Nest of Spies Page 3

  ‘What do you want with Kronos?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s our business,’ Mario snapped.

  ‘And mine,’ the man said. He produced a police identification card which showed his photograph. Underneath it was his name and rank, Detective Sergeant Nepolis.

  The Sergeant repeated his question, but this time it was directed at Fletcher.

  ‘It is a personal matter,’ Fletcher said evenly.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ the Sergeant suggested in a supercilious manner.

  Fletcher shrugged.

  ‘He borrowed one thousand drachmas from me last year when we were fishing off Thira. Times are hard. I want it back.’

  The Sergeant leered. ‘You lent Kronos one thousand drachmas,’ he scoffed.

  ‘Is that a crime?’ Mario asked.

  The Sergeant looked stern.

  ‘Let’s go own to the station. You can tell your story to Inspector Ikarios.’

  Fletcher’s pulse quickened. The Sergeant’s presence had been unexpected, but the name of the Inspector at the police station even more so. Fletcher knew of Ikarios. He wasn’t a normal police inspector, he had other duties. He was part of Greek security!

  ‘Will he give me my money back?’ Fletcher asked, playing for time. If they were going in front of Ikarios they would have to get their story straight.

  ‘It is most unlikely,’ the Sergeant sneered, ‘but he will be most interested to hear about it.’

  ‘Then why don’t you tell him for us?’ Mario snorted. His contempt for the police was obvious.

  Fletcher could see the limit of the Sergeant’s patience had been reached. Quickly he intervened.

  ‘Look, Sergeant, I don’t know what this is all about,’ he said. ‘As I have told you, we met Kronos last year when we were fishing and taking tourists from Crete to Thira. Times were good. We met Kronos in a bar and I lent him the money. He wanted some money to take a party of tourists north to Lemnos. Now I want it back. That is all.’ It was more for Mario’s benefit than the Sergeant’s.

  The policemen stood up and moved his head to indicate they were to go with him.

  ‘Don’t let’s have any bother,’ he said, and slapped his bulging pocket to add weight to his remark. ‘I have two men outside,’ he added.

  Mario exchanged glanced with Fletcher. If Fletcher wanted to mix it, all he had to do was give him the nod. But Fletcher didn’t want this. They had thrown a few pebbles in the pool hoping for a ripple and they had got one. It hadn’t been what they had expected, but the mere fact that Ikarios was involved meant they were fishing in the same pool. Fletcher wanted to see what developed.

  He made a resigned gesture.

  ‘Come, Mario,’ he said. ‘We weren’t doing anything special this evening.’

  They stood up and allowed the policeman to escort them out of the bar, Mario a little more reluctant than Fletcher. At the door, Mario hesitated and glanced at the bartender who had diplomatically refrained from charging them for their drinks. There was a depth of meaning in the look Mario gave him. One day he would be paid!

  Chapter Four

  The Inspector was a small man, unusually small for a policeman, Fletcher thought, as he sat facing him in his office. He was not a likeable man. He had a ferret-like face with a narrow mouth and beady eyes. He sat, slowly moving his chair around its pivot, with a cane fly swat in his hand. At the end of the cane was a bunch of thin leather strips, and occasionally the Inspector swished the air with a swift flashing movement as a fly came within his range.

  It was hot in the room, especially where Fletcher was sitting. The fan was directed towards the Inspector, whilst Fletcher received the full force of a powerful table-lamp. The perspiration began to flow down his brow. The Inspector took a long drink of cool water, but didn’t offer Fletcher the same luxury.

  ‘Name?’ the Inspector barked in a high-pitched voice.

  ‘Stefan Fettos,’ Fletcher said.

  ‘Nationality?’

  ‘Greek.’

  ‘By birth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘On Chios.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘February 9th, 1936.’

  ‘And where do you live?’

  ‘Same place.’

  ‘Your parents still live there?’

  ‘No. They are both dead. Why do you ask me these questions, Inspector? I told the Sergeant why we wanted to see Kronos. What have I done wrong?’

  ‘This is what we want to find out,’ the Inspector snapped.

  Fletcher mentally sighed. The Inspector had nothing on him. He was playing with him, fishing around. But why? Why should Greek Security be so interested in Kronos? Why bring Fletcher in for cross-examination just because he had arranged to meet him?

  He resigned himself to further baiting. As a supposedly illiterate fisherman he had no alternative.

  ‘What do you do for a living?’

  ‘Fish.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Wherever there are fish. Occasionally off Salamis or around the islands.’

  ‘But that is far from your home.’

  ‘We move around in the summer. It is better that we fish near home in the winter. We also pick up some tourist business.’

  The Inspector cracked his fly swat perilously close to Fletcher’s face.

  ‘Have you ever carried any cargo?’

  ‘No, Inspector.’

  This time the leather strips caught Fletcher’s chin with a razor-like cut. Fletcher gritted his teeth.

  ‘No guns?’ the Inspector asked sarcastically.

  ‘Guns?’ Fletcher asked incredulously. ‘Never. I am a fisherman, Inspector. You can search my boat. Ask the authorities on Chios. I assure you Inspector, I have never carried guns.’

  ‘But you know Kronos carries guns?’

  ‘No, Inspector. I do not. I would not have contacted him if I had known that.’

  ‘When did you first meet him?’

  ‘Last year on Thira. We met in a bar and we drank together. Times were good, there was a lot of tourist business. Kronos asked me to lend him a thousand drachmas and like a fool I did.’

  ‘You lent him one thousand drachmas?’ the Inspector fumed. His cane smashed on to the desk in front of Fletcher. ‘You lent a man like Kronos money. A man whom you had never seen before. You are either a bloody liar or a fool!’

  ‘I acted foolishly,’ Fletcher mumbled meekly. ‘I realise that now. But he had a good boat and he said I could get the money back any time I was in Piraeus.’

  ‘Why did he want the money?’

  ‘He had some clients who wanted to go north to Lemnos and he wanted provisions.’

  ‘So you lent him some money,’ the Inspector snarled. He leant forward and poked the leather strips into Fletcher’s face.

  Fletcher steeled himself. The Inspector was goading him, baiting him to knock the cane out of his hand so he could call in his strongarm boys and beat the answers out of him. But Fletcher was no novice to this kind of treatment.

  Eventually the Inspector sat back.

  ‘And that was last year?’ he snapped.

  ‘Yes.’

  He leant forward again.

  ‘Then why haven’t you collected the money before now?’

  ‘I have tried,’ Fletcher lied. ‘On a number of occasions I have tried, but I have not been able to contact him.’

  ‘You have not seen him since last year?’

  ‘No, Inspector, I assure you. Not since last year.’

  The Inspector pierced his eyes.

  ‘If you are lying to me, Fettos,’ he snarled, ‘I will make it my business to get you. Do you understand?’

  Only too well, Fletcher thought. ‘Yes, Inspector,’ he stammered, ‘but I tell you the truth. I have not seen him since last year.’

  The Inspector leant back in his chair and sat silently staring at him. A side door opened and a burly policeman came into the room. The Inspector waved his cane.
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  ‘Take him below,’ he said, ‘and bring the other one in.’

  The policeman grabbed Fletcher by the shoulder.

  ‘Inspector, I have done nothing wrong,’ Fletcher pleaded.

  The Inspector ignored his protest and the policeman bundled him out of the room.

  Still protesting his innocence, Fletcher allowed himself to be taken down a flight of steps and pushed into a damp, dark cell. Only when the door had been locked behind him, and the policeman had left the cell block, did he stop protesting his innocence and collect his thoughts together.

  The Inspector had no grounds for detaining them, he would have to let them go. So long as Mario stuck to their story they would be released in the morning. But the Inspector’s reasons for bringing them in still puzzled him. What had he hoped to find out? Why was he so interested in Kronos?

  He thought of Zonakas. He could have told the Inspector more about Kronos than Fletcher — or could he? Perhaps Kronos had not been prepared to do business with Zonakas and he had passed the matter over to Greek Security. In which case they were all grasping at straws like Fletcher.

  He slowly paced the floor of his cell. Whatever the Inspector’s reasons, Kronos held the key. It was more important than ever to talk with the man.

  An hour later he heard the banging of a cell door in another part of the building and he knew they had finished with Mario. When he wasn’t recalled he knew Mario had passed the Inspector’s critical examination, and he settled himself down for a night on the hard bunk.

  Chapter Five

  Early the following morning Fletcher was given his belongings and released. Mario was waiting for him in the square outside the police station. Unlike Fletcher, he had not been able to control his temper against the Inspector’s baiting and had suffered the consequences.

  For a few minutes he gave vent to his feelings and cursed the Inspector with every oath he could think of. He also promised various forms of retribution on him. But his night in the station had not been in vain.

  ‘At least I got some news about Kronos,’ he grunted.

  Fletcher was very interested. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘He is dead!’ Mario said.

  Fletcher stopped in his tracks. It was his turn to curse. He needed Kronos — alive. It was his only lead.

  ‘Dead! Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes. He was brought into the station last night about nine o’clock.’

  ‘How do you know this, Mario?’

  ‘They put me in a cell with a drunk. He had been fished out of the harbour earlier in the evening and taken to the morgue for treatment. He saw the body.’

  Again Fletcher cursed. Without Kronos he was back to square one.

  They walked slowly through the back streets towards the north harbour, Mario silently settling his score with the Inspector and Fletcher trying to determine what his next move should be. Their route took them past the church of Saint Peter. When the picturesque old building was in front of them Fletcher looked at the iron studded doors thoughtfully. He had got his last lead from the Patriarch, perhaps he might also get his next one from the same place. He turned to Mario.

  ‘Wait for me, Mario,’ he said. ‘I think I will go and light a candle for Kronos.’

  Mario looked at him with surprise, but knew better than to question his decision. He just shrugged.

  Fletcher ran quickly up the steps and entered the church. Despite the early hour he was not the only worshipper. He quickly performed the necessary rituals and sat in the side pew. He didn’t have long to wait before the Patriarch joined him.

  ‘Kronos is dead,’ Fletcher whispered.

  The Patriarch mumbled a chant.

  ‘I know, I have been with his widow all night.’

  Fletcher paused.

  ‘Did she tell you anything?’ he asked.

  ‘She knew nothing, but she heard the name Lofer mentioned.’

  Lofer! Fletcher gripped the rail of the pew in front of him. He had also heard the name, from Spencer.

  ‘Who is he?’ Fletcher whispered.

  ‘I do not know.’

  The Patriarch walked slowly away, mumbling his chant.

  Fletcher felt a little better. He had a link, a thin link, but nevertheless it tied Spencer’s suspicions with Kronos’ actions.

  When he rejoined Mario he had already made his decision on what to do next. He had to go into Athens and see Spencer.

  ‘Mario,’ he said quietly, ‘I have to go into Athens on business. I will join you in Nico’s bar.’

  Mario scratched his head and looked at the church.

  ‘Stefan,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘How is it your prayers are answered so quickly?’

  ‘I have a special messenger,’ Fletcher replied and slapped him on the back.

  Half an hour later Fletcher was mingling with the early morning crowd in Athens Station. He went straight to a public telephone box and dialled Spencer’s private number. When Spencer came on the line, Fletcher quickly passed his cryptic message.

  ‘Your laundry is ready,’ he said.

  ‘Send it round straight away,’ Spencer growled.

  ‘Will you pay cash?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Fletcher replaced the telephone. From the station he went again by bus to the Acropolis, but this time he had the treasure of antiquity to himself. It was too early for normal sightseers. He selected a seat which gave him an unobstructed view of the road Spencer would use so that he could see if anyone was following him.

  When Spencer arrived they got straight down to business.

  ‘If there is something going on it is being kept very quiet,’ Fletcher said. ‘I drew a blank from all my contacts, except one.’ He quickly explained about Kronos, and how he had spent a night in the police station at the invitation of Inspector Ikarios.

  ‘If Ikarios is interested in Kronos,’ Spencer growled, ‘then he is your man. Ikarios is no fool. He has his ear too close to the ground.’

  Fletcher sighed. ‘Unfortunately Kronos has been eliminated.’

  Spencer was not put off. ‘Who was he working for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fletcher admitted, ‘but his wife heard the name Lofer mentioned.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Spencer muttered. ‘Lofer.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Spencer said regretfully. ‘The name was only mentioned to me.’

  ‘By whom?’

  Spencer paused. ‘Grevosky,’ he said.

  Fletcher looked at him sharply.

  ‘The Russian attaché?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s a turn up for the books,’ Fletcher said.

  Spencer agreed, but added a word of warning.

  ‘The Russians are foxy devils,’ he said. ‘You never know what they are up to.’

  Fletcher was well aware of this, but nevertheless, it was still surprising that they should be the ones to mention the name.

  ‘What about Zonakas?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘He could be involved,’ Fletcher said thoughtfully, ‘but I rather think he is as much in the dark as we are.’

  ‘What is the next move then?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘With Kronos out of the way, our only hope is to find out if this Lofer is fact or fiction.’

  ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ Spencer warned. ‘London have started the ball rolling. They are sending out their vanguard next week. I have to go to Rhodes the day after tomorrow to check security.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Fletcher muttered. ‘We’ll soon have an answer.’

  ‘How are you going to do it?’ Spencer asked.

  Fletcher smiled.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘Have you brought the money?’

  ‘Yes, ten thousand drachmas. Will that be enough?’

  ‘It will have to be,’ Fletcher said.

  ‘Don’t be too hasty,’ Spencer growled. ‘We may be barking up the wrong tree.’


  Fletcher ignored the remark. With Rassitz on the loose, and Kronos conveniently out of the way, he knew Spencer didn’t really mean what he had said.

  ‘Let’s get back to Lofer,’ Fletcher said, changing the subject. ‘Tell me everything that was said.’

  But there wasn’t much to tell. The name had been mentioned to Spencer in return for a favour. What its significance was remained to be seen.

  When Fletcher returned to Piraeus he had already made his plans. In Nico’s bar he discussed them with Mario. A Sardinian named Guissepe Mattu had set up an elaborate smuggling ring in Piraeus. He was one of the big time operators and was backed by an international syndicate in Genoa.

  Mattu had been shot, dead, by the British earlier that week. Fletcher knew of this through Spencer, but not many others were aware of his death. Fletcher intended to become an agent of Mattu’s and go openly looking for Lofer in search of business.

  ‘It will be dangerous,’ Mario commented.

  Fletcher shrugged. It was a risk he was prepared to take. He brought out the money Spencer had given him.

  ‘Let’s insure against the danger,’ he said. ‘See Nico and Toni and get some of their friends to help. I want you to cover me.’

  The money exchanged hands. How much went to Mario’s contacts didn’t interest Fletcher, so long as he kept him alive.

  ‘You’ll need a car,’ Fletcher added, ‘but don’t interfere. Keep in the background. See what develops and make sure I stay alive.’

  Mario understood what was wanted from him. It wasn’t the first time Fletcher had offered himself as a clay pigeon for someone to shoot at. The next few days were going to be very critical.

  Later that evening, when the population of Piraeus took their customary stroll in the cool of the day, it was a very different Stefan Fettos who appeared. Gone was his tee shirt and grubby trousers. He was immaculately dressed in an expensive suit. With his tanned face clean shaven and his hair well oiled, he looked like any prosperous Greek businessman. He would be accepted in any society. He had also a respectable address on his calling card.

  It hadn’t taken him long to set himself up. He had rented a three-roomed ground-floor flat in a respectable area of Piraeus away from the harbour. His bedroom overlooked a small park, and the main entrance to the building was on a broad tree-lined avenue. He was ready to look for Lofer!