Dennis Wheatley - Mayhem in Greece

'Hi, you! Is Comrade Krajcir in?'

As the man spoke, Robbie's mouth fell open. He had at that moment recognized the lean, sunken cheeks, hard jaw, and black hair-line moustache of this impatient customer. It was he who had been discussing the tobacco-oil deal over lunch with the Czech First Secretary at Toyrcolimano ten days previously, and so a prime cause for the upheaval in Robbie's life that had since occurred.

'What . . . what name shall I give, sir?' he stammered.

'Barak,' replied the other. 'Comrade Vaclav Barak. He knows me; so if he's disengaged, I'll go straight in.'

'I'll just see, sir,' countered Robbie diplomatically, although he knew that Krajcir had no one with him. Stepping over to the door of the manager's office, he opened it a few inches and announced the visitor. Krajcir gave a quick nod, so he walked back to the counter, opened a low gate in it, and showed Mr. Barak in.

Breathless with excitement, Robbie sat down again at his table. Here was the break for which he had been praying. Barak must know all about the secret negotiations. But how could his visit be used to get hold of that knowledge?

Laboriously, Robbie's mind revolved the question. Perhaps he could follow Barak when he left, and find out where he lived? That would be a good start. How could he do that, though? Krajcir always saw his visitors out personally. To push past him and calmly walk off after the man to whom he had just said good-bye would be hardly possible. Krajcir would call him back and demand to know where he was going, Barak would hear them, look round and, having seen Robbie leave the agency in spite of Krajcir's protests, would soon realize that he was being followed. He would then turn upon Robbie and demand an explanation.

How about leaving the office now and lying in wait for Barak out in the street? That would mean questions from Ludmilla and Rudolph, but he could ignore them. However, a snag to that quickly presented itself. At about three o'clock, it had come on to rain so he had returned to the office in a macintosh. The agency's premises were modest and, having been constructed out of a part of the old courtyard, were also awkward. The only place available for the staff to keep their hats and coats was a small closet, to reach which they had to pass through Krajcir's office. In the circumstances, although it was still raining, and quite hard too, that would not have deterred most men from going out without a macintosh. But all his life Robbie had been trained for his own protection to follow habits. Being unused to thinking for himself, it never occurred to him that he would take little harm from going out unprotected into the rain, and what possible excuse could he make to Krajcir for going through his office, then emerging from the closet wearing or carrying his mac?

Agitated and frustrated, he sat on, staring at Mrs. Sebesta's typewriter. Here was a real chance thrown in his way, a perfect lead to solving the riddle which had become a nagging obsession with him; yet it seemed there was no way in which he could take advantage of it. He would have given even half a year's income to hear what Krajcir and Barak were saying to one another in the private office. The door to it was at his elbow and so ill-nttmg that there was a gap of nearly an inch between the bottom and the floor, but the harsh voices of the tourists chattering on the far side of the counter created a background of noise sufficient to drown the murmur of the two voices that Robbie was straining his ears to hear.

It was then that Pallas Athene intervened to undo Mr. Havelka. at least Robbie interpreted the little thing that happened as

evidence of her divine guidance. Through the open window fluttered a single leaf. For a moment, it hovered uncertainly on the floor, then the outer door opened to admit two more tourists. The sudden draught drove the leaf through the narrow gap below Krajcir's door into his office. Had it not been a special leaf it would have conveyed no message to Robbie, but it was a special leaf. Only one tree grew in the courtyard: the old gnarled olive, Athene's sacred tree. Indisputably, he thought, the leaf was her messenger, and had given him the lead to how to act.

He must follow it. Go in to Krajcir. But how could he? What possible excuse could he give for butting in when his boss was conferring with a visitor? Next moment, he had it.

Standing up, he gave one quick tap on Krajcir's door and, without waiting for permission to go in, pushed it open. At that moment, Barak was speaking and Robbie clearly heard the last words of his sentence. \ . . Rhodes and the other islands there is no special urgency, but for the groups at Patras and Corinth you must fix up accommodation right away.'

Krajcir looked up at Robbie with a frown. Hastily Robbie muttered: 'I'm sorry, sir. I left some letters in my mac that I want to take to the post. D'you mind if I get them?'

'No; but be quick about it,' replied Krajcir sharply.

As Robbie went into the closet, pulling the door partly shut behind him, he heard Krajcir say. 'The Bratislava is not due to dock till the 31st, that's Monday week; so we've plenty of time. By Wednesday, I should be able to let you have full particulars of the arrangements I have made for the first three or four groups, and I'll have dealt with the others by the end of the week.'

Inside the closet Robbie was hastily fishing about in his pockets. From them, he unearthed a sheet of paper on which he had made some notes for his book, the last letter he had received from old Nanny Fisher and the bill for his week's stay at the Grande Bretagne, which he had received that morning. Not daring to linger there longer, he folded these together with the letter on top and, clutching them in the hand which would be farther from Krajcir as he passed his desk, quickly recrossed the private office, closing its door to the outer office softly behind him.

A few minutes later, the two Czechs emerged from it and, without either of them giving a glance at Robbie, Krajcir saw Barak out into the courtyard.

To all appearances, Robbie had resumed his cleaning of Mrs. Sebesta's typewriter. Actually he was doing no more than dab at it automatically with the worn toothbrush he had been given for the job, while he endeavoured to assess the fruits of his first successful piece of espionage.

The Bratislava was obviously a Czechoslovakian ship, and due to make her first call at a Greek port on Monday the 31st. It seemed reasonable to assume that she was carrying as passengers a considerable number of Czechs who were to be distributed in groups about Greece and the islands. Anyhow, it appeared fairly certain that her first call was to be Patras, and that the intention was for two groups to be landed there, one of which would go on to Corinth. Although Robbie had no evidence on which to base his assumption, he felt no doubt at all that, as it was Barak who was initiating these arrangements, the groups were composed of technicians, and that they were being sent to Greece for some nefarious purpose, on the pretext of prospecting for oil.

Ludmilla happened to glance in Robbie's direction at that moment, and saw that he was smiling to himself. He had good reason to do so. Now that he had this definite lead to follow, he need have no further hesitation about giving in his notice to Krajcir. He was no longer even dependent on Luke's providing an idea which would enable him to continue his quest in some new direction. If he liked he could, without a qualm, walk out of the agency there and then, and simply not come back. But he decided that that would be an unnecessary rudeness to people who had treated him, if not with kindness, at least with politeness; and that, anyway, it would be foolish to sever his connection with Krajcir and the others so churlishly when there was nothing to be gained by so doing.