Swan decided to be sparing with the information. ‘I believe she was behind the murder of the RAF officer in the Portfield Hotel, a few weeks ago.’
‘Why do you think it was her? My sources have informed me the accursed Greek — Cypriot faction, EOKA B did it. Anyway, I was under the impression she had retired from killing people.’
Swan wasn’t at all surprised that Babak had heard about the murder in the Portfield Hotel. He was a man who would have contacts in all walks of life.
‘Well, that’s what whoever hired Miss Sapphira Menendez wants people to think, Eltan. Anyway, she hadn’t retired. She was shot dead two days ago, after killing the mayor of her home town. I was there.’ He decided not to inform the Turk that it was his wife who had shot her. ‘We found a locker key in her bag, which led us to a notebook with your name in it. I’m guessing that somewhere, will be the end user certificate for some weapons you’ve supplied her with.’
Babak bellowed a laugh and slammed his hand on the table.
‘There it is… your evidence! Yes, I first knew her when she was with ETA. Then, we stayed in touch, and I supplied her with some equipment. But that was back in the late sixties. I remember the last time I actually saw her. She was here at the club, with some of my other friends, in the early hours, watching Armstrong step out onto the Moon.’
Swan shifted in his chair, also recalling that momentous occasion, and remembering what it had meant personally to him, at that particular time.
‘So you last saw her on July twentieth, 1969?’
Babak sighed. ‘Poor Sapphira; she was a beautiful but troubled woman, Alex. This mayor, why did she kill him?’
Swan explained the story of Peniche.
‘Looks like she forgot to dig that second grave,’ quipped Babak, remembering the old Chinese proverb about seeking revenge.
Swan nodded in agreement. ‘So, you’ve not done any business with her since then?’
The Turk spread out his arms. ‘I swear on my family’s life, Alex, that I have not touched any guns or ammunition since then. You see, there are far bigger fish in this pool now and with bigger fish comes bigger merchandise. I was only speaking the other day with an old employee, who now works for one of these big fish. He was telling me about the torpedoes he had to supply to a submarine docked in the Azores.’
Swan raised a brow. ‘Torpedoes! Is that a fact? Who the hell would want them? And more to the point…?’
Babak nodded. ‘Absolutely my friend. Mark 37s, ex-Israeli navy, I think. So you see Alex, the peashooters I used to deal in are nothing compared to what can be obtained on the black market these days. In fact, the last gun I handed over to Sapphira was a specially-made small weapon that she wanted for her own personal use. A .22 which she probably attached to herself, somewhere for protection. I’m guessing that she had it attached to one of her silky thighs.’ The Turk sniggered.
‘I think I know the gun you’re referring to, having recently seen the business end of it,’ Swan remarked.
The next morning, Swan and Gable sat in an MI5 office at Thames House, explaining to Stratton about the secret document aboard the abandoned Shackleton, at Nicosia — a document which, although obviously a fake, could easily set off a powder keg in the Middle East.
‘I will be flying with Jack Rowse out to Cyprus tomorrow morning. From Akrotiri we will drive to Nicosia to get hold of that document. I just only hope this ceasefire manages to hold out while we are there.’
Stratton shifted in his seat. ‘So, Allenby is responsible for the murder of Danvers? I don’t suppose you two have any theories as to why?’
Swan looked over at Gable. ‘We are still trying to figure that out.’
Gable sighed. ‘It does seem to be a bit of a mystery, why he would hire the services of an international assassin and blame a Cypriot group for it.’
Stratton agreed. ‘Yes, that does seem a bit strange. However, because he is still in a coma after falling from the hovercraft, we will have to wait for him to come round before we can probe him.’ He leant forward in his chair. ‘All we can do now is retrieve this document. I’ll inform Hugo, in our one to one this afternoon, that you are heading out there to get whatever this is.’
Chapter 25
Back in the SID office later that afternoon, Swan stared at the blackboard.
Gable had recently added the Allenby incident and details about the document lying hidden in the Shackleton at Nicosia Airport. But both men were still puzzled. There was now a clear connection with the murder and the document, this Ankara Agreement and also Allenby’s other connection to Cyprus as former team leader at the Lincolnshire Poacher Number Station. Perhaps this still had a part to play? Swan suddenly recalled the other messages on the broadcast. Who had these messages been intended for? There was something else on Swan’s mind. He turned to his wife who was typing the transcribed report of his meeting with Babak.
‘Darling, I need you to look into some other matter. I learned something from our Turkish friend last night and it has been niggling me since. Babak mentioned something about black market torpedoes being delivered to the Azores. Ex-Israeli Mk 37s. I was wondering if you could possibly check with the Portuguese port authorities in the Azores, to see if they have recently had any visits from any foreign submarines. I know it’s not related to this case, but if I can get some more information perhaps I can let our friend Carlos know about it.’
In a top floor office at Thames House, John Stratton sat opposite his boss, Hugo Davies. For eight years, Davies had been Head of B section, but with the departure of the old director general and the deputy director general having moved into this post, there had been space for a new deputy.
Stratton had applied for the post, but felt that his rejection had been down to the fact he was running such a tight ship as head of A section, and had been since his predecessor, Alex Swan, had left the post to form SID. There was no acceptable candidate to take over his position. B section was now in the hands of Dennis Martin, Stratton’s former number two. The weekly one to one meeting between Stratton and Davies was when Stratton would update his boss on current operations. For a while, the first item on the agenda had been to review the latest in trying to trace the active IRA cell currently causing carnage on the British mainland, but with this new development in the Danvers case, this was now being discussed with greatest urgency.
Davies played with his pipe, swinging it to the side of his face.
‘I’m still trying to get my head around Allenby’s involvement in all this. What does Alex Swan suggest?’
Stratton shook his head. ‘From what he told me, it looks like Allenby definitely hired this assassin, whom the Portuguese shot dead. But what absolutely baffles me, is the reason for getting someone to kill Squadron Leader Danvers and make it look like the work of the Cypriots.’
Davies was also baffled by this. Why would a respectable Foreign Office official want to blame them for the killing?
‘So now Swan has gone to retrieve this document Allenby drew up about the UK giving up the SBAs to the Turks? As if that would ever happen! I don’t know John, but there’s more to all this than meets the eye, if you ask me.’
Stratton blew the smoke from his lungs. ‘I totally agree. There’s indeed something deeper to all this. Swan also discovered Allenby was sending coded messages to this assassin, using the Lincolnshire Poacher station at Akrotiri. The last one was assigning her to a new target — Swan himself.’