Dennis Wheatley - Mayhem in Greece

Theoretically, he had nothing to learn about sex. Some years before, while on holiday with his Aunt Emily at Scarborough, he had gone into a second-hand bookshop and bought several books on mythology. Seeing that he was a young man with plenty of money, the bookseller had persuaded him to add to his purchases a two-volume edition of Forberg's Manual of Classical

Erotology which had the English as well as the Latin texts. He had had only the vaguest idea what the word 'Erotology' meant, but the bookseller had assured him that Forberg was a great authority on the customs of the Ancients, and that he certainly ought to add a copy to his collection.

When he got back to his hotel, he was surprised to find that the 'customs' referred to were not, as he had expected, accounts of betrothals and marriage rituals, possibly embellished with stories of the love affairs of the Immortals, but dealt entirely with the physical relations between men and women. Leaving nothing whatever to the imagination, Forberg described in detail every conceivable way in which a couple might gratify their passions. Further, to Robbie's astonishment and disgust, it then disclosed to him that certain people were not content with making love in a natural manner, and gave descriptions of homosexual practices. Finally, it gave an account of orgies held by the Emperor Tiberius on Capri, in which numbers of the guests indulged in the most extraordinary gymnastics.

Robbie was, therefore, even better primed in the 'facts of life' than many young men of his age, although he had never found an opportunity of making use of his knowledge. That was not because he had not wanted to, and at times he was troubled by a strong urge to demonstrate his virility. But he had been hopelessly handicapped by his extreme shyness where girls were concerned, and had not the first idea how to start an affaire.

To those he met socially he would not have dreamed of even hinting at the provocative thoughts they sometimes aroused in him, and the younger ones soon found him too dull to bother with. Had he but known it, during the past year a few married women he had met while at the Embassy had seen in his stalwart figure the makings of a very satisfactory lover; but he had proved so gauche and tongue-tied that, after a while, they, too, had decided that he was too much of a bore to be worth seducing. There had remained the possibility of scraping acquaintance with some pretty piece strolling in the park or sitting on her own in a cafe, and he had often contemplated some such adventure but, at the last moment, his courage had always failed him.

Yet, all thoughts of sex apart, he enjoyed basking in the company of pretty girls, and secretly it tormented him that he could find so little to say to them that he had never succeeded in making a friend of one. Being so inept with them and never having been known to ask a girl to lunch or dine was one of the things with which Euan Wettering had frequently taunted him. The memory of Euan's jibes made him flush now, and he would have given a very great deal to have had a girl friend whom he could have rung up there and then and asked out to supper, instead of having to celebrate on his own.

He had only just finished dressing when the door-bell of his suite rang. The chambermaid who turned down his bed had a passkey, but the waiters were not allowed keys; so, assuming that the supper he had ordered had been brought up, he walked out into the narrow hall and opened the door.

There, within a foot of him stood Krajcir, and with him was the taciturn, blue-jowled Comrade Cepicka who, the previous Monday, had piloted him from the Czech Legation to the Travel Agency. Cepicka, looking more than ever like an ex-Gestapo thug, was wearing a long cloak. Half-hidden by it, he held an automatic, and he was pointing it at Robbie's stomach.

8

'Stop Thief! Stop Thief!'

For once, Robbie's mind worked swiftly. Before either of the men had time to put a foot in the door, he slammed it in their faces. Turning, he dashed into his sitting room, slammed the door of that, too, and shot the bolt.

Panic-stricken, he gazed wildly round him. What was he to do? Cepicka, having pointed a gun at him, showed that they meant business. He ought to have realized that they would stop at nothing to get back Nejedly's brief-case. When he was taken on at the agency, he had been asked for his private address, and it had not occurred to him that it might be a wise precaution to conceal from Krajcir that he was living at the Grande Bretagne. He recalled Krajcir raising his eyebrows and remarking on the incongruity of a young man who was staying at the most expensive hotel in Athens applying for such a poorly paid post. By then, he was becoming used to lying to the Czechs so he had said that his uncle made him a generous allowance, but had threatened to cut it off unless he found himself a regular job.

The sound of a sharp crack put an abrupt end to his brief meditations. Angrily he upbraided himself for wasting even seconds recalling the past. What did the reason matter for their having been able to run him to earth so quickly? They were after him, and with a gun. The sound he had just heard could only mean that they had already forced the lock on the outer door. Cepicka looked the kind of man who was used to doing that sort of thing. No doubt he had come well prepared with a pocketful of implements. In another few moments, they would have forced their way into the sitting room.

There was only one thing for it. To telephone down to the office was no use. His enemies would have broken in long before help could reach him. Grabbing the brief-case, Robbie pulled wide the French window of the room, and ran out on to its narrow balcony. Alongside the balcony was an iron fire-escape. Throwing a leg over the balcony railing, he grasped a rung of the ladder with his free hand, then swung himself out on to it. The ladder led down to a courtyard in which goods were delivered at the back of the hotel. As Robbie's room was on the third floor, he had quite a long way to go, and the speed of his descent was considerably hampered by the brief-case.

When he was about two-thirds of the way down, he heard a shout from above. Looking up, he saw the foreshortened silhouettes of Krajcir and Cepicka framed in his lighted window. Both of them were leaning over the balcony rail, and Cepicka called down to him in a guttural voice:

'Stop! Stop! Stay where you are, or I shoot!' Robbie's heart gave a lurch. As the courtyard, now a dozen feet below him, was pitch dark, his figure was so indistinct against it that only a lucky shot could have hit him. But he was unaware of that, and imagined himself as a target in a shooting gallery. He was, moreover, too inexperienced to realize that secret agents may threaten their enemies, but are not such fools as to shoot them—except if cornered themselves—in places where there is a high risk that the shot will be heard and they are very likely to be caught. The idea of a bullet smacking into the top of his head terrified him. Swiftly he decided that allowing himself to be shot was not going to prevent their getting back the brief-case; and that, while it was one thing to lie for one's country, it was quite another to die for it to no good purpose. Halting in his tracks, he called up hastily:

'All right! Don't shoot. I won't go any further.' It was then that his enemies blundered. Instead of ordering him to bring the brief-case back up to his room, they climbed out on to the fire-escape to come down and get it.

Krajcir was nearer the ladder, so got on to it first. While he descended the first dozen rungs, Robbie watched him, motionless, his mind entirely occupied with the bitter thought of having to surrender his prize. Suddenly, as he stared upward, it came to him that he was no longer covered. Even if Cepicka, while clinging to the ladder with one hand, tried to shoot him with the other, he would find it impossible, because Krajcir's bulky body formed a barrier between them.