approaching her. He was carrying a transistor radio, and it was playing a tune Maskouri recognized vaguely, and somehow associated with a sad-faced little man who played the piano. The American looked down at the girl, then said:
'Why, Miriam Loman! Well, for heaven's sakes. I was talking to Marcus just two days ago.'
The girl smiled at him, and said 'Hello,' and asked him to sit down. Maskouri doubted that she had seen the tall American before, and this might be important. And once he'd sat down, he wasn't talking loud enough for Maskouri to hear. He wondered whether he should report back or not, when the American rose, took the girl's hand and said, 'Great to see you, Miriam. Just great. Be sure to give my love to Marcus when you see him.'
'Oh, I certainly will,' said Miriam.
The tall American went off, and Miriam paid her bill, changing dollars with the waiter, then walked to the taxi rank. Maskouri got up to follow, and was promptly knocked flat by a couple of Americans, who apologized profusely for not looking where they were going. They picked him up and the grip they had on him seemed friendly enough, but Maskouri was sensible. He knew enough not to struggle. When the taxi had gone, one of the Americans said, 'Sorry, feller,' and offered him a cigar. Maskouri, being Athenian, was a philosopher. He accepted it.
'She's taking her time,' Joanna Benson said.
'So's the man Loomis sent to Athens,' said Craig. He looked at his watch. 'He should have rung in an hour ago. I think we'd better make arrangements.'
'Such as?'
'They'll come for Kaplan—alive. And to make sure of that, they'll immobilize us first.'
'Immobilize? Do you by any chance think they'll kill us?'
'Not if they can avoid it,' said Craig. 'But the bloke Maskouri saw talking to her will do it if he has to. He'd prefer to use knockout drops or a bang on the head.'
'Neither's terribly pleasant.'
Craig grinned. 'Neither's going to happen,' he said. 'Listen.'
He began to talk; and first Joanna smiled, then laughed aloud.
'But darling, it's positively kinky,' she said. 'Get the silencer.'
She produced it from her handbag and Craig screwed it on to the end of the Smith and Wesson, then broke the gun, looked into the magazine. Three shots left. But the silencer wouldn't last more than three shots anyway. After that he would have to fall back on the Webley, and an utter lack of privacy.
'You'd really use that thing on our allies?' the girl asked.
'I have no allies. I'm a free-lance,' said Craig. 'Yes, but even so-'
'Listen,' said Craig. 'These aren't nice, gentlemanly Ivy Leaguers from the CIA. These are professionals. The way you think you are.'
'You'll find out,' Joanna said.
'I always knew. Forgive the sarcasm,' said Craig. 'Just take my word for it. These are blokes the KGB would be proud of.'
The phone rang. Craig picked it up and listened, then turned to her.
'That was Loomis's man,' he said. 'Miriam met two more Americans at the Acropolis. He couldn't get close enough to hear.'
When Miriam returned, she found the others in Craig's room, having a meal of coffee and sandwiches.
'Aren't we dining downstairs?' she asked.
'No,' said Craig. 'Too risky. Have a sandwich. Joanna, pour Miriam some coffee.'
'Risky?'
'Yes,' said Craig. 'I've had a premonition. Do you ever have premonitions, Miriam?'
Joanna handed her a sandwich. The whole thing was as English as a thirties farce: sandwiches and tinkling spoons, and the distinguished elderly foreigner who was about to upset his cup any minute. And there was farce in the way they were overplaying it, too. Farce or its nearest neighbor, violence.
'John,' Miriam said. 'What
'An hour and a half ago I heard from a dark stranger,' said Craig. 'At least I expect he's dark. Most Greeks are.
Chap called Maskouri. You didn't see him, by any chance?'
'I didn't see anybody—except a man who used to know Marcus. But I got rid of him. Then I had some ice cream and went to the Acropolis.'
Craig turned to Joanna. 'Why would she he to me? A nice girl like that.'
'You mean the American she met told her it was in her country's best interests not to tell a soul that they had met?'
'He probably showed her a picture of Lyndon Johnson or Bugs Bunny or somebody.'
'More likely music. Music to remind her of happy days. Junior Proms and old films on TV and traveling in the elevator at the Hilton. I bet he played her 'Stardust.' '
Joanna's eyes had never left Miriam's face.
'Do you know,' she said, 'I believe he did.'
'You followed me,' said Miriam. 'But you got it wrong. He was a friend of Marcus.'
'Good heavens, we British chappies don't have to follow people,' said Craig. 'We get ruddy foreigners to do that. No, love. We deduced it.' He moved a step closer to her. 'I'm afraid you're going to have to tell us, you know.' She was silent. 'Ah,' he said. 'I know what you're thinking. Royce isn't here, you tell yourself, and a decent chap like Craig wouldn't do things like that, and Miss Benson's an English gentlewoman after all. Sews Union Jacks on her panties. But that isn't the point, love. The point is we know they're in Athens.'
'How could they be?' Miriam asked.
'Loomis sent a wire to that box number in Paris,' said Joanna. 'Told them the deal with Craig is off. And there's only three ways out of Cyprus, darling—Turkey, Israel, and Greece. They'll be watching them all. But it's the ones in Greece who'll get hurt.'
Craig said, 'We won't hurt you, Miriam, and I don't want to hurt them. You tell us what they're up to and we won't hurt them. If you don't—it might get a bit messy.'
'You're angry with me—for what I've done,' she said.
'If I am, I have no right to be.'
'It's my country, John. My people.'
He nodded. 'And it's your people who'll get hurt—if you don't tell me.'
'Don't you ever fight fair?' she asked.
'How can I?' said Craig. 'Now, drink your coffee and tell me all about it.'
Suddenly the mockery had gone. She was aware that he wanted to be kind to her, kind and uncomplicated, and that he was finding it difficult.
It was early morning, the dead hour, the hour of the ultimate spy. The one who will kill if he must. There were three of them. One stayed in the corridor, watching the rooms of Kaplan and Joanna, the others entered the room that Craig had given to Miriam. Her bed, they knew, was to the right of the room, facing the bathroom, and Craig would be in it. That had been Miriam's assignment, to get Craig into her bed, and she'd resisted it furiously at first. She'd taken a lot of convincing, but in the end she'd agreed. And having got him there, the team leader reckoned, she'd keep him pretty busy. Craig was a tough one. Exhausted or not, their instructions were to keep out of range of his hands. Those hands of Craig's could batter like steel clubs.
The lock specialist took out his skeleton key and got on with it. Hotel locks, even the locks of good hotels, didn't keep him waiting long. He probed with the casual skill of a surgeon performing a routine operation. Two tiny clicks sounded, and the lock specialist withdrew the key, slipped it into an oil bottle and inserted it again. Next time he turned it, the door opened without a sound, and he and the team leader entered in a whisper, the door drifted to behind them as they stayed still for a count of ten, their eyes grew used to the blackness.
At last, the leader touched the lock man. In the imperfect dark they could see the two shapes of bodies lying on the bed, one hunched over the other. The lock man moved to the wall, switched on the lights, and as he did so his right hand made an abrupt gesture, ending up holding a short-nosed Colt .45 fitted with a silencer. The leader stood six feet away from him, holding a similar gun, and one of the figures on the bed stirred and shot up
