by Colin Forbes
'I had one of his shepherds in my pay. He's the man who dropped flat and survived when I opened fire. I had to twist Petros' arm to find out what happened when I noticed the case was empty.'
'And what did happen?' Tweed pressed. 'I have a reason for asking.'
'Petros eventually admitted they disappeared many weeks ago – about the time Anton left for his first trip to England.'
'Which may explain who killed Sam Partridge,' Tweed remarked.
'Why the doubt?' asked Marler.
'Because the three men on Exmoor would also have access to the weapon – when they were in the Army. We still don't know who the killer is. What will happen to Petros?' he asked Sarris.
'He'll end up behind bars. Maybe in a padded cell. Now, was your crazy expedition worthwhile?'
'Yes. I'm convinced Petros had nothing to do with the killing of Masterson. Which is why I came here. I also believe Petros was kept alive by his dream of vengeance, that he might never have taken any real action. The dream would have gone.'
Sarris opened the door. 'Let's go to my office, get a drink. I'm parched.' He looked at Tweed as he climbed out of the car. There's someone waiting to see you. And you'd better say thanks to her very nicely.'
Tweed asked the question suddenly, hoping to catch Sarris off balance. 'What precisely is the Greek Key?'
'It's an ancient symbol. You must know it. You see it used on embroideries, it appears in the friezes of temples.'
'Freeze is the word – what you all do when the phrase is mentioned.'
Tweed followed Sarris inside the building while Newman and Marler brought up the rear. They waited and then stepped inside an elevator. When they walked into the office Paula, who had been reading a magazine, dropped it and rushed to Tweed, hugging him.
'God! You're crazy,' she exploded. 'I warned you. Sarris sent a radio report from the chopper. You walked into an ambush.' She released him, stood back, spoke in a solemn voice. 'And I know I disobeyed your instructions. So I expect to be sacked.'
'Stuff and nonsense. I owe you my life.' Tweed sank into a chair while Sarris ordered coffee and mineral water over his intercom. 'But where is Christina? Is she on her own?'
'Of course not!' Sarris snapped. 'Paula phoned me. Before I drove to the helipad I left orders for a plain-clothes man to go to the Grande Bretagne to guard Christina -so Paula could come here.' He looked at Newman and Marler who had also sat down. 'Officially you were not involved. Which is why I've confiscated your rifles. They'll get lost. I won't ask how you obtained them.'
That's big of you,' said Newman. 'Considering Marler shot down a shepherd who was aiming his rifle at the cabin of that chopper you were flying in. You could be cold meat on a slab now.'
Sarris grinned, looked at Tweed. 'Is he always so independent and aggressive?'
'Yes,' Marler interjected. 'A pain in the arse. But we did hold the situation until you arrived.'
'I think you all went mad,' Paula said and sipped at the cup of coffee served by a uniformed policeman. She was watching Tweed: there had been a major change in his mood and manner. The vehemence and tension seemed to have drained out of him.
A man came in and Tweed looked up. The Dormouse.
He stood up, smiled and shook hands. 'Good to see you again.'
'I would suggest,' Sarris began, 'that Kalos takes you for a ride away from here. That you ask him the question you put to me downstairs. I'd like the rest of you to stay while we cook up an official report, something that will make my superiors happy. The truth – but maybe not the whole truth…'
The Dormouse drove Tweed to the Plaka. He apologized for the transport, his battered old Saab. 'No one notices it,' he explained, 'which is why I favour it. Now the question.'
'What is the Greek Key?'
'I'll tell you when we reach my flat – that and a lot more. It's politically sensitive, which is why Sarris suggested we get out of police headquarters.' He manoeuvred the vehicle carefully inside the labyrinth, stopped outside a taverna, his engine still running. 'See that – Papadedes. Note the entrance to the staircase alongside – Papadedes hires out the room upstairs to men taking a woman up there. But other people have used that room. I will tell you in my flat.'
He parked the car inside a narrow alley climbing steeply up towards a hilltop. His flat was above a shop selling baskets and leather handbags to tourists. Tweed settled himself in an armchair after a good wash in a tiny bathroom. He felt more civilized after getting rid of the mixture of dried sweat and dust.
Kalos fussed about, making coffee. He placed the cup on a small round table next to the chair, produced a tin jug and two glasses. ' Retsina.' he explained. 'If you do not like it leave it. And here is mineral water. Some bread with a little cheese – made from cow's milk. I do not think goat's milk cheese would appeal.'
'Very good of you, Kalos.' Tweed sipped at the retsina. It tasted resinous. 'I like it. Now, can we talk?'
The Greek Key,' Kalos began, settling himself in another armchair, 'is a highly secret underground organization of hardline Communists. It is run by a committee but the man who counts is Doganis, in his sixties…'
'Ah,' said Tweed, 'another man in his sixties. So he goes back also to the Second World War.'
'That is true.' Kalos leaned forward, tapped Tweed on the knee. 'And these are very hard men indeed. They are bitter because they just failed to take over Greece during the Civil War. We were saved by the American President, Truman. He sent a military mission, tons of arms. Now they have surfaced again. They are anti-Gorbachev.'
Tweed stiffened, put down his glass. 'Their activities are confined to Greece?'
'I don't think so. From the records, during the Second World War there were strong rumours the real controller of the Greek Key was an Englishman based in Cairo. Let me tell you what I have discovered.' He took a file from his briefcase. 'This is my secret report. You can read it later. Now, we start with the clandestine visit of General Lucharsky to Athens…'
Tweed ate the bread and cheese, listened grimly as The Dormouse described what he had found out. Lucharsky… Colonel Rykovsky. The arrival later of Lucharsky's aide, Colonel Volkov… the link with Doganis… Florakis, alias Oleg Savinkov, The Executioner… Pavelic, the Croat hardliner who had provided Kalos with secret information while drunk…
'This Pavelic,' Tweed said eventually, 'he is in touch with Moscow?'
'He boasted he had underground links with the hardliners inside Russia who hate and fear Gorbachev's reforms – that Gorbachev would not last much longer.'
Tweed recalled that Marler had seen Florakis carrying a modern transceiver up a mountain on his land. The Dormouse listened with a gleam in his beady eyes.
'Who is he transmitting to?'
Tweed opened up, telling him about the three ex-commandos living on Exmoor; the long-ago murders in Cairo, on Siros; about the killing of Sam Partridge – who had been in Cairo as a very young man; the killing of Jill Kearns and Mrs Larcombe and the story the old lady had told Tweed.
Kalos nodded. 'We have uncovered a major conspiracy controlled by the hardline anti-Gorbachev faction in Moscow. I just cannot see where it leads.' He handed his file to Tweed. 'I would like you to read that – it includes times and photographs of the conspirators…'
Tweed read the file, automatically memorizing every detail. He studied the photos. Kalos sat with his hands clasped in his ample lap, waited patiently. When Tweed had finished he handed back the file.
'My God, it looks far worse than I ever dreamed. Could you get me copies of those prints?'
Kalos delved into his file, produced a large envelope which he passed to Tweed. 'I anticipated your request. I made copies myself in my own darkroom. All the dates are written on the back. I have signed my name and used a police headquarters rubber stamp. Sarris knows nothing of this. He destroyed the original file in my presence.'
'Sarris is involved?' Tweed asked.
A shake of the stubble-covered head. 'I'm sure he guessed I had a
lready prepared a duplicate file. It was significant he did not ask for the negatives of those prints. Sarris would never forget a point like that. Except deliberately. We understand one another. Why do you think he suggested I took you away from HQ for a talk?'
'Of course.' Tweed smiled. 'It is just that I have a habit of trusting no one.'
'A very good habit. What are you going to do now? You believe one of those three ex-commandos is the real head of the Greek Key?'
'I do now.'
'But which one? You have interviewed them all twice. Surely one of them let something slip? You are known for your flair for interrogation.'
'I think I know who it is.' Tweed paused. 'The devil of it is I have no proof,'
'And this Professor Seton-Charles you mentioned. The Recruiter, as Christina called him when talking with Newman. He too is involved?'
'Up to his ruddy neck would be my guess. Again, no proof. You asked me what I'm going to do. I'm very grateful to you, Kalos, for your cooperation. What you've dug up all on your own has filled in a lot of gaps. I am returning to England as rapidly as possible. The solution lies there.'
'Let me phone Sarris, see where they all are.' Kalos picked up the phone, dialled, spoke in Greek, waited, then spoke again at greater length. He put down the phone. 'Sarris tells me they are all at the Grande Bretagne, waiting for you. I hinted you may be leaving. He thinks that a good idea – after your experience in Devil's Valley. He looks forward to seeing you again.'
Tweed stood up. Thank you once more for everything. I am sure we will meet again.'
There is always a next time in our work. I will drive you to the hotel.' The Dormouse smiled shyly. 'It has been a great pleasure to deal with you. I suppose you realize you may not have much time left to stop whatever is planned? They have been working on it for over a year.'
That's what worries me. I don't think we have much time left. One more thing, could you leave Florakis alone? He sounds like the communications link. I don't want that disturbed.'
'I can persuade Sarris to agree to that. Now, as you say, you are short of time…'
They were all waiting for him in Newman's room: Newman himself, Marler and Nick. Newman told him Paula was still guarding Christina in her room.
'You see,' Nick intervened, 'I noticed at the farm that Dimitrios and Constantine were missing. I checked the bodies myself. I think they are in Athens, searching for Christina. It may be days before they hear Petros has been arrested. Sarris said he was keeping it out of the papers.'
'We are all leaving by a Swissair flight tomorrow,' Tweed told them. 'It leaves at 5 p.m., arrives at Zurich at 6.45 p.m. We stopped in the square on the way back and I bought tickets for everyone.' He dropped a folder on the table. 'Better collect your tickets now.'
'Why Zurich?' Newman asked. 'Why not a direct flight home?'
'Because we are taking Christina with us. I promised her protection. She will stay with our friend in Switzerland until this is all over.'
'May I make a suggestion?' said Nick.
'Go ahead.'
'You may well need strong protection until you have safely left Greece. If you take a taxi with Christina and Paula to the airport, Newman and Marler could follow close behind in the hired Peugeot the police returned.'
That's good thinking,' agreed Tweed.
'But in case of emergency none of you is armed. Sarris took your rifles, as he took my shotgun. But I was not searched – I think that was deliberate.' He opened his jacket, took it off, exposing the hip holster carrying his. 38 Smith amp; Wesson. Unfastening the holster, he laid it on the table. Pulling up his trouser leg, he unstrapped the holster containing a small Browning automatic, laid that on the table. Then he emptied his jacket pockets of spare magazines and looked at Marler and Newman.
'Take your choice.'
'But we'll never get through airport security,' Newman pointed out.
'Yes you will. Because I will drive ahead to the airport to make sure it is safe. If I am standing leaning against my car when Tweed's taxi arrives, all is well. I then go to the men's room, followed by Newman and Marler. They hand the guns back to me.'
'Very bright,' Tweed agreed again.
Marler grabbed the Browning before Newman could object, saying he was smaller and wasn't going to lug the heavier Smith amp; Wesson about. Newman grimaced.
'Trust him to find the easy way.' He looked at Nick. 'You said you were running low on petrol.'
Nick jumped up. 'So I go and fill her up now. Do it at once is my maxim. I will be back later.'
'Newman waited until they were alone. 'Tweed, shouldn't someone go to the Embassy, call Beck, warn him we're coming?'
'I was about to do that myself…'
'I feel like a walk. Give me his Berne number and I'll make the call.'
Tweed took out the pad he always carried with a sheet of plastic to stop the imprint of what he wrote being reproduced on the sheet underneath. He wrote down Beck's number from memory, gave it to Newman. After studying it for a few moments, Newman held the sheet over an ash tray, set light to it.
'I'm on my way…'
Tweed was left alone with Marler, who ran his hand through his fair hair before asking his question.
'What about Andreas' skeleton hanging inside that silver mine?'
'It was Andreas. Sarris told me he had questioned Petros after I told him about its existence before we left the farm. Petros admitted he had kept the skeleton until he had administered justice – his phrase – to the murderer of his sons. Sarris sent a couple of men up to find the skeleton. I suppose it will be buried in due course. The whole episode shows Petros was crazy with his obsession.'
'And you're no further for'ard with who killed Masterson?'
'Yes, I am. After cross-examining Petros before the choppers arrived I'm convinced he told the truth. He had nothing to do with Masterson's death. So we're looking for someone else – which is what I came here to find out.'
'Any ideas?'
Despite their ordeal in Devil's Valley Marler looked fresh and ready for anything. He had cleaned himself up in the bathroom and emerged a new man.
'A lot,' said Tweed. 'I've been fed a whole load of new information. The trouble will be checking it out – and I'm not sure how much time we've got. You'll all be chasing your tails when we get back home. But Zurich comes first. Not that I expect it will be anything but a stopover…'
Beck met them at Zurich the following evening and they travelled from Kloten Airport to the Hotel Schweizerhof in two unmarked limousines. Inside the second car Christina was escorted by a plain-clothes policeman.
'She will be taken into the mountains,' Beck explained when they assembled in Tweed's corner room overlooking the Bahnhofstrasse and the main station. 'In a house near Santis,' he went on. 'Is there someone who needs smoke in their eyes? I didn't see anyone following us from the airport.'
'No. Just keep her out of harm's way,' Tweed replied. 'I'll give you a call when I'm sure the coast is clear. And we'll pay the expenses.'
'Oh, there will be a bill.' Beck smiled and sat down as Tweed gestured towards a chair. 'I have news. Is it for your ears only?'
'Everyone here knows what's going on.'
Tweed waved a hand, embracing Newman, Paula and Marler. When they arrived Christina had said she'd be taking a bath. She had been quite happy that Gustav, her guard, should stay in her room and drink coffee.
'I realized Anton Gavalas was important to you,' Beck began. He had chosen a chair next to Paula. 'I checked with Interpol in Paris, asked them whether anything unusual had happened in Lisbon. It has.' His voice became grave. 'And about just the time Anton was in the Portuguese capital. A murder.'
'God! Who was it this time?' Tweed asked.
'An unsavoury international arms dealer who went by the name of Gallagher. He ran a garage, apparently – as a cover for his real activities. He had been watched as he travelled all over Europe. No evidence. He was found stabbed in a service pit in his garage. Could t
here be a link with Anton?'
'Any idea what kind of knife was used?'
'Yes. It was left in the body. People don't realize it can be very difficult to withdraw the weapon if it is driven in deep. This one was. A British commando-type knife.'
'That sounds like Anton.'
'There is more. Some guesswork…' Beck waved a dismissive hand. 'But the dates are right. Anton stayed one night at The Ritz. The following day a Portuguese freighter carrying a consignment of cork for England sailed. The Oporto. After a few days it arrives at some port called Watchet in Somerset, unloads the cork, takes on board a cargo of wastepaper. Is this relevant?'
'More so than you might ever dream,' Tweed urged him on grimly.
'The Oporto had been shadowed by French aircraft.
French Intelligence, the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, had discovered the Oporto had visited Tripoli in Libya before arriving in Lisbon. Their aircraft lost it because of a storm and only picked it up again after it had left Britain and was sailing apparently back to Lisbon. Another storm drove it close to Brest. They sent out cutters and boarded it in French territorial waters. Anyone losing interest?'
'I'm fascinated,' said Paula. 'You're leading up to something.'
'I enjoy a little drama – as Tweed here sometimes does. They found in the hold an armoury of Sam missile launchers, missiles, hundreds of rifles and forty thousand rounds of ammunition. At the time there was an Irish fishing boat near Brest. Fodder for the IRA. Paris is certain of it.'
'I don't like the sound of this,' Tweed commented.
Then you won't like the rest much. The DST interrogated Gomez, the Oporto 's captain. He wouldn't give any information. But a member of the crew he had rebuked did talk. He said before the ship reached Watchet it heaved to and someone carrying a large bundle was off-loaded into a waiting motorboat. The craft then headed for the British shore.'
'Did he recognize – I mean, see – anyone in the motor-boat he could describe?'
'No. He was concealed behind the bridge and frightened of being found. End of story.'
'Or the beginning,' said Tweed. 'Sam missile launchers. That frightens me. What was landed on that remote stretch of Somerset coastline? And why? For what purpose? Those are the questions we must find answers to. And the solution lies back home in England.'