Nest of Spies

by Geoffrey Davison

  The Turk didn’t answer, he was staring at the entrance door, his face hard set.

  ‘It is my partner,’ Fletcher explained.

  Mario entered the apartment. Immediately he saw the Turk his hand went for his knife. In a flash the Turk had removed the trilby from his knee and was brandishing a small, but lethal, automatic. It was pointing at Mario.

  ‘Tell him I don’t want any trouble,’ he said to Fletcher.

  ‘It’s a social call,’ Fletcher said dryly.

  Mario scowled. ‘He is one of the four who called last night,’ he snarled.

  ‘I rather gathered that,’ Fletcher said, and purposely walked over to the opposite side of the room from Mario, so presenting the Turk with a divided target.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘My employer would like to meet you,’ the Turk said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Business.’

  ‘What sort of business?’

  ‘Your kind.’

  They were going around in circles.

  ‘Who is your employer?’ Fletcher asked.

  The Turk smiled.

  ‘Let us call her my employer.’

  Fletcher looked at him sharply.

  ‘Her?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes — her.’

  Fletcher looked at the bruise on his face and the gun in his hand. He had a good idea who his employer was. It was a surprising turn up for the books, but he had wanted to meet Karima Mohmad again. It appeared that he was getting his opportunity sooner than he had expected.

  ‘I thought your women looked after the children and did the cooking,’ Mario sneered, trying to bait the Turk.

  ‘There are exceptions,’ the Turk said evenly.

  ‘Who is this woman?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘Why don’t you come and find out?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This evening.’

  Fletcher glanced at Mario. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes watching the Turk.

  ‘How much money is there in it for us?’ Mario asked.

  ‘More than you will earn by sitting on your backsides on your boat,’ the Turk replied.

  They had been checking on them, Fletcher thought. They meant business. It sounded promising.

  ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘we will do as you say.’

  The Turk put his revolver in a holster under his left armpit and stood up.

  ‘Be at the junction of Leaferos and Rangavi at nine o’clock this evening. A white car will be parked there. I will be in it. Follow me and I will take you to the house of my employer.’ He raised his hat and smiled at them. ‘Until this evening,’ he said and left the room.

  Mario went to the veranda window.

  ‘I don’t like it, Stefan,’ he said. ‘It could be a trap. They tried to kill you last night, but failed. We could be putting our heads into the lion’s den.’

  Fletcher was well aware of this.

  ‘But why go to all the bother of getting us into Athens? All they need do is sit in the first bar along the front and when it is dark — woosh!’

  ‘We have too many friends in Piraeus and there are too many eyes. In Athens there will be only them and us.’

  ‘In that case we will take precautions,’ Fletcher said. ‘I will go alone — or rather I will appear to go alone, but you can be around in case of trouble.’

  Mario agreed; anything was preferable to going blindly to a meeting with the Turks.

  ‘There’s more trouble brewing,’ Fletcher warned. ‘I was followed from the station by one of Veti’s men.’

  Mario swore. ‘I wonder who tipped them off,’ he said.

  ‘They may be involved,’ Fletcher said.

  ‘In Cyprus?’ Mario asked.

  ‘Not necessarily in Cyprus, but in trouble. There are certain diplomatic moves afoot, Mario, which will require time and patience to bring them to fruition. If the Communists start stirring it up it could upset the apple-cart.’

  ‘We could always find out,’ Mario suggested.

  ‘How?’ Fletcher asked.

  Mario withdrew his dagger and playfully fingered it.

  ‘We know where Veti lives and we know his contacts. Why not bring one of his boys in for questioning?’

  Mario liked to mix it. To him you either worked with someone or against them. If he was an enemy you fought him and if necessary killed him. War was war, not a game of chess.

  But for the professional spy there were certain unwritten rules. You didn’t kill your opposite number unless it was the last resort, because you knew that someone else would take his place. There would be no vacuum. And the someone who filled the vacuum might well kill you. Instead of killing them, you either dealt with them, watched them, used them, or made sure that at the final play the ball landed in the right court.

  ‘No, Mario,’ Fletcher said. ‘At the moment they aren’t doing any harm. We’ll let them keep their distance. If they get too close, then we’ll act.’

  ‘Not even a little warning?’ Mario asked hopefully.

  ‘No,’ Fletcher said firmly. ‘Not even that.’

  Mario shrugged and put his dagger away.

  ‘Did Pula have many visitors?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mario said. ‘Ikarios!’

  ‘Ikarios!’ Fletcher exclaimed. It was proving to be a very eventful day. ‘I wonder if that was the result of my visit or whether Ikarios is chasing the same thing we are? Did he see you?’

  ‘No, Stefan. He didn’t seem concerned about any of the cars parked about.’

  ‘Why should he be?’ Fletcher asked. There was something in Mario’s tone which had raised his suspicions.

  ‘Because there was also a cream Mercedes watching the apartment!’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because it is now further along the boulevard waiting for us to make a move! It has just arrived.’

  Fletcher quickly crossed to the veranda and saw the car about a hundred metres away.

  ‘Same registration number?’ he asked.

  ‘Same one,’ Mario muttered.

  ‘When did it turn up outside Pula’s apartment block?’

  ‘It was there when we arrived. It left soon after you but came back. It was still there when I left.’

  ‘It left soon after me,’ Fletcher said thoughtfully. ‘Did you notice anything different when it returned? About the occupants, I mean, was there one less for instance?’

  Mario shook his head.

  ‘I hadn’t given it much attention until it returned,’ he said regretfully. ‘There were certainly two of them in the car then.’

  ‘I think that’s what put Veti on to me,’ Fletcher said. ‘They must have recognised me when I came out of the building. They assumed I was returning to Piraeus by train, so they dropped one of their men off at the station to wait for me. Then they returned to keep watch on Pula.’

  ‘Why should they be watching Pula?’ Mario asked.

  ‘Or us?’ Fletcher added. ‘I can only guess they are as much in the dark as we are.’

  ‘And Inspector Ikarios the same?’

  ‘I’m not sure about him,’ Fletcher said truthfully. ‘He’s a bit of an outsider.’

  He looked out of the veranda again. The Mercedes was still there. Veti was now part of the act.

  ‘We’ll have to get rid of them tonight,’ he said pensively, ‘before we meet our friend.’ He turned away from the veranda. The men in the Mercedes were going to have a long, fruitless vigil.

  At 8.30 that evening Fletcher and Mario drove into Athens. The Mercedes followed a short distance behind. Fletcher waited until they were in the heart of the capital before giving them the slip — it wasn’t difficult. From the city centre he then drove to the road junction the Turk had given him. The white car was standing waiting for him and pulled away as soon as Fletcher drove up behind him. Together they drove out of the city and into the summer retreat of Athens, a suburb of lush gardens and expensive villas.

  The Tu
rk pulled up outside a large iron gate which guarded the entrance to a residence hidden behind the trees and shrubs. But on the gate was its name — Villa Acancia. Fletcher knew of it — it belonged to the Turkish Embassy! He parked his car behind the Turk.

  ‘Where is your partner?’ the Turk asked.

  ‘He has other business to attend to,’ Fletcher lied.

  The Turk looked at him suspiciously, but let the matter pass.

  ‘We’ll walk from here,’ he said.

  Fletcher hesitated. Once behind the iron gates he was on Turkish territory. They could deal with him as they wished, without interference. It wasn’t an encouraging thought.

  ‘Hurry,’ the Turk urged.

  Fletcher shrugged off his fears and followed him, thankful that Mario was not far away.

  They walked a short distance along the drive and then took a side track through the bushes and came to an annexe to the main building. In the brightly-lit entrance hallway sat another tough-looking Turk. His jacket was open, displaying the same equipment the other Turk had exhibited in Fletcher’s apartment. It must be standard issue, Fletcher thought. The Turk got off his seat and opened the glass door for them.

  Fletcher was told to wait in the hallway whilst his escort entered a side room. A few seconds later he reappeared and motioned Fletcher to join him in the room. It was a large room with a scented atmosphere. Across the floor lay a number of Persian rugs. At one end was a small cocktail bar and immediately opposite the entrance door was an open balcony.

  There were only two other occupants in the room in addition to Fletcher and his escort, Karima Mohmad and her brother Kasim!

  For several seconds nothing was said as all parties openly appraised each other.

  Fletcher liked what he saw. She was even more attractive than her photographs had shown. She possessed all the natural beauty typical of her race — long, dark brown hair, dark exciting eyes, sparkling, even, white teeth, and a full well-proportioned figure.

  But her window dressing and bearing had all the hallmarks of a strong western influence. Her jewellery glistened and her gold cocktail dress gripped her body and accentuated the right curves. To Fletcher she was one of the most exciting women he had met for a long time.

  Reluctantly, he turned his attention to her brother who was wearing a white dinner jacket. He was the same height as his sister and in many ways bore the same resemblance. He frowned when he saw Fletcher looking at him and looked away.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Fettos,’ the woman said. Her voice was soft, her Greek accent flawless.

  ‘Good evening,’ Fletcher smiled. ‘I am afraid you have an advantage over me. I was not told your name.’

  ‘My name is of no consequence,’ she said, ‘but, if you wish to address me, call me Salunda.’

  ‘Salunda!’ Fletcher repeated the name. ‘Nice.’ He nodded his head approvingly. ‘It suits you.’

  ‘I have not asked you here to discuss my name,’ she snapped. Her brother stood beside her scowling.

  Fletcher smiled confidently. ‘I didn’t think you had… Salunda.’

  Kasim looked even more irritated.

  ‘What will you have to drink, Mr Fettos?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Fletcher said. He sat on one of the stools and carefully lit a cigarette.

  She gave him a questioning look.

  ‘It might be drugged,’ he explained.

  He saw her flush, so did Kasim.

  ‘Why should I do that to you?’ she snapped.

  ‘Why did you do it last night?’ he asked evenly.

  There was an electric silence, the atmosphere became tense. The Turk who had brought him went for his automatic.

  ‘No, Ahmad,’ Salunda said hurriedly.

  Fletcher was watching him closely.

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘I recognised the ankles,’ Fletcher lied.

  Kasim turned his back on Fletcher and spoke to his sister.

  ‘Do we have to deal with this insolent cutthroat?’ he asked. He had spoken in Turkish but it had the soft rolling accent typical of the Cypriot Turks. Fletcher didn’t give any indication that he spoke their language, although Ahmad was aware of it.

  ‘Yes, Kasim, we have to,’ Salunda said quietly. ‘You know he has agreed to our plan. We must stick to it.’ She turned her attention back to Fletcher. ‘For you information, Mr Fettos,’ she said, ‘if it had not been for me, you would not have survived last night.’

  It was Fletcher’s turn to look surprised.

  ‘There was no need to take you back to Piraeus, we could have killed you any time, but if you really were an agent of Mattu’s, I assumed you would have friends looking out for you. I was correct. Your friend followed Ahmad from Glyfada. We allowed him to stop us from disposing of your body.’

  Fletcher looked hard at her. She was deadly earnest.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I want some information from you and a business deal.’

  Fletcher was both curious and interested, but it didn’t pay to appear too eager.

  ‘I’m interested if it pays well,’ he said.

  ‘It will.’

  She lit a cigarette.

  ‘Where is Kronos?’ she asked sharply.

  The question took Fletcher by surprise. What was her interest in Kronos?

  ‘I haven’t seen him for three days,’ he replied. ‘You heard me last night.’

  ‘You said a number of things last night which weren’t true. That is why my men didn’t kill you. Now I want the truth.’

  Fletcher hesitated. She was in league with Lofer. Furthermore, she was a Turkish Cypriot and probably one of the ringleaders of whatever plot was being hatched. To her, Fletcher was a gun-runner, smuggler and agent of Mattu. If she continued to think this and he could be of use to her, then she might well take him into her employ. At any rate it was worth a try. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth.

  ‘Kronos is dead,’ he said.

  The remark brought an urgent whispered remark from Kasim, but his sister quickly silenced him.

  ‘When?’ she asked.

  ‘Two days ago.’

  ‘How?’

  Fletcher shrugged. ‘I don’t know. His wife was called into the police station to identify the body.’

  ‘Police!’ Kasim exclaimed.

  ‘Who told you about Lofer?’ Salunda asked, ignoring her brother.

  ‘Kronos,’ Fletcher replied. ‘We used to work together before I joined Mattu. He had some private deal with Lofer. When I heard he was dead I thought I might get the order.’

  ‘You still work for Mattu?’

  Fletcher hesitated momentarily, and made a quick decision.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Mattu was shot, dead, seven days ago, running guns into Saudi Arabia, but I know his contacts in Genoa. I could still arrange a shipment.’

  ‘He lies,’ Kasim snapped.

  ‘No,’ Salunda said. ‘He is telling the truth. Mattu was shot by the British last week. They have kept it quiet; not many people know.’

  Fletcher congratulated himself. She had been testing him. But she had kept quiet when he had lied the previous evening. Why? What was her game? Was she wanting to arrange her own shipment? Was that why she had spared his life? Or was there some other deeper reason?

  ‘You have a boat?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I would like to hire it for two days with you and your crew.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘One thousand drachmas a day.’

  ‘Two thousand,’ Fletcher said. ‘Times are hard.’

  Kasim became irritated with the bargaining. Again he turned to Salunda and spoke to her in Turkish.

  ‘Do it my way,’ he pleaded.

  ‘No, Kasim. It is as we agreed.’

  His face clouded over. He didn’t like her decision.

  ‘Fifteen hundred drachmas,’ she said.

  ‘Agreed,’ Fletcher replied. ‘What do you want me to do?�
�

  She opened a drawer and brought out a map which she unfolded and spread over a small table. Fletcher joined her and took in her strong scented perfume.

  She put her finger on a small bay about four kilometres east of Athena, but before she said anything there was a knock at the door. She hesitated as Ahmad attended to it. Fletcher watched their faces. Ahmad looked at Salunda and nodded his head.

  ‘Show him in the other room,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Another visitor, Fletcher thought. Another business proposition, or was it social?

  ‘There is a small sand beach here,’ she explained. ‘Be there at 12.30. Do not leave Piraeus before midnight, and use no lights.’

  Fletcher took a last look at the map.

  ‘How far will we be going?’ he asked. ‘There is the question of fuel.’

  ‘It will take about seven to eight hours.’ That gave him a radius of about ninety to one hundred kilometres, he thought. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘Who will meet me at the bay?’

  She indicated the Turk who had escorted him to the bungalow.

  ‘Ahmad will be there.’

  ‘What is the purpose of our journey?’ he asked, probing.

  ‘Does it matter to you?’ she asked.

  Fletcher shrugged.

  ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘I value my life.’

  ‘Your life will not be in danger,’ she said impatiently. ‘Now I have other business to attend to. Ahmad will show you out.’

  She turned her back on him. Their meeting was at an end.

  Fletcher cast one last appreciative glance at her seductive curves, and walked towards the door. In the hallway she hesitated. The Turk who had been sitting there had opened a door to the room opposite.

  Fletcher cast a quick glance in the room, saw the man waiting to join Salunda, and hurriedly left. It was Pula! He was wearing evening dress. If he hadn’t come across the dentist sooner, he would have deduced it was purely a social call, but now he knew different. The dentist was mixing business with pleasure!

  The Turk escorted Fletcher back to the car, but he was allowed to return to Athens by himself. He drove a short way along the route, and then returned and picked up Mario.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  Mario gave a broad grin. ‘She is some woman, Stefan.’