Nest of Spies Page 7

  ‘No fool, neither,’ Fletcher added.

  Mario sighed. ‘There are always drawbacks. No woman is perfect.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘A maid, a cook, and two strongarm men. All Turks.’

  ‘And the residence?’

  ‘There was a man patrolling the grounds, so I left it alone.’

  ‘You heard the proposition?’

  ‘Yes. An eight hour trip and back again.’

  ‘Where will that take us?’

  ‘To one of the islands, or perhaps to Kavouri along the coast.’

  ‘Or well out to sea,’ Fletcher added thoughtfully.

  Mario looked at him questioningly.

  ‘What are you thinking of, my friend?’

  ‘Rassitz,’ Fletcher said. ‘It is about time he turned up.’

  ‘We are a long way from Cyprus,’ Mario said.

  Fletcher sighed.

  ‘I was hoping to stop him from getting there,’ he muttered, and changed the subject. ‘Did you see their visitor arrive?’

  ‘Yes, he came by car. Tall, slim, elderly with glasses. He was wearing a dinner jacket.’

  ‘That was Pula,’ Fletcher said.

  ‘Ah!’ Mario beamed. ‘The plot thickens. A Greek and a Turk doing business. A strange combination.’

  Fletcher agreed. It was a strange combination, but he wasn’t thinking of Pula and Salunda alone. There were Lofer and Veti to contend with also. Lofer had shown his iron fist and Veti had the might of the K.G.B. behind him. It wasn’t going to be a picnic.

  But despite the danger signals, Fletcher was at least beginning to feel he was getting somewhere. It had been a good move to set himself up as Mattu’s agent. Not only had it confirmed Lofer’s existence, it had also brought him into Salunda’s service. Their trip that evening sounded promising. Besides the clandestine arrangements, the very fact that she had hired him and not one of the more respectable firms suggested that it had an illicit purpose!

  Chapter Ten

  When Fletcher and Mario reached Piraeus they gave their apartment a wide berth in case Veti’s men were still looking for them. They hid the car in a courtyard behind Nico’s bar and went to the Tonos by foot.

  A few minutes before midnight they weighed anchor and nosed the Tonos silently out of the crowded harbour into the open sea. It was a dark night but the sea was calm.

  Shortly before the appointed time they arrived at the bay Salunda had indicated, and ran the boat on to the fine sand. Fletcher jumped ashore and waited. It was a quiet secluded bay, and the road from Athens was only a short distance away.

  At twelve-thirty, precisely, two dark figures appeared as if from nowhere. One of them was Ahmad.

  ‘I have a passenger for you,’ he said.

  ‘Tell him to get aboard,’ Fletcher said.

  The man with Ahmad did as Fletcher had said, and Fletcher pushed the boat off the sand bed before joining him.

  ‘Take him below,’ he said to Mario and went to the wheel-house. He started the engine, and nosed the boat out of the bay.

  Presently, Mario joined him. He seemed highly amused.

  ‘Our passenger wants to see you,’ he said and gave a knowing wink.

  Fletcher handed the wheel over to him and went below.

  ‘Good evening, again, Mr Fettos.’

  Fletcher stopped in his tracks at the entrance to the saloon. It was Salunda!

  ‘Good evening,’ he grunted, and gave a deep, nervous cough, which he was prone to when caught off guard.

  She smiled at him — a mocking smile, as if she was enjoying his embarrassment.

  He entered the saloon and sat on one of the bunks. He could be excused for having mistaken her for a man, earlier. She was wearing a navy blue shirt and slacks, and a silk scarf was wrapped around her head. But despite her attire there was nothing masculine about her.

  He gave another cough as he realised he was staring at her, and looked quickly around the saloon. It was hardly the place to entertain a woman. The remains of the supper lay scattered across the table and various objects of clothing lay on the bunks. The bulkhead surrounding Mario’s bunk was adorned with a fine selection of pin-ups, all depicting the female form in various stages of undress.

  ‘You are surprised to see me?’ she asked teasingly.

  ‘This is not quite the ideal place for a woman,’ he said, and again coughed.

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked.

  ‘This is not a luxury yacht,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she mused, ‘but then your lady friends over your bunk haven’t objected. That is your bunk?’ She was playing with him like a female kitten.

  Fletcher decided to play her at her own game.

  ‘But they aren’t flesh and blood like you,’ he said. ‘My partner and I have often wished they were. We have definite views on how we would entertain them, and in our business you have to take your opportunities when you can get them.’

  He gave her a broad wink and ran his eyes approvingly over her figure.

  She flushed up. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she snapped, her playful attitude gone.

  ‘Why not?’ Fletcher shrugged. ‘We are not gentlemen. We are gun-runners, smugglers. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?’

  ‘But you are also Greeks,’ she retorted, ‘and you Greeks prefer money to sex. You haven’t been paid yet. Lay a finger on me and you won’t receive one drachma.’

  ‘True,’ Fletcher replied thoughtfully. ‘Money means a lot to us, but,’ he added secretively, ‘I would rate you higher than three thousand drachmas!’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this talk,’ she fumed, and opened her handbag and produced a small calibre pistol. ‘I won’t hesitate to use this if necessary,’ she warned.

  Fletcher again coughed and slapped his knee.

  ‘Well, now that we understand each other,’ he said, ‘which bunk would you prefer?’

  ‘I will decide later,’ she said coldly, ‘but you and your partner will be sleeping on deck.’ She quickly changed the subject before Fletcher could retaliate with any alternative suggestion. ‘I want to discuss business,’ she said. ‘Have you got a chart?’

  Fletcher produced a chart of the area from one of the drawers. She indicated the island of Serifos.

  ‘That is where I want to go,’ she said.

  ‘Serifos.’ Fletcher repeated the name. It had been a long time since he had been there. He looked at the chart. It wasn’t a big island and there were only two harbours, one in the town of Serifos and the other at the north end of the island. ‘It will take us about seven hours,’ he said.

  ‘I want you to anchor off the south coast of Kithnos tonight. I don’t want to arrive at Serifos before nine o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Fletcher muttered and wondered why.

  ‘There is a small bay about twelve kilometres north of Serifos. I want you to land me at nine o’clock. You are then to go into Serifos, but return and pick me up at midday.’

  ‘What do we do in Serifos?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘Look around,’ Salunda said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. You are an observant man, Fettos. If you see anything of interest you can let me know.’ Again she had the teasing, playful expression on her face.

  What was she up to? Fletcher wondered. What was he expected to see? Or was it just a blind whilst she attended to her business?

  ‘And what will you be doing?’ he asked.

  She looked at him with surprise.

  ‘That is no concern of yours,’ she snapped. ‘You are paid to do as you are told.’

  ‘I am not interested in your business,’ Fletcher replied evenly, ‘but I have been in the game too long not to take precautions. Even the simplest of plans can often go wrong. All I want to know is where to contact you if it should become necessary.’

  She didn’t reply straight away.

  ‘Do you know the
Order of Barnabas?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Fletcher said, surprised. ‘They have a monastery on Cyprus.’

  ‘They also have a retreat on Serifos. My uncle is a member of the order. That is where I am going. It is close to the bay where you will land me. Does that satisfy you?’

  Fletcher coughed. ‘I thought all Turks were Muslims,’ he said.

  ‘My uncle is not of my race or my faith,’ she snapped straight back at him.

  ‘I see,’ Fletcher muttered, but he would have liked to question her further. He didn’t doubt that the retreat existed, or of its connection with the Order of Barnabas, but he doubted the purpose of her visit.

  ‘Now, if you will collect what you need, you can leave,’ she said haughtily.

  Fletcher slowly brought himself to his full height. Her tone had a master-servant ring about it which he didn’t like. She was standing waiting for him to leave like a princess dismissing her courtier. She had had her play with him and attended to her business, now he was to leave.

  He felt a sudden urge to lift her up and shake her off her pedestal, but he restrained himself. So long as she employed him he was close to the kernel and that was where he wanted to be. He couldn’t afford to upset her.

  Slowly he gathered a few essentials together, and went to the doorway. As a last defiant gesture, he turned and looked at her.

  ‘I hope you have pleasant dreams, Salunda,’ he said in his deep, resonant voice, ‘because I will.’

  As he climbed the short flight of steps on to the deck, he heard the door being closed behind him, and the bolts being rammed noisily into position.

  Mario gave a chuckle of delight from the wheelhouse.

  ‘She likes you, Stefan,’ he beamed. ‘I can tell.’

  Fletcher gave an embarrassed grunt.

  ‘Set a course for Kithnos,’ he said. ‘We will anchor off the south tip for a couple of hours at dawn, and then sail for Serifos.’

  ‘Serifos!’ Mario exclaimed with delight. ‘Good.’

  ‘Why?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘I will be able to see my cousin again,’ Mario explained. ‘He has a small hotel in the town. I have not seen him for a long time.’

  ‘I wonder why Serifos,’ Fletcher muttered. He paid little attention to the reason Salunda had given him. He felt there was a deeper significance.

  ‘It is popular with the tourists,’ Mario said, ‘especially on carnival night. That is some night, Stefan.’

  ‘I know,’ Fletcher replied thoughtfully.

  He leant against the wheel-house. The island was no different from many others. It had its share of antiquities and legends with the temple remains, the monastery, and the convent. It also had a number of grottoes and ancient mine workings, a relic from the days when the Venetians used to mine the island for silver. Was it also being used as a meeting-place or a hiding-place? he wondered.

  There had to be some hidden reason for the trip or Salunda would not have employed them. She would have used the regular ferry service. He sighed and made himself comfortable on the deck. The next twenty-four hours were going to prove very interesting in one way or another.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following morning when Salunda appeared on deck, the Tonos was stationary. A slight haze hung over the crystal clear blue water. Fletcher and Mario were fishing. She frowned when she saw them at their work.

  ‘You were hired to take me to Serifos, not to fish,’ she fumed.

  Fletcher looked at her patiently.

  ‘We are only a few kilometres away from Serifos,’ he said. ‘But if you would care to look over the port side you will see a naval frigate watching us from a distance. We are supposed to be fishermen, so we fish. It saves a lot of bother.’

  She looked at the frigate on the horizon. ‘Why should they be interested in you?’

  ‘They are interested in any vessel in the area. They have a suspicion that smuggling is carried out, and I don’t want them to search my boat. They might find a few samples.’ He heaved in the net. ‘Besides, if we are going to Serifos it would look less suspicious if we went selling fish, rather than as a couple of tourists.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said quietly. ‘I see. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It would be just as well if you kept out of the way in case they see you through their binoculars. That would certainly bring them over.’

  She hurriedly returned to the saloon. At the foot of the small flight of steps she hesitated. The door, which she had previously bolted, had been opened during the night and was fastened against the bulkhead. She looked at Fletcher.

  ‘How?’ she asked, perplexed.

  ‘I opened it,’ he explained. ‘There is an entrance into the saloon from the forward hold. I needed the charts. Besides, it would have got too hot.’

  She coloured and went into the saloon.

  Fletcher smiled, knowingly, and turned his attention back to the net.

  For a further half an hour the frigate kept them under observation. Immediately it sailed out of sight they started the engines and headed for Serifos.

  Salunda joined them on deck and watched Mario gut the fish. She appeared more relaxed in their presence, even to the extent of making breakfast for them. It was almost as if she was enjoying the trip. But as they approached the island her attitude changed. She became stiff and formal again, and sat silently studying the coastline.

  Fletcher watched her from the wheelhouse and resisted the temptation to question her. Nor did he attempt to follow her when they put her ashore. So long as she didn’t suspect him of being anything other than a former agent of Mattu he was getting a ringside seat — and there was always the return trip!

  The harbour at Serifos was a large open bay flanked by two piers. It was well patronised with an assorted collection of caiques and boats which included a small coaster. The town ran around the bay and rose up the hillside behind the front. The small, white cubed buildings, and gilt domed roofs glistened and sparkled in the brilliant sunshine. It appeared a busy little town with visitors and sightseers filling the narrow streets.

  Fletcher brought the boat alongside the pier where a number of people were waiting for the fast hydrofoil ferry service to arrive from Piraeus. For a while he remained in the wheel-house, a little uncertain what to expect. He read the posters on the pier wall advertising the carnival which was to be held in two days’ time, and glanced at the patient group of bystanders. One of them, a drably dressed man of medium height, held his attention. Their arrival had aroused his curiosity. He got up from his seat and walked over to their boat, and studied its name painted across the bows. He then returned to his seat and wrote something on the back of a newspaper he was carrying.

  Fletcher watched him thoughtfully. His actions could have been innocent, but on the other hand their visit could also be being passed on to someone else!

  He turned his attention to the coaster across the bay, offloading stores on to a small boat alongside. It was unusual to see a vessel of such size in the harbour, and he wondered what had brought it to the island. He brought out his binoculars and studied it more closely. Two men stripped to the waist, were in the small boat, receiving the stores. They were both fair and bronzed. They didn’t look like Greeks or Slavs, they looked more like Scandinavians — or Germans!

  Fletcher’s interest increased. He looked at them again. One was in shorts with bare feet, but his companion was wearing long drill trousers with calf length boots! He put down his binoculars and called to Mario. They were the same type of boots he had seen standing behind his chair when he had been taken to see Lofer!

  When Mario joined him he handed him the binoculars and pointed to the man in the small boat.

  ‘Have a look at his boots, Mario,’ he said. ‘The man with Lofer was wearing a similar pair.’

  Mario studied the scene.

  ‘Seen them before?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘I once took a party of geologists to Skyros,’ Mario grunted. ‘They wore similar boots.’
/>   ‘And so do archaeologists,’ Fletcher said.

  Mario looked at him.

  ‘But are there any archaeological workings here?’ he asked.

  ‘I am not sure,’ Fletcher said thoughtfully, ‘but I rather think there are.’

  He was thinking of Dr Sleitser!

  ‘Well, we can always find out,’ Mario said.

  ‘I intend to,’ Fletcher replied. ‘You remain here until the ferry arrives and then meet me in the bar at the corner of the square. Keep an eye on that man reading his newspaper. He has been taking an unhealthy interest in our boat.’

  Mario went back to his boxes of fish and Fletcher went ashore. He strolled slowly along the pier and joined the throngs of tourists who filled the streets.

  The preparations for the carnival were in full swing. Decorations and bunting were being erected across the narrow streets, and the shops overflowed with the humorous and grotesque cardboard headgears which were to be worn by those who wished to join the procession. In the centre of the large cobbled square, a huge bonfire had been prepared, on top of which stood an empty throne waiting to receive its effigy for sacrifice.

  The colourful decorations had apparently whet the appetite of the townspeople and there was a feeling of excitement abroad. Shouts and cries of laughter came from the cafes and bars. The tension was mounting. It was going to be a wild night.

  Fletcher felt the pulse of the town, but it didn’t distract him. He had a different feeling about the place. He was sure that whatever Lofer and Salunda were organising was linked with the town.

  His eyes flashed about, taking everything in, and his vigil paid off. It enabled him to see Pula before he saw him! Not only did Pula’s presence give Fletcher a surprise, but the man he was with sent the red lights flashing — it was the same man who had followed him from the train! One of Veti’s men! They were sitting outside a cafe, deeply engrossed in conversation.

  Fletcher quickly darted into a nearby alleyway from where he could keep the two men under observation. Pula looked a little uneasy in the other man’s presence. Occasionally he cast furtive glances about him, as if fearful of being observed. Their conversation also appeared one-sided. Pula was doing all the talking and he kept gesticulating with his hands. Veti’s man sat stone-faced and impassive.