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Plantation A Legal Thriller

Page 81

by J M S Macfarlane


  Chapter 81

  It was around three o’clock when Nikos’ wife took the letter to the Poseidon IV. She handed it to the officer on watch who was directing the loading of trucks in the hold of the ship.

  Stefanides, Demos, Ashby and Nikos were all taking turns to look through the telescope. They had decided that if Christoforou did make a run for it, Demos would follow him from a safe distance, just to make sure that they could corner him if he changed his mind and ignored the message.

  “It’s all part of the service, at no extra cost,” said Stefanides.

  “Very kind of you – but I agree, we must be certain of capturing him.”

  And for the next two and a half hours, all of them waited anxiously : Stefanides ready to board the ferry at a quarter to six if their target stayed put ; Demos ready to follow their quarry if he made a dash for it.

  At twenty minutes to six, there was a long line of cars, lorries and passengers boarding the ferry. Nikos suddenly said “There he is. It’s Christoforou. Quick, Demos, follow him. He’s heading south along the quay towards the town.”

  “And ring us at The Lord Byron when you see where he’s gone,” yelled Stefanides as the con man ran down the stairs.

  “Right then,” said Ashby to the others, “shall we make our way back to Athens ? We’ll take adjoining rooms at the hotel. You can be my guests.”

  At the end of a long drive, when they eventually arrived back in Athens, their rooms and dinner were awaiting them. A message left by Demos in the meantime, merely read “Lodging house Patra.”

  After they had finished eating, Ashby said, “I have to call London. Let’s meet again at seven o’clock tomorrow morning unless something happens before then.”

  By now, it was around eight o’clock London time and Simon Wells was on the point of leaving the office when the phone rang. Ashby was asking for an update.

  With a yawn, Wells reported his findings. “Paxtons checked all of the hotels on the Algarve. No-one answering Christoforou’s description booked a room in the three months after the Stratos sank. It’s not conclusive, of course – it was three years ago, after all. And there are no flights between Rome, Lyons and Lagos, Portugal – but.....there’s one airline which travels between Rome, Lyons and Lagos, Nigeria......hello, hello, are you there ?”

  “Yes.....sorry.....I was just thinking.....this is the newest piece of information we’ve had so far. Why would Christoforou have gone to Africa after the sinking of the Captain Stratos ? Why would he have gone there of all places ?”

  “Perhaps he thought that no-one would look for him, somewhere out of the way. It sounds like the type of place where you could stay undetected for a long time. Or change your identity. Maybe that’s what he thought.”

  “Perhaps. They may have been smuggling contraband.”

  “A Greek shipping line ?”

  “Yes. Hellas Global do it as a side business.”

  “How do you know that ?”

  “Let us just say that I know.”

  “Do you think Christoforou was mixed up in it ?”

  “Possibly. There are lots of corrupt governments, officials and police in Africa. But if he and the Chief Engineer didn’t go down with the Stratos, then perhaps the crew didn’t either – or the cargo. I would really like to know if he did go to Nigeria and if he did, why exactly he went there. If we can get enough proof that this entire claim is a try-on, we’ll have a greater possibility of our appeal succeeding. Remember, we’ll only get one chance of knocking out their judgment, so we must try to have the best evidence we can possibly get. If Christoforou and his crew all conspired to sink the Captain Stratos, then they probably escaped on another ship.”

  “So, you want to find out if he was in Lagos, say within a few weeks or a month or two after the Stratos sank ?”

  “Yes. It isn’t a huge place and it may be relatively easy for an experienced adjuster from Paxton to do the same exercise which you got them to do today in Portugal.”

  It was fortuitous that Wells happened to deal with a West African insurer every year and knew their chief underwriter very well. Plantation always entertained him in its corporate box at Wembley or took him to Goodwood Racecourse or the tennis at Wimbledon.

  “Right. I’ll get onto it for you now. If I get them to ring you direct, that would be easiest. Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “Tell them to ring me anytime in Athens at The Lord Byron hotel. I’ll be waiting for the call.”

  After ringing the West African underwriter at home, he was given the number of Paxton’s best loss adjuster in Lagos and then rang him and passed on Ashby’s instructions and phone number in Athens.

  When this was completed, after locking up, he left Plantation’s building and headed straight to the Traitor’s Gate pub in Tower Hill. When he got there, it was full of raucous German tourists re-enacting Chelsea’s defeat, earlier that afternoon.

 

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