The Greek Key

'Fairoaks reporting,' the pilot said, his tone calm. 'Marler has intercepted Vehicle One.'

'Thank God! Tell Fairoaks Vehicle Two also intercepted. Pass the message to Mailer,' Tweed told him

Overhead the four Ilyushin 62s were continuing their descent to Brize Norton. Tweed finished wiping his hands, put on a pair of gloves. He spoke again to the pilot.

'Please return to Fairoaks. We have unfinished business to attend to.'

54

Monday, 7 December.

'I will be driving down to interrogate Colonel Winterton,' Tweed told Monica, Newman, Butler and Nield in his Park Crescent office. 'Before he leaves the country.'

'On Exmoor?' Butler queried. 'You know who he is?' 'Yes. Monica has heard from Roberts at Lloyd's. The Shipping Index shows the only Iron Curtain vessel off our shores is an East German freighter, the Stralsund. At this moment it is unloading timber at Swansea. It sails for Rostock in the Baltic before the end of the day. That means it could heave to after dark at the mouth of the Bristol Channel. Ready to take aboard Wintertoh.'

'You really know who he is?' Monica asked. 'And he is one of the three ex-commandos?'

'Yes to both questions.' He turned to Butler. 'We left Fairoaks in a hurry. You talked with Marler. Why did he wait instead of coming with us?'

'Apparently just before Sully died he told Marler Anton had fled in a Post Office van. Heard the grenade I threw, then the shot Marler fired, I suppose. Ran for it. Headed for Exmoor, according to Marler. He's going after him. Trouble was the chopper we didn't use had a mechanical defect. And the pilot of our machine insisted on a thorough check-up before he'd fly Marler anywhere. That blast from the quarry really hit us.'

'Up to Marler, then. You heard me call Paula. She'll wait to meet us in the Mercedes by the call box in Minehead. Newman, you can come with me. Butler and Nield, you stay here. We're desperately understaffed if something else breaks.'

The phone rang. Monica said it was the call Tweed had booked to Arthur Beck at Federal Police headquarters in Berne. Tweed took the phone.

'Arthur. Check with Sarris, I suggest. But I think it's safe to send Christina back to Athens. Send me the bill.'

'No bill.' Beck chuckled. 'But now you owe me one. And don't think I won't call in the debt when it suits me 'Bye.'

Newman stood up. 'I'm ready to leave when you are. As it is, we won't reach Exmoor before dark. Winterton could be aboard the Stralsund if we don't move. I'll drive the Cortina.'

'We need to be armed.' Tweed opened a drawer, took out from it a Smith amp; Wesson short-barrelled. 38. Plus a shoulder holster. The armourer recommended this for me. You agree?'

'You never normally carry a gun. I'll give you some practice at a quiet spot on the way. Yes, that's OK. A hip holster would have been better. But it's short-barrelled, shouldn't snag if you have to snatch it out. I'm keeping the Magnum. 45.'

'That blows a hole as big as a cave through your target.'

'Which means it does the job.'

Newman had become harder since he first knew him, Tweed reflected. His experience behind the lines in East Germany. Newman seemed to read his mind.

'Why is Winterton boarding an East German vessel?'

'Because the East Germans are not sympathetic to glasnost. And I doubt he'll report precisely what he was involved in. We'd better go.'

'Do give us a clue,' Monica begged. 'About the identity of this Winterton.'

'He must have needed to keep contact with the Spetsnaz group when it moved to a new base close to Brize Norton, wherever that was. So, he needed a phone he could use which wasn't his own – in case we'd put a phone tap on it. Which I wouldn't risk. A phone, Monica…'

It was early evening, just before dark, when the Wessex carrying Marler approached Dunkeswell Airfield south of Exmoor. On his lap Marler nursed his rifle with the telescopic sight as he peered out of the window. 'Can you land somewhere close to Dunkeswell, but not on the airfield?' he asked the pilot.

'Might manage it. You spoke in time. Not yet dark. How long a walk do you fancy?'

'No more than five minutes. It's an emergency.'

'When isn't it? There's Dunkeswell.'

Marler looked out of the window, frowned. Two main runways crossed each other almost at right angles. One had lights on at either side. Ready for a plane to take off?

The chopper was descending towards a deserted country road. Marler grabbed his rifle, headed for the door after one last word.

'Land me on that road. Then you'd better take off, head back for Fairoaks…'

He tore off his headset, splaying his feet as he made for the door. The machine was rocking gently. He felt it touch down, opened the door, dropped to the ground. Ducking to keep clear of the rotors, he ran towards the main airport building. He reached the open gate at the main entrance as an old Rover driven by a middle-aged man appeared from the opposite direction. The car stopped, half-turned to drive through the entrance. The driver lowered his window, leaned out.

'Who are you?' he enquired, staring at the rifle Marler held in his right hand.

'Don't go in there,' Marler warned. He used his left hand to extract his Special Branch card, shoved it in the driver's face. 'And who are you?'

'I'm the controller of this airfield. Those damned gates should be kept closed. I've told Abbott before…'

'Who is Abbott? Quick. There's probably an armed terrorist inside.'

'Maintenance mechanic. Odd-job man. Really runs the place…'

'Where do I find this Abbott?'

'Should be inside that office with the lights on…'

'Drive off. Up the road. Unless you want to risk getting shot.'

Marler darted inside the entrance, crouched low as he ran, rifle gripped in both hands. He avoided the office door, which was closed. Very carefully he raised his head, peered in through the window. Then he ran back to the door, turned the handle, threw it open. He had found Abbott.

The mechanic was sprawled forward over a desk. Blood was congealing from a hole in the side of his skull. Marler felt the neck pulse. Nothing. In the distance he heard the sound of a light aircraft starting up. He ran outside, keeping close to the side of the building, peered round the corner.

A Cessna was taxiing slowly along a runway. As he watched, it turned. The engine revolutions increased in speed. He raised his rifle, peered through the sight. Inside the cockpit a face wearing a pilot's helmet jumped at him. Anton Gavalas. The machine began to move forward along a course parallel to the building. Moving target. Marler held the crosshairs fixed on the Greek's head. He took the first pressure on the trigger, waited until the small plane was opposite him, pulled the trigger rapidly three times.

He saw the perspex craze. The aircraft proceeded on down the runway. Marler thought he'd missed. The machine began leaving the ground. It was gaining height when the nose dipped and plunged swiftly down on to the runway. The tail was poised in mid-air. Then the fuel tanks exploded. Fire enveloped the Cessna, a fierce blaze which was smothered with a cloud of the blackest smoke. Silence suddenly descended on Dunkeswell.

'Lord, I'm glad to see you.'

Paula jumped out of the Mercedes parked by the call box in Minehead as the Cortina driven by Newman pulled up. It was dark as Tweed stepped out and she hugged him. 'They go to bed early here,' Tweed commented, glancing along the deserted street. He squeezed her, let her go as Newman approached.

'Look what Inspector Farthing gave me.' She took them both by the arm, guided them to the Mercedes and pointed at the dashboard. A mobile phone unit had been attached. Tweed got in behind the wheel, pressed the switch which operated the aerial and watched it slide down out of sight in the wing mirror.