Nest of Spies Read online

  The truck bounced its way along a particularly rough section of track and stopped. The other occupants scrambled over the two gagged bodies and jumped to the ground. One of them was ordered to stand guard and the rest shuffled away.

  Fletcher tried to free his hands, but they were securely bound. He slowly moved his body until he could see out of the open end of the truck. The sky was still being stabbed with rays of bright lights from the town, and a cavalcade of rockets spluttered into a shower of golden stars.

  They were at Sleitser’s camp, as he had thought. He could see the silhouetted shape of the temple foundations.

  Footsteps came up to the truck, and a muffled conversation was held with their guard.

  A flashlight shone in their faces and they were roughly dragged off the vehicle.

  ‘Up!’ a voice barked in German. ‘Up!’

  Fletcher was lifted on to his feet. So was Mario. They exchanged quick glances. Mario, like Fletcher, looked as if he had been brutally overpowered, but his flashing eyes were still full of fight.

  The man who was giving the orders was the heavily built German, whom Fletcher had seen with the truck in the town.

  They were standing outside the canopy which backed against the vertical face of the amphitheatre. It was the entrance to a cave. At the end of the opening, a series of dimly lit electric light bulbs ran into the side of the rock face.

  A vicious blow from the German’s boot sent Mario stumbling into the passageway. The other man was less sadistic and Fletcher was pushed under the canopy.

  A single line railway-track ran into the cave. It was rusted and obviously unused. At the head of the cave they were pushed into a steep tunnel which ran off at a right angle. Fletcher leant against the sides to stop himself from stumbling over the smoothened rock face which formed the floor. On the sides of the tunnel were a number of carvings — relics from the days when the Germans had used it during the occupation of Greece.

  It was an uncomfortable and dangerous descent, made even more unpleasant by the goading and jabs from the heavily built German, whose delight would have been complete if Fletcher and Mario had both gone reeling to the bottom of the tunnel.

  Gradually the descent became less severe and the tunnel broadened out into a large, subterranean cavern. It was well lit and at the open end Fletcher could see the white stern of a boat. The cavern pulsated an atmosphere of activity which was made vocal by a throbbing generator.

  They were taken to a room formed in the side of the cavern. A small, dark, dimly lit cave. Fletcher sat on the ground beside Mario and one of the Germans stood guard at the entrance.

  Again Fletcher struggled with his bonds, but the nylon cord cut into his wrists each time he made a movement with his hands. The gag was equally uncomfortable. It pulled at the sides of his cheeks and the cotton waste which had been stuffed in his mouth had a choking effect. It took all his concentration to breathe evenly and stay alive.

  Presently the sadistic German returned with Dr Sleitser. The Doctor was much smaller than the two guards, but his face had the sharp, hard features of a man used to giving orders. His grey hair and matching beard, however, gave an academic air to his otherwise military features. He stood with his hands behind his back, silently looking at Fletcher and Mario. There was no cruelty in his small pebble-like eyes — only annoyance. He walked over to Fletcher and looked down at him.

  ‘When you were brought to me by our Turkish friends,’ he said in a broken Greek accent, ‘I thought I had seen you before.’ He paused. ‘Now I know where that was.’ His face hardened. He turned to his assistant. ‘Take off his gag,’ he snapped in German.

  The German pulled the gag away from Fletcher’s mouth and took out the cotton waste. Fletcher thankfully swallowed and stretched his mouth.

  Sleitser leant over him again.

  ‘What does Spencer know of this?’ he asked.

  Fletcher looked at him.

  ‘Who is Spencer?’ he asked slowly.

  The German’s face flushed. The man standing beside him swung a vicious blow with his foot which sank into the pit of Fletcher’s stomach. For a while Fletcher lay fighting for breath, but even as he was regaining control of his body his brain was furiously deciding what action to take. If the Greeks hadn’t told Sleitser who he was working for, then he didn’t intend to help him out. It wasn’t something that was shouted from the rooftops. He still had sufficient faith to believe he would get out of the Doctor’s clutches alive, and the fewer people who were aware of his work the better.

  ‘Who is Spencer?’ he gasped.

  ‘You know who he is,’ Sleitser yelled. ‘I saw you sitting near him at the Acropolis when I was there with Professor Kay.’

  Fletcher was still struggling for breath.

  ‘Acropolis!’ he stammered, ‘I have not been there for a long time.’

  ‘You deny you are working for the British?’ the Doctor fumed.

  ‘I work for Mattu,’ Fletcher said.

  ‘So you have told me,’ the Doctor said slowly. ‘Then tell me why Inspector Ikarios should want me to get rid of you. If you are one of Mattu’s men, I would have thought the Inspector would have been only too pleased to have taken you back to Athens.’

  ‘The Inspector is flying bigger kites than Mattu,’ Fletcher said evenly.

  ‘But he is still a policeman,’ the Doctor retorted, ‘and they do not hand over one of their prisoners unless they have a very good reason. But enough of this.’

  He motioned the man beside him to re-fix the gag. When he had accomplished the task, Fletcher found himself in an even more choking position than he had been before.

  ‘Let me just tell you what is going to happen to you both,’ Sleitser said. There was a faint smile on his lips. ‘When we are out at sea,’ he added, ‘you will both be shot and then thrown overboard!’

  He turned and walked to the exit, where he hesitated.

  ‘If you are more forthcoming with your answers, next time we talk,’ he said slowly, ‘it would be to your advantage.’

  Like hell! Fletcher thought. Answers or no answers, the end would just be the same. The outlook was pretty bleak, but not without hope. He couldn’t see Rassitz going blindly into a trap, not after having been warned by Veti, and Fletcher had also been in the game too long to fight all his battles single-handed. By now his friend, the Patriarch, would have put Spencer in the picture, and the ball would be in his court.

  The heavily built German made a menacing gesture and ordered them to stand up. Fletcher and Mario had no alternative but to obey him. They struggled to their feet and allowed themselves to be pushed out of the room, and along the cavern to where Sleitser’s boat nestled between two vertical faces of the cliff.

  Fletcher liked the look of the boat. It was a motor yacht, about a hundred and twenty feet long, which could have graced the harbour of any fashionable resort. A single blue funnel rose from its gleaming white superstructure, and white canvas awnings were stretched over its deck and fastened to glistening brass posts. It was brilliantly lit from stern to stern, giving the impression of a luxury boat with a full complement of pleasure-seeking guests.

  The inlet also held Fletcher’s attention. Around three sides ran a narrow wooden platform. The roof was a steel-framed structure, whilst seawards was a large camouflaged curtain which explained why he had not seen it when they had sailed past. It would also be hidden from above, he thought. The heavy steel beams which spanned the two vertical faces of the rocks had not been put there to carry the steel sheeting alone. On top of them would be earth and grass camouflaging. It was a cleverly formed hideaway for an E-boat waiting to pounce on unsuspecting shipping — or for Sleitser’s yacht to prepare to sail to Cyprus!

  Fletcher followed Mario along the foot-walk towards the gang-plank. As they passed in line with one of the saloons, he saw a number of heads — dark sleek heads — Turkish heads! He felt disappointed. Although he hadn’t seen Rassitz or Salunda, he had a feeling they would be aboard. He d
idn’t mind Rassitz walking into Ikarios’s trap, but he felt different about Salunda. Ikarios wouldn’t show any mercy. He cursed the man, and hoped that Spencer had returned from his trip to Rhodes earlier than had been expected.

  They were taken to a small cabin at the stern of the boat, near the engine room. When the door was locked behind them, the only light they got came from the narrow opening between the deck and the bottom of the door.

  Fortunately, however, their feet had not been bound and they could move about. The cabin was about seven feet by nine, with the bulkhead sloping with the stern of the boat, but it was hot and unventilated.

  Mario nudged Fletcher and by a series of grunts indicated that he wanted to pull off Fletcher’s gag with his fingers. Fletcher bent down and Mario got the tips of his fingers into the gag. After a number of abortive attempts it came away from Fletcher’s mouth. He spat out the cotton waste and did the same for Mario.

  ‘What happened?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘The place was swarming with police,’ Mario spat. ‘I got clear of Veti, but before I could get to the Syrian’s house two of the local police jumped me. The next thing I knew I was on the truck with you.’

  ‘Ikarios was responsible for my presence also. Zonakas and Ikarios are the masterminds of the whole thing. Sleitser is working for them. So was Pula before Veti killed him.’

  ‘Why should Zonakas and Ikarios want to supply Rassitz with weapons?’ Mario asked in surprise.

  ‘They don’t,’ Fletcher said, ‘but they want him to be caught with them in his possession. That is why that frigate is anchored off the bay. As soon as Sleitser gets into the open sea the frigate will close in.’

  ‘I am surprised that Rassitz has fallen into the trap.’

  ‘So am I. Originally Rassitz thought Sleitser was supplying the weapons from Germany. When Veti found out that Pula was in league with Ikarios they dispensed with his services, and dealt direct with Rassitz. So he must know where the weapons are coming from.’

  ‘If Rassitz knows what is going on, why didn’t he pull out?’

  ‘Two reasons,’ Fletcher said. ‘First of all we don’t know exactly what Veti told him. They are looking after their own interests and that means trouble of any kind, and secondly, Rassitz is prepared to risk anything to get that cargo to Cyprus.’

  ‘What is the cargo?’ Mario asked.

  ‘Guided missiles,’ Fletcher said. ‘A battery of them, together with a crew of technicians to show Rassitz’s men the know-how.’

  Mario gave an appreciative whistle.

  ‘They will be short range rockets which can be directed on to any target,’ Fletcher went on to explain. ‘If Rassitz can get them sited in the right places in the Troodos Mountains, he can direct a reign of terror on to any part of the island. And Veti has promised him a further stockpile. Can you imagine what a strong position it would put the Turks in?’

  ‘Sure,’ Mario agreed, ‘and that bastard Rassitz would just love it. We should have killed him as I said.’

  ‘Don’t give up hope,’ Fletcher said. ‘I lit a candle before we left Piraeus.’

  Even in the darkness Fletcher could see Mario’s teeth flash into a smile.

  ‘I have a lot of faith in your candles,’ Mario said, ‘but what if Ikarios and Rassitz have also lit candles?’

  Before Fletcher had time to answer the ship’s engine thudded into action. The cabin shook as the pistons started to pulsate.

  Fletcher tried to yell above the crescendo, but his voice was drowned. He gave up and instead searched the cabin and the door for a sharp edge to sever his bonds. But it was in vain. He tried the full weight of his body against the door, but it was like pushing against a steel barrier. Even when Mario joined him they still made no impression.

  They felt the motion of the ship as it cut through the inshore swell and knew they were under way. The noise from the engine combined with the heat was becoming almost unbearable. The perspiration rolled down their faces and their eardrums were becoming punch drunk.

  Fletcher sat on the deck and buried his head between his knees. In an endeavour to distract his thoughts from their mental torture, he thought of Zonakas and marvelled at the man’s cunning and ingenuity. He wondered how long it had taken him to conjure up the whole plot. Weeks? Months? Long before the Rhodes Conference had been initiated, that was certain. Then why hadn’t the Greek Government called off the plot? It would have been an act of faith. It said little for their case for ‘enosis’ when they had to engage their unofficial agent to provoke sympathy for their cause.

  He managed a smile as he wondered what Zonakas’ true feelings had been when he had questioned him about the possibility of a coup upsetting the conference. Despite his outward display of calm, it must have caused him a certain amount of irritation and anxiety.

  Fletcher had sat in his pose for about twenty minutes when the engines suddenly stopped. The silence was pregnant. Mario gave an audible sigh of relief. Fletcher struggled to his feet and again searched the cabin for a means of severing their bonds.

  ‘We must get rid of these bonds,’ he whispered.

  ‘I have searched,’ Mario said. ‘There is nothing. Where do you think we are?’

  A faint muffled plop from a rocket gave them the answer. They were in the harbour at Serifos.

  ‘The carnival is in its final fling,’ Fletcher said. ‘That means we’ll be going to sea soon.’ He stopped his search. ‘Mario, you heard Sleitser,’ he said. ‘When they come for us we must play for time, even if it means talking. Tell them anything. Every second is vital.’

  ‘Anything you say, Stefan, but if I can get my hands free it won’t be talking alone, I assure you.’

  ‘Wait for the right moment,’ Fletcher warned. ‘There are too many of them.’

  He sat down again and leant against the bulkhead. The next few hours were going to be critical — very critical.

  Presently the engines shuddered into action again and their mental torture repeated itself. But added to their anguish was the uncertainty of knowing when Sleitser was going to deal with them. Fletcher didn’t doubt his intentions. The last thing Zonakas or Ikarios would want was Fletcher or Mario returning to Piraeus alive.

  In fact the Inspector had already tried to kill him. It had been the Inspector and Zonakas who had hired the killer to knife him in his bed. Fletcher had become too meddlesome. When he had been seen on the island it had made them act. His link with Kronos and his visit to the island had been too much for them, but the Inspector had no grounds for bringing him in for questioning, so they had tried to get rid of him altogether.

  When they saw the attempt had failed they killed their hired assassin before he could talk. The Inspector had then trumped up the telephone call from a neighbour to make sure they searched his apartment. They knew well enough that there would be blood about. But they hadn’t bargained on Kasim’s body being there. That had taken them by surprise as much as it had Fletcher.

  Fletcher also realised why Salunda had engaged him to take her to the island, and why she had sent him into Serifos. It hadn’t been to kill time while she visited Rassitz. It had been to make sure he was seen by Ikarios’ watch dog! When she had said that she and Kasim suspected they were being used, she had not meant by the Communists, as he had thought, but the Greeks themselves! She had used Fletcher as bait. She had warned him against returning to Piraeus because she knew Ikarios would be after him. But if she suspected so much, then why had she let Rassitz and his men come aboard the boat? What were they up to?

  At a time when dawn would be breaking, Fletcher got the first hint of an answer to his questions. Above the engine noise he heard a faint ‘crack’. Instantly he became alert. Mario nudged him — he had also heard it. Fletcher shuffled to the door and lay on the floor, his ear to the opening. Again there was a ‘crack’ and another, and another. It was revolver shooting! A short burst from a sub machine gun confirmed that a battle was taking place. He shuffled back to Mario and shouted: ‘Re
volvers!’ in his ear.

  He counted a further three bursts from the machine gun and seven revolver cracks, before all went silent. Even the engines came to a standstill.

  ‘A boarding party?’ Mario asked excitedly.

  ‘Too much to hope for,’ Fletcher said. ‘I think Rassitz has tried to take over.’

  ‘I hope he has succeeded,’ Mario said, ‘but I wouldn’t trust him to let us go free.’

  ‘No, Mario, I agree. If Rassitz is in charge we are no better off, except perhaps we may have more time to play with.’

  Footsteps came hurrying along the passageway. Quickly Fletcher went to the door and banged on it with his foot. Mario joined him, but nothing happened.

  ‘I wonder where we are?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘A long way from Cyprus,’ Mario muttered. ‘Could he be hiding off one of the islands during the day.’

  ‘What about that frigate?’ Fletcher asked. ‘It hadn’t been part of their plan to get anywhere near Cyprus. It must be dawn by now. Why hasn’t that frigate closed in?’

  Again someone approached. Before they had time to get to the door, the lock was turned. The light shone into the room, momentarily blinding them. Fletcher staggered into the corridor, Mario behind him.

  It was a Turk who had opened the door. A small man who looked completely out of place in his monk’s robes with a revolver in his hand.

  ‘We heard the shots,’ Fletcher said. ‘What happened?’

  The Turk gave a broad smile.

  ‘It was time for us to take over from Sleitser,’ he beamed. ‘You are to come with me to our leader.’

  ‘Cut these cords,’ Fletcher said. ‘We have been like this for hours.’

  The Turk shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said without remorse. ‘That is for our leader to decide.’

  Mario swore. Fletcher said nothing, but wondered what Rassitz was up to.

  They followed the Turk along the narrow corridor and on to the deck. Two still forms lay in the shade. It was daylight, the sea was calm and the grey sky was receding behind an orange blanket.

  As they passed the aft saloon, Fletcher saw Sleitser and some of his men looking grim and sullen. The Doctor was holding a bloodstained arm. On deck the Turks moved about with a confident air. Some of them wore the monk’s robes whilst others were in various forms of carnival dress.