"Oh?" I said. "But Mr. Stavros told me himself that I might contact him through the Apex Imports Company."
"Senhor, Mr. Stavros does not have an office…"
The door to a private office opened and a husky, dark-haired man appeared. "Is there some difficulty?" he demanded. His tone was not what could be called friendly.
"I was just looking for Mr. Stavros," I said.
"For what purpose?"
I ignored the rudeness. "Mr. Stavros advised me that I might purchase Japanese cameras in wholesale lots from him if I contacted him here." I acted perplexed. "Am I in the wrong office?"
"Mr. Stavros is the chairman of the board," the dark man said, "but he has no office here, and he does not do business for the company. I am its president; you may deal with me."
"This is Senhor Carlos Ubeda," the girl interposed, a bit haughtily.
"I'm glad to meet you, sir," I said, extending my hand. He took it stiffly. "My name is Johnson. I met Mr. Stavros quite casually in the Chale Restaurant several weeks ago. He said he would return from a trip to Europe about this time and that I might contact him here."
"He is still in Athens," the girl said.
Ubeda gave her a blistering look. "As I said, Mr. Stavros cannot be reached here. But I will be happy to forward your order."
"I see. Well, I did want to deal with him personally. Can you tell me when he might return from Athens?"
A muscle twitched in Ubeda's face near his mouth. "He is not expected back from Europe for several weeks, Mr. Johnson. If you want to do business, you will have to deal with me."
I smiled. "I'll give you a call, Mr. Ubeda. Thanks for your time."
I left them staring after me. Once again out on the street, I hailed a taxi and returned to my hotel. The girl's slip had given me the confirmation I had wanted, Adrian Stavros was indeed in Athens as Salomos had told me. And if that photograph turned out to be a picture of Nikkor Minourkos, things were getting interesting.
I showered and rested for a short time, then boarded bus number eleven according to Thompson's instructions. As he had predicted, the photograph was taped to the seat in a small, brown envelope. I recovered it and went to a little cafe downtown and ordered a good Portuguese wine. Only then did I take the photograph from the envelope and study it.
As Thompson had said, the picture was not a: good one, even though a telephoto lens had undoubtedly been used. It was a shot of three men, having just emerged from a rambling ranch house, walking toward the camera. The man in the middle was the one Thompson had described to me, and despite the small size of the face that I had to identify, there was little doubt in my mind, as I compared it to the face that I had been shown in AXE photographs, that this man was in fact Nikkor Minourkos. I had never seen the other men before.
Minourkos was walking sullenly between the other two figures. None of them were talking, but the man on Minourkos' left, a tall, Teutonic-like fellow, was looking toward Minourkos as if he had just spoken to him and expected an answer. Minourkos' face was somber and grave.
I slipped the photograph back into the envelope and stuck it into a pocket. If the CIA agent's observation had been correct, my friend Salomos' theory was indeed proven. Somehow Stavros had taken over the Minourkos operation in Athens and was plotting a coup in Minourkos' name.
After a light meal at the cafe, I called Erika Nystrom's room at the Corumba Hotel. Her voice was friendly and warm. She said she would have the rest of the evening to herself, alone, and that she would be delighted to have me visit her. She and Zach had had a small argument, and he had gone off to a nightclub in a huff.
Making a date for nine, I returned to my hotel and placed a call to Hawk. He answered in a tired voice and activated the scrambler at his end of the line so that we could talk without putting everything in code.
"What an unseemly hour, Nick," he said a bit testily. "It seems to be the only time I ever hear from you."
I grinned. I could visualize him sitting at the special phone in his super-secret apartment, his gray hair ruffled, with perhaps a silk smoking jacket on his stringy frame and the inevitable cigar clamped between his teeth.
"At least I'm not in some girl's bedroom," I said with questionable honesty.
"Hmmph! The evening's not over yet, is it? Don't con me, my boy. I've been through all that myself."
Sometimes I felt as if Hawk had psychic powers that laid my innermost thoughts bare to his analytical mind.
"No, sir," I admitted. "The evening isn't over. But I've made good use of the first part of it I think Minourkos is a prisoner at Stavros' plantation near Paracatu. Also, I've learned that Stavros is in Athens."
"Well," Hawk said pensively, "that's interesting."
"That fits into Salomos' theory."
"So you're going to Paracatu?" Hawk asked.
"That's right. Maybe I can get to the bottom of this. Thompson of CIA says the plantation is lightly guarded at the moment. But there is a complication."
"Yes?"
"An old friend is here in Rio. The young lady I worked with in Israel on the Promised Land Operation."
"Oh, yes. Nystrom. Why is it that good looking women seem to follow you around the world?"
I chuckled. "Mustn't be envious, sir. As you pointed out, you had your days, too — and nights."
A sigh issued from the other end. "Get on with it, Nick."
"Well, sir, it occurs to me that Miss Nystrom just may be here in Brazil for the same reason I am. Or, rather, after the same man. We do suspect Stavros in the Ben Canaan assassination, don't we?"
A small silence. "Yes, we do. And you've made a good guess, I'd say."
"She has an executioner with her," I added. "I think they're gunning for Stavros. They may not know he's in Athens at the moment. But I don't want all of us to show up at the plantation at the same time and end up shooting at each other by mistake or otherwise fouling up the works. My idea is for you to verify Nystrom's mission with Israeli intelligence. You're an old friend of her boss, Giroux, and I think he'll level with you under the circumstances."
Hawk grunted assent "You're right."
"If that's the case, I think we should all be frank, and sit down to see whether we can help each other. Or at least keep out of each other's way."
The silence was longer this time. "Okay, my boy. I'll call Giroux and get in touch with you."
"Thanks," I said. "I won't move until I hear from you."
I didn't have to wait long. An hour later, just before I left for Erika's hotel, I got the call from Hawk. He must have gotten Giroux out of bed before dawn in Jerusalem. Giroux's answer was affirmative, and I was instructed to discuss the Stavros matter openly with Nystrom who was in charge of the assignment, even though she had Zach Ghareb with her. I was given a code word that would prove that Giroux had ordered her to discuss her work with me.
I arrived at Erika's room a few minutes after nine. She met me at the door in a brief lounging robe that showed much of her thighs. She was wearing a sultry perfume and a wide, sensuous smile.
"I thought you'd never get here," she said as she closed the door behind me and locked it.
I moved into the room and looked it over. It was larger than mine, and I found myself wondering whether Zach shared it with her.
"Would you like a brandy? I have an unopened bottle, and it's the best you can buy in Rio."
"That sounds good," I said.
She poured two drinks into balloon glasses. As I took my glass, I let my eyes caress her lovely face. "You were always a girl to demand the best."
"And I generally get it," she said. "Do you?"
"I had you in Tel Aviv," I said quietly and with a smile.
The long lashes fluttered as her eyes avoided mine for a moment. When she looked back up she was smiling. I reached out and touched the softness of her cheek. She took a sip of the brandy. I put my arm around her slim waist and drew her to me. She smelled sweet and felt soft.