Colin Forbes - The Greek Key

There's a whole queue of big ships, mostly freighters, waiting to come in.'

'The cargo docks on the other side,' Nick explained. They will be waiting for the signal from Marine Control to berth.'

Newman frowned as he saw Marler staring up at the bridge of the Venus III. He followed his gaze and sucked in his breath. Standing by the side of the bridge was a girl with a mane of black glossy hair, centre-parted. She had good bone structure and wore a polka-dot white dress with a thin belt hugging her slim waist. She held her right hand over her thick eyebrows, shielding herself against the sun. It was the girl in the 'photo Masterson had taken unawares.

Marler stared back with a dry smile. Then he raised his own hand and gave her a mocking little wave. Her mouth twitched. She waved back, then vanished. Nick also stood staring at where she had appeared, the cloth poised above the bonnet.

'Christina Gavalas,' he said in a low voice. 'That is very strange.'

'I want to have a word with her,' Newman said grimly.

A gangplank linked the vessel's stern with the jetty. Newman approached it, followed by Marler at a more leisurely pace. His movements were always slow and deliberate. Except in an emergency.

Newman reached the gangplank when three seamen came round the corner of the deck. They wore white sleeveless sweat shirts, blue pants. In their late twenties they were heavily built and two carried marlinspikes. One of them shouted at Newman in Greek, brandishing his marlinspike.

'What did he say?' Newman asked Nick, although he'd understood every word.

Nick laid a warning hand on Newman's arm. 'He says you are not allowed aboard. This is private property.'

'Tell him to get stuffed. I only wanted to invite the girl to join me for a drink.'

'I think we had better leave,' Nick warned again. He called out in Greek. 'We are just leaving. My passengers were admiring your beautiful boat.'

The Greek waved his marlinspike and the three crewmen walked out of sight. Marler was staring beyond the boats up at the apartment buildings above the small harbour. He saw the sun reflect off something, like one flash of a semaphore.

'Get into the car quick!' he ordered Newman. 'No bloody argument.' He pulled open the rear door and dived inside as Newman joined him. 'Nick,' Marler continued, 'move us out of here fast.'

Nick reacted instantly. For a large man he moved with surprising agility. He was behind the wheel when the shriek of several ships' sirens blasted over the wall. As the noise continued Nick started the engine. There was a heavy thud. At the same moment they heard a crackle of glass splintering behind them. The bullet passed between the heads of Marler and Newman, passed on through the open window of the front passenger seat beside Nick.

Nick accelerated along the narrow platform, braked, turned up the track leading to the main road. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Newman and Marler both had their heads turned. The rear window had crazed, had a small hole in it.

'He fired from the top of one of those apartment buildings,' Marler remarked.

'We go up there, yes?' Nick enquired. 'We find the bastard before he can get away?'

'No!' replied Newman. 'Turn left. Head back for the town hall square. Find us somewhere we can talk. And somewhere you can hide the car.'

'I know a bar. Close to it is a bombed site. They will not find the car if I park there.'

'Do it,' said Newman. He turned to Marler. 'Is that why you tried to get me down off the wall?'

'Of course, my dear chap.' Marler was as calm as though he'd experienced an everyday happening. He adjusted the display handkerchief in his breast pocket. 'You normally catch on quicker. You had an absorbed look when you ran up those steps. Stood on that ledge like a target in a shooting gallery. Is it the heat, by any chance?'

His tone was mocking. He reached into his pocket and perched a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his nose. They have seen me once. I don't think they'll recognize me so easily next time.'

'Those glasses make you look exactly like Michael Caine.'

'Flattery will get you nowhere. The lenses are plain glass.'

'You were expecting that shot?'

'Something like it. The black Mercedes follows us. Nick reports they drop one man carrying a violin case, then drive off. A violin case! Not much imagination there. Did they strike you as musical characters? A violin case,' he repeated. 'Just the thing for carrying a dismantled Armalite rifle. You are only alive because he had to assemble his weapon before he used it. I saw the sun flashing off his telescopic sight – which is when I told you to dive into the car. He was a better shot than I'd hoped. Very smart, too.'

'Why do you say that?' Nick asked.

'He had a bit of luck and used it. Those ships' sirens starting up muffled the sound of the shot.'

'They made one huge mistake though,' Newman said.

'Which was?' Marler enquired.

'Firing that shot, of course. Now we know someone murdered Harry Masterson.'

The bar was small, located up a side street, was furnished with plastic-topped tables, a plastic-topped counter. Only the floor had a hint of luxury. It was laid from wall to wall with solid marble. Nick had ordered ouzo for everyone. Newman asked for a large bottle of mineral water.

'We can't afford to risk dehydration,' he remarked, wiping the back of his neck with a silk handkerchief. 'First things first. That bullet-hole in the rear window of your car could be embarrassing for all of us. Can anything be done about it?'

'You don't want to report the attack to the police?' Nick asked, his broad tanned arms resting on the table-top.

They could complicate life at this stage. Unless you insist?'

'I have many friends.' Nick drank half his glass of ouzo. 'I know a garage mechanic who will fix that overnight. A new window. No questions asked. OK?'

'OK,' agreed Newman. 'I pay the bill, of course. Next – when Christina Gavalas appeared on the deck of Venus III you said, 'That is very strange.' Why?'

Nick paused, refilled their glasses from the jug of ouzo. 'It is a bit… complex. Is that the word?'

Tell me, then I'll know.'

'Petros is eighty years old, a ferocious tyrant. Pray you do not meet him. Born in 1907, he married when he was seventeen. His first wife produced two sons – Andreas and Stephen. Twins, but not identical. Andreas and Stephen also married when very young – only eighteen. It was the war in their cases, I suppose. That was in 1943 or 1944. After Andreas was killed on Siros his wife gave birth to Christina – Petros' granddaughter. Do you understand so far?'

'Perfectly,' said Newman. 'Go on.'

'At that time Petros fought with the Communists – the ELAS party. Andreas hated them. He escaped to Cairo, joined the anti-Communist party, EDES. Petros was furious. Called him a traitor. But blood is thicker than water. Petros had a grudging admiration for Andreas. When Andreas was killed in the Siros raid he swore to hunt down his killer. Then came the second tragedy.'

'Which was?'

The other twin, Stephen, also hated his father and fled to Cairo to join the EDES forces. Then he, too, was murdered. Later his wife gave birth also to twins, Dimitrios and Constantine. Again, non-identical. But the strain had run out. They are peasants working on Petros' farm in Devil's Valley.'

'A whole lot of hatred,' Marler observed.

'It gets worse. After the end of the Civil War in Greece between EDES and ELAS – which nearly wrecked my country – in 1950 Petros married again when his first wife died. His second wife produced a son, Anton. Maybe because Petros was then forty-two and his new wife was twenty-eight Anton turned out to be very clever. You see the scope for bitterness in that family?'