Colin Forbes - The Greek Key

'I know how Anton slipped out of the country,' Marler drawled. 'Got back here to find Newman monopolizing this box. Anton is an expert pilot of small aircraft. Remember-Christina told Newman. Dunkeswell Airport, a small private airfield south-east of Tiverton. He flew out in a Cessna.'

'You're sure? There's a manifest to prove it?'

'Like hell there is. I identified myself to a pilot, showed him Anton's photo, told him he was a leading terrorist. He went as white as a sheet. I had to exert a little pressure -you don't want to hear about that. Briefly, Anton paid this pilot a large sum in cash…'

To fly him back to Lisbon?'

'Not quite. Anton insisted on flying the Cessna himself. Took the pilot along as passenger. The pilot flew the machine back to Dunkeswell. The controller of the airfield was away, doesn't know what happened.'

'Another question answered. You're coming back to London. A disaster is imminent.'

'If weapons are in order,' Marler responded, 'I'd like a rifle with a telescopic sight. See you…'

On her other phone Monica was finishing giving details of the Austin Metro to the Commissioner of Police. She put down the phone, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

'It's all happening at once. Like it so often does.'

'And these things come in threes,' said Paula.

The call from Norwich came at 7 p.m.

Waiting for Newman and his three companions to arrive, Tweed had a tneal of ham sandwiches, followed by fruit, with Paula and Monica. Extra camp beds had been erected in the office next door where the two women slept overnight. They were all beginning to feel housebound when the phone rang.

Monica frowned as she answered the call, listened, asked several questions, then put her hand over the mouthpiece.

'It's Norwich police headquarters. A Constable Fox. Calling in reply to our circulating Seton-Charles' Volvo description and registration number. Sounds tentative. He's called the General amp; Cumbria Assurance cover number we used.'

Tweed picked up his phone, asked how he could help.

'Constable Fox speaking, sir. In response to your enquiry re the Volvo station wagon.' The youthful voice hesitated. 'My inspector wasn't sure I should call. I keep a careful record in my notebook of even trivial incidents. You never can tell when the information may be needed.'

'Very sensible,' Tweed encouraged him. 'Do go on.'

'Back in October late one night. I can give you the date in a minute. Left my notebook in my tunic pocket. As I was saying, I was on duty and I saw this Volvo park near a corner. A man got out and walked round to a furniture removal firm selling off bankrupt stock. It was eleven at night so I was curious. Especially as he could have parked in front of the warehouse. Am I wasting your time, sir?'

'Please go on.'

'There were lights in the warehouse so I thought I'd better check. This chap goes inside after Latimer answers the door.'

'Latimer?'

The proprietor of the firm selling off the vans, Camelford Removals. When I saw it was Latimer I thought it must be OK, so I pushed off. Then the next morning I was walking near the same area when I saw the Volvo driver pass me behind the wheel of one of the furniture vans. Trouble is his description does not tally with your Identikit. He wore horn-rims and an old cap.'

'But the registration of the Volvo is the same as the one we sent out?'

'Quite definitely. I checked that in my notebook.'

'Could you contact this Latimer, persuade him to wait until I arrive? He'll be paid for his trouble. And can you wait for me at the station until I arrive? It will be after ten.'

'I'm on night duty again. And behind enquiries counter tonight. Latimer practically lives at the warehouse. I can phone him.'

'My name is Tweed. I'm coming. Your recording of trivial events could end up in promotion. I'm leaving London now…'

As Tweed had guessed, Constable Fox was in his early twenties. A thin, pale-faced man, he had an earnest manner and blushed when he was introduced to Paula. Tweed was careful to show him his Special Branch card. Fox took the card, studied the photograph inside the plastic guard, stared carefully at Tweed and handed it back. He was carrying the Identikit picture of Seton-Charles in an envelope.

Outside police headquarters he opened the rear door of the Cortina for Paula, closed it, then joined Tweed in the front.

'Latimer is waiting for us, sir. I didn't give him any idea who was coming.'

'Very sensible,' said Tweed again, then concentrated on Fox's directions. They reached the furniture warehouse in a few minutes and a short middle-aged man opened the door as they pulled up. 'That's Latimer,' Fox whispered.

Tweed introduced himself and Paula, showed his card, and with only a cursory glance Latimer invited them inside. They sat round a rough-surfaced wooden table and Latimer drank tea from a tin mug. Tweed took the envelope from Fox, extracted the Identikit picture and pushed it in front of him. 'Is that the man who bought a furniture van from you?'

Two vans. No, it doesn't look like him. He wore hornrimmed glasses, not rimless, and a driver's cap.'

Tweed looked at Paula, pushed the Identikit towards her. 'You are the artist. Mr Latimer, please describe as best you can the type of glasses, the kind of cap. Miss Grey will convert the picture under your guidance…'

He changed places so Paula sat next to Latimer. She produced a small clipboard and a felt-tip pen from her capacious shoulder bag and worked on the picture, altering it from Latimer's instructions. Then she pushed the picture in front of him.

That's the chap. Magic it is, the way you did that. I've a good memory for faces. No doubt about it.'

'You said he bought two vans. He had someone with him?' Tweed enquired.

'No. Collected them both himself, one by one. Both the same day. Was gone about eight hours before he came back for the second job. Twin vans, they was. Only one left now.'

'He spoke with an educated accent?' Paula enquired.

'No. Workingman's lingo.' Latimer scratched his head. 'Mind you, it didn't sound it came natural to him.'

'He paid by cheque?' Tweed probed.

'No. Cash. Fifties. I held them up to check them. You can't be too careful these days. Funny sort of bloke. And that cap didn't fit him too well.'

'You said you had only one van left,' Tweed reminded him. 'Is that the same as the two you sold to this man?'

'Came from exactly the same stable. Want to see it?'

'Yes, please.' Tweed looked at Paula. 'Did you bring your camera?'

'Always carry it. Plus flashbulbs…'

They were there another half hour. Paula took pictures of the van from different angles. Tweed then persuaded Latimer to drive the furniture van into the street, deserted at that hour. Paula peered out from a top-floor window in the warehouse, looking down on the van with her camera. In the street below Tweed saw three flashbulbs go off. Then Pauia waved her hand.

Latimer backed the van further away, stopped it at the entrance to another street, presenting her with a sideways angle. Three more flashbulbs went off. Tweed told Latimer he could drive the vehicle back into the warehouse.

'What's this all about?' he asked as he climbed down from the cab.

'A gang of very dangerous terrorists. Now, I want to pay you for your time.'

'On the house, Guv. If it's bleedin' terrorists I'm 'appy to oblige. Shoot the bastards when you catch up with 'em.'

'Thank you for your cooperation. I'll bear your advice in mind. Now,' he said to Paula who had reappeared with Fox, 'we have to get moving. And Constable Fox, I'll be recommending your work to your inspector when this is all over…'

It was 2 a.m. when Tweed and Paula arrived back at Park Crescent. All the lights were on in the building behind closed blinds. They went straight down into the Engine Room in the basement where the staff were waiting. Paula handed one of the technicians her film, Tweed told him to develop and print immediately, then to produce two dozen copies.