by Peter Watson
‘According to Andover, he’s Martin Ogilvy’s fiercest rival, sir. Like Ogilvy, he is an archaeologist, but when you’ve said that you’ve listed all that they have in common. They hate each other with a loathing that not even Cain had for Abel. They disagree totally on every professional issue there is and are not on speaking terms. Ogilvy dropped his fork when I told him and wouldn’t touch his fish after that. The lure of the Lords and the spectre of Salford seems to have done it for the time being. He agreed to stay on.’
Lockwood was looking at Mordaunt rather oddly. Then he looked at Slocombe. ‘What do you think, Eric?’
‘I think I could be out of a job soon. It’s brilliant, Andover’s bloody brilliant. Ogilvy won’t resign after this – he’ll be in too deep. Today was the time to resign, if he was going to. Well done, Andover.’
Lockwood was smiling, too. ‘A narrow squeak,’ he said, ‘but the political jungle is full of such noises. On to the next.’ He looked around the room again. ‘What I need now is some brainstorming, from the minds assembled here, as to how we might persuade this Zakros character to panic and rush off to the place where the Blunt paintings are hidden.’
For a minute or so no one said anything. A late-night plane droned overhead. ‘I have an idea, Bill, but may I have another drink first?’ Slocombe held out his glass. There was a faint smile on his lips.
Lockwood reached for the bottle, filled Slocombe’s glass and did the same for some of the others who had also finished. He went back to the fireplace and waited.
‘You said it yourself, in fact. The one way we can be certain he will dash to the documents is if he thinks we’re going back on the deal. Remember when Andover argued with him over the phone? He went AWOL for a couple of days and then that picture turned up in Vienna. Now we’re on his tail, if we could do the same again, he would lead us to the hiding place.’
‘Bit risky, isn’t it?’ Lockwood looked at Slocombe and frowned.
‘This whole thing is risky.’
‘Say we accept your reasoning, Eric . . . if we provoke the Greek, how do we know he won’t go public with the whole thing?’
‘We don’t know. But for once I think events may be on our side. Tomorrow or Wednesday the Anglesey leaves for Piraeus, and the Apollo Brigade will be much closer to success – or so it will seem to them. If, at that point, we throw a spanner in the works, they are not going to throw over a victory so easily – it’s not in human nature. They will redouble their threat – yes, I see that. But I’m willing to bet that they won’t junk the whole enterprise.’
Another long silence ensued before the Prime Minister said: ‘Thank you, Eric. A clear statement, leaving the decisions to me. Every time you say something, I get another grey hair.’ He smiled grimly. He was about to say something else when the door to the flat was opened by the security guard and the Chief Whip rushed in.
‘Jocelyn, I’d given you up for lost. We’re almost finished, I’m afraid.’
‘No you’re not, Prime Minister.’ Hatfield looked flustered. Slocombe rose, poured a fresh whisky and held it out to him.
Hatfield took the glass and gulped down some of the contents. ‘I’ve just come from a long meeting with Ted Adams, the opposition’s Chief Whip. They’ve got some Commons time coming up very soon. Arthur Page has indicated he wants a full-dress debate on the Marbles affair. The Speaker has agreed and there’s nothing I can do about it. Bill, I don’t like it. This could turn into a vote of censure against you.’
Chapter Twenty-One – Tuesday
From The Times:
US AMBASSADOR WARNS INDIAN GOVERNMENT
UN seen as first step in America
response to Museum murder
UN Plaza, New York: Mr Mason Farmer, the American ambassador to the United Nations, last night delivered a strongly worded protest to the Indian government regarding the recent killing at the Metropolitan Museum, when a group of burglars, calling themselves ‘Hindu Heritage’, killed a security guard in the course of the theft of religious artefacts.
Mr Farmer, who is known to be close to the President and to Mr Dixon Thayer, US Secretary of State, said that the American government expects the Indian government ‘to do all in its power to apprehend these murderers, these thieves’. Speaking from the rostrum of the main UN chamber, he added: ‘We expect the government of India to return to us both the objects and the criminals themselves to this country to stand trial. Should the Indian government fail to do this, the US government reserves the right to take whatever action it deems necessary to protect its interests and to prevent the recurrence of this dangerous precedent.’
*
‘Good morning, everyone, you are watching the breakfast-time news on the BBC and it is just after 8.20. An opinion poll in this morning’s Daily Telegraph shows that 73 per cent of those asked say that the Elgin Marbles should not be returned to Greece. More than 65 per cent say that the government has handled the affair badly, and a similar proportion say that even now, at this late hour when the Marbles are due to be shipped abroad any moment, they should be brought back. The Prime Minister’s personal popularity has also slumped. Only 32 per cent of those asked thought he was doing a good job, compared with 66 per cent who think that Arthur Page is doing a good job and 61 per cent who think that Anthony Rolfe, leader of the Liberal Democrats, is doing a good job. The most popular member of the government is George Keld, Secretary of State for Defence, who has the backing of 65 per cent. This may have something to do with the fact that Mr Keld has not been involved in the Elgin Marbles affair. It also emerged overnight that the opposition leader, Arthur Page, has decided to use one of his party’s emergency days in the Commons to debate the issue. Mr Page is with me this morning in the studio.’
The camera pulled back to take in both figures, the presenter and the politician. ‘Mr Page, there is an election not too far away. Aren’t you just making political capital out of this issue?’
‘That’s a damn-fool question, if I may say so. I’m leader of the opposition and I don’t like what’s happening. So yes, I am forcing the issue. The opinion poll you quoted proves my point – that what the government is doing is unpopular. But it is not only unpopular, it is wrong.’
‘You say it’s wrong, but many experts say that the Marbles were illegally exported from Greece. The present Lord Elgin has said –’
‘The present Lord Elgin doesn’t come into this. But the feelings of the British people do. And the majority of them – the great majority – do not want these objects given away.’
‘But, Mr Page, I come back to the legality of their original export. Does that count for nothing?’
‘Look around the world – there are pictures in Lyons that were stolen by Napoleon from Milan, pictures in New York that were stolen by the Swedes in Prague, there is a whole library in the Vatican, for pity’s sake, that was stolen in Germany.’
‘All those wrongs don’t make a right.’
‘In this case I think they do. These objects were moved around the world hundreds of years ago, when law and order was a very different matter from what it is now. Things were accepted then that would not be tolerated now.’
‘What issues will you be raising in the debate?’
‘Well, we object as much to the style of Mr Lockwood’s government as to the substance. It is not simply the fact that he has chosen, unilaterally and almost single-handedly it would seem, to return the Marbles, but he has mismanaged the affair so that it has become embarrassing for this country. Around the world we are either vilified or ridiculed. From the very first moment when it leaked out that a government committee was considering returning the Marbles, right down to the murder yesterday of the security guard in New York, Bill Lockwood has mishandled this matter. It is a disgrace. The Americans, as we have seen from this morning’s papers, are much firmer where their interests are concerned.’
‘Now let me get this straight: are you saying that the Prime Minister is to blame for the murder of Spiridon Pa
nottis, the security guard at the Metropolitan Museum, yesterday?’
‘Not directly, of course. The Indians who coshed the man over the head with a gun were the ones who actually killed him. But where did they get the idea to take back the Hindu treasures? Who has made the return of cultural property such a hot issue politically? Our very own Prime Minister.’
‘But these are grave charges, Mr Page. You are saying, in effect, that Mr Lockwood has blood on his hands.’
Page looked hard at the presenter. ‘That is why we have called this debate. That is exactly what I am saying.’
*
‘Do you see what I see?’ Edward motioned with his head towards the Strabo. He and Victoria were on the other side of the harbour today, in a little square which overlooked the jetties. From there they could still keep an eye on the yacht. And it was the kind of move real artists would have made.
‘I see what looks like Kolettis carrying a jug of something good – is that what you mean?’
‘No, very much no. Look at the funnel –’
‘What do you –? Got it! Smoke. Jesus!’
Edward was packing up his things. ‘They’re moving out! We should have thought of that. Why have a boat if you can’t move every so often?’
‘What are you doing? Where are you going?’
‘I’m going down to the harbour to see about renting a boat. You are going to the harbour master’s office. The Strabo’s captain will have had to inform them where they are bound. I will leave it to your charm to find out our destination.’
‘What about the hotel?’
‘Boats don’t move that fast – we’ll have time to check out and get back down to the harbour before the Strabo is out of sight. Now come on.’ He led the way at a fast walk down to the jetty. As he slowed to look at the various notices on the boats that were for hire, Victoria went on along the jetty to the harbour master’s office. The heat was beginning to rise as the sun reached its full height. Harbour life was dying for the moment. However, the front door of the harbour master’s office was still open and Victoria wondered if she dare go in. What would she say? She decided to play the ignorant tourist. Would an ignorant tourist have her command of Turkish? Almost certainly not, but it couldn’t be helped.
She knocked on the door and stepped in.
‘Yes?’ said a voice in Turkish. ‘May I help you?’
‘Hello,’ she replied brightly. ‘I hope you can help me, yes. My husband and I have been holidaying here and we now feel like going to Greece. Are we allowed to do that – can we go direct from here, I mean?’
He smiled and waved her to a seat. ‘Have you got your own boat?’
‘No, we’d have to hire one.’
‘You could take a hire boat from here to Rhodes or Kos. There’s a ferry to Rhodes from Marmaris.’
Victoria nodded and flashed the man a smile. ‘We’ve been to Rhodes . . . we’d prefer somewhere else. Where would you suggest?’
He considered for a moment. ‘If you wanted to go to mainland Greece, Rhodes is best. Rhodes or Samos – there are ferries or flights to Athens from both places.’
She looked around the harbour master’s office. ‘Does everyone have to tell you where they are going?’
He nodded. ‘We have to keep track of the shipping – otherwise smuggling and other crimes could get out of hand.’
‘Don’t you ever wish you were on some of the big yachts that come in here, sailing to exotic places?’
‘Sometimes.’ He shrugged. ‘I was born here. I’ve been to America, to Paris, to Rome, to Australia, to Africa. I like it here.’
‘But wouldn’t it be romantic to leave here one evening and arrive in . . . oh, Alexandria or Haifa the next day?’ She looked around and pointed at the Strabo. ‘That big yacht, for instance, that would be a lovely way to travel. They’re leaving now – I saw the smoke coming from the funnel. Are they going anywhere exotic?’
He made a face. ‘It depends whether you think Kithira is exotic. I’ve never been.’
‘No, nor have I.’ She had what she had come for but had to keep up pretences a moment longer. ‘No, I’d rather go to Samos, I think. It sounds good – and we can go on to Athens from there, you say?’
‘Yes, that’s no problem.’
She thanked him and went back out to the harbour. She found Edward talking with a tall, thin man sitting on an upturned rowing boat.
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Edward, ‘but I think he’s saying that he has a boat for hire – but that it’s not back yet –’
‘Forget it,’ Victoria interjected and waved him over to her.
Edward disentangled himself from the boatman, who was reluctant to see him go, sensing a killing. Victoria had turned and was watching the Strabo slowly ease away from the quay and turn its prow towards the harbour opening. ‘What did you find out?’ he asked her. ‘Where are they going?’
‘Kithira.’
‘That’s miles away.’
‘About three hundred, to be exact. I looked it up on the map outside the harbour master’s office. We’ll never get a boat to take us that far, or keep up with the Strabo.’
‘Lockwood’s going to love us if we lose contact now.’
Victoria didn’t answer straight away. Then she said, ‘A yacht like that cruises at about . . . oh, twelve to thirteen knots, call it fifteen miles an hour. That makes it roughly twenty hours to Kithira.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s nearly noon now, so they should arrive around eight tomorrow morning. The question is: can we get from here to Kithira by then? If we can get a boat to Rhodes tonight we should be able to fly to Athens or Crete first thing. Whether we can get to Kithira from there, and in time . . . I just don’t know. Is there an airport on Kithira? How do we find out?’ She punched Edward’s arm. ‘We’ve got to try. You go back to the hotel, call London and tell them what we’re doing and I’ll use my female charm on your boatman, to see if he’ll take us to Rhodes.’
In the end, though, the boat plan didn’t work out and they decided to take a taxi back to Marmaris and the regular ferry to Rhodes from there. The boat left Marmaris at six-fifteen and took four and a half hours, which gave them plenty of time to buy bread, wine, grapes and some salami so that they could have dinner on the ferry. Only when Turkey was slipping away behind them and had become nothing more than a jumble of lights in the distance did Edward voice the fear he had felt ever since he saw the Strabo steam out of the harbour at Datça. As he poured Victoria some wine into her plastic mug, he said: ‘Let’s hope the captain of the Strabo was telling the truth when he said they were going to Kithira. Kolettis might have bribed him to lie. If he was lying, then we’ve lost them.’
*
‘Bit of a flirt, our friend, eh? Did you see the way he looked at that woman?’
Riley shrugged. They were sitting in their car, a blue Opel, parked on the St-Alban-Rheinweg, overlooking the river. This morning they had tailed Zakros ever since he left his house at nine-thirty. He had gone first to a cigar shop, where he had remained for twenty minutes, then he had taken coffee in the Three Kings Hotel, where he had bought a paper and made a telephone call. Now, at midday, he was strolling by the river. It was threatening rain but the wind was probably too high. There were small waves on the Rhine. O’Day was surprised at how yellow the water was today.
‘He’s looking at his watch,’ said Riley. ‘He’s moving back into town.’ They watched as Zakros left the Rheinweg, climbing the steep incline towards the St-Alban-Vorstadt. ‘You follow,’ said Riley. ‘I’ll do my best to keep in touch with the car. But don’t bother about me. Stick to him and call London the minute anything happens. I’ll tell Leith where I am and you can find me through him. Do you think we need reinforcements?’
O’Day frowned. ‘Lockwood’s still paranoid about security. We’ll have to manage. We’re okay so long as our Greek friend doesn’t spot us.’
O’Day got out of the car and walked after Zakros. He turned left into St-Alban-Graben
, right into Steinenberg, along Steinenberg and right again into Gerbergasse. It was now just coming up to twelve-thirty. A hundred yards along the street, Zakros stopped and looked into a shop window. From where O’Day was, it looked as if it sold model railways. O’Day had seen such behaviour in the Greek before, but in the second that he realized Zakros was waiting for someone or something the Greek crossed the road, reaching a doorway at precisely the same time as a woman who had been walking towards him, on the opposite side of the street. In a flash, O’Day understood Zakros’s odd behaviour and why he had been killing time all morning. It also probably explained the phone call at the Three Kings. He had been calling the airport! This woman he had met in Gerbergasse had flown in from somewhere! From Greece? Was it Eugenie Shelby or the American who had duped Andover? It was impossible to check.
O’Day watched Zakros and the woman. They embraced, kissed and then disappeared through the doorway. He gave them a couple of minutes, then crossed the street and strolled down Gerbergasse. As he came to the door, he could see to one side a small brass plate which read: ‘Drachen und Stoller’. It certainly looked like a bank. At last!
What should he do now? Find a phone and call Leith? Look for Riley? Stay here in Gerbergasse? After a moment’s thought, he opted for the last. He must stay in touch. The wind had dropped and the rain was beginning. There was a tiny alley leading from Gerbergasse to Falknerstrasse and he hid there, though it gave him no protection from the wet. Ten minutes passed. He wondered where Riley was and kept an eye open for the blue Opel. Smells from a nearby restaurant wafted along the alley, tweaking his salivary glands.
One o’clock came and went. The rain intensified and he began to get some odd looks from more sensible souls in their raincoats. His hair had by now trapped a fair amount of rain and periodically he was forced to shake his head to dislodge it. His neck was freezing from the water. At about a quarter past one a blue Opel swished down Gerbergasse but it was driven by a blonde woman. O’Day lapsed back into his wet hideout. What time did banks close in Basle he wondered. How long was he going to have to wait? Was the woman flying straight back to Britain or wherever she had come from? Another, panicky, thought struck him. If they came out with the Blunt pictures and documents, and then split up, whom should he follow? There’d been more than enough time to call Leith since they had been in the bank. Was there still time to try a call? No sooner had he thought this, however, than he saw two figures, a man and a woman, emerge from the bank. It was them. The woman paused to open her umbrella and then they walked away from him, towards the market place. O’Day stared before following them. They were carrying nothing. Did that mean they had small documents in their pockets, or in the woman’s handbag? Or perhaps a tiny Nazi picture, rolled up?