The Greek Key

Sarris sat up straight. 'What does that mean?'

'My mind roams.' Kalos smiled drily. 'As you know-there are people higher up who don't approve of a man who lets his mind roam. Never get fixated on one theory. My inflexible maxim, and stuff them upstairs.'

'You said unless it's political. Please elaborate.'

'Last year,' Kalos began, fitting his bulk inside the arms of a chrome-plated chair, 'a so-called Colonel Gerasimov visited us from Moscow. We were asked to guard him like royalty – but discreetly with plain-clothes operatives. He spent very little of his visit at the Soviet Embassy, a lot of it at the Hilton. He had three rooms booked and switched from one to another. I got curious and had him secretly photographed…'

'Without my permission,' Sarris chided him.

'You know me. When I visited Belgrade unofficially about this drugs problem I showed that picture to a Yugoslav – a Croat called Pavelic in the security services. I got him drunk and showed him the picture. He laughed when I said it was a photo of Colonel Gerasimov of the GRU. He told me it was General Lucharsky, a Deputy Chief of the Soviet GeneraI Staff.'

'I remember. Do continue,' Sarris urged him with a quizzical smile.

'Yugoslavia is sensitive to power movements inside the Kremlin. Gorbachev suits the Belgrade Government fine. Pavelic, though, is a hardliner. He told me Lucharsky was 'one of ours'.'

'You didn't tell me that bit,' Sarris snapped.

'Why raise hares? You were up to your eyes in work. While in Athens the man at the Soviet Embassy Lucharsky spent most time with was Colonel Rykovsky, the military attache. And an expert in communications.'

'How do you know that?'

The Greek cleaning woman they employ when their menial staff is on holiday happens to clean my apartment.'

'Purely by chance, of course?' Sarris was leaning forward now, taking in every word. 'You do realize you are far exceeding the scope of your duties, my friend?'

'I like to know what is really going on.' Kalos ran a stubby finger round his open-necked collar and smiled drily again. 'It is hardly likely to affect my promotion prospects. And now we hear a Colonel Volkov will soon visit us from Moscow. Odd.'

'Why?'

'Pavelic, the Croat, was very drunk when we talked alone. He said to me, 'I would not be surprised if you receive another visitor in Athens one of these days. Lucharsky's aide and confidant. A Colonel Volkov. Another sound man.' Translation – another hardliner. These are not pro-Gorbachev men. So why do they travel to Athens, I wonder?'

Sarris sat thinking, Yugoslavia was a 'federation' of six different nationalities. A racial mix, and not all of them loving each other. Croatia, the Yugoslav state in the north, was the most rebellious, the most pro-Russian, the one closest to the real hard men in the Kremlin. Gorbachev's opponents,.

This is all speculation,' he suggested, testing his assistant.

Kalos ran a hand over the thin brown stubble which covered the dome of his head. 'You are right. Up to now. There is one more thing. When off duty I often amuse myself by following the military attache, Colonel Rykovsky. He likes wandering inside the Plaka. He thinks he has lost anyone who might just be tailing him. Then he meets and spends time with Doganis.'

'Doganis?'

'A leading member of the Greek Key.'

27

'Where to now?' Marler asked as they climbed into his car.

'British Embassy. I'll rout that fat slob, Patterson, out of bed if necessary.'

'Be it on your own head.' Marler nodded towards the clock on the dashboard. 'Eight in the morning here is six o'clock back in London. Who will be at Park Crescent apart from the guard?'

'Tweed would be my bet. I think he's reached the camp bed stage by now.'

They both knew what that meant. Tweed started investigating a fresh case slowly. Then the tempo built up. He unfolded the camp bed kept in his office and took up a permanent vigil at his desk, often working well into the night.

At the Embassy on Sofias Avenue Patterson greeted them in his shirt-sleeves, unshaven, sullen. He let them inside the hall without a word. No one else was about as Newman rubbed both hands together vigorously.

'The scrambler phone. It's an emergency.'

'When isn't it? And you might have shaved before invading the precincts of Her Majesty's Embassy.'

Ye Gods! Newman thought. How bloody pompous can you get? He grinned at Patterson. 'You look pretty rough yourself. Late night on the town?'

'I don't indulge. Like some people. I'll unlock the door

– you know the drill. He can't come with you.' He jerked his thumb at Marler.

Marler said nothing. He produced his Secret Service card, held it under Patterson's nose, withdrew it when Patterson reached for it. The official bit his lip, made no further comment, produced a bunch of keys and unlocked the door leading to the basement. Newman ran down the steps after switching on the light.

Marler pulled out a chair as Newman sat down and pulled the phone towards him. Upstairs Patterson slammed the door shut with great force. Newman pressed the red button, dialled the Park Crescent number.

'Who is calling?' Tweed's voice, very alert.

'Newman here. Sorry to call at this hour.'

'That's all right. Very glad to hear from you. I was worrying. I slept here, got up with the dawn. Paula's here

– she couldn't sleep and has just arrived. In case you need data taking down. Now, I'm listening…'

He listened without saying a word for ten minutes as. Newman reported everything that had happened since they last spoke – including the trip into Devil's Valley and how Marler had saved his life. Glancing across the table he saw Marler spread his hands in a What the hell gesture.

'You shouldn't have gone in alone,' Tweed told him.

'I know that now. OK, I'll behave in future. Nowhere tricky without my chaperon. Now you know the lot.'

'And maybe we've come a long way – with the information you've given me and what I've gleaned at this end. A lot more of the pieces in my hands. Now I have to try and fit them together. I'd better warn you, I'll be phoning Peter Sarris to try and stop him taking any action. Yet. I'll cover you. What's the next move you plan?'

'Grilling Christina again about her relationship and movements with Masterson. That's what I came out for -to find out what really happened to Masterson. It looks like the Greeks to me. Petros and his vendetta. He's mad as a hatter.'

'And dangerous. Tread carefully. He'll be turning Athens upside down to locate Christina. But don't be too sure you've got to the bottom of anything. Someone may be using Petros as a gigantic smokescreen – to divert our attention.'

'From what?' Newman asked.

'I don't know. Just a sixth sense. There are some pretty peculiar characters involved. Including a Professor Guy Seton-Charles. At the moment he's in the West Country, holds a position at Bristol University. But he takes seminars at the university in Athens. Greek Studies.'

'Description?'

'Early sixties, looks younger. Slim build. Clean-shaven, thinning brown hair, Roman nose. About five feet eight. Intellectual type. Conceited manner. Most distinctive feature the rimless glasses he wears. Informal dress.'

'I'll recognize him. Early sixties again. So many of them are. Barrymore, Robson, Kearns, Florakis…'

'Which could be significant. Takes them back to World War Two – where all this started, I suspect. Another point about this Seton-Charles. He was stationed in the Antikhana Building in Cairo at the time of the Ionides murder.'

'A pattern is beginning to form,' Newman suggested.

'Yes, but it's like a kaleidoscope. New events shake it up, give a fresh picture. One more thing before I go. And warn Marler – he can be impulsive. Petros is a very dangerous man. That crazy business about the skeleton in the mine. I'm sure you're right. It is the remains of Andreas. Watch your step, both of you. And has something else struck you just before I go?'