well as Greek, he can speak German and English fluently. He's a natural linguist. An expert horseman – he learned to ride in Germany, then went on to Vienna for dressage. Petros wanted a gentleman in the family, someone who could mix at all levels of society. He's also a crack shot with any kind of rifle or handgun.'
'Where did he learn that? In Devil's Valley?'
'You're joking. When he came back here Dimitrios and Constantine hated him. The one thing they could do to make him look useless was to shoot. Anton flew to England, joined a shooting club. When he came back he could make Dimitrios and Constantine look like children with guns.'
'Happy families. How old is he?'
'Thirty-eight. He looks ten years younger. He dresses smartly. Oh, I've left a bit out. When he came back from Geneva he had a spell at Athens University. He came under the influence of an English professor. He still attends his seminars when this professor comes here in summer.'
'You know the name of this professor?'
She screwed up her thick eyebrows. 'A double-barrelled name. I met him once. Didn't like him. He reeks with conceit and self-satisfaction. But he's clever.'
'Try and think of his name.'
'Got it. Guy Seton-Charles…'
Newman had a word with Nick, who went straight down to the lobby by elevator. Returning to the bedroom, he found Christina sitting in front of the dressing table, brushing her hair. A bottle of mineral water and a glass stood next to her cosmetics.
'I've sobered up,' she announced. 'I drank two glasses of water. Do you think this is a good idea – my going down to the lobby with you if Anton is still there?'
'Part of the plan. If he's hanging about I want him to see you. And I want to see him – so I'll know him in future.'
'He's the most dangerous of my relatives. Because I'm well-educated too he resents me. And he has pots of money of his own. Money is power he says,'
'Where does it come from?'
He runs a chain of shops in Athens and Salonika. They sell expensive television, video and radio equipment. Imported, of course. We Greeks don't make anything -except silverware. Anton is clever technically, too. He can build the most complicated high-powered radio equipment.'
'That's interesting,' Newman commented to himself. He went to the door as he heard the agreed rapping signal. It was Nick.
'Anton is still here. He's strolling round the lobby below the elevators. With a bit of luck we could see him by looking down. Without him seeing us.'
'That's not the idea. Come with us. Ready, Christina?'
'If you insist.'
They crossed the first-floor lobby. Nick had pressed the button, the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Newman gave Christina's arm a squeeze as the elevator descended. She made a move, stiffened herself, stood erect.
'To hell with Anton,' she said.
'That's my girl,' Newman responded.
They stepped out into the main entrance hall. Below them, beyond a waist-high wall, was a deep well, a large reception area approached by steps from the even vaster marble-floored hall leading to the street. 'Over to your left, behind the pillar,' Nick whispered.
Several couples occupied some of the spacious couches at the lower level. A small man stepped from behind a pillar, lifted a small object to his eyes, held it there, then replaced it in his pocket.
Marler sat in an armchair at the lower level. He had a newspaper in front of his face. He dropped the paper, stood up, wandered over to where Anton was lighting a cigarette. Marler brushed past him, looking the other way. 'Excuse me,' he said in English and walked on a few paces. He took the camera he'd filched from Anton's pocket, fiddled with it, snapped it closed again and tucked it down inside the side of his slacks.
Anton still stood by the pillar. A small compact man wearing an expensive lightweight blue suit which Marler suspected was made of silk. He had a blue-striped shirt and a pale blue tie. Very dressy, Mr Anton. His pale face was plump and his black hair was brushed back over his high forehead. No parting.
As Marler approached he was feeling in his jacket pocket. He looked up, put out a hand to detain Marler, who stepped behind the pillar. 'A word with you,' Anton said, following the Englishman. 'You've just stolen my camera.' His right hand gripped Marler's arm and there was strength in the hand.
Marler wrenched his arm loose, shook himself, his expression bleak. 'Don't do that again.' He glanced down on the floor, pointed. 'Your bloody camera is down there. You dropped it, you stupid little man.'
Anton stooped with agility, retrieved the camera. As he stood up Marler hit him hard on the jaw with his clenched fist. No one sitting in the reception area could see behind the pillar. Anton sagged, the back of his head caught the pillar, he lay on the ground.
Marler hurried to the steps, ran up to the higher level where Newman waited with Christina and Nick. 'He's out cold. Time to move her. I'll inform the reception desk…'
'Nick, go out to the car. Be ready to drive us to the Grande Bretagne…'
Newman grasped Christina by the arm, guided her into a waiting elevator, pressed the button. As it ascended he talked fast. 'You kept most of your case packed as I suggested?'
'Yes. I can dump my cosmetic stuff inside in: its sachet and be ready in two minutes.'
'Make it one…'
In the main lobby Marler was talking to the chief receptionist. 'A chap has collapsed behind a pillar down there. Just keeled over. May have had a heart attack.' He waited until the receptionist phoned for a doctor and rushed off, then asked a girl for the bill for Christina's room.
'Everything's paid up,' he announced as Newman emerged from an elevator, carrying a bag with Christina by his side. Behind him he heard the same girl receptionist call out. 'Phone for you, Mr Newman. ..'
'Take Christina to the car,' Newman ordered Marler. 'I'll be with you in a minute. God knows who this could be.' The girl behind the counter handed him the phone.
'Tweed here, Bob. There's an emergency. Call me back safely within the hour. No later…'
'Thanks a bundle.' Newman lowered his voice. 'We have a crisis at this end. I'll call back.' He slammed down the phone.
Nick was waiting outside at the end of a queue of taxis, He opened the rear door of his Mercedes and Christina dived in, followed by Newman. As Nick dumped her bag inside the boot Marler appeared at the rear window. 'Follow us to the Grande Bretagne,' Newman told him. 'Reserve a room for Christina in the name of Mrs Charles. Take over. Nick will be taking me back to the Embassy.'
'Will do.'
Mick turned into the traffic. Christina was producing a large silk scarf from her handbag. She carefully wrapped it round her hair so it was concealed. Next she donned a pair of dark wrap-round glasses, then looked at Newman.
'Do I pass inspection?'
'Unrecognizable.' Newman felt relieved. Everyone was getting into the swing of quick escapes. And Nick was driving, a devious route to the Grande Bretagne. Christina looped her arm inside Newman's and snuggled up against him as he glanced through the rear window. Marler was close behind.
'How the devil did Anton find me?' Christina wondered.
'Probably by showing a photograph of you to a member of the staff short of folding money…'
'But I arrived at the Hilton disguised.'
'And then paraded yourself on the balcony. There were loads of staff serving drinks to the sun-worshippers round that pool. I should have thought of that. I should also have thought of telling you to wear your scarf and glasses when we had dinner at the Ta Nissia restaurant. We'll be more careful at the Grande Bretagne.'
'And maybe,' Nick called over his shoulder, 'I should park this car at the Astir Palace across the road from the Grande Bretagne. They'll have the registration number by now. It means booking a room. ..'
'Book one. In a different name. Buy a case and a few clothes, including one of those peaked caps the Germans like to wear. We want to sink out of sight – and that includes you. And sleep in the Astir Palace room, if
