The Greek Key (45 page)

'Who is Kalos?' Monica asked.

The Dormouse.'

'Sorry? Did I hear you aright?'

'You did. I met Kalos, Sarris' loyal assistant, at the security conference in Geneva. A small, stocky chap with a stubble of light brown hair peppered over his head. I nicknamed him The Dormouse -- because that's what he looks like. We got on well together. When I go to Athens he's the man I'm hoping will tell me anything they know. Sarris is more cautious. Another reason for my respecting The Dormouse is his uncanny ability to track a suspect while merging with his background. Sarris told me that.'

'Maybe you'd better fly to Greece soon,' Monica suggested,

'All in good time.' He looked at the wall maps again. 'At least we have our forces well distributed - Newman and Marler in Greece, Butler and Nield on Exmoor. There's a name missing,'

'Who's that?'

'Anton. Trouble is he's a will o' the wisp. First he was back in Greece, then he slips into this country by some unknown means before slipping out again. I'd like to know how he managed that.'

After parking his car at The Anchor Butler went for a walk westward along the coast. It was dark and he passed several isolated cottages with lights burning inside. To his right he could hear the slap of the incoming sea hitting the rocks. He turned round, went back to The Anchor and into the bar. Nield was chatting to the barman, a young chap who polished glasses as he talked.

They have a ghost prowling the beaches at night,' Nield said to Harry, who ordered half a pint. 'Meet John, the barman, Local.'

'Not exactly a ghost,' John told Butler as he served him. 'A few weeks ago the old crone, Mrs Larcombe - lives in the end cottage - swears she saw flashing lights out at sea. Then another light flashing further west along the coast. Can't take her seriously.'

'Bats in the belfry?' suggested Butler, only half-listening.

'Hardly. Sharp as a tack. Local nosey parker. It was about the time that Portuguese ship,
Oporto
, was due to berth at Watchet.'

Butler frowned. 'Surely not at night - no ship could get inside Watchet except in broad daylight.'

They said it missed the tide, had to heave to offshore all night.'

Butler nodded, said to Nield he was hungry. Time for dinner.

Paula arrived back at nine o'clock. She took off her raincoat, sagged into the secretarial chair behind her desk, kicked off her shoes. Monica said she was making coffee. Paula grinned. 'Bless you.' Tweed leaned back in his chair, studying her.

'You look all in - and you're still wearing those glasses.'

'So I am. I'd forgotten them. Thank the Lord I was wearing my flatties. That Jill Kearns has the stamina of a goat.' Waiting until Monica had left the room, she looked at Tweed quizzically. 'I'm sure you could have ended up in bed with her. She's ravishing. And she's after you. You do know that?'

'The thought crossed my mind. Don't push it. Give me a report. About her movements.'

'Window-shopping for three days. Didn't buy a thing. Went all over the West End . . .'

'She didn't spot you?'

'Of course not. I wore that beret I had on in Brown's, took it off from time to time. Switched round my reversible raincoat - every conceivable variation . . .'

'But did she at any time use a public call box?' Tweed asked.

'Definitely not. This evening she had early dinner - at Brown's. Then went up to her room. I thought it was time to return. To report to 'Sir',' she added with mock solemnity.

'And that's it?' Tweed sounded disappointed.

'Except I found out she always stays at Brown's when she comes to town.'

'How did you discover that?'

'I chatted up the hall porter.' She looked at Monica who had come back with a tray. 'You're an angel.' She drank half her cup of black coffee, then gazed at Tweed. 'Now, what did you find - apart from the fact that Jill has wandering fingers?'

Tweed gave her a concise summary of his conversation with Jill. 'Well, did you notice anything interesting or significant she told me?'

'Robson's reference to the Greek Key,' Paula said promptly. 'I also spotted it's the first time we've heard any of the Exmoor trio mention Petros - linking him to the Greek Key. Surely that is significant?'

Tweed pursed his lips. 'Significant of what? But Robson seems to have changed his mind. On Nield's tape - recorded during their dinner talk that night at The Luttrell Arms - Robson scoffed at Barrymore's mention of the Greek Key.'

'And now he's linked Petros with it - whatever 'it' may be.'

'So I simply must confront Petros - interrogate him -sooner or later.' He caught Monica's dubious glance and looked away. 'I have something else to do urgently. Monica, try and get Jill at Brown's for me. She could be in great danger.'

'Why?' asked Paula.

'She always stays at Brown's - you just told me. They'll know that on Exmoor and I've just heard all three ex-commandos have disappeared. That they may have come to London ...'

He broke off as Monica signalled she had Jill on the line. He took a deep breath and began talking. She must pack at once, book a room at the Stafford Hotel in St James's Place, pay her bill and take a taxi there. Yes, tonight. At once. He put the phone down and sighed with relief.

'Thank God for a woman who does what you ask without questions.'

'Proves what I said earlier,' Paula remarked and winked at Tweed.

He turned to Monica. 'Could you play back that recorded talk I had on the phone from Minehead with Butler? Paula, listen carefully to what he says.'

Paula rested her elbow on her desk, cupped her chin in her hand, concentrated. Butler's cool voice came through loud and clear. As the tape ended Tweed asked his question. 'Anything strike you as interesting - bearing in mind that jumble of clues Masterson sent me in a cigar box from Athens?'

'Nothing. I must be thick. And I'm tired and hungry. So what did I miss?'

'Probably nothing, as you said. It was a wisp of an idea I had. I wanted to see if it hit you in the same way. And I'm taking you out to dinner. Monica has stuffed herself with sandwiches - fortunately.'

'Wild exaggeration,' Monica protested. 'But I have eaten. And why 'fortunately'?'

'Because I want to locate Barrymore, Robson and Kearns. May, Robson's sister, let slip he'd gone to London. Start phoning hotels. Those three will be together.'

'What makes you so sure?' Paula asked. 'Before I pop along to the bathroom to fix my face. I feel a wreck.'

'Because those three have stuck together for years -trapped by the past and their fear it may come back. They're haunted men.'

The two murders forty years ago? You think they were all involved?'

'I doubt that,' Tweed replied. 'Put yourself in their places. I suspect two out of three are wondering which of them committed the murders. I also suspect the guilty man is cleverly manipulating the other two. Listen again sometime to the tape recorded by Nield at The Luttrel Arms. Now, hurry up - I have a raging appetite too!'

He went on talking as he put on his Burberry after Paula had gone to the washroom.

'We'll wait a week or two longer before I fly to Greece - wait and see if anything breaks. Newman and Marler will be pretty active out there. Their rooting around may provoke someone to make a false move, to surface. There's something going on we've missed. I sense it.'

Take-off time coming,' Monica observed. 'Your usual method. First gathering all the data - which can take ages. Suddenly it will be all action. I'm starting already. What kind of hotel might those ex-commandos be staying at?'

'Not Claridge's or The Ritz.' Tweed had his eyes half-closed as he thought. 'One of them stole the present-day equivalent of a million pounds in diamonds after killing Andreas. So he won't throw it around, show he's loaded. Try the hotels in the medium-priced range. Maybe somewhere in Kensington.'

'You don't ask much, do you?' She was reaching for the yellow pages when Paula reappeared. 'This job could take forever.'

'You may get lucky. We must try,' Tweed said as he opened the door for Paula. 'One more point. From now on we'll codename the murderer Winterton, the ghost who sold those bungalows on Exmoor.'

31

Moscow, General Lucharsky was walking in the park again with his aide, Colonel Volkov. Both men wore civilian clothes and Volkov had to quicken his pace to keep up with the long strides Lucharsky was taking. The sunlight cast thin shadows from the trunks of birch trees. Mothers pushed prams with babies along the lower path as Lucharsky headed for a dense copse of trees, mounting a curving path.

'You leave for Athens tomorrow,' he reminded Volkov.

'I am fully prepared. Comrade General . . .'

'I should hope so,' Lucharsky snapped as they entered the copse. 'Everything depends on your passing on the verbal orders to Colonel Rykovsky, to Doganis and Anton, the Greeks. Events are moving quickly. I hear the Gorbachev-Reagan summit will take place in Washington, More important, the British Prime Minister has invited the General Secretary to land in England en route for America. A stroke of incredible luck.'

'What is the position now?' Volkov enquired.

'Gorbachev has gone too far. He is signing a treaty in Washington for the withdrawal of intermediate missiles from Europe. If we let him do that he will go on for more disarmament. The Red Army's power will fade instead of growing. And we have some powerful allies. Elements high up in the KGB are worried. They yearn for the return of the days of Brezhnev.'

'So it is something drastic?' Volkov suggested as he pushed aside foliage from his pasty plump face. The path they were following was getting overgrown, was rarely used.

'Gorbachev will be assassinated,' Lucharsky announced in his calm clipped voice. 'The Troika took the decision last night.'

'That will be difficult, and who will take over? What is this Troika?'

'A lot of questions. Comrade. First, you remember that document I handed you yesterday when I was wearing gloves? An incriminating document.'

'Yes.' Volkov felt a chill crawl up his spine despite the humid heat which enveloped Moscow that day.

'I put it in your safe after you had read it. I locked the safe and said I would keep the key. You do recall this?'

Lucharsky asked in a mocking tone which had reduced subordinates to jelly, 'I only check your memory because you had drunk a lot of vodka,'

'At your urging , . .'

'I am a good host, although I stick to mineral water since the new General Secretary's expression of dislike for hard drinking. That document - locked away in your own safe - carries only your fingerprints. You would be shot within a week if that document was placed before the Politburo.'

'Why do you threaten me. Comrade?'

'Just in case you thought you could obtain swift promotion by betraying the Troika which, officially, does not exist.' Lucharsky stopped, faced his companion, gave him a Siberian smile. 'Of course we know you would never dream of betraying us. Now, you asked certain questions. Who will take over from Gorbachev? Answer: Yigor Ligachev, his Number Two in the Politburo. He has openly disagreed with
perestroika
and
glasnost
. He does not know what we plan, but once the seat is vacant he will be compelled to become the new General Secretary.'

'And the Troika?'

'The three-man council of high-ranking Red Army officers who have decided Gorbachev must be removed. I am their liaison with the men in the field who will do the job.'

Which was a lie. No point in letting Volkov know that Lucharsky was the top man among the three generals who made up the Troika.

'But who will carry out the assassination?' pressed Volkov, anxious to know the plan would really work.

Lucharsky folded his arms, swung again on his heels, staring through the foliage which surrounded them. On no account must they be observed. And Volkov's anxieties were transparently clear to the General. He must reassure him for the moment.

'The assassination will apparently be carried out by two Arab fundamentalists. Those fanatics are capable of any mad action. And relations between Moscow and Iran are deteriorating. That way we avoid any danger of a confrontation with the Americans - in case rumours spread it was the work of the CIA. We need the time to establish Ligachev in power, to turn back the clock to Lenin's age. To renew the great military build-up.'