly.

  'What a persistent man you are. Well, it's a long story…'

  'We have all evening.'

  'Petros still had me under his thumb. He persuaded me it was my duty to help find who killed Andreas and Stephen. We Greeks call it philotimo, a matter of family honour.'

  'Go on.'

  'He went about it deviously – like he does everything. I had to fly to Zurich. There I stayed overnight and bought a return air ticket to London. I'd flown to Zurich by Swissair. I used British Airways to fly on to London. When I got there I stayed at the Strand Palace. I then inserted a personal advertisement in The Times newspaper.' She paused. 'Petros had written the words. The advertisement read, Will anyone interested in the Greek Key and who knows about Antikhana please contact me. Irene.'

  Newman sipped champagne to conceal the shock he had received. Harry Masterson had been Tweed's sector chief for the Balkans, and that zone included Greece. Newman was also recalling that among the items Masterson had posted back to Tweed was a bracelet – a bracelet from which was suspended a symbol. The Greek key.

  'What happened next?' he enquired amiably.

  'Petros thought I might be contacted by one of three men – the men who were part of the commando raid on Siros when Andreas was murdered. A Colonel Barrymore, Captain Robson and Kearns, a company sergeant major. Whoever answered the advertisement was likely to be the murderer. So Petros thought. He felt sure they would have to find out who was enquiring after all these years.'

  'I don't understand the Greek key bit.'

  'I'm not talking about that. Too dangerous. For you…'

  'There's no limit on danger.'

  'Don't you want to know who got in touch with the phone number I put in the advertisement?' she asked.