said.'
He stood up and walked over to the window, it had stopped raining. Now they had May sunshine. The pavements were drying out, leaving damp patches. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He was, Monica knew, on the verge of taking a decision.
'I want Harry recalled from Greece immediately. Isn't his deputy for Greece, Patterson, at the British Embassy?'
'Yes,' said Monica promptly. 'Harry appointed him a couple of months ago. Patterson speaks Greek and has travelled widely in the archipelago. You're assuming Harry contacted him after he reached Athens.'
'Which he probably didn't,' Marler commented. 'Running his own investigation unofficially, he'd play it close to the chest. Why the MOD? Or again was it something the Greek girl told him? Incidentally, Monica, what made you so sure she was Greek?'
'When he stopped me he said something in a foreign language. She looked annoyed. Then Harry said, 'The Greeks always have a word for it.' Looking back, I almost think he was sending me a signal.'
'Fair do's,' Marler agreed. 'She is Greek.'
'And now,' Tweed said impatiently as he returned to his swivel chair, 'I want that call made to Athens recalling Harry. A direct order. He's to return instantly, the moment they locate him.'
Monica was reaching for her phone when it began to ring as a raven-haired girl with good bone structure came into the office. Marler jumped up, grinned, offered Paula Grey, Tweed's assistant, his chair. He spread his hands, adopted a theatrical pose.
'Lothario offers you his comfortable seat. How is it you look more ravishing every time I see you?'
'Flannel,' rapped back Paula. 'You think I haven't heard all about your women?'
She was crossing her legs when she stiffened. She was looking at Monica who had been talking on the phone. In a broken voice Monica nodded to Tweed to lift his receiver.
'Athens on the line… Larry Patterson for you.'
Tweed grabbed up his receiver. It became very silent and still in the office. They watched Tweed whose expression had become poker-faced. In a quiet controlled voice he asked several terse questions, said, 'Yes, of course,' five times, thanked Patterson for calling and replaced the receiver. Leaning across his desk, he clasped his hands, gazed at them and spoke in a monotone.
'There is no easy way to break this type of news. Harry Masterson is dead. He was found today at the base of some cliff called Cape Sounion. I gather it is some distance southeast of Athens. The cliff is very sheer and is three hundred feet high. They will be flying the body home.'
'Oh dear God, no! Not Harry
It was Monica who burst out like a stricken animal. Her eyes filled with tears. Paula jumped up, put an arm round her and helped her to her feet and out of the room. The silence was oppressive after the click of the closing door.
'Apparently, according to Patterson, he must have slithered over the edge early in the morning,' Tweed continued. 'About nine o'clock a coastguard launch patrolling the area on the lookout for drug smugglers spotted the body on some rocks at the edge of the sea.'
'Balls!' said Marler, his tone harsh. 'Which is what Harry would have said if they'd found me there. I know the area.'
'I'm listening,' said Tweed in the same monotone, twiddling a pencil between his fingers.
'Cape Sounion is about a two-hour drive along the coast road from Athens. It's the southernmost tip of Greece at that point. Perched on the summit of the Cape is the Temple of Poseidon. It's a lonely spot when the tourists aren't there. Beyond the temple the ground is covered with stubby grass which slopes gently towards the brink. You can easily see when you're coming to the end of everything.'
'So?' pressed Tweed.
'Harry had all his marbles – more than most of us. The idea that he slipped over the edge is fatuous.'
'So?' Tweed repeated.
'Harry was murdered. Absolutely no doubt about it. And I would like to know what the hell we are going to do about it.'
2
Action this day. A favourite maxim of Tweed's, borrowed from Winston Churchill.
Tweed had called for the afternoon what he termed a 'war conference'. Inside what Howard, Tweed's chief, insisted on calling the 'boardroom', six people were gathered round a large oblong table.
Like antagonists, Howard was seated at one end of the table, facing Tweed, who occupied the other end. Also present were Paula Grey, sitting on Tweed's right, notebook at the ready. Marler sat next to Bob Newman, foreign correspondent and close confidant of Tweed. Pete Nield, experienced agent, sat opposite Marler and Newman. Already the atmosphere reeked with tension and disagreement.
'Aren't we jumping to a lot of conclusions rather early in the game regarding this dreadful tragedy?' suggested Howard in his slow pontificating voice.
'It's not a game,' Tweed snapped. 'And Masterson's death does not sound like an accident.'
'Hold hard a jiffy…' Howard, six feet tall, plump-faced and perfectly tailored in a Chester Barrie navy blue suit, shot his cuffs to expose the gold links.
Oh God, thought Tweed, why did he have to turn up unexpectedly and attend this meeting? He stared hard at Howard as he spoke.
'Well, let's get on with it.'
'I was going to make the point that Patterson is already in place in Athens. He could take a look-see, send us a report. Oh, nothing personal, of course, but why is Mr Newman honouring us with his presence?'
'Because I asked him to. Because he knows Greece. Because he speaks Greek fluently and is flying out there with Marler.'
'Not necessary,' Marler interjected in his clipped tone. 'You know I work on my own…'
There was a heavy silence. Tweed kept the silence going while he deliberately arranged the pile of photos in front of him. Newman, in his early forties, well-built, cleanshaven, with thick sandy hair and a strong face, sat watching Tweed with a droll expression.
'I have to say,' Howard continued eventually, 'that I really don't see how Newman, able though he might be, fits in with such an assignment.'
Tweed launched his attack. 'He's fully vetted, as you well know. Patterson has only been in Athens for a short time. Let's get a few opinions.' He addressed Newman. 'Bob, you knew Harry Masterson. Can you see him stumbling off the edge of a cliff?'
'He was sharp as a fox. But I would like to collect a few more facts in Greece. Facts are what I go by.'
'Marler?' Tweed asked.
'So unlikely the idea is ridiculous.'
'Paula?'
'I heard he once left a party half-smashed and walked down the middle of Walton Street balancing a bottle of champagne on his head. The bottle stayed there. Surefooted as the proverbial goat. Not a chance.'
'Pete?'
'Never in a million years.'
'Are you convinced?' Tweed asked Howard. 'If it was murder and we don't act fast the Prime Minister will call us to account.'
'I don't like blackmail,' Howard replied stiffly.
'Who does? You haven't answered the question.'
'Well,' Howard began, his manner breezy, 'first he's a fox, then he's a goat…'
'I don't find that the least bit amusing,' Tweed snapped.
'In that case, what do you propose?' Howard's well-fed face was flushed with annoyance. 'And I still maintain Marler could go on his own. Newman is surplus to requirements – I do realize he's rendered valuable service in the
