twisted and turned, following the indentations of the coastline. On the landward side were small old apartment blocks. Freshly painted, they had pots and tubs holding decorative shrubs standing on their balconies.
'It would cost you a fortune to live at Zea,' Nick said. 'Only the very rich have an apartment here…'
Staring ahead beyond the windscreen Newman saw a signpost to the right as Nick slowed to a crawl. Zeas Port. He turned down a sloping track leading to the sea and along a platform below a high stone wall. The small harbour was crammed with ships moored hull to hull – and each worth hundreds of millions of drachmae. The million-dollar class.
Nick drove along the jetty which curved round the exclusive harbour, protecting it from the sea. Executing a three-point turn, he pointed the car the way they had come. He was parked by the stern of a small yacht, Venus III. Jumping out, he opened the rear door.
'This is Gavalas' yacht,' he remarked. 'A very small fish.'
'How could he afford even this?' Newman asked.
'He buys cheap. During the oil crisis he buys it for one tenth of its value from a man who needs cash. Petros is cunning.'
'What happened to the black Mercedes?' Marler enquired, standing by Newman on the jetty.
'It stopped by one of the apartments on the hill, one man got out, carrying a violin case. Then it drove off.'
'Odd that,' Marler observed and lit a cigarette.
'Please?' Nick was puzzled. 'I do not understand.'
The car follows us from Syntagma. He has no way of knowing where we are going. We arrive here and they drop off one man at an apartment. Some coincidence.'
Newman was running up a flight of steps to a narrow ledge beneath the wall which was now waist-high. The view out over the harbour hit him. The emerald sea, very calm, sparkled with dazzling reflections from the sun. On the far side and further out a fleet of freighters waited, stationary, bows pointed towards the harbour, smoke drifting lazily from their stacks.
Tor Christ's sake come down,' Marler called out.
Newman turned, leant his arms on the wall. It was so hot he could barely stand the heat. He stood looking down at the assembled craft. From one of the photographs taken by Masterson this was where he had stood when he took them. On the jetty just-about the point where Marler waited.
He recognized the huddle of old apartment blocks, the hills rising behind, bare, mushroom-coloured, flecked with scrub. There had to be something here which would give a clue as to why Masterson had come to Zea. He walked down the steps and spoke to Nick, who was polishing the bonnet of the car.
There's a whole queue of big ships, mostly freighters, waiting to come in.'
'The cargo docks on the other side,' Nick explained. They will be waiting for the signal from Marine Control to berth.'
Newman frowned as he saw Marler staring up at the bridge of the Venus III. He followed his gaze and sucked in his breath. Standing by the side of the bridge was a girl with a mane of black glossy hair, centre-parted. She had good bone structure and wore a polka-dot white dress with a thin belt hugging her slim waist. She held her right hand over her thick eyebrows, shielding herself against the sun. It was the girl in the 'photo Masterson had taken unawares.
Marler stared back with a dry smile. Then he raised his own hand and gave her a mocking little wave. Her mouth twitched. She waved back, then vanished. Nick also stood staring at where she had appeared, the cloth poised above the bonnet.
'Christina Gavalas,' he said in a low voice. 'That is very strange.'
'I want to have a word with her,' Newman said grimly.
A gangplank linked the vessel's stern with the jetty. Newman approached it, followed by Marler at a more leisurely pace. His movements were always slow and deliberate. Except in an emergency.
Newman reached the gangplank when three seamen came round the corner of the deck. They wore white sleeveless sweat shirts, blue pants. In their late twenties they were heavily built and two carried marlinspikes. One of them shouted at Newman in Greek, brandishing his marlinspike.
'What did he say?' Newman asked Nick, although he'd understood every word.
Nick laid a warning hand on Newman's arm. 'He says you are not allowed aboard. This is private property.'
'Tell him to get stuffed. I only wanted to invite the girl to join me for a drink.'
'I think we had better leave,' Nick warned again. He called out in Greek. 'We are just leaving. My passengers were admiring your beautiful boat.'
The Greek waved his marlinspike and the three crewmen walked out of sight. Marler was staring beyond the boats up at the apartment buildings above the small harbour. He saw the sun reflect off something, like one flash of a semaphore.
'Get into the car quick!' he ordered Newman. 'No bloody argument.' He pulled open the rear door and dived inside as Newman joined him. 'Nick,' Marler continued, 'move us out of here fast.'
Nick reacted instantly. For a large man he moved with surprising agility. He was behind the wheel when the shriek of several ships' sirens blasted over the wall. As the noise continued Nick started the engine. There was a heavy thud. At the same moment they heard a crackle of glass splintering behind them. The bullet passed between the heads of Marler and Newman, passed on through the open window of the front passenger seat beside Nick.
6
Nick accelerated along the narrow platform, braked, turned up the track leading to the main road. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Newman and Marler both had their heads turned. The rear window had crazed, had a small hole in it.
'He fired from the top of one of those apartment buildings,' Marler remarked.
'We go up there, yes?' Nick enquired. 'We find the bastard before he can get away?'
'No!' replied Newman. 'Turn left. Head back for the town hall square. Find us somewhere we can talk. And somewhere you can hide the car.'
'I know a bar. Close to it is a bombed site. They will not find the car if I park there.'
'Do it,' said Newman. He turned to Marler. 'Is that why you tried to get me down off the wall?'
'Of course, my dear chap.' Marler was as calm as though he'd experienced an everyday happening. He adjusted the display handkerchief in his breast pocket. 'You normally catch on quicker. You had an absorbed look when you ran up those steps. Stood on that ledge like a target in a shooting gallery. Is it the heat, by any chance?'
His tone was mocking. He reached into his pocket and perched a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his nose. They have seen me once. I don't think they'll recognize me so easily next time.'
'Those glasses make you look exactly like Michael Caine.'
'Flattery will get you nowhere. The lenses are plain glass.'
'You were expecting that shot?'
'Something like it. The black Mercedes follows us. Nick reports they drop one man carrying a violin case, then drive off. A violin case! Not much imagination there. Did they strike you as musical characters? A violin case,' he repeated. 'Just the thing for carrying a dismantled Armalite rifle. You are only alive because he had to assemble his weapon before he used it. I saw the sun flashing off his telescopic sight – which is when I told you to dive into the car. He was a better shot than I'd hoped. Very smart, too.'
'Why do you say that?' Nick asked.
'He had a bit of luck and used it. Those ships' sirens starting up muffled the sound of the shot.'
'They made one huge mistake though,' Newman said.
'Which was?' Marler enquired.
'Firing that shot, of course. Now we know someone murdered Harry Masterson.'
