The Greek Key

'Surely as soon as daylight comes,' Howard intervened, 'we can fly over the area in the choppers. We might just see something.'

'No go,' Monica informed him. 'I called Fairoaks Airfield where the machines are being equipped and repainted. They said Sunday morning was the earliest they could be serviceable.'

'So we wait until Sunday,' Tweed announced. 'In any case, most of you look as though you could do with a good rest. I want you on top form when we fly in those choppers. Anything else?'

'Bob,' Paula suggested, 'could I use your Mercedes? I'll drive down there as soon as this meeting breaks up. Then I can grab a few hours' sleep at The Luttrell Arms and start searching. God knows, I'm familiar with Exmoor by now.'

'As a very special favour.' Newman stifled a yawn. 'Yes.'

'I don't think we should all be airborne.' Butler spoke for the first time. 'Nield and I were talking about that -after Monica explained what she knew of your plan. We'd both like motorcycles, equipped with radio so we can contact you in the chopper.'

'I'll think about that.' Tweed checked his watch. 'Now, if there's nothing else…'

'Weapons,' said Marler. 'What's available? We'll need a variety as I see it.'

'Everything you want. The PM gave me carte blanche. An armoured car is delivering an arsenal and standing by at Fairoaks. You'll get your rifle with telescopic sights. Handguns. Grenades. Take your pick when the time comes.'

'One final point,' said Paula. 'You still think you know the identity of Winterton?'

'Yes. But no evidence. And I expect him to stay in the background during the operation. On Exmoor. Maybe you'll spot who he is.'

Paula said nothing. She opened her hand and a stick of French chalk rolled on the table.

52

Saturday, 5 December. It was after midnight when Foster took Anton into his bedroom at Cherry Farm, closed the door. Fatigue was registered on the faces of both men and tempers were getting short.

'Those Shi-ite prisoners are getting restless,' Foster opened with. 'What did you tell them they were here for?'

'That they were hostages for an exchange of two men kidnapped in Beirut. That negotiations were proceeding but they took time. They think we're British Government agents. You'd best leave them to me.'

'With pleasure. I have enough on my hands. Practising weapon drill for one thing. It's Saturday and everyone is feeling the strain. Today we keep under cover. Get some rest. We have to be on top form tomorrow and Monday.'

'Tomorrow is Sunday. What happens then?'

'We do a trial run. Saunders and I found two perfect places to hide the furniture vans as close to Brize Norton as we need to be. Your turn to empty the Elsan buckets. Do it before you go to bed.. .'

He stopped as he heard the phone ring downstairs. Automatically Anton turned towards the door. Foster pushed him out of the way. 'I'm taking all calls now.'

He hurried down the creaking wooden staircase into the hall where the phone was perched on a table. He lifted the receiver and gave the agreed false number. The familiar cold distant voice spoke.

'Is everything ready for the Monday conference? All delegates fully briefed?'

'Yes. We've checked the conference site. I'm double-checking it tomorrow, Sunday, to make sure nothing has been overlooked.'

'I should hope not at this stage. You'll give me a report when we meet? That's all.'

Foster put down the phone, knowing that would be the last call he would receive from Jupiter. The reference to 'when we meet' was a hint they would meet aboard the East German freighter, Stralsund, which would be waiting for them at the mouth of the Bristol Channel. Only then, after all these years, Foster thought, will I know who has been controlling us on Exmoor.

'Any crisis?' asked Anton, who stood at the foot of the stairs.

The question confirmed to Foster he had been right to stop Anton operating one of the two precious launchers. He was growing more nervous by the hour. Foster glanced at the phone.

'How is the bill for the calls made on this phone paid or? You said earlier you had a phone booth you called at certain times.'

'All taken care of by Jupiter. A local solicitor in Taunton receives the bills, pays for them from a large sum Jupiter sent him in cash after instructing him over the phone.'

Foster was satisfied: it was tiny details like this which could upset all their plans. Jupiter never seemed to miss a trick. Anton was still standing by the staircase.

'What is it?' Foster snapped. 'Time we all got some sleep.'

'That Post Office van…'

'Don't shit yourself. I'll kill the driver. You can just bury him. And dump the Elsan closets we've been using for lavatories on top of the body. We leave this place neat and tidy. Don't forget to keep your gloves on – no fingerprints.'

The Post Office van,' Anton began again. 'If you'd listened I was going to say it's a long drive to Porlock Weir. We'll need to top up the tank with petrol…'

'And we still have plenty of the stuff left in spare cans in the boots of the two cars we came here in. And also dump all our sleeping bags in that grave. Now, push off…'

He called after Anton as he was mounting the stairs. 'How much mineral water left?'

'A dozen litre bottles. I have kept a watch on supplies,' Anton rapped back.

'Good for you.' Foster's mind was checking other details. They would take the oil stoves and lamps which had provided heat and illumination with them. They could be thrown into ditches one by one on their way to Brize Norton. He went upstairs, nodded to Saunders who sat in a wicker armchair in the corridor where the Shi-ites were imprisoned. Saunders had a Luger lying in his lap. Any trouble in that direction and he'd crack their skulls with the Luger barrel, which was their ultimate fate anyway.

It was Foster's turn on the duty detail to watch the approach to the farm from the front window. Later in the night Seton-Charles and Sully would take over. Rest for everyone. Sunday would be a busy day – making the trial run to Brize Norton.

In Tweed's office at 3 a.m. everyone had left to get sleep except for Monica, Tweed and Butler. Newman had remarked that Butler had had more sleep than any of them, so he could make the report on Exmoor. With a cup of black coffee in front of him, Butler spoke tersely.

'You'd almost think they were setting out to look normal. Dr Robson still rides the moor at all hours to see patients. One old semi-invalid lady at Dulverton is always calling him in the middle of the night to her decrepit mansion. He goes…'

'How does she call him? Do you know?'

'By phone. She has an extension by her bedside upstairs. Barrymore drives into Minehead after dark to call someone from that public box we use. Pub gossip has it his housekeeper, Mrs Atyeo, is threatening to walk out on him. No one knows why – she's been there for years. Kearns still goes riding during the night. Nield was driving along that lane which leads to the Doone Valley after dark. He noticed Kearns' horse tethered beneath some trees at a lonely spot midway between Quarme Manor and Endpoint.'

'So Kearns could have been calling on Robson or Barrymore?'

'That's what Pete said. He didn't hang around – he'd have been seen. Barrymore and Robson still have lunch together at The Royal Oak each Wednesday. Dinner together every Saturday at The Luttrell Arms. Oh, and one night Marler was trying to follow Kearns on his horse riding up to Dunkery Beacon. Near the summit Marler heard a single loud explosion – a cracking sound like a grenade detonating. He couldn't find out what had been going on.'