The Greek Key

Which one? Petros asked himself the question he had pondered a thousand times. Now Anton – clever Anton -had located them at some place called Exmoor. Why were they all living so close together?

It didn't matter! Petros heaved himself out of the chair, went into the farmhouse, returned with the box he kept hidden. He opened it. Inside, wrapped in newspaper, was the commando knife, the knife he had used all his strength to heave out of Andreas' back. The knife he would one day use to kill the murderer of his two sons.

Dapper and assured, despite his experience, Anton thanked the chief receptionist and walked out of the Hilton. The doctor they had summoned had been a nuisance. Anton had assured him he'd fainted, caught his jaw against the side of the pillar. He had also handled the chief receptionist cleverly. Just before he left he made the remark casually.

'It was the heat. I must have fainted just before my friends left the hotel…' He described Christina, Newman and Marler. 'Did they say which hotel they were moving to? Maybe not – as they left in a rush.'

'No, they didn't. As you say, they were in a hurry,' the chief receptionist had replied.

Which confirmed Anton's suspicions. He shrugged as he walked into the blazing heat, hardly noticing the change in temperature. He had found her once, he would find her again. But first there was more urgent business to attend to. He checked his watch – he was late for his appointment.

Let the bastard wait. He would be so relieved when he saw Anton arrive. He ignored the taxis. Their drivers had good memories. He made his way over the complicated crossing and walked briskly down Avenue Sofias towards Syntagma Square where the Grande Bretagne was located.

Anton smiled to himself as he thought how livid Petros would be if he knew where he was going, who he was going to meet and why. The old ruffian was living in the past, Had no idea of what was really going on in the world. Wouldn't he be surprised one day when he found Anton was a Cabinet Minister? The Ministry of the Interior for preference. There you had real power.

Half an hour later he was walking through the maze of alleys and streets which made up the honeycomb of the Plaka. Was the plan already beginning to work? Sooner or later the man he was going to see would have to tell him what was happening. The clod who was still important to Anton. For the present. The man called Doganis. The Athens chief of the Greek Key.

'You're late,' Doganis greeted him. 'Why?'

Anton sat in a rush-covered chair in the room above a taverna, took his time about lighting a cigarette. He disliked this hulking brute but was astute enough to conceal his distaste. Doganis, a man in his sixties, was heavily built with broad shoulders and a large head of greying hair. His hooded eyes regarded Anton with a coId expression.

Anton studied his chief, careful to betray nothing of the contempt he felt. The huge soft hands holding a circular ebony ruler, the sagging jowls, the barrel-like stomach. Out of condition, cut of touch with the modern world. One of the Old Guard. A gross monument of the Civil War days.

Doganis was also studying the dapper Anton. Ambitious, ruthless. A young upstart who had to be kept in his place. Dressed like a gigolo. Doganis had been ordered to tell him the next move in the operation; personally he thought it premature.

'You are going back to England soon,' he informed him. 'You'll be taking letters to Captain Robson, Sergeant Major Kearns and Colonel Barrymore. Two of the letters will be meaningless. The third you will have the honour of delivering to Jupiter.'

'Jupiter? Who is that?'

The man who is reactivating the organization. Do not ask who he is.'

'Jupiter is a Roman god, not a Greek,' Anton remarked, feeling his way.

'Which confuses the issue, protects his identity. You travel to England again in a few weeks' time – after we have received an important visitor from abroad.' Doganis paused. At least they hadn't told him to reveal yet to Anton that the visitor was Colonel Volkov, aide to General Lucharsky. 'You can travel there by the secret route again, I assume? Again there must be no record of your visit to England.'

'It worked before, it will work again,' Anton told him boldly. 'You do your job, I'll do mine.,.'

There was a sudden cracking sound. Anton stared. Doganis, who constantly held something in his restless hands, had split the ebony ruler in two in his fury.

Anton was astounded. The grotesque obese Doganis he had put down as effete had enormous strength in his apparently flabby hands. Strangler's hands. Doganis pointed the jagged end of one half of the ruler at him. His voice was more sinister for its soft tone.

'Listen to me, Gavalas. We have laid a tremendous responsibility on your immature shoulders. I have only to report you have lost my confidence and you are dead in twenty-four hours. You have displayed arrogance. I find that disturbing.'

Anton swallowed. The room was dimly illuminated by an oil lamp on a side table, Doganis' huge shadow suddenly seemed to Sill the room. He forced himself to speak respectfully. 'I apologize, Comrade. I wished to assure you all will go well.'

'And remember this,' Doganis continued, ignoring the apology, 'I may introduce you to our visitor. He may wish to brief you himself. Treat him with reverence. Phone me daily from a public call box.' He changed the subject without warning, watching the other man closely. 'Is everything quiet down at Cape Sounion? No sign of anyone becoming curious about Florakis?'

'No sign at all,' Anton assured him.

'You replied too quickly. What about Petros?'

'He is still planning his mad revenge on the English murderers of his two sons. He thinks of nothing else.'

'Useful. He will divert the attention of those two Englishmen, Newman and Marler. Go now. Your future depends on obedience to the cause.'

Anton stood up quickly, glad to leave the presence of this man who now frightened him. He hurried down the narrow staircase leading direct to the street. He paused before he walked into the deserted street.

He did not see the small stocky man with a stubble of brown hair waiting in the shadow of a doorway across the street. For the simple reason that Kalos did not want to be seen. Kalos wore a stained old jacket and baggy trousers. He raised the camera with the infra-red lens and snapped off three shots. Anton turned left and walked rapidly away.

I'm lucky, thought Kalos. Whoever he is left the building when the tourists and the locals are eating and drinking inside the tavernas. He already had inside his camera two shots of Doganis. At least he had known this senior member of the Greek Key.

Kalos had waited over an hour outside the apartment Doganis rented in the Plaka, then had followed him to this new rendezvous above a taverna. Maybe Sarris would identify the younger man who had just left after spending half an hour with Doganis. The Greek Key was apparently recruiting younger members. A bad sign. And Kalos wondered who, where, and how they were finding fresh recruits.

29

'Bob, what crisis?' Tweed asked. 'Where are you talking from?'

'The Embassy. On scrambler phone. Now, you listen…'Newman explained tersely what had happened. He was alone in the basement room: Patterson had pushed off after unlocking the door.

'So your main task,' Tweed said, 'is to guard Christina, hide her away from Petros…'

'Our main objective is to find out who killed Masterson. And the last person we've found yet who saw him alive is Christina. It may be significant that Petros-through Anton – is doing his damnedest to track her down. What's your problem?'