The Greek Key tac-6

by Colin Forbes

  'Why?'

  'Pavelic, the Croat, was very drunk when we talked alone. He said to me, 'I would not be surprised if you receive another visitor in Athens one of these days. Lucharsky's aide and confidant. A Colonel Volkov. Another sound man.' Translation – another hardliner. These are not pro-Gorbachev men. So why do they travel to Athens, I wonder?'

  Sarris sat thinking, Yugoslavia was a 'federation' of six different nationalities. A racial mix, and not all of them loving each other. Croatia, the Yugoslav state in the north, was the most rebellious, the most pro-Russian, the one closest to the real hard men in the Kremlin. Gorbachev's opponents,.

  This is all speculation,' he suggested, testing his assistant.

  Kalos ran a hand over the thin brown stubble which covered the dome of his head. 'You are right. Up to now. There is one more thing. When off duty I often amuse myself by following the military attache, Colonel Rykovsky. He likes wandering inside the Plaka. He thinks he has lost anyone who might just be tailing him. Then he meets and spends time with Doganis.'

  'Doganis?'

  'A leading member of the Greek Key.'

  27

  'Where to now?' Marler asked as they climbed into his car.

  'British Embassy. I'll rout that fat slob, Patterson, out of bed if necessary.'

  'Be it on your own head.' Marler nodded towards the clock on the dashboard. 'Eight in the morning here is six o'clock back in London. Who will be at Park Crescent apart from the guard?'

  'Tweed would be my bet. I think he's reached the camp bed stage by now.'

  They both knew what that meant. Tweed started investigating a fresh case slowly. Then the tempo built up. He unfolded the camp bed kept in his office and took up a permanent vigil at his desk, often working well into the night.

  At the Embassy on Sofias Avenue Patterson greeted them in his shirt-sleeves, unshaven, sullen. He let them inside the hall without a word. No one else was about as Newman rubbed both hands together vigorously.

  'The scrambler phone. It's an emergency.'

  'When isn't it? And you might have shaved before invading the precincts of Her Majesty's Embassy.'

  Ye Gods! Newman thought. How bloody pompous can you get? He grinned at Patterson. 'You look pretty rough yourself. Late night on the town?'

  'I don't indulge. Like some people. I'll unlock the door

  – you know the drill. He can't come with you.' He jerked his thumb at Marler.

  Marler said nothing. He produced his Secret Service card, held it under Patterson's nose, withdrew it when Patterson reached for it. The official bit his lip, made no further comment, produced a bunch of keys and unlocked the door leading to the basement. Newman ran down the steps after switching on the light.

  Marler pulled out a chair as Newman sat down and pulled the phone towards him. Upstairs Patterson slammed the door shut with great force. Newman pressed the red button, dialled the Park Crescent number.

  'Who is calling?' Tweed's voice, very alert.

  'Newman here. Sorry to call at this hour.'

  'That's all right. Very glad to hear from you. I was worrying. I slept here, got up with the dawn. Paula's here

  – she couldn't sleep and has just arrived. In case you need data taking down. Now, I'm listening…'

  He listened without saying a word for ten minutes as. Newman reported everything that had happened since they last spoke – including the trip into Devil's Valley and how Marler had saved his life. Glancing across the table he saw Marler spread his hands in a What the hell gesture.

  'You shouldn't have gone in alone,' Tweed told him.

  'I know that now. OK, I'll behave in future. Nowhere tricky without my chaperon. Now you know the lot.'

  'And maybe we've come a long way – with the information you've given me and what I've gleaned at this end. A lot more of the pieces in my hands. Now I have to try and fit them together. I'd better warn you, I'll be phoning Peter Sarris to try and stop him taking any action. Yet. I'll cover you. What's the next move you plan?'

  'Grilling Christina again about her relationship and movements with Masterson. That's what I came out for -to find out what really happened to Masterson. It looks like the Greeks to me. Petros and his vendetta. He's mad as a hatter.'

  'And dangerous. Tread carefully. He'll be turning Athens upside down to locate Christina. But don't be too sure you've got to the bottom of anything. Someone may be using Petros as a gigantic smokescreen – to divert our attention.'

  'From what?' Newman asked.

  'I don't know. Just a sixth sense. There are some pretty peculiar characters involved. Including a Professor Guy Seton-Charles. At the moment he's in the West Country, holds a position at Bristol University. But he takes seminars at the university in Athens. Greek Studies.'

  'Description?'

  'Early sixties, looks younger. Slim build. Clean-shaven, thinning brown hair, Roman nose. About five feet eight. Intellectual type. Conceited manner. Most distinctive feature the rimless glasses he wears. Informal dress.'

  'I'll recognize him. Early sixties again. So many of them are. Barrymore, Robson, Kearns, Florakis…'

  'Which could be significant. Takes them back to World War Two – where all this started, I suspect. Another point about this Seton-Charles. He was stationed in the Antikhana Building in Cairo at the time of the Ionides murder.'

  'A pattern is beginning to form,' Newman suggested.

  'Yes, but it's like a kaleidoscope. New events shake it up, give a fresh picture. One more thing before I go. And warn Marler – he can be impulsive. Petros is a very dangerous man. That crazy business about the skeleton in the mine. I'm sure you're right. It is the remains of Andreas. Watch your step, both of you. And has something else struck you just before I go?'

  'I expect not, since you phrase it like that.' 'From your description Florakis' land adjoins Petros' -that is a strange coincidence. Might be worth following up. But cautiously. Keep in touch…'

  As Tweed put down the phone the door opened and Monica came in. She greeted Paula, took off her raincoat, said she would be making coffee for everyone. Tweed waited until she returned with the tray and asked for black coffee. He was still working on automatic pilot, struggling to throw off the remnants of sleep.

  'I woke early,' Monica said as she filled their cups. 'It was all going round and round in my head.'

  'I can give you more – enough to make your head spin. Newman just called…'

  He gave them both a concise resume of the data Newman had provided. The two women listened intently. Paula made a few notes in her book. Monica absorbed it in her encyclopaedic memory. Tweed leaned back in his chair as he concluded.

  'So what do you make of all that?'

  'Florakis seems to be the key,' Paula said promptly. 'You've been looking for a link between Greece and England. The fact that he appears to be sending coded signals to somewhere here may be the missing link. That reference to Colonel Winter intrigues me. Colonel Barrymore?'

  'Not necessarily…'

  'But the thing I got from that tape recording Pete made of the conversation at The Luttrell Arms was Barrymore still treats his two companions as though he's in charge.'

  'Colonel Winterton,' said Monica. The man Seton-Charles told you had handled the property transactions for that bungalow estate near Kearns' house. Colonel Winterton, who disappeared once all the properties were sold. The Invisible Man.'

  'Have you contacted Pitlochry Insurance then?' Tweed enquired. They were the outfit which actually loaned the mortgages.'

  'I managed to get through after you left yesterday afternoon. I had trouble getting the manager to part with the information. I used our General amp; Cumbria Insurance cover to get him to open up. Said we'd had an enquiry from a Colonel Winterton about a property deal, that he'd given Pitlochry as a reference and…'She began choking. 'Coffee… went down the wrong way.'

  Paula jumped up, accompanied her to the ladies' room. Tweed sat thinking. The plate at the front entrance read General am
p; Cumbria Insurance Co. The cover had worked well. They pretended to be a specialized company dealing with top security protection for private individuals of great wealth. Officially, they also dealt with kidnapping insurance, negotiating with the kidnappers if a client was snatched. This explained all the trips abroad made by Tweed and his sector chiefs. They were even a member of the insurance industry's association – to complete the cover. Monica came back with Paula, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief.

  'I'm all right now,' she said, sitting down behind her desk. 'I was telling you about Pitlochry. The manager said they'd found Colonel Winterton sound and businesslike. He confirmed that Winterton had simply acted as a middleman between clients buying those bungalows and Pitlochry supplying the mortgages.'

  'He met him?'

  'No, that was the odd thing. Odd to me. All the transactions were carried out by correspondence from the Taunton office and Winterton on the phone.'

  'Did you manage to get any idea how he sounded?'

  'Yes, by cracking a joke. Winterton had a very upper crust way of talking. Very much the colonel addressing the battalion – the manager's phrase.'

  'Any forwarding address?'

  'None. No one at Pitlochry has any idea where he is nowadays.'

  'The Invisible Man,' said Paula.

  'Another cul-de-sac,' Tweed remarked. 'Which reminds me – we still have no idea what Masterson meant by his note referring to Endstation . I feel certain that's a major pointer – either here or in Greece. Masterson was the cleverest interrogator I ever met. He was trying to tell me something. But what?'

  'Dead end for the moment,' Paula said briskly. 'But I've come up with something.' There was a note of triumph in her tone which made Tweed and Monica stare at her. 'I didn't tell you while we were there. I thought I'd follow something up for myself.'

  'Which was?' asked Tweed.

  'You remember the evening we visited Colonel Barry-more when you interviewed him? I was sitting to one side. He had his copy of The Times folded back to the personal advertisement section. I memorized the date. Yesterday I went off to Wapping, checked their files. What do you think I found?'

  'She's playing you at your own game,' Monica said and chuckled. 'Teasing you.'

  'So I'll play along. What did you find?'

  'An advertisement placed at the time Christina Gavalas was in England, the time when Harry Masterson was going around with her over here. The advertisement was this.' She read from a small pocket diary.' Will anyone interested in the Greek Key and knows about Antikhana please contact me. Irene. It gives a phone number for contact. I phoned the number. Turned out to be the Strand Palace. I phoned the hotel, said I was the sister of Christina Gavalas. Had she stayed at the hotel? They wouldn't play. So I jumped in a taxi and went down to the Strand. I sexed up the reservations clerk – naughty of me, I think he thought he had a date. He looked up their records. Christina stayed there at the relevant time.'

  'But Irene is the wrong name,' Monica observed.

  'I think she did that to protect herself. Not knowing who would come looking for her.'

  'I agree,' Tweed said. 'Type out that ad with the date and add it to the file. You did a good job. Actually,' he admitted, 'I knew about the advertisement. Newman told me over the phone that Christina had explained to him during dinner that was how she met Masterson. He saw the ad and contacted her.'

  'Thanks a lot!' Paula threw down her pencil. 'So I wasted my time.'

  'Hardly. I didn't spot that newspaper in Barrymore's study – which shows. he was interested. And in the near future I think you and I should drive down again to Exmoor to see how Butler and Nield are getting on. We know more than we did last time.'

  He stopped as the phone rang. Monica grabbed her receiver and spoke briefly. Putting her hand over the mouthpiece she looked at Tweed.

  'Talk of the devil. Pete Nield on the phone for you.'

  'Sorry to phone you so early. I called on the off chance,' Nield explained. 'I'm tasking from a public box. We put the pressure on and guess what's happened. The hunters have become the hunted. Harry and I are being watched by Barrymore and Kearns,'

  'What do you mean?' Tweed's tone was sharp, alarmed.

  'We each took one of them in turn and let them spot us – riding on the moor. Now when we get up there they appear out of nowhere and stalk us! It's uncanny…'

  They know the moor better than you'll ever do. What was their routine before they turned the tables on you?'

  'Robson rode to see patients during the day. He can go for ages without food or drink. His patients are scattered over a large area. Evenings he has a meal, presumably prepared by his sister. Then he retires up to that conning tower place and reads. After dark he draws the curtains. Goes to bed late.'

  'And Kearns?'

  'He rides the moor a lot. His wife, Jill, never appears. She hasn't been seen by either of us. Maybe he locks her up. As for Kearns, he rides up to the summit of Dunkery Beacon. Stays up there at night. God knows what he's doing. Can't get close enough. Weird bloke. A solitary.'

  'Dunkery Beacon? That's the highest point on Exmoor…'

  That's right. Like to know about Barrymore?'

  'Of course.'

  'He's about one hundred feet from where I'm talking. Inside a newspaper shop that opens early. He's standing by the window, half-pretending to read a paper. But he's watching me. He came into the village on a horse tethered further down the High Street. He's also got a rifle in a scabbard attached to the saddle.'

  Tweed thought quickly. 'Now listen to me. Butler is inside The Luttrel Arms? Good. This is what you do. The unexpected. You vanish. Pay your bills. Then both of you drive to Taunton. The colonel can't follow you on a horse. Hire fresh cars in Taunton. Quite different models. Book into the main hotel in Taunton, using assumed names. Change your clothes – buy new ones which completely change your appearance. Then switch your attentions to Professor Guy Seton-Charles. Track him night and day. Don't let him know you're on his tail. You can pick him up tomorrow morning at his bungalow on that estate. Understood?'

  'Will do.'

  'And let Monica know the name of your new hotel, how we can contact you. Now, move!'

  Tweed slammed down the phone. He started cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief. Monica watched, winked at Paula. She recognized the signs.

  'Something has happened?' she ventured.

  'Yes. The pressure worked…' He told them what had happened. 'Maybe crisis time is approaching.'

  'And the object of the new exercise is?' Paula asked.

  'To throw Barrymore and Kearns off balance. One moment they're being tracked by Butler and Nield. Suddenly the trackers disappear. I'll bet for the next week Barrymore and Kearns scour the moors looking for them, wondering where the devil they've gone. Also I'm pulling Butler and Nield out of the firing line. Maybe literally.'

  'Don't follow,' Paula said.

  'I didn't like the sound of the rifle Barrymore is carrying. You get shooting accidents on moors. And no one can prove it wasn't just that. And it's psychological warfare.'

  'Don't follow that,' Paula said.

  'We'll leave Exmoor alone for a week. Just when the hunters think they've scared off the opposition you and I arrive – asking more questions.'

  They had breakfast brought in by the day guard, George. Sandwiches and coffee which they consumed at their desks, It was ten o'clock when Tweed asked Monica to put in a call to Chief Inspector Sarris of Athens Homicide.

  'I met him once at a security conference in Geneva. He's very bright, but I have to try and stop him doing something. The timing is wrong. If he's not there, ask for Kalos…' Tweed spelt it out for her. 'He is Sarris' clever assistant.

  Has a mind like a computer – especially where Greek history is concerned.'

  Tweed returned to studying the file headed Ionides. Monica reported all the lines to Greece were busy. 'Probably travel agents booking holidays. I'll keep trying.'

  'Fair enough. Meantime, t
ry Brown's Hotel again. In Dunster I made an arrangement with Jill Kearns that if she carne up to London we'd meet. I said I'd keep in touch with the hotel so I'd know when she was here.'

  'I'm calling daily. She wasn't there yesterday…'

  'Nield told me she's disappeared from Exmoor, that they haven't seen her for some time. Try now…'

  'She's on the line,' Monica told him a few minutes later.

  'Tweed here. When did you arrive?'

  'Darling, how absolutely marvellous to hear your voice. So reassuring. I'm on my own. God, am I glad to be back in civilization. I was going out of my mind on that dreadful moor.'

  'Can we meet today?' Tweed asked, stemming the flood.

  'You asked me when I arrived. Late yesterday. Just in time to have tea. It's out of this world, tea at Brown's. Why don't we do that?'

  'Good idea. I could get there about three-thirty. Would that suit you?'

  'Gorgeous. I'll count the minutes. Don't be late. They have the most scrumptious strawberry cake. But it goes quickly. Oh,' she added as an afterthought, 'I'll have something interesting to tell you. Not over the phone, darling.'

  'Three-thirty then. Goodbye…'

  Tweed put down the phone as though it were hot. He sighed, took out his handkerchief, mopped his forehead in mock horror. 'Good job you didn't take that conversation down.'

  'She's very attractive,' Paula said in a thoughtful tone.

  'Swarms all over you.' He looked at Monica. 'But you did tape-record the conversation I had with Nield?'

  'Yes, I saw you nod twice. It's recorded for all time. Want to hear it played back?'

  'Later. Something Nield said was significant and now it's gone. I was concentrating on getting them out of Dunster. Damned if I can remember what it was. You listen to it, Paula. See whether something strikes you. Monica, try Peter Sarris again.'

  'Chief Inspector Sarris? London calling. Mr Tweed of Special Branch would like a word with you…'

  Tweed spent little time over exchanging greetings. 'Robert Newman, the foreign correspondent, has told me of his conversation with you. Peter. He's fully vetted…'