by Colin Forbes
The absence of any later comment by the Professor. You'd expect almost anyone to come back to that – to ask again what I'd been talking about. Whose murders? He didn't
'He's getting into a Volvo station wagon. Do we follow?'
'No, too obvious…'
'He's a professor. His mind will probably be miles away while he's driving.'
'Scion-Charles,' Tweed told her, 'has a mind like a steel trap. He may have nothing to do with what we're looking for, but he has to be checked out. And carefully…'
Tweed waited until the Volvo was moving towards the exit, then turned on his ignition. He drove out of the slot slowly, turned into the main aisle as Seton-Charles shot at speed for the exit. 'Speedy Gonzalez,' Paula commented. Tweed arrived at the exit seconds after the Volvo had swung left. Perching with the nose of the Mercedes at the exit, he flashed his lights. Seconds later Nield drove past the exit, following the Volvo in Tweed's Cortina.
'There, it worked,' Tweed said with some satisfaction.
'You arranged with Pete to park outside?'
'Yes. I foresaw I might get lucky, pressure Seton-Charles into leaving. Pete will see where he heads for, who he meets, and report back to me.' He checked his watch. Three o'clock – we can make Park Crescent by early evening. We'll be driving into London when the commuters are pouring out.'
'Pressure all round,' Paula remarked as they left the car park. 'Butler and Nield showing themselves to the ex-commando trio. After Nield has tracked Seton-Charles. You think we're getting somewhere?'
Time will tell. I'm waiting for someone to crack. Here – or in Greece.'
Monica looked up as they entered Tweed's office. 'Nield called ten minutes ago…' The phone started ringing. 'Maybe that's him.' A brief exchange, she nodded towards Tweed's phone.
'Just got in, Pete,' Tweed said. 'Any news?'
'Subject drives straight back to Exmoor, makes a call from a public box near Simonsbath. Which is strange.'
'Why?'
'He has a phone in his bungalow. They have overhead wires out here. A three-minute call – and he checks his watch.'
'And then?'
'Drives back to the estate and into his garage. He has one of those electronic devices so you can open it from inside the car. Something else odd I noticed. Perched on the roof of his bungalow is one of the most complex aerial systems I've ever seen – plus a satellite dish. A whole mess of technical gear Change of subject. Gossip in the pubs reports a dog ferreting on Exmoor came home with Partridge's wallet in its mouth. A hundred pounds, all in tenners, intact. Banknote numbers in sequence. That's it.'
'You've done well. Get back to Butler in Dunster. Start a campaign of harassing all three men. Put on the pressure – but from a distance. And watch your backs.'
'Will do. 'Bye, Chief-Tweed put down the receiver, jumped up from his desk and began pacing the office as he rubbed his hands with satisfaction.
Things are moving. It worked, Paula. Seton-Charles called someone from a public booth. Reporting my interrogation of him, I'm sure. We're on the right track.'
'At last,' said Monica.
'And I want you to call Inspector Farthing of Dunster police,' he told her. 'Partridge's wallet has been found. I'd like a list of everything inside that wallet. Someone may just have made the fatal mistake I've been waiting for.'
At the summit of the mountain where he used his transceiver Florakis-Savinkov completed sending the latest coded message to England. The pace was hotting up.. Earlier he had been instructed to receive the signals from Athens weekly. Now it was twice a week. The radio traffic was increasing.
He was about to sign off when he was amazed to receive an order given in clear English. He blinked as he recorded the message. From now on call sign changed to Colonel Winter.
25
Newman was in shirt-sleeves as he drove along the coast road which twisted and turned and was empty of other traffic. It was twilight time, the most torrid period of the day as the earth gave up its heat and the atmosphere was cloying and humid, Nick sat beside him with a worried frown; beyond him the Mediterranean was indigo, a smooth sheet of water stretching away towards the hulk of a huge rock rearing up out of the water.
In the distance a toy-like temple perched at the summit of a cliff was silhouetted against a purple sky: the pencil-thin columns of the Temple of Poseidon where Harry Masterson had died. In the rear of the car Christina pulled at the tops of her slacks thrust inside climbing boots. She was perspiring all over. It had been one hell of a hot day and her nerves were twanging at what they planned to do.
'Tell me when to stop,' Newman called over his shoulder. 'We must be near now.'
'Round the next two bends. That structure we're passing is on the land of a farmer called Florakis. He sold it to a developer.'
Newman glanced at the ruin-like structure on the landward side. In the half-light it looked like an abandoned building site, as though the developer had run out of money.
'What is that place?' he asked.
'The beginning of a new hotel complex,' Nick replied. They are spoiling the whole coast with new tourist developments.'
The structure had a weird skeletal look. Two storeys high, it consisted of a steel framework for several buildings and he could see right through it to the hillside beyond, like staring through the bones of a Martian-type skeleton eroded by time.
'I still don't like the idea of you going with Christina into Devil's Valley,' Nick said for the second time. 'Petros has armed shepherds patrolling the area night and day. They all carry rifles. Tourists, amateur mountaineers who have gone in there never came out. They had 'accidents'. They fell over precipices. God knows what. I must warn you…'
'Thanks, Nick. You have warned me. You've done all you can.'
'Then stay away from that old silver mine. Please.'
'Of course, The idea never entered my head.'
Christina bit her knuckles to stop herself protesting. Newman was going into Devil's Valley with the sole idea of locating the silver mine. He had concealed his plan from Marler as well as from Nick. At first she demurred at his suggestion to act as his guide into the Valley. But he had the map she had marked when they had dinner at the Hilton two weeks ago.
'Stop the car round the next bend,' she called out. 'You can park it well off the road on a flat area. It is part of Florakis' land but farmers go to bed early because they rise at dawn.'
Newman pulled in, turned the car in a wide half-circle so it faced the way they had come. He switched off the engine. A brooding silence fell over the mountains which rose close to the road. In the back Christina shivered at the lack of sound. A moon was rising, casting a pale illumination over the arid mountain slopes, the still, endless sea.
'Nick,' Newman told him, 'I think the car would be concealed much better if you drove it back to that building site.' He looked at Christina who had climbed out and was standing alongside him. 'We could find that on the way back easily with the moon up, I assume?'
'Yes. It would be a good landmark…'
'And exactly where do we go to find the entrance to Devil's Valley?'
'Straight up that gulch. It's on Florakis' land but only for a short distance. I can show you on the map.'
Newman slipped on his sports jacket, took a pencil torch attached to the breast pocket, shielded it with his hand and opened the map. Christina traced the route up the gulch, showed where it led to the entrance to Devil's Valley Newman held his hand so Nick couldn't see the cross which marked the silver mine.
'We'd better get moving,' he said. He checked his watch. Well after ten o'clock. He opened the glove compartment, took out Nick's revolver, slid it inside his hip holster, pocketed spare ammo. 'You won't fall asleep?' he asked Nick. 'We'll be away for some time.'
'Not me. I can stay awake all night. And I'll drive back to the hotel development and wait for you there.'
'See you. The rifle is in the back – just in case.'
'It will be in my hands until you
return,' Nick promised.
Parked in the shadows of the steel framework, Nick was careful. He smoked the cigarette inside his cupped hand. The headlights of the car approaching from the Athens direction appeared only five minutes after he had arrived. He stubbed out the cigarette. It was the first vehicle he had seen for over an hour.
The headlights swung over the building site as the ear slowed. They swept over his Mercedes. He opened the door, took a firmer grip on the rifle, the muzzle aimed through the gap. The car was stopping.
It backed slowly, very slowly. For the second time the headlights played over the Mercedes, for a longer period, Nick sat very still, raised the muzzle slightly, slipped off the safety catch. The car had stopped now. The headlights stayed on, beamed at an angle beyond his own vehicle, glaring on the building site, which took on a surrealist quality in the dazzle.
Nick had acute hearing. He listened in the heavy silence -for the opening of a car door, the crunch of feet on the loose stones covering the ground. Nothing. The silence grew heavier. Sweat began trickling down his neck. He sat immobile as a Greek statue. Nothing. The driver couldn't be a ghost…
'Hello, Nick. I could have shot you rather dead.'
Matter's voice, speaking through the open passenger seat window. How the hell could a man move so silently?
'Come on, Nick, where have they gone? Newman and Christina? I followed you from Athens, so where are they? Exploring Devil's Valley?'
Nick reached for the bottle of mineral water, took a long swig. He was in a state of shock. And couldn't decide whether to tell Marler the truth. Marler seemed to read his mind as he leant an elbow on the open window.
'Loyalty is a virtue. Especially for a Greek. I know that. I also know you wouldn't want something to happen to Newman-something fatal. The last man who made friends with Christina ended up at the bottom of a cliff. She's all Gavalas. So, tell me – Newman needs back-up. Desperately. We're talking about Devil's Valley.'
'Christina is guiding him to the entrance to the Valley. He is going to find the old silver mine. I know it. He said he wasn't but I know he was. They went up a gulch two bends further down the road.'
'Show me. And mark the location of that silver mine.'
Marler dropped a large-scale map of the area into Nick's lap. 'I don't know the exact location of the mine…' Nick protested.
'Do the best you can. Hurry. I'm driving my car alongside yours. Back in a minute…'
He parked his vehicle a few feet away from Nick's, doused the lights and walked to the boot. He appeared at Nick's, window and the Greek stared. Marler wore mountaineer boots, had a long loop of rope coiled over one shoulder, an Armalite rifle over the other.
'You came equipped?' Nick said.
'I saw Newman and Christina buying boots in a shop. I guessed the rest. I'm a good guesser. Marked the map yet?'
He studied the map Nick had marked by the overhead light. He nodded, took the map. refolded it, shoved it inside his pocket.
'I'm off on my travels now. See you.'
'It could be dangerous…'
'I agree. For anyone I meet up there.'
****
Newman led the way up the gulch with Christina close behind. The moonlight helped. He was careful where he placed his feet: the gulch was littered with loose rocks. Sound carried a long way at night. He was relieved to hear no sound from Christina as she plodded up behind him. Which is why he heard the faint tumble of stones slithering.
He stopped, turned, grasped Christina by the arm, raised one finger to his lips. Unlike some women she didn't ask questions: she simply raised one thick eyebrow. He crouched down behind a boulder, pressing her down, and her shoulder rested against his.
'Someone else on the mountain,' he whispered.
'I didn't hear anything – and I have good hearing…'
Another slither of stones. One came over the side of the gulch and touched Newman's right boot. Christina nodded. Newman had been right. Someone was approaching and very close.
They were crouched behind the large boulder at a point where the gulch began to turn sharply above them to the left. Whoever was on the prowl couldn't be descending the gulch, thank God, Newman thought. For the stone to have slithered from immediately above them the intruder had to be moving higher up the slope. Could he see down inside the gulch? Newman slipped the revolver out of the holster and Christina gripped his other arm. He looked up and froze. He hardly dared breathe. He held his body tense -for fear of dislodging even a pebble.
Along the crest of the ridge above, the silhouette of a man was moving. In the moonlight Newman could clearly see the bony profile, the prominent nose, the sunken cheeks beneath prominent cheekbones, the curve of the mouth. Over one shoulder was looped a rifle. He was carrying something in the other hand – something heavy. Newman frowned and then felt his right leg begin to cramp. He gritted his teeth.
Christina, hunched beside him, kept perfectly still.
Newman was staring at the heavy bag the man was carrying as he climbed the mountain – he knew it was heavy from the way the figure sagged to one side. But it wasn't a bag. It was rectangular-shaped, like a metal box. Newman was certain it was a high-powered transceiver – and that size meant it was capable of transmitting over long distance. The silhouette disappeared behind the ridge.
'That was Florakis,' Christina whispered. 'Someone pointed him out to me in the Plaka.'
'You're sure? In this light…'
'Positive. I could see his profile clearly. And he is walking on his own land. What on earth can he be doing at this time of night?'
'No idea,' Newman lied. 'Let's get moving. How much further to Devil's Valley?'
'We're nearly there. Another hundred feet up this gulch and we cross the pass. Then it's downhill…'
They climbed higher up the gulch inside its shadow, the ground levelled out and Christina pointed. Beyond, a track descended into an arid steep-sided valley, the slopes studded with scrub. The crest of the far side was lower and, following the line of her extended arm, Newman saw a weird structure perched on the crest. It looked like a large shack, but there were no walls. Between the supporting pillars at each corner there was open space and moonlit sky beyond the apertures.
'The old silver mine,' Christina said. 'A track from that huddle of boulders down there leads straight up to it. Mules used to bring the ore from the mine down that track years ago.'
'You know your way back?' Newman enquired casually.
'I know every inch of this country. As a child I used to roam all over it. I liked to go down that gulch so I could cross the highway and swim in the sea.'
'Sorry about this. It's for your own good…' Newman swung round and clipped her on the jaw. He caught her as she sagged and laid her carefully on the ground, placing her head on a soft tuft of grass as a pillow. He checked her pulse, found it was regular Taking out the note he had prepared earlier, he tucked it inside the top of her slacks. Then he hoisted the rifle on his shoulder and started the descent, heading for the silver mine.
'There is someone coming up the track,' said Dimitrios and he slipped the safety catch off his rifle.
'You are imagining it,' objected Constantine. 'You see ghosts everywhere Because of what is in the mine…'
'Someone is climbing that track,' Dimitrios insisted. 'I tell you I saw something move.'
'Now he says he saw something,' Constantine scoffed. 'In the past tense. Sure, he saw something move – a goat, maybe?'
Petros had sent them out as he did regularly- as another form of discipline, of keeping them under his thick thumb. And forcing them to stay up all night in the open toughened them. Petros had a dozen reasons for exerting his authority.
'Tonight you will go up and guard the mine,' he had ordered. 'One day there will be an intruder. Too many have been poking their snouts into my valley. And all accursed English. First there was Partridge – and he gave you the slip. Then came Masterson. Now we have more. This Newman, this Marler. Why so many s
o suddenly? Am I the only one who can scent danger? You go tonight…'
So they had climbed to the summit of the ridge close to where the mine reared up like a hideous eyeless monument. Constantine peered over the edge to where he could see stretches of the track as it mounted up to a point a quarter of a mile from where they waited.
Parts of the track were dearly illuminated by the moon; other parts were obscured by overhangs of rock, by the blackest of shadows. He could see nothing. From his ragged jacket pocket he pulled the bottle of ouzo. He handed it towards Dimitrios as he sneered at his brother.
'Drink some. It will steady the nerves of an old woman…'
'You talk to me like that and I break your scrawny neck, wring it like a chicken's.'
But Dimitrios snatched the bottle, tore out the cork and upended it. The liquid gurgled down his throat. That was better. He recorked the bottle, looked at Constantine and stiffened.
'What is it, cretin?'
'There is someone down there now coming up the track – a man with a rifle. A well-built man used to rough country.'
'Where?'
Dimitrios peered over the edge, saw nothing – only the wending track which came and went. Into the moonlight. Back into the shadows. He leaned over further, his mouth a thin slit, shoved the bottle into his own jacket, rested both hands on the rock, still staring down.
'Now you see ghosts.' He glanced at his brother. 'What are you doing?'
Constantine, always the quieter, the calmer of the two brothers, was checking his shotgun. He nodded with satisfaction. Then looked at Dimitrios.
'Inside ten minutes he will appear at the top of the track. We move now to that point. That is where we prepare the ambush.'
'And we drop the body down the mine…'
Marler had taken a short cut from the hotel site where Nick was waiting with the parked cars. He had scaled the almost sheer face of the mountain, working his way up a chimney hollowed out of the limestone. The map had shown him he would reach the pass far more quickly than by following the route Newman and Christina had taken.
