Doganis slumped slowly to the ground on the seaward side of the ridge, on to the slope. Like Florakis, his huge bulk began to roll. He caught a medium-sized boulder a glancing blow and the loosened boulder also started to roll. Kalos stood watching as Doganis' body reached a steeper section of slope, picking up speed. The gross corpse shot over the brink, dropped out of sight to fall three hundred feet, followed by the boulder.
He walked over to the transceiver Doganis had intended hurling off the cliff. He embraced its sides with both hands, his gun slid back inside his holster, and staggered back to his Saab, preserving Florakis' fingerprints on the handle.
50
Three men paced the snow-bound barracks square southwest of Moscow. In the centre of the group strode General Lucharsky, flanked by the other two members of the Troika. Their boots crunched the hard snow and they had the square to themselves: all officers and men were moving out aboard military transport for the annual manoeuvres in the Ukraine which would be watched by Lucharsky.
The timing suited Lucharsky admirably. He would be out of the way when the imminent crisis broke. His companions waited for him to speak. He kept them waiting. An assertion of his authority. A bitter wind whipped at his white bony face.
'Everything is prepared,' he said eventually. 'We are so far advanced radio communications are being cut. The weak links in the Greek Key are being eliminated. It all depends now on Jupiter in England.'
'Gorbachev has played into our hands,' commented General Budienny. Thank God he is landing in England. But British security is very good. Is Jupiter better?'
The commander of the Spetsnaz unit which has been activated is an ex-soldier in the British Army. A formidable man. He will find a way. Meantime, General Budienny, your armoured division will remain here ready to seal off Moscow should a crisis arise.' He stopped and stared hard at the stocky, wide-shouldered general. 'But on no account must you move unless you receive a direct order from Yigor Ligachev to preserve stability.'
'Of course not, Comrade General. My division has always had to stand by for that role – even under Brezhnev.'
Lucharsky resumed his walk in the square where they could not possibly be overheard. 'And the one general who might rebel because he is a glasnost enthusiast will be taking part in the Ukraine manoeuvres. At the slightest sign of resistance on his part I will have him arrested. So what can possibly go wrong?'
'You were worried at one time when your KGB associate warned you the British agent, Tweed, was in Greece.'
'Until I heard he was concentrating on that crazy old idiot, Petros. Then I knew he had taken the bait – incensed by the killing of his sector chief, Masterson, which is why I ordered Masterson's liquidation. You can forget Tweed. He is confused, like a ship without a rudder, sailing round in circles.'
Snow had begun to fall again, heavy flakes which drifted down out of the pewter sky. Lucharsky paused, bent down, scooped up some in his gloved hand and rubbed it on his face.
'That helps the brain to become alert, Comrades. The first snow of winter – the winter which will descend on glasnost and freeze it to death.'
1 December. Tweed had not returned to his office the previous day. He had to wait at Downing Street to see the PM. And when he did meet her the meeting had lasted far longer than he had anticipated. Now he was walking in Regent's Park with Paula. The wind was biting and he wore his British warm topcoat. Paula clutched her own coat collar at the neck as they made their way across the deserted open spaces.
'Let us go back to the beginning,' Tweed said. 'I still have the worrying feeling I have missed something.'
'You've done everything you can,' she assured him. 'It is a matter of waiting for a break.'
'But we have so little time left. Gorbachev lands at Brize Norton on Monday 7 December. That leaves only six days. So, recall how it all started for me.'
She summarized the early events and Tweed listened in silence. 'Then,' she went on, 'there was the murder of Sam Partridge on Exmoor. You had to identify him for that local policeman…'
She broke off as he stopped, gripped her arm. 'That's it. Why did I have to identify him?'
'Because his wallet was missing. And later discovered with plenty of money inside it – by a dog ferreting in the Doone Valley.'
'So robbery was certainly not involved.'
'They were new notes. The numbers ran in sequence,' Paula reminded him. 'No thief with half a brain would risk spending them.'
'Back to the office.' Tweed's tone was firm. 'I want to see the list Marler sent us of what was in that wallet. Something was missing.'
'Sam's driving licence.' Tweed's voice held a note of triumph as he sat behind his desk and studied the list. 'It wasn't in his wallet. That's what is missing. And he drove down to Somerset. He told me he parked his car in the street at Dunster.'
'Then why hasn't someone reported its presence -parked there all this time?' Monica objected.
'Because someone – maybe Winterton himself – drove it away and parked it in some hidden place on Exmoor. Maybe an abandoned building. They didn't want the car-they're using the licence. Which means they probably hired a car on the strength of Partridge's driving licence.' He scribbled on his desk pad, tore off the sheet. 'Paula, here's his address, Call the Vehicle Registration people in Swansea immediately. Find out the licence number.'
'Which could take God knows how long. They don't move fast,' Paula warned
Tell them you're Special Branch.'He produced his card. 'And tell them I need a reply within one hour. That we are searching for an escaped terrorist. Dammit, they're using computers. Within one hour. . '
It was one hour and ten minutes later when Vehicle Registration phoned back with the number. Tweed called the Commissioner of Police, identified himself, gave him the number. He had hardly put down the phone when it rang again. Newman reporting from Exmoor. No change in the situation.
Tweed explained what he wanted, gave him the licence number and urgent instructions. 'I want all four of you on this. Divide up the area into sectors. Then drive round to every place where you can hire a car. Show them the number. If someone used the licence to hire a car their records will show it. I need any information you can get within twenty-four hours.'
'We have as long as that?' Newman asked cynically.
'Quicker if you can.'
At Cherry Farm the balance of power had changed, much to Anton's chagrin. It had started with a phone call from Jupiter. He told Anton in his cryptic way that three more guests would be arriving. Foster, Saunders and Sully.
At the appointed time Anton drove the grey Austin Metro Seton-Charles had hired in Taunton weeks before to the crossroads where he had taken delivery of the Shi-ite prisoners. A Ford station wagon and a Vauxhall Cavalier stood parked alongside each other on the verge. The lean-faced smartly dressed Foster he had met before came towards him.
Tawny Owl,' Foster greeted him.
'Night Heron,' Anton replied, wondering why Jupiter had thought it necessary for them to exchange agreed codewords when he knew Foster. There were two men in the Vauxhall who waited inside until Anton led the way, driving at the head of the convoy back to Cherry Farm. He didn't like the look of any of them. They had the smell of hardbitten professionals, almost as though they had undergone military training. -,
Foster introduced his companions after his two cars were hidden in the second shed. In the large kitchen at the back Seton-Charles examined the new arrivals through his rimless glasses. He also did not like what he saw. Foster, quick-moving and quick-talking, wasted no time.
'This is Saunders, my second-in-command. If I'm absent you take orders from him. This is Sully. We've brought our own food supplies. Sully will cook for the three of us…'
'Seton-Charles has been doing the cooking,' Anton interrupted. 'He can do the meals for all of us.'
'I said Sully will cook for us. You two look after yourselves. Now, where are the Stingers, the mobile launching
