The Greek Key

21

Newman escorted Christina through the large bar at the Hilton and down the staircase leading to the Ta Nissia, the main restaurant. It was located at a lower level from the vast entrance hall paved with solid marble. Christina paused at the bottom step and grasped Newman's arm.

'Oh, look, that tempts my taste buds madly.'

Facing them was a vast open fireplace and over the fire spits revolved slowly, cooking the food. The lower spit supported a whole roasting pig. On the long spit above it chickens were turning slowly and an appetising aroma drifted towards them.

'No need to consult the menu,' Newman joked. 'I've reserved a corner table…' He gave his name to the maitre d' who escorted them past a huge cold buffet table into a spacious room shut off from the outside world.

They settled themselves at the table and Newman sat alongside Christina on a red velvet banquette, his back to the wall so he could watch the whole room. He glanced at her as she studied the menu. 'You're looking superb in that dress, what there is of it. It suits your figure.'

She glanced at him wickedly. 'Maybe a little too revealing.'

'I'm happy.'

It was the one item of clothing they had purchased in Kolonaki she had not allowed him to see. A strapless, low-cut dress of black velvet, it hugged her closely. 'You'll have to be careful not to drop anything down the front,' he remarked, with a quick look at the upper half of her well-formed breasts.

'You would think of that.' She giggled. 'I've decided. No starter. Spit-roast chicken for me. And it's nice to have a man who's so well-organized.' She nodded towards the ice bucket where a bottle of champagne rested half-concealed beneath a white napkin.

'Veuve Cliquot.' He looked at the waiter standing to take their orders. 'We'll start on the champagne right away – and we can order now…'

She waited until they were alone. 'Are these the opening moves in an attempted seduction?'

'You brought the subject up.' He lowered his glass. 'First I need to hear all about Harry Masterson.'

'I thought there'd be a catch.' She sighed. 'What do you want to know?'

'Everything. From the very beginning. How you met him would be a good opening.'

'I like this place. It's the first time I've been here. Silly, isn't it?' She gave him a bewitching smile. 'I suppose it is because I live here. A strange room, very cleverly designed.'

He looked round. The walls were constructed of very solid rough brown stone. Set back into the walls at intervals were alcoves containing Greek pottery – beautifully shaped vases and jugs. A soft glow illuminated the room and the windows were high up and recessed into the solid stone. At 8 p.m. there were only a few tables taken, but more guests were filtering in. Newman refilled their glasses.

'Now, about Harry Masterson,' he said firmly.

'What a persistent man you are. Well, it's a long story…'

'We have all evening.'

'Petros still had me under his thumb. He persuaded me it was my duty to help find who killed Andreas and Stephen. We Greeks call it philotimo, a matter of family honour.'

'Go on.'

'He went about it deviously – like he does everything. I had to fly to Zurich. There I stayed overnight and bought a return air ticket to London. I'd flown to Zurich by Swissair. I used British Airways to fly on to London. When I got there I stayed at the Strand Palace. I then inserted a personal advertisement in The Times newspaper.' She paused. 'Petros had written the words. The advertisement read, Will anyone interested in the Greek Key and who knows about Antikhana please contact me. Irene.'

Newman sipped champagne to conceal the shock he had received. Harry Masterson had been Tweed's sector chief for the Balkans, and that zone included Greece. Newman was also recalling that among the items Masterson had posted back to Tweed was a bracelet – a bracelet from which was suspended a symbol. The Greek key.

'What happened next?' he enquired amiably.

'Petros thought I might be contacted by one of three men – the men who were part of the commando raid on Siros when Andreas was murdered. A Colonel Barrymore, Captain Robson and Kearns, a company sergeant major. Whoever answered the advertisement was likely to be the murderer. So Petros thought. He felt sure they would have to find out who was enquiring after all these years.'

'I don't understand the Greek key bit.'

'I'm not talking about that. Too dangerous. For you…'

'There's no limit on danger.'

'Don't you want to know who got in touch with the phone number I put in the advertisement?' she asked.

'Go on,' he repeated, confident he already knew the answer.

'Harry Masterson. I was very taken aback. Then I thought it could be one of the three men using a false name. Especially because of the precautions he told me to take when he arranged to meet me.'

'What precautions?'

'I had to meet him at a certain place in Lincoln's Inn -where all the British lawyers are. It frightened me when I arrived at eleven in the morning. No one about. All those ancient courtyards. I thought it was a trap. I'd armed myself with an aerosol. He was very clever. The appointment was for the same morning he phoned. I only had less than an hour to get there.'

Yes, very clever, Newman thought. So typical of Harry -to select a rendezvous where he could watch her approach, make sure no one was following her. A thought occurred to him.

'How would he know it was you?'

'On the phone he asked me where I was and to give a description of myself, what I would be wearing. I waited for ten minutes and decided no one was coming. At that moment he came round a corner. Again he was clever. I realized he couldn't be one of the three men – he was too young. But I thought one of them might have sent him. He took me a short walk to a public place in Fleet Street, The Cheshire Cheese pub. Lots of people about. I felt safe then.'

She paused and drank half a glass of champagne. The restaurant was filling up. As he listened Newman kept a check on the new faces; for one especially. The face of Petros. He'd recognize him: from the picture Sarris, the police chief, had shown him; and even more from that moment he had spotted Petros inside the black Mercedes when they had returned early in the morning from police HQ.

'We're inside The Cheshire Cheese,' he reminded her after their meals of spit-roasted chicken had been served.

'Harry had a way with women. I felt he was OK but I still asked who he was, what he did. He said he was with Special Branch, the British secret police. I asked him to prove it and he showed me a card with his photograph. I found myself telling him about the murders of Andreas and Stephen, why I'd come to London, about Barrymore, Kearns and Robson. He said he had ways of tracing them. I couldn't believe my luck. I asked him what his interest was.'

'And he told you?' Newman was intrigued to learn what piece of fiction Harry had invented to cover that question.

'He said it might just link up with a case he had investigated and never solved. We arranged to meet the following day after he'd made certain enquiries. I've no idea where he went.,.'

I have, thought Newman. To pump Brigadier Willie Davies at the Ministry of Defence. He let her eat her meal while he traced in his mind what had happened. It was all becoming horribly clear now – the tragedy of Harry Masterson.

Harry had been given a month's leave. Unmarried, Harry detested holidays, got bored within twenty-four hours. He'd seen the advertisement Christina had placed in The Times and reacted to it for a lark – anything to occupy his time.

The moment he'd met Christina he'd been hooked – but cautious – by her story, by Christina herself. Harry liked the ladies. He had still kept up his guard by pretending to be a Special Branch officer. That had impressed Christina, had given her confidence he could help her. But at any time Harry could pull out, pleading call of duty with another case.

'What happened next?' he asked as she pushed her empty plate to one side. 'And we need more champagne…'He mimed the request to their waiter.

'When he arrived next morning at the Strand Palace he was carrying a small case. He told me to pack, that we were going on a journey, that he'd traced not only Barry-more, but Kearns and Robson, too. I was shaken to the core. He said we had to drive to the West Country, to a place called Exmoor…'

She went on to explain how they had put up at a hotel in Dunster near the coast, Harry had then driven off to visit the three men now he knew their addresses.

'He made appointments?' Newman asked.

'No, he was devious. He phoned each of the three men and said he was making an enquiry on behalf of the Ministry of Defence, that he would be with them shortly. Then he put the phone down before they could ask any questions. That way he knew they'd be where they lived when he arrived.'

'You'd told him everything you knew about the two murders – one in Cairo, one on Siros? And about Petros' vendetta?'

'Yes.' She smiled ruefully, 'Harry could get any secret out of a woman. I told him more than I intended to.'

'So what happened after he'd seen the ex-commandos?'

'He was suspicious of one of them. He wouldn't tell me which one. He told each of them the identity of the murderer was now known, that he was on his way to Athens to check with the chief of police. He thought the guilty one would follow us.'

Oh God, Newman realized, and he succeeded. At the cost of his own life. No back-up. That had been Harry's fatal blunder. But he had always been a lone wolf, brimming with self-confidence. Had he left behind a clue?

'Did he say anything about how the three men received him?'

'He was very amusing about Colonel Barrymore who tried to treat him like a common soldier. They had a violent argument. Harry ended up by telling him that if they'd had many colonels like him they would have lost the war. Then we flew out here.'

'What came next?'

'I don't really know.' For the first time she sounded depressed. 'We booked in at the Astir Palace at Vouliagmeni. That's a sea resort on the way to Cape Sounion…' Which is why we weren't able to locate where he stayed, Newman thought grimly. She continued as he watched her closely. 'He said he was going to see Chief Inspector Sarris. I don't know whether he ever did. He changed his mind a lot.' She sipped more champagne and leaned against him. 'I'm getting a bit tiddly. Lovely.'

He changed his mind a lot. Newman knew why Harry had done that: to keep Christina off balance in case she was passing on information to someone. He had never completely let down his guard with her.

'Then what happened?' Newman prodded.

'He told me over early breakfast one morning he was visiting Devil's Valley. He wouldn't say why. I'd told him about the silver mine. I think he was going to try and find it. I feel awful about that. I may be responsible for what happened to him.'

'What silver mine?'

'It's near the top of a mountain in Devil's Valley. Nobody has worked it for years. It's abandoned – but Petros forbids anyone to go near it. I don't know why. He has even told his shepherds who work near it to shoot anyone they see prowling in that area.'

'Which is against the law,' Newman remarked.

'Petros makes his own law. Harry was intrigued by that silver mine – why it was forbidden territory. I've never been near the place.' She shuddered, drank more champagne.

'So, when Harry set out on his last journey that morning he was trying to locate this abandoned mine. Any idea what the place is like?'

'Dimitrios once told me something when he was drunk. The shaft is still open. It goes down a long way, a vertical drop with the old cage which took down miners still suspended at the top. It sounded horribly sinister to me. But at the last minute before he left Harry changed his mind again. He received a phone call when he was getting ready to leave his bedroom. He said he might go first to Cape Sounion to meet the Englishman.'

'What Englishman? What time in the morning was this?'

Newman was watching her closely. Was she spinning him an elaborate yarn? Setting the same trap for him she'd set for Harry? She was such a beauty with her mane of black glossy hair; by the light of the single lighted candle on their table her bare shoulders gleamed. A girl to dazzle any man.

'We'd had breakfast at six,' she continued. 'Neither of us could sleep that night. The phone call must have come through before seven in the morning. Harry went up to his room to take it. He looked pleased when he came back, said his ruse had worked. I presume he meant telling those three ex-commandos he was flying to Greece while we were on Exmoor. The caller had disguised his voice but Harry was sure he knew who it was. He wouldn't give me even a hint. Said it was dangerous…'

And it had been dangerous, Newman reflected grimly. It had ended in Harry's death. But what she had told him was confusing. Had Harry tried to locate the silver mine first before going on to Cape Sounion?

'Christina, did Harry know the exact location of the worked-out silver mine?'

'Yes. He had a map of the area he bought in Athens. He asked me to mark its precise location on the map, which I did. Afterwards I wished I hadn't done that. Harry could be very persuasive.'

'So can I.' He produced a large-scale map he'd purchased of the huge peninsular area stretching between Athens and Cape Sounion. 'Mark the location for me.'

She pushed back her empty plate, clasped her hands in her lap, turned to face him. 'No. The last time I did that a man died. I'm growing fond of you, Bob…'

'Cut that out,' he said brutally. 'Mark the bloody map. Now!'

'It's your funeral.' Her eyes flashed. 'And don't ever use that tone to me again.' She spread out the map, took the pen he offered, studied the map, then drew a cross at the top of a mountain.

'Petros is crazy,' she warned. 'You'd be crazy too if you went anywhere near Devil's Valley.'

'When was the last time you saw Harry? Alive, I mean,' he persisted, his voice cold.

'You bastard…' Her voice trembled. She was on the verge of tears. 'When he left the breakfast room and went straight to his hired car…' She fiddled in her envelope-shaped handbag for a handkerchief.

He put an arm round her back, rested his hand on her shoulder. 'No need to get uptight, Christina. But I knew Harry well. I have to know everything he did – planned to do. What about a spot of dessert? The strawberry gateau looks pretty good – forget about your figure for tonight, even if I can't…'

'Flattery could get you somewhere.' She recovered her poise as he squeezed her shoulder. 'And I'd love some gateau. And more champagne.'

He waited until dessert was served, until she was tucking into the huge quantity with gusto. To sum up,' he began, 'you went to London at Petros' command, inserted the advertisement, made contact with Harry. OK so far?'

'On the nose,' she assured him and winked.

'He drove you to Exmoor, after tracing Barrymore, Robson and Kearns. He went to see each man, told them he was flying soon to Greece. You arrived with him. What was your mood about the mission Petros had sent you on when you got back here?'

'Bloody bolshie. I'd had Petros up to here. The trip to London – and spending time with Harry – had snapped any bonds with Petros. I didn't care any more who had killed Stephen, Andreas. I'd never even known them. I was worried about Harry. Now I'm worried about you. If it's not a secret, what are you going to do next? Please

She laid a hand on his arm. Then she waited until he turned towards her and kissed him full on the mouth. 'Please,' she repeated. 'I've been honest with you.'

'Fair enough. I'm going to phone a man in London I know after I've packed you off to bed. And Marler will stand guard. Outside your room.'

'Who are you phoning?' she pressed.

'My editor,' he lied. 'I am a foreign correspondent. Remember?'