He was growing more puzzled. That left the gross pig, Doganis. upstairs with the new arrival to Athens, Volkov. Most peculiar. It was half an hour later before a second figure appeared. Volkov. He walked straight into the street in the same direction, straw hat rammed down concealing the upper half of his face. He stopped suddenly, lifted the hat as he stared round. Kalos took two more shots, waited until Volkov had disappeared, noted down the time. He had been precisely thirty minutes alone with Doganis. Most mysterious.
Unless he had been passing detailed instructions to Doganis – but why had Rykovsky not remained present? My God. Kalos was thinking: maybe Moscow doesn't even trust Rykovsky to hear what Volkov was saying. The cell system ~ carried to these lengths! The instructions must be incredibly secret.
Five minutes later, exactly, Doganis stood at the exit, lounging against the side, lighting a cigarette, scanning the street. A real professional, the overweight slug. Kalos risked it, took another photograph. Without a glance in his direction. Doganis walked off.
Kalos memorized the time, ran to his car, backed it into the main street, crawled after Doganis. That had been a difficult decision Kalos had wrestled with. Who to follow? Since they had met so furtively, he'd decided the Russians would probably return to the Embassy. You're my meat, he thought as he trailed after Doganis.
Kalos found he could drop back well behind his target. Among the tourists and locals crowding the Plaka Doganis loomed up among the other heads like a bear lumbering forward. He had parked his battered old Renault on an open stretch of ground. Kalos waited until he had eased his bulk behind the wheel and started moving. Then he followed him.
'Repeat the whole message back to me. Indicate where one section stops, another begins,' said Doganis.
'Get stuffed. I've memorized it perfectly,' Florakis snapped.
'Prove it.'
'I said get stuffed,..'
The two men sat in the front seats of Doganis' Renault parked in the shade thrown by the skeletal structure of the new hotel complex. Florakis, wearing his shepherd's garb, cast a sneering glance at the bloated jelly beside him, reached for the door handle.
'I said prove it,' Doganis said in a quiet voice, 'That comes from the top. I have to tell them you've really grasped the message.'
'Play with yourself, you overblown melon..,'
Doganis grasped Florakis by his arm below the elbow. He squeezed as Florakis swore and struggled to get free, There was a brief tussle, then Florakis' face twisted in agony. He was staggered by the strength of that fat man who he'd imagined was soft as a jelly. Doganis, with no expression, began to bend the arm. Florakis stifled a scream of pain.
'Now, let's try again, shall we?' Doganis suggested, releasing his grip.
'You stupid bastard,' railed Florakis. 'There's no feeling in my arm. And I have to tap out your bloody signal…'
'You're right-handed,' Doganis said mildly, gazing out of the window where an opening in the building structure framed the sizzling blue of the sea. 'I remembered that when I twisted your left arm. In any case, you'll be OK by nightfall when you do the job. Going to repeat the message? Word by word?'
'Blast you! Yes…' Florakis took a hold of himself, let his rage evaporate, then began reciting carefully.
'That's pretty good,' Doganis said fifteen minutes later. 'One more thing before you ride your donkey back to that cesspit you call a farm.'
'What's that?' Florakis asked sullenly.
'In future don't ever again forget I'm the boss. Now push off. I'll give you ten minutes to get clear before I drive back to Athens. ..'
Behind a boulder a short distance up the arid hillside under the scorching sun Kalos was watching. He peered through the field glasses he'd taken from his glove compartment. He'd followed Doganis all the way from Athens, keeping well back when he realized his quarry was taking the coast road.
He'd crested a hill with a clear view of the Temple of Poseidon atop Cape Sounion when he saw the Renault swing off the road behind the building site. Immediately he'd turned off the main road himself, jouncing over the rough ground into one of the many gulches which ended near the coastal highway. Parking his car well inside the gulch, he had climbed high enough to stare down at the site.
His glasses had brought up clearly the two men seated inside the stationary car. Kalos had recognized Florakis and he recalled finding the fingerprints which exposed Florakis' real identity. Oleg Savinkov: The Russian, The Executioner of the Civil War.
He waited until Doganis had driven over the crest on his way back towards Athens, then drove after him. He didn't expect to discover any new twist but he followed Doganis all the way back to the city. His eyes narrowed as he grasped that Doganis was heading back into the Plaka. He was even more startled when Doganis parked his car on the same open space and got out, then checked his watch and waited, lighting a cheroot. Kalos parked illegally in a one-way street and waited.
Thirty minutes passed before Doganis made his way on foot to the same street where he had arrived earlier in the day. Kalos guessed his destination was the room over Papadedes taverna and watched him disappear inside the entrance to the staircase.
Kalos parked his own vehicle in the side street he had used before. Standing in the doorway, he saw Colonel Volkov arrive five minutes later. He noted down the time below his record of Doganis' entering the building.
Very curious. This meeting was taking place without the presence of Rykovsky. He blinked and only took his camera out in time when a third figure walked down the street, paused by the entrance, glanced confidently around and vanished inside.
He wrote down the arrival time of Anton Gavalas. What the hell was going on?
32
This is political dynamite,' Sarris snapped, staring at his assistant. He waved the file containing Kalos' report. 'We have to bury it. You want us both to lose our jobs?'
Kalos ran a hand over his stubble of hair, unperturbed by his chiefs outburst. He clasped his hands and spoke with great deliberation, gazing out of the window where night was falling over Mount Lycabettus.
'Point One. We know Doganis is the most powerful figure on the so-called committee running the Greek Key. An organization of fanatical Communists which has lain fallow for a long time. In that file there is photographic proof that Doganis met with Colonel Rykovsky and the new man from Moscow, Colonel Volkov…'
'That's what I'm talking about,' Sarris protested. 'Our government hopes for closer relations with Russia now Gorbachev has proclaimed his policy of glasnost…'
'These people are not glasnost,' Kalos interjected in the same calm tone. 'They are hardliners – anti-Gorbachev. That swine, Pavelic the Croat, said as much to me when I was in Belgrade. He also let drop the name General Lucharsky – who visited us last year as Colonel Gerasimov of the GRU. I stole his photograph from Pavelic's file when he was dead drunk. I followed him to the Hilton Hotel where he interviewed Florakis.'
'And now you've put Lucharsky in your report! I hadn't finished when you interrupted me. I don't make our government's policy. I think they may be a bit over-hopeful…'
'To the point of idiocy,' Kalos commented.
'Keep quiet. Our government hopes for more trade with Moscow. Maybe even sophisticated military equipment to make our army stronger than the Turks…'
'It won't happen. Let me go on,' persisted Kalos. 'Point Two. Rykovsky leaves Doganis alone with Volkov-which suggests even he is not permitted to hear some highly secret message from Moscow – from Lucharsky, maybe. Point Three. After that meeting I follow Doganis. To where? Another subversive rendezvous – this time with Oleg Savinkov, alias Florakis. Peter, this is a conspiracy I have uncovered.'