Nest of Spies

by Geoffrey Davison

  He started his search in Piraeus itself. First he went to a few well-appointed bars, then to a number of third rate hotels, and finally to the second and first class hotels. In each establishment he openly asked the bar attendant, or the desk clerk, if they could put him in touch with Lofer.

  It took him all the first evening to cover Piraeus. On the second evening he went into Athens and toured the night-clubs and the fleshpots. At the end of the third evening he got the reaction he had anticipated.

  It was late when he returned to his apartment, but Athens and Piraeus still hummed with life. In the main entrance foyer he hesitated. His plastic nameplate on the board which listed the tenants had been turned upside down. It was a warning from Mario! He had company!

  He braced himself and then relaxed again. This was what he wanted. He opened the door of his apartment. The room was dark and quiet. He slipped into the doorway and felt for the electric light switch.

  Instantly his arm was grabbed and he was pulled into the room! His natural reactions took over and he fought furiously with his assailant. But there was more than one of them and he felt himself being grabbed and pummelled from all sides. His fist connected with someone’s face and his foot found a target before he was overpowered.

  He was forced to the floor, his face pressed into the rough matting carpet and his arms pinned behind his back. There was no talking, the only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the occupants. Feverishly he wondered where Mario was.

  They were playing rougher than he had expected, there was at least three of them. He felt his jacket being pulled off his shoulders and his shirt ripped open. A sudden jab in the arm shocked his nerves and desperately he made a last attempt to get out of their grip, like an animal before the slaughter. He felt the weights on his body being lifted and he sank into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Six

  When Fletcher came to, his first feeling was the pain in his shoulders. It was as if the muscles were being torn away from his body. His second was a nauseating wave of sickness which twisted at his stomach. He opened his eyes and saw a blurred red vision. He closed them again and allowed his disciplined body to slowly regain its faculties.

  Gradually his brain began to register. He was on a chair, his arms tied behind his back. The weight of his slumped body was stretching his shoulder muscles. A fresh wave of nausea gripped him. Desperately, he willed himself against vomiting to give himself time to sort out the pieces. He opened his eyes slowly and again saw the red blurred vision. It would be the floor — a red floor.

  He felt a cool breeze on his face. He was in the open on a red floor! Strong cigar smoke irritated his nostrils and made him retch. His head was suddenly jerked back and a hand started slapping his face until he moved his head to get away from the blows.

  ‘He’s conscious,’ a man grunted.

  Fletcher’s brain reacted despite the fog which appeared to engulf it. The man had spoken in German!

  The cigar smoke became stronger; it was all around him. Again the man spoke, this time in Greek.

  ‘What do you want with Herr Lofer?’

  Fletcher opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come out. He opened his eyes and saw a blurred yellow light and then darkness.

  A vicious slap across his face sent him reeling backwards and he crashed on to a hard floor. His head throbbed violently and he could feel a trickle of blood run down his neck. Vaguely he heard a sharp exchange of words in German and he was lifted back into his seated position.

  The man repeated his question, this time less menacingly.

  ‘Business,’ Fletcher mumbled. He had to get his faculties together. It was going to be a matter of life or death.

  There was a garbled exchange of words directly behind him.

  ‘What sort of business?’

  ‘Guns,’ Fletcher said.

  ‘Who told you about Herr Lofer?’

  ‘Kronos,’ Fletcher said hoarsely.

  There was a long pause.

  Fletcher lifted his head and opened his eyes. Again there was a blurred yellow light for a few seconds and then darkness. He dropped his head. The blurred red vision began to sort itself out. They were large red tiles. He looked to his right and saw an irregular shaped white object. He tried to focus his eyes.

  ‘You lie!’ the man snarled, and pulled Fletcher’s head back by the roots of his hair.

  ‘No!’ Fletcher cried.

  The man released his grip.

  ‘Kronos and I do business,’ Fletcher said. ‘He told me Lofer might need guns.’

  ‘Well! Why didn’t he ask Herr Lofer himself?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Fletcher replied hastily, desperately thinking of an answer. ‘I have not seen Kronos for three days. I thought he had left Piraeus, so I was asked to contact Lofer.’

  ‘Who asked you?’

  ‘Guissepe Mattu. I work for him.’

  ‘Mattu!’

  There was a furtive whispered exchange of German voices. By now Fletcher’s brain was functioning as normal. The man who was asking the questions was only relaying orders. Standing behind Fletcher was the man he wanted to see — Herr Lofer!

  He allowed his body to slump forward and dropped his head. Slowly he eased his body further forward stretching his shoulder muscles to their limit, so that he could see the ground behind him. He caught a quick glimpse of a pair of brown, calf length boots, before he was roughly dragged up into a seated position again.

  ‘Tell me some of the business deals you have done for Mattu,’ the man asked gruffly.

  Fletcher had no difficulty in answering. He knew all about Guissepe Mattu — it was his business to know such things.

  ‘A shipment to Saudi Arabia.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last month, and last May.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Small arms shipment to Cyprus, last December.’

  He paused as again a whispered conversation was held somewhere behind him. But this time he became conscious of another voice taking part! He listened carefully and caught the high-pitched dulcet tone of a woman’s voice!

  ‘Who was your contact in Cyprus?’ the man asked.

  ‘Kapilos,’ Fletcher mumbled.

  Again his head was viciously pulled back. He gritted his teeth as the nerves of his scalp reacted to the harsh treatment. His eyes were closed, but he felt a bright light shining on his face.

  Footsteps came towards him. Someone was going to have a look at his face! He half opened one of his eyes and saw a blurred white light. The footsteps came right up to him and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a face — a woman’s face. And he had seen it before!

  The grip on his hair was released and the blood rushed to his head — he felt dizzy. The face — where had he seen it before? It had been familiar.

  A sharp voice spoke out clearly in German, giving an order. Rough hands grabbed him and his jacket was pulled away from his shoulder. But this time he had no will to resist. He braced himself against the sharp jab of the hypodermic needle and mentally prayed that Mario had his side of the arrangements well under control.

  The needle sank into his body and for the second time that night he fell into the deep abyss of unconsciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  Fletcher opened his eyes slowly, and saw the fan swirling the hot, stifling air above him. He was back in his own room, on his bed! His body was surrounded by a pool of perspiration. His head throbbed and he had the same wretched feeling in his stomach that he had had the last time. But he was alive and back in his apartment!

  He heard someone walking around, and he raised himself up on his elbows and caught a glimpse of Mario. He fell back on the bed and allowed his body to gradually sort itself out.

  Presently he was able to sit up and take notice. He called out to Mario, who joined him.

  ‘I have some coffee next door,’ Mario said.

  Fletcher staggered to his feet, and Mario helped him into the adjoining room.
/>   ‘They play rough, my friend,’ Mario muttered.

  Fletcher didn’t answer, but gladly drank the coffee. It helped a little. Afterwards he went into the bathroom and took a shower, that also helped. Gradually he was fit enough to ask a few questions.

  ‘What happened, Mario?’

  ‘There were four of them,’ Mario explained. ‘One remained in the car and three came into your apartment. They turned up about twenty minutes before you arrived.’

  Fletcher grunted. He had guessed there had been three in the room.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Mario looked crestfallen.

  ‘They bundled you into a car and took the south motorway along the coast towards the peninsula. They gave me the slip soon after they left the motorway.’

  ‘I see,’ Fletcher said patiently. ‘How did I get here?’

  ‘They brought you back into Piraeus.’

  ‘That was considerate of them.’

  ‘Not really,’ Mario said seriously. ‘They had intended to dump you in the harbour, but Toni put a spoke in their wheel.’

  Fletcher gave a short, low whistle.

  ‘It was as close as that?’ he asked quietly.

  Mario nodded his head. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘If Toni hadn’t picked up their trail in Glyfada you would have been floating around number seven wharf.’

  ‘I must remember to thank him,’ Fletcher muttered, but he didn’t dwell on his close proximity to a watery grave. It was one of his occupational hazards.

  Instead he turned his mind to a more useful form of mental gymnastics — Lofer. He had gone in search of Lofer to see if he existed, now he knew the answer. Not only did Lofer exist, but he was hatching up trouble; everything pointed to it.

  The Russian’s tip off to Spencer had been ominous, Ikarios’ presence pointed, but the real danger was the presence of the woman at his interrogation with Lofer. He had only caught a fleeting glimpse of her face, but it had been sufficient. He had seen the face before — on the photograph Spencer had shown him when they had met in the Acropolis. It was Karima Mohmad — a Turk!

  ‘My God, Mario, there’s going to be trouble,’ he exclaimed suddenly, voicing his thoughts.

  Mario wasn’t unduly concerned. Trouble was what he lived with in one way and another.

  ‘Is that a change?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Fletcher agreed, ‘but this is the kind of trouble we can do without at the moment.’ He didn’t explain why. The Rhodes conference was a jealously guarded secret, the outcome was absolutely vital to Britain as well as Greece and Turkey. Even Fletcher had been sworn to secrecy.

  ‘They got rid of Kronos in case he talked,’ Fletcher explained, ‘and they would have done the same with me. The fact that I was supposed to be working for Mattu didn’t even concern them, and you know how powerful he was.’

  ‘Perhaps they know he is dead,’ Mario said.

  ‘It’s unlikely,’ Fletcher quickly replied, ‘and they didn’t give that impression. No, they weren’t even interested in Mattu. That means there is something big being organised.’ He started to slowly pace the floor. ‘Unless I am mistaken, Mario, Lofer is a German, and one of his guests last night was a Turk.’

  Mario made an uncomplimentary remark, but didn’t seem surprised.

  ‘Rassitz?’ he asked.

  ‘No — a woman, Karima Mohmad. She is a member of the Turkish Embassy.’

  This time Mario was surprised.

  ‘I thought all Turkish women were seen, but not heard,’ he remarked dryly.

  ‘Not this one Mario, and she is some woman.’

  Mario looked at him sharply. It was not like Fletcher to pay such a high compliment.

  ‘I must see this woman,’ he said.

  ‘And so you will, Mario, so you will.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? Put a watch on the Turkish Embassy?’

  Fletcher thought for a while.

  ‘It will take too long,’ he said finally. ‘We must look for another lead. Let me have your story again.’

  ‘They arrived here about 2.15. There were four of them.’

  ‘Nationality?’

  ‘Turks.’

  ‘Turks!’ Fletcher exclaimed. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘They were in a hired car which very conveniently advertised the name of the garage. I checked up this morning. The owner said he thought they were Turks. Any rate, they hired the car last night round about eight o’clock, paid cash, and returned it this morning.’

  ‘Well, it figures,’ Fletcher muttered.

  ‘They bundled you into the car and took the east motorway towards the peninsula. I lost them at Glyfada so I went searching for you. Toni remained in the village and I went as far as Voliage. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, there are so many villas. When I returned to Glyfada, Tony wasn’t there, so I came back to Piraeus. He had spotted them on their return and followed them.’

  ‘How long had it taken you to get to Voliage and back?’ Fletcher asked thoughtfully.

  ‘About an hour.’

  And he had been with Lofer for about half an hour, Fletcher thought, so they couldn’t have gone far.

  He paced the floor again.

  ‘What is in between Glyfada and Voliage?’ he asked.

  ‘The peninsula and Kalafrani Bay. There are a lot of villas round the bay, but the coast is clear.’

  ‘Kalafrani Bay,’ Fletcher muttered. Mentally he pictured the geography of the area. The rugged coastline with the peninsula, the small, popular Kalafrani Bay at the head of a deep inlet, the Gaidora Lighthouse. He stopped suddenly.

  ‘The Gaidora Lighthouse!’ he exclaimed quietly to himself. ‘Of course, that was it.’ He turned eagerly to Mario. ‘Listen, Mario,’ he said excitedly, ‘I don’t know where I was taken to last night. All I know is that I was out in the open, on a veranda. The ground was paved with red tiles. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of a blurred yellow light. It was like a flashing light.’

  ‘Gaidora Lighthouse?’ Mario asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Fletcher said firmly. ‘It must have been.’

  Mario caught his enthusiasm.

  ‘That will narrow the field down,’ he said.

  ‘Precisely,’ Fletcher agreed. ‘Can you see the light from Kalafrani Bay?’

  ‘No,’ Mario answered.

  ‘What about further east or north?’

  Mario shook his head.

  ‘And west?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘No,’ Mario said thoughtfully. ‘The only places you can see it are out at sea or on the east side of the peninsula.’

  ‘And that is between Glyfada and Voliage,’ Fletcher added.

  ‘There is a narrow track which runs to the point,’ Mario explained. ‘It joins the road about five kilometres before you reach Voliage.’

  Fletcher knew the track. It twisted its way along a steeply wooded and deserted coastline to the point. If he was correct in thinking that the light had come from the lighthouse, then somewhere along that track was the only place he could have seen it.

  ‘Get the car, Mario,’ he said. ‘We are going to find out if I am right.’

  He felt much better now. He had something to hold on to and he wasn’t going to let it go. Even if they drew a blank at the peninsula there was always Karima Mohmad. She was no figment of his imagination. He could always play them at their own game. One good turn deserved another. Why should all the strongarm stuff be on their side?

  Chapter Eight

  It didn’t take them long to reach the track. A fast new motorway covered half the distance and Mario hadn’t picked his car at random. They hid the car in some thickets and went along the track on foot.

  After about ten minutes they saw the sea and the lighthouse. The sea lay beneath them, very calm and very blue, and across the estuary was the lighthouse. It stood, tall and erect, like a proud sentinel guarding the treacherous-looking rocks.

  Fletcher studied its position closely. Behind it and further to the east the co
astline towered over the lighthouse. Its flashing light could not be seen in that direction. Nor would it be seen in Kalafrani Bay or in the village of Voliage, which were at the head of the estuary. If he had seen that light then he had been somewhere along this coastline.

  He turned his attention to the wooded slopes. Two dwellings nestled in the trees. One was a large, white villa, with a red tiled roof. It stood halfway down the slopes. The other was further along towards the point. It was a modern-looking bungalow in an open clearing. There was nothing else. It had to be one or the other!

  Cautiously they followed the track until they came to the villa. In the driveway stood two large, American cars, but there was no other sign of life from the front. Keeping to the woods, they moved into a position where they could observe the rear of the building.

  Fletcher brought out his binoculars and scanned the well-kept lawn and paved veranda, searching for some link with the previous evening. Mario touched his arm and indicated a side door where an elderly couple had appeared. Fletcher watched them walk slowly to the veranda and sit at a table. A few seconds later a maid appeared carrying a tray. He took one last look at the villa and decided to move on.

  The bungalow was a further half a kilometre towards the point. It stood in a large clearing and backed on to the sea. As they approached the building they could hear children’s voices and a barking dog. Fletcher mentally cursed. It didn’t sound very promising. He glanced across at the lighthouse. If he had seen the light then it had to be from this side of the peninsula — and the track terminated at the bungalow! A high wire fence surrounded the grounds and the barking dog prevented them from getting too close. A tradesman’s van stood in the open courtyard alongside a small open sports car.

  Again they crept into a position where Fletcher could study the rear of the bungalow with his binoculars. Immediately he saw the veranda his pulse quickened. It was paved with large red tiles! And in the centre stood a small white garden statue. He recalled trying to distinguish a vague white object — now he knew what it was.