The American added enthusiastically, ‘If we can find the Somalian end we could go in big-time.’
Fane had visions of F16s and Huey helicopters swarming over the Somalian coast, firing indiscriminately at targets that would turn out to be non-existent or entirely innocent. He suppressed a shudder, and the temptation to say ‘Down, boy’. He extemporised quickly, ‘That’s exactly what we had in mind. We’re planning to place our people on the next UCSO ship leaving Athens. We’ve set it up so it looks like a particularly attractive shipment; if things run to form, they’ll try to hijack it.’
‘When does it sail?’
‘Two weeks’ time,’ said Fane, thinking by then he could arrange to put someone on board. Anything to keep the Yanks from barging in; if Bokus had his way they’d never find out the truth. It would be lost in American overkill.
‘All right, but we want in on this. You haven’t got the firepower there to handle it yourself.’
Firepower was the last thing Fane was thinking about at this stage. But he replied, ‘When the time comes, Andy, you will be kept fully informed. I’m sure there’ll be a role for Langley in all of this. But let’s see it play out first. No point scaring them off by showing our hand too early.’
And he stared at Bokus until the other man nodded his agreement. Fane did not find his response reassuring, but it would have to do for the moment.
Chapter 33
The bar of the Venus de Milo was half-empty. A few couples sat at tables munching olives, pickled octopus and taramasalata with thin slices of pitta bread, to accompany their drinks. At the bar just one stool was occupied, and that by the broad rear of Hal Stimkin. Berger had been woken that morning by Stimkin summoning him to an urgent lunchtime meeting. Once again Berger had woven a circuitous path by foot from his office to the hotel, through half-deserted midday Athens, stopping periodically to peer into shop windows to check behind him for surveillance.
‘Join me?’ asked Stimkin, nodding at his glass of beer as the barman came up.
Berger shook his head. In this heat even a little alcohol made him drowsy for the rest of the day. ‘A tall glass of lime and soda, please. Lots of ice.’
‘If you’re hungry the food’s good here,’ said Stimkin. ‘My shout.’
You mean the Agency’s shout, thought Berger, as he shook his head again.
‘You’re either a cheap date, pal, or a man in a hurry.’
‘I’ve got a lot on. What did you want to see me about?’
Stimkin bided his time, taking a long pull on his beer. ‘Well, it seems the situation at your office may be of interest to Langley after all.’
‘Oh,yeah? Why the change of heart?’
‘Hard to say. I get the feeling someone’s been talking to them.’
‘Like who?’
‘Somebody on the Brits’ side of things.’
‘MI6?’
‘It’s gotta be, don’t you think? They were already involved, and maybe after this girl got murdered they figured they should let us know what the score is.’
‘What is the score then?’ asked Berger. He couldn’t see why Six would approach CIA Headquarters at Langley about a problem at the UCSO office in Athens. There didn’t seem to be anything in particular about the hijacking of the UCSO ships or even the murder of Maria to make them go running to Langley. It wasn’t that he’d expect them to hide stuff from the Americans – in these post-9/11 days there was a constant trans-Atlantic flow of intelligence. On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine Six volunteering information that had nothing to do with the CIA. UCSO wasn’t American-based – it didn’t even have an office there.
‘I was hoping you’d tell me. Any news about the girl?’
‘The Greek police have interviewed me three times, and they’re still all over the office and Maria’s flat, but they’re not giving anything away.’ Stimkin raised an eyebrow, but Berger shook his head. ‘It’s probably because they don’t have anything to give away. They seem mystified. Did Langley learn anything from the Brits – anything new?’
‘I think the short answer’s no. I was just told to make contact with you again – and from now on to do it regularly. They want to know what develops.’
Berger nodded, but he was still puzzled. ‘What I can’t understand is why Six went to talk to Langley.’
‘They wanted something – it was standard quid pro quo.’
‘What did they want?’
‘Confirmation that there was an Agency operative in UCSO – ex-operative actually.’
‘ Which operative?’ The barman looked over, and Berger realised he’d raised his voice.
Stimkin lifted his glass and turned to Berger with a smile as phoney as a $3 bill. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’
Berger’s shirt was soaked with sweat by the time he got back to the UCSO office, but he felt as if he’d been hung out to dry. Now he was supposed to keep Stimkin and the Agency ‘posted’, when they still hadn’t provided the protection he was looking for after Maria Galanos’ murder. And if MI6 knew he was ex-Agency, who else did? There was no reason to suppose the Brits would have leaked anything, but he hated free-floating information; you never knew where it would end up. He’d survived a long career under cover in various hell holes and war zones, but he’d always been extremely careful who he trusted with information. The thought that stuff about him was out there, and he had no control of it, made him very uneasy. If it ended up in the wrong hands his life could be in danger.
All right, Berger told himself, so I haven’t got the help I wanted. That’s no reason to sit here like a patsy, waiting to become the next victim. He would have to take action himself. He needed to find Maria’s killer – in his mind there was no doubt the murderer was the same person who’d been leaking information to the pirates. He didn’t believe there was a larger conspiracy at work – the pirates in Somalia only needed a single person to tell them which ships to target; there was no reason to involve anyone else; that would just increase the risk of exposure. No, he was sure he was looking for one individual.
He told his secretary to hold all calls then took some blank pieces of paper and went to work.
Two hours later he looked down in frustration at several pages of notes. The task had seemed straightforward enough – he’d begun with the people in the office who had greatest ease of access to the cargo manifests. First was his own secretary, Elena, whom he relied on and trusted completely. She knew everything that went on in the office and could see any papers she chose. But he felt sure she was completely loyal, and there was also the simple fact – he felt guilty even thinking it – that she was very stupid.
Which still might have made her someone’s dupe, except that everything about her history suggested she would never have been exposed to anyone with links to a band of North African crooks. She was from a remote part of the upper Peloponnese, and had grown up in near-poverty on a goat farm. When she’d left school, Elena had scraped together enough money to enrol in a correspondence secretarial course and had then taken a bus to Athens to find a job. She lived a simple and pious life, fuelled by her devotion to the Greek Orthodox Church and her duty to her ageing parents, to whom she sent a quarter of her monthly pay check without fail. Berger just couldn’t see it.
Other candidates with access to the manifests included Katherine Ball. She was so English that again he found it difficult to imagine her involvement in an African-based conspiracy to rob UCSO, but unlike Elena she was very clever, and seemingly nerveless. They might have had an awkward relationship – she worked for Blakey in London, and when she visited Athens was clearly his emissary – but she never challenged Berger’s authority. He liked her; she was quick-witted and amusing, and in any case she had been back in London when Maria was murdered.