by Peter Watson
For reply, Haydon delved into his pockets. He took out a pen, his wallet, a couple of envelopes, a cheque book, a diary. He opened the glove compartment of the Toyota and put the things in there. He also took out from the compartment what looked like another cheque book, another diary, another wallet.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘Fieldcraft manual, chapter two. Didn’t you do the course? You hard languages people must get sent into the field now and then. It’s standard procedure. Any time we do anything that’s remotely risky, or illegal, we have to change our identity, including our nationality.’ He held up the wallet. ‘That’s what this is. Now I’m Gilles Broudin, from Montpellier. What’s more, the address checks out if anyone follows it up. I have a wife there.’
Victoria said nothing. He was just as loathsome as Gilles or Alex.
‘Wait here,’ Haydon went on, opening the car door. He let himself out and strolled across the street. A minute or two passed. A taxi drove up behind the Toyota and stopped, its diesel engine clattering away in the night. Was this Leondaris coming home? No, a couple got out and disappeared into another flat.
Haydon seemed to have been gone a long time. Victoria kept one eye on the flat on the second floor, in case the lights came on. But the flat remained in darkness.
She looked at her watch, getting nervous. As she did so, Haydon emerged from the shadows. He was unhurried and walked slowly back to the car. He got in. He wouldn’t say what he had done, or found, until they were in Victoria’s room at the Holiday Inn and couldn’t be overlooked. He took two whiskies from the mini-bar, reached into his pocket and threw half a dozen envelopes on the bed. ‘The front door of the lobby was still open. I couldn’t get past the inner door – well, I could but it was too risky. But all the mailboxes were in the lobby. I found these in our friend’s box. I managed to force the lock – fieldcraft manual, chapter eight.’ He grinned.
‘It’s Aristotle Leondaris,’ Victoria breathed, holding one of the envelopes. She ripped into it, took out the sheet of paper inside and scanned its contents. ‘It’s from the Greek Bar Association. Looks like he’s a lawyer.’
Haydon had opened another. ‘This is an electricity bill.’
Victoria opened a third and threw it down. ‘Phone bill. Pity Greece is so backward. No itemized billing – otherwise we could see what calls he has made to Britain, or Switzerland,’
‘Look at the dates on the envelopes,’ said Haydon. ‘He seems to have been gone for about a week.’
‘Sounds like our man.’
‘And look at this!’ Victoria whispered a moment later. ‘It’s got a letterhead from the Greek parliament. From a Stamatis Leondaris –’
‘Father? Brother?’
‘Cousin? Uncle?’ asked Victoria. ‘He sounds well connected, politically anyway. It’s actually from Stamatis’s secretary. It’s a sort of circular: he’s addressing a rally next week, on Greece and the Balkans since glasnost . . . Hmm,’ she added after a pause, lifting the last two letters. ‘This is an invoice for some plants he bought. And this, the last one, is an invitation to an art gallery opening.’
‘Nothing definitively incriminating . . .’
‘But you wouldn’t expect that. He’s our man, all right.’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Haydon, as if his agreement was all that mattered in the world. ‘But how do we get from here to there? If he has gone missing, or is with Kolettis, I don’t see how we set about finding him.’
‘There are two ways that I can think of,’ replied Victoria. ‘Either we continue to stake out the flat where we were tonight, and hope that he will return, so we can follow him. The drawback with that is he may not return until all this is over. Alternatively, we know a bit about Kolettis and we can find out more tomorrow at the British School in Athens. He’s an archaeologist, don’t forget. They may not be in hiding, not as such. They can’t guess how quickly we have got on to them . . . otherwise, they wouldn’t still be talking to London. So they may not be in hiding at all. The more we piece together Kolettis’s career, the better an idea we will have about him. That may – may – tell us where to look.’
Haydon grunted approval as he knocked back another whisky. ‘I hope the second approach works,’ he said. ‘We can’t count on Ari.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m afraid that when I broke into the mailbox, I rather messed up the lock. In fact, I mangled it badly. If he comes back, he’ll see he’s been broken into. It will probably tell him we’re on to them. Then we’d lose all chance of catching them.’
*
‘Good evening, everyone, and welcome to another edition of The Eleventh Hour. As you may have heard in the news, a seven-week-old baby died today when the ambulance taking it to hospital failed to get there in time due to a traffic blockage caused by a demonstration outside the British Museum. Traffic in London was stationary for more than two hours as far south as Waterloo Station and as far north as Camden Town. The approaches to Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital were among those streets choked with cars. Several people were injured during the demonstration, which was called to protest against a government plan to return the Elgin Marbles to Greece.’
Trevor Tennant turned in his seat as the studio shot switched from one camera to another. ‘The injuries outside the museum seem to have been caused accidentally when a police horse panicked. Nevertheless, there was some fighting in the street outside the main entrance to the museum and a number of arrests were made. With me in the studio tonight, to discuss the issues raised by the Elgin Marbles, is Madeleine Rolfe, Chairman of the Friends of the British Museum and the organizer of today’s demonstration, Chief Superintendent Colin Budgen of New Scotland Yard, Dr George Imittos, editor of the Greek Times, a weekly newspaper published here in London, and David Eady, Shadow Minister for the Arts. Before we begin our discussion, may I just add that we did invite both the Downing Street press office and the Director of the British Museum to be represented on tonight’s programme – but both declined. Now, Chief Superintendent Budgen, I’d like to start with you. Are you blaming the demonstrators – people like Mrs Rolfe here – for the death of that poor baby?’
The policeman was in uniform and therefore very uncomfortable under the hot lights of the studio. It made him fidgety, and this came across as rather shifty. ‘No. The demonstration was unfortunate; we had no prior warning and it soon got out of hand. But in fairness to the demonstrators no one could foresee the catastrophic effect it would have on the traffic. Traffic has been getting steadily worse in London for years. When something unexpected like this happens . . . it can trigger chaos. Also, I have spoken to the doctors at the hospital and we can’t say for certain that the baby would have made it to Great Ormond Street even if the roads had been entirely free.’
Tennant turned to Madeleine Rolfe. ‘Not everyone might be as charitable as the superintendent, Mrs Rolfe. I’ve heard it rumoured that the mother of the infant is thinking of suing. But let’s leave that to one side. Your demonstration was called without notifying the police, it caused chaos, injury – people were arrested. What’s your reaction to all that?’
‘That I’d do it all again tomorrow, if need be.’ Madeleine Rolfe had long dark hair and pebble glasses. She wore lots of makeup and a huge bow at her throat. ‘There wasn’t time to ask the police. This is a democracy, for pity’s sake, and the government is plotting to act in a highly authoritarian way, going over the heads and against the wishes of the people. Strictly speaking, the government doesn’t own the Elgin Marbles, the Trustees of the Museum do, although of course the government appoints the Trustees. Somebody has to stop the government doing what it is doing – me, if no one else wants the job. The fact that many more people turned up than we expected shows I was right to call the demonstration. People feel strongly.’
‘Dr Imittos, may I bring you in here, please. Britain is a democracy, people have a right to demonstrate. How do you feel about that, given that some of your
countrymen were injured and arrested today?’
‘Democracy, of course, is a Greek word – and a Greek idea. As Greek as the Acropolis Marbles. I was outside the British Museum today. There were a few of us having lunch in a Greek restaurant nearby when we heard the commotion. We went to see what had been happening –’
‘Had you been drinking?’ Tennant never failed to spot an opportunity for mischief.
Imittos looked flustered. ‘Well . . . wine, or course, with lunch. A few beers maybe.’ He grew angry.
‘What happened then?’ Tennant moved him along, without conceding anything.
‘A few of us stood opposite the main gates of the museum, watching. Just watching.’
‘No jeers or shouts?’
‘No, not to begin with. And you are not to assume that drink had anything to –’
‘Madeleine Rolfe, did you see Dr Imittos across the street?’
‘I certainly saw some people I took to be Greeks –’
‘And who started shouting first?’
‘That’s not the point!’ shouted Imittos. ‘The point is: the Marbles are Greek and should be returned –’
‘No!’ shouted Madeleine Rolfe.
‘But it is the point,’ Tennant insisted, pleased that he had got some needle into the programme. ‘The question, for the British at least, is that the Marbles are in Britain and belong to the nation. Is the government behaving properly in even attempting to dispose of them? David Eady?’
‘Clearly, the government is not behaving properly. Indeed, it is behaving most improperly. Look at the strange, the awkward way this business has come to light – through an anonymous leak. The government did not want this story aired and it does not want it discussed even now. Look at its refusal to appear on this programme. We can give Madeleine Rolfe a mild slap on the wrist for not alerting the police to her demonstration but her mistake pales alongside that of the government. Is their refusal to appear here tonight the action of an innocent party? Is that an honourable action? No – it is disgraceful. Democracy may be a Greek word but the way the government is behaving is thoroughly barbaric.’
‘But what I don’t understand,’ Tennant broke in smoothly, ‘is this: what’s in it for them? The Marbles are here, as you say. Why would the government give them away without asking for anything else in return?’
‘You’ll have to ask them.’
‘But you are a senior politician, David Eady, Shadow Minister for the Arts. Can’t you make a professional’s guess?’
‘I think we are on very murky ground here –’
‘What you mean?’
‘As you say, governments don’t act like this for no reason. If the British government is to make the Greek government a gift, right out of the blue, we must be getting something in return. There’s something wrong if we are not.’
‘And what might that something be?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. But consider this: the oil in the North Sea runs out in four years’ time. A fresh reserve of oil was discovered in the Aegean Sea last year – just off Thracos. Maybe the government has offered the Elgin Marbles as a sweetener to the Greek government, to allow British companies to drill there.’
‘In which case, would that be such a bad thing?’ The camera switched back to Tennant. ‘Oil is more important than antiquities, surely?’
‘Philistine!’ cut in Madeleine Rolfe. ‘There’s oil all over the place, but only one set of Marbles. Besides, these stones were collected for the nation – and accepted. They can’t just be given away by some temporary occupant of Downing Street.’
Tennant didn’t like anyone else speaking out of turn on The Eleventh Hour – that was his job. So he ignored Madeleine Rolfe and returned to the shadow minister.
‘But, assuming you are right about the oil, even a Prime Minister wouldn’t conclude a deal like this one, surely, not without Cabinet authority?’
‘Yes – in theory. But ask yourself why the story was leaked. Perhaps someone, some civil servant in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, doesn’t think the quo is worth the quid. And so they leaked part of the story, with the aim of scuppering the deal.’
‘You have no knowledge that this might be so?’
‘None at all. You asked me to speculate and that is all I’ve done. But I have absolutely no knowledge of what is going on. Indeed, that’s my main complaint – that the House of Commons has been kept in the dark so much.’
‘It is Tuesday tomorrow: Prime Minister’s Question Time in the Commons. Are you going to tackle Mr Lockwood?’
‘I would imagine that the entire House will be after Mr Lockwood tomorrow.’
Tennant turned away from Eady and said: ‘We’re running out of time but I’d briefly like to ask Dr Imittos how he reads David Eady’s speculation?’
The Greek shook his head. ‘Idle speculation.’
‘So why do you think that Mr Lockwood has taken this sudden turn on the Marbles?’
‘Natural justice. It does happen, you know. There are good people in the world. Few, I know, and maybe that explains why he has kept this whole business so close to his chest. Few other people in this country are as civilized as he is.’
‘Strong words, Dr Imittos. They make you sound anti-British.’
‘Look what happened today,’ cried Imittos. He was still smarting from Tennant’s earlier jibe and his anger was not far beneath the surface. ‘Madeleine Rolfe calls a demonstration without telling the police. As a result of that, more Greeks than British are injured and more are arrested. Earlier on in this programme, when I tried to put the Greek side, you insinuated that we were drunk. And you say I’m anti-British. It is you who are anti-Greek!’
Tension had risen again in the studio. Tennant tried to break in, to wind up the programme. ‘Well, that’s all –’
Imittos would not give way, however. ‘Mrs Rolfe had her demonstration today – and because of that she’s on television tonight. Well, we Greeks gave you democracy – so you should know that means it’s our turn next.’
*
‘You have let me down, Andover.’ The Prime Minister was standing in front of the fireplace and shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I let O’Day go to Switzerland because, in the past few days, you have shown yourself to be adaptable and imaginative. I thought it safe to leave you in charge. Now, as soon as O’Day is out of the way, you panic on me.’
‘I think panic is a strong word, sir.’ The news of Edward’s mishandling of the discussion with the blackmailers had reached Lockwood and other members of the midnight committee long before it met – Leith had seen to that. As they had entered the Downing Street flat, each of the committee members had glanced over at Edward. He couldn’t tell who was sympathetic and who was hostile.
‘We’re not going to quibble whether it was panic or not, Dr Andover. The result is the same. This whole affair may be over – thanks to you. Two of the families mentioned in the Hesse documents have representatives in the government – and if that comes out it could do for us in a close-run election. So don’t expect any bosom pals in this room, if it all hits the fan now. Me especially. If this goes wrong, Keld will be one of the lucky ones. It wouldn’t take much to persuade him to stand against me – and this might just do the trick. You’ll probably be out of a job, too – given what the royal family will come in for. Have you thought about that?’ Lockwood passed the fingers of one hand through his hair. ‘Still, we needn’t dwell on that.’ He looked around to the others in the room. ‘For the moment, we have to proceed as if nothing has happened, as if our investigations can still make a difference, that we might still catch these buggers.’ He turned to Edward again. ‘What news from Athens? I hope that, when you spoke to them, you had the sense not to tell them about your mistake. They will only get somewhere if they believe that what they’re doing matters. What did Victoria Tatton tell you – and what did you tell her?’
Edward was smarting from Lockwood’s treatment. He well appreciated there was some
justification for what the Prime Minister had said, but he also wondered if Lockwood wasn’t taking it out on him for the fact that he, Lockwood, had misjudged the reaction there would be to the Sunday Post leak. There was also the question of the Prime Minister’s grandson. Was that making him edgy, too? Edward could scarcely point out these things, however. Lockwood would fly at him. Instead, he said, ‘Tatton and Haydon have been told that Kolettis is on a dig – but they don’t know where. They found the Leondaris flat and watched it for a few hours but it appears unoccupied at the moment. They burgled the mailbox and from the letters established that he has a relative with the same surname who is a Greek MP.’
‘And what did you tell them?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘How come?’
‘Victoria Tatton didn’t call until ten past eleven, London time, sir. We discussed what she and Haydon intend to do tomorrow – then I had to hurry to come on here.’
‘Hmm. And what is the word from Basle?’
Edward relayed the substance of his conversation with O’Day in which he had felt it right to tell him about his conversation with the blackmailer. The commander had phoned at ten, eleven in Basle, by which time he and Riley were on their fifth restaurant but had so far had no luck. Edward didn’t say much about the tone of the conversation. O’Day had made it plain that he thought legwork in the field was now beneath him, and that he should be where Edward was, having cosy chats with the Prime Minister. He had been scathing when Edward told him he had lost his temper with the blackmailer.
‘So O’Day knows, eh?’ the Prime Minister replied. ‘Oh well, it’s just as well in a way, I suppose. He might have some ideas as to what we can do.’ He rocked on his feet in front of the fireplace, a distracted expression on his face: At length, he asked generally, ‘Anything else?’
Midwinter coughed, then gave a synopsis of The Eleventh Hour.
‘Eady’s a fool,’ Lockwood said when the press secretary had finished. ‘Such waffle about oil.’