For the next twenty minutes, Everard explained the real reason why he was in Morocco, and for the meeting with Reynolds. When he had finished, he noticed the grin on the Moroccan’s face that revealed some of his black teeth.
Kasur sneered. ‘Ah, a military operation, yet another coup in some African country, perhaps?’
Everard nodded. ‘Exactly that, general,’ he lied. ‘We want his services as a mercenary. He just happens to be here in your country. I swear to you now, general, that there is no connection to this operation with Morocco. It is just something that our government has to do, to stop this ever-increasing spread of communism throughout the world.’ He addressed the man in front of him in formal tones. ‘You understand that, of course, don’t you general?’
Kasur nodded. ‘And that is it? I can have your assurance that this secret American operation will not affect my country?’
Everard gave him a sincere stare. ‘Yes, general. You have my word, and also that of my government.’
Kasur clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, Mr Everard. I will take you at your word, and that of your government. It looks like you have been some help to me, after all. We will take you back to your hotel in Marrakech. Once there, you will pack, and be put on a plane back to the United States.’ He raised his hand. ‘However, should you return, I will bring you out here again and you can guess the rest, can you not, Mr Everard?’
The American just nodded.
After a few hours in Zagora, Reynolds drove with a smile on his face. He had just seen Ayesha, and was surprised that her mother had relented to allow him the time. He then started to feel sad. Not until after the Cyprus operation would he get the chance to feel those small arms around him again. Doubt started to rise inside him. There was something about all this, something that had suddenly caused him to consider his future. The fee offered by Everard was a reasonable one. But was it too reasonable? It was enough to actually, finally, retire from this life, but despite this, he had no idea what he would do. He hated tropical islands, so that would not be his destination. There was also something else on his mind. All this thought of retirement meant that he had failed to consider that this operation could be his last for another reason — the possibility that he would not be coming back from it.
A few miles after leaving his daughter outside the house, Reynolds now turned the Land Rover off the main road and drove along an ascending dirt track. Then, at the brow of the hill he came to an abandoned sand-coloured Moorish fort. He drove through the vast gateway and parked next to a cream Mercedes.
Seeing steam rising from the still-warm bonnet, he hoped that his man, Mo, had been able to get the information he had requested; namely, who was really financing this operation in Cyprus. And, having had time to think during the drive away from his daughter, there was also something else that he now wanted to talk to him about.
Chapter 8
Sipping on his cup of tea as he sat across from Swan and Gable in the SID office, Air Commodore Sir Alistair Higgins shook his head. Gazing at the blackboard, he couldn’t help feeling a moment of sadness when staring at his old colleague’s name. He had known the victim for over ten years. Danvers had been his number two in the Air Office at the Ministry of Defence.
When, after a long service, Higgins had decided to retire, he had recommended the younger man, putting him forward as his obvious replacement. However, another post had also become available, one that would mean a lot of travelling. Higgins knew that Danvers, always the adventurous type, would opt for the post as air officer commanding overseas, having often told him how wondrous it was to see the different parts of the — now-diminishing — empire. This of course, had whetted the appetite of the younger officer and being highly respected amongst the RAF bigwigs, Higgins had managed to pull the strings necessary for him to be appointed.
But now, all that had been in vain, and Higgins was grieving for his old friend. It had only been a few days since the murder, there was still no actual suspect, just that grim calling card from the Cypriot terrorists.
He looked across at another true friend, never believing that he would be so close to one of his investigations.
‘So Alex, are you still chasing this female assassin theory?’
Swan blew away some smoke from his face. ‘Actually, I am.’ He looked across at his wife, who was busy typing. ‘Darling, have you got the Interpol report on our suspect, handy?’
Janet Swan stopped and looked up over her typewriter. ‘Yes, I have it here. I was going to go through it later, to identify the case officers of the Sûreté, I thought perhaps I could contact them for some more information.’ She picked it up and walked across to her husband, handing it to him.
Swan showed it to Higgins, explaining who this woman was, and the details of her last killing. ‘Mahmoud was in Paris to negotiate some secret oil deal. He had gone to a bar in his own hotel, where he had got talking to an attractive woman. According to the barman’s witness statement, he had overheard some of their conversation, saying that she was from Monaco, noticing that her accent had confirmed this. Then, the next morning, Mahmoud was found dead in his own room at the Hotel Rue De Nor, after a sexual encounter, presumably with the same woman. However, there was no sign of her. She was suspected to be none other than the Praying Mantis, a notorious female assassin originating from Portugal, who seems to kill her victims after having had her wicked way with them.’
Higgins sighed. He suddenly thought of how the sexually active Danvers could have easily fallen for this trap. ‘And from the way Danvers was killed, you suspect this Praying Mantis may be our suspect, then, Alex?’
Swan nodded. ‘Indeed I do. Al-Mahmoud was killed the same way, two spikes in the back of the head and his throat cut. But what baffles me Sir Alistair, is this EOKA B business. What I mean is, for years, especially in the late fifties and sixties, they have managed to do their own dirty work, as you well know and have various undesirables who could have easily slipped into Britain to carry this out themselves. So why hire someone, who is known not to have been active for some years? It just doesn’t add up, old boy. I spoke to John Stratton earlier. He had dealings with the original EOKA. He also cannot believe they would go as far to commit an atrocity in the UK. In fact, and I’m sure you will agree with him on this, EOKA B is being backed by the Greek junta, which means that they would need to keep Britain as allies over in Cyprus. So why hire an international assassin to kill a high-ranking British officer? It is indeed a mystery, owing to the current political climate.’
Higgins agreed. His former post as head of overseas air operations had put him face to face with the original EOKA, including their leader, Georgios Grivas, and he knew their capabilities. ‘So, if you suspect this woman, then what is your next move?’
Swan explained things that were already in motion with the judicial police in Portugal, and that he was waiting for them to get back to him. ‘They need solid evidence before they can arrest her.’
Gable walked over to the blackboard. ‘But what we do have,’ he announced, tapping on the board, ‘is the ink fingerprint on the banknote. We have a match with their records.’
‘We’re just waiting the outcome from my police contact in Lisbon, checking where she could be. Rumours are that she is actually in Portugal. Why this is, could be is another matter. Surely, she realises she risks being arrested there?’ added Swan.
Higgins nodded. ‘My word Alex, this woman is turning out to be like something out of a novel, a female jackal, so to speak.’