Dennis Wheatley: Mayhem in Greece

A few centuries later the conquering Romans had destroyed those walls, so that only a few vestiges of them now remained, and the strip of territory had gradually become a backyard of the city, dcptted with suburban villas, rows of shops, garages, plots of land for sale and modern churches. Whenever the bus passed a church several of the passengers in it crossed themselves, as great numbers of Greeks are still deeply religious. But Robbie hardly noticed them or the uninspiring buildings that lined both sides of the road. His mind was slowly revolving the question of why Mr. Onassis should have neglected to exploit the oil resources of his own country, and he could find no answer to it.

As Robbie entered the Embassy, Euan Wettering was crossing its spacious hall. He was another permanent guest there, and a nephew of Lady Grenn, so he and Robbie were cousins by marriage. He was a few years older than Robbie, and two young men could hardly have differed more in both physique and character. Euan was small and frail-looking, but he made up for his lack of inches by an aggressive, even bumptious, manner. He was extremely clever, having achieved a double First at Cambridge, and he had taken up archaeology as a profession. On learning of Sir Finsterhorn's appointment, he had promptly wangled a post with the British School of Archaeology in Athens, feeling confident that his aunt would invite him to make his home in the Embassy. Having established himself there, he took every advantage of the prestige it gave him and used it freely to entertain his friends, thereby saving his own money. Secretly he envied Robbie both his fine physique and his fortune, but scarcely bothered to hide the fact that he despised him as a half-wit.

'Euan!' Robbie called, as his cousin made for the stairs. 'Just a moment, please.'

'Well; what is it?' Euan replied impatiently.

'Tell me something. Have you ever found any traces of oil during your archaeological digs?'

'Good lord, no! I only wish we had. We're always kept disgracefully short of funds, and to strike a gusher would be a godsend.'

'Do you think there's any chance of doing so?'

'No. There's not the least likelihood of finding oil anywhere in Greece. But I must rush or I'll be late for the Swanson's cocktail party.' Turning away, Euan ran swiftly up the stairs.

Three hours later they met again at dinner. Lady Grenn had recently left for England to be with her elderly mother who was about to undergo a serious operation, and it so happened that this was one of the comparatively rare nights when Sir Finster-horn was neither entertaining or dining out, so the party consisted only of him and the two young men.

The Ambassador was a tall, thin man with a prominent forehead from which the hair had receded, and a grey moustache that drooped at the ends. He was reputed to be extremely shrewd and had a very courteous manner, but he had no hobbies, few intimates and, as far as Robbie knew, had never been known to unbend. His father had been a famous mountaineer, and had met his mother while she was on holiday in Switzerland. His name was an Anglicized version of Finsteraahorn, and was given him in memory of his father's having proposed on the lower slopes of that mountain.

Dinner ran its normal course, with Euan Wettering and the Ambassador talking of events and their acquaintances, while Robbie made a silent third. That was not because either of the others had any intention of being rude to him, and when there were dinner parties at which the conversation was general, he always made a minor contribution to it; but early in his stay, it had been found that his knowledge of the matters usually discussed when they were dining en famille was so sketchy that it was a waste of time to ask his opinion, so he had become quite used to being ignored.

It was not until the dessert had been put on the table that Euan suddenly addressed him.

'What's this bee you've got in your bonnet, Robbie, about there being oil in Greece?'

Robbie looked up with a start. 'Oh—er—well, it isn't my idea exactly, but the Czechs seem to think there is.'

'The Czechs?' repeated Sir Finsterhorn, with a sharp glance from under his shaggy eyebrows.

With a nod, Robbie proceeded to give an account of the conversation he had overheard that day while lunching at Toyrcolimano.

'Oh; come!' exclaimed Euan when he had done. 'You don't expect us to believe that, do you? I bet you made it up.'

'I'm not given to making up stories,' Robbie protested mildly.

'Yes, you are. Lounging about all day as you do, your head gets full of nonsense. All these stories you are digging up about the gods and heroes for your book are only myths, yet you look on them as though they had really happened in some distant past. And now it seems you've started day-dreaming about oil and the Czechs.'

'No, honestly, Euan, I really did hear those chaps talking, just as I've said.'

'Do you mean to tell me that you understand Czech well enough to have taken in all they said?'

Attacked on his one accomplishment, Robbie bridled at last and retorted: 'You may be cleverer than I am in lots of ways, but even your Greek is lousy and-'

Euan opened his mouth to snap at him, but the Ambassador raised a hand, silencing them both, and said:

'We are all aware of your talents as a linguist, Robbie. On that account I find it all the more regrettable that you don't avail yourself of them to secure some suitable employment, instead of idling about and wasting your time trying to write a book. I don't wish to be unkind but, for all of us who know you, there is no escaping the fact that you are quite incapable of producing a work of literature.'

With a frown, Robbie looked down at his plate and muttered: 'I like doing it, sir; and I don't care what anyone says, I'm going to finish it. Anyway, Euan asked me about this business of the oil and the Czechs and what I have told him is the truth. He can believe it or not, as he likes.'

'Then we'll accept your word for that,' Sir Finsterhorn said more mildly, 'and I'd like you to describe those two men to me again.'

When Robbie had complied, the Ambassador nodded. 'I don't know who the tall, dark man would be, but you are right about the other being the Czech First Secretary. His name is Alois Nejedly. Are you quite sure that he said that his Government had purchased the Greek tobacco crop?'

'Quite certain, sir. He referred to it more than once.'

The Ambassador frowned. 'It's strange that I've heard no rumour about that.'

'If it's true, the Greeks must be cock-a-hoop,' put in Euan.

'Why should they be, about selling it to the Czechs rather than to anyone else?' Robbie enquired.

His uncle gave him a pitying look. 'My dear boy, surely you know that a considerable percentage of the Greek peasantry depends almost entirely on tobacco-growing for its living. If their Government cannot dispose of the crop for these people at a fair Pnce, they would starve. To sell has become more difficult year by year, ever since the First World War, when so many people took to smoking Virginia cigarettes and the so-called "Turkish" went out of fashion.'

Euan nodded. 'But why in the world should the Czechs want to buy Macedonian leaf when all the Iron Curtain countries are supplied by Russia from the tobacco plantations in the Crimea?'

'Surely that's obvious.' Robbie looked across at him brightly. 'It must be because the Greeks included in the deal the right to prospect for oil.'

'But there is no oil in Greece,' the Ambassador and Euan shot at him almost simultaneously.

'Then there must be something else behind it,' said Robbie with simple logic.

Sir Finsterhorn gave him a slightly supercilious look. 'Since that is your opinion, perhaps you can suggest what?'

Robbie returned a blank stare. 'I haven't an idea, sir. How could I have?'