to and someone carrying a large bundle was off-loaded into a waiting motorboat. The craft then headed for the British shore.'
'Did he recognize – I mean, see – anyone in the motor-boat he could describe?'
'No. He was concealed behind the bridge and frightened of being found. End of story.'
'Or the beginning,' said Tweed. 'Sam missile launchers. That frightens me. What was landed on that remote stretch of Somerset coastline? And why? For what purpose? Those are the questions we must find answers to. And the solution lies back home in England.'
45
London. As soon as Tweed arrived back at Park Crescent he worried away like a beaver at the problem. He assembled all his helpers in his room, issued a whole series of instructions.
Newman, Marler, Paula and Monica were there. Everyone had to know what the others were doing. The Director, Howard, back from a long holiday, lounged in a chair, listening. He made a typical comment as he brushed imaginary specks of dust off his immaculate navy blue suit.
This is costing us a fortune. Your trip to Athens alone…'
'Are you saying we are wasting our time?' Tweed enquired.
Paula sat behind her desk watching Tweed. He had lost his earlier manner of a man obsessed: seeing Petros had cured him of that. It was now the normal Tweed: calm, dogged, speaking in a controlled tone. Paula felt enormously relieved.
'No,' Howard replied. 'Not after hearing all the details. I don't like that business Kalos told you about General Lucharsky, Colonels Rykovsky and Volkov-above all the connection with Doganis. It does sound as though the hardline faction inside Russia – the anti-Gorbachev lot -has succeeded in establishing a power base outside Russia.'
'And that base is over here. All we have to do is to find it.'
'You make it sound so easy,' Howard observed.
'What gets me,' Paula persisted, 'is how they were able to do that under our noses.' She frowned. 'Unless it was set up a long time ago and has recently been activated.'
'Monica,' said Tweed, 'double-check with Roberts, our man at Lloyd's. I want all details of the movements of that Portuguese vessel, the Oporto. Paula, drive down to Exmoor with Newman. Find out on the 'spot whether Butler and Nield have discovered anything more about movements in that area. Especially about Anton – and Seton-Charles, who seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. Marler, Interpol have persuaded Lisbon to send me that knife used to kill Gallagher. It's arriving at London Airport aboard this flight.' He gave him a sheet of paper. 'In the custody of the pilot of the plane. Bring it back here. I want to check if it really is a commando-type weapon.'
'We stay at The Anchor at Porlock Weir?' Paula suggested as she took from a cupboard the small case she kept packed for emergency trips.
'It's out of the way, a good place to stay under cover. And you can check on Mrs Larcombe's murder. Bob, you get out of the car short of the hotel, register as though you don't know Paula. It can come in useful to have a secret reserve.'
'And I'll have my Mercedes back, thank you very much.'
'Goody,' said Paula. 'I'll get to drive it. At ninety down the motorway,' she joked.
Tweed gave her a look as she left with Newman. Marler raised himself slowly from his chair. 'I'd better push off to the airport before you think of something else…'
'Just like old times,' Monica said when Marler had gone. 'It's all go – the way I like it.' She reached for the phone to call Lloyd's. 'Do you really think Anton is back in this country?'
'He's somewhere over here. What I'd like to know is what he's doing,' Tweed answered sombrely.
It was raining heavily at Cherry Farm in Hampshire. Anton could hear it beating down on the roof of the huge barn where he was working. Perfect weather: it kept potential snoopers indoors. Inside the second furniture van, parked behind the other vehicle, he turned round as Seton-Charles appeared and climbed up the lowered tailboard.
'How are you progressing?' the Professor asked.
'I will show you. We are far advanced.'
Anton moved a tool box on the floor among the straw, used his screwdriver to lever up the hinged floorboards. Beneath was the secret compartment he had constructed to store the Stinger launchers and the missiles.
Seton-Charles gazed round the interior of the huge vehicle. At the front, behind the driver's cab – shut off from the interior – Anton had erected a wooden platform, railed, and with steps leading up to it. A special wooden chair he had designed with an adjustable back was clamped to the platform floor.
Anton inserted a missile into the launcher, carried the weapon up to the platform, and sat in the chair. Reaching down, he depressed a switch. There was the faint sound of electrical machinery on the move. A large panel in the van's roof slid open, exposing the roof of the barn six feet above the top of the van.
He settled himself into the chair, raised the launcher, the stock pressed firmly into his shoulder. The Greek swivelled the weapon through an arc.
'Imagine open sky, a plane approaching three thousand feet up. I press the trigger, the heat-seaking device homes on the target. Boom! No plane. Satisfied?'
He didn't give a damn whether his companion was satisfied or not. The main thing was he knew it would work. He climbed back down the steps, detached the missile, wrapped it separately in a polythene sheet, did the same thing with the launcher, made sure they were safely tucked away and closed the floorboards. Then he rubbed dirt over the joins, moved straw over the compartment.
'Now I have to do the same job with the other van. It all takes time.'
'Maybe I could help by going in to Liphook and fetching the new food supplies?' Seton-Charles suggested.
He was getting housebound. Anton had not allowed him to leave the farm since he had arrived. The Greek shook his head. He had grown a thick moustache; he wore a greasy boiler suit and wore the type of cap affected by the average farm worker. His British boots were smeared with caked mud.
'I get the food,' Anton told him. 'You said Liphook. Do you not realize I buy each time from a different town? Where is your sense of security?'
'I am sorry. That was a foolish mistake…'
'Which could have been fatal. Let us go into the farmhouse – I want to check the two rooms we have prepared for the prisoners. They will be brought here within the next few weeks…'
They entered the farm by the back door: Anton insisted that they never used the front entrance which was kept permanently locked. He led the way up the old staircase and along the corridor to the two rooms facing the back. They were separated by the bathroom.
Each door had two locks and a bolt Anton had fixed. In each door was a spyhole with a cap which closed down over it on the outside. They could look in but an occupant could not see out. He opened the first door, walked inside. The room was starkly furnished.
An iron bedstead screwed to the floor over which was spread a straw-filled palliasse and two blankets. An Elsan bucket in the corner for the performance of natural functions. Anton told Seton-Charles to operate the light switch which he had installed in the corridor. He walked over to the windows he had double glazed. No way of breaking out there – especially as the shutters were closed and padlocked on the outside.
'Who are these prisoners?' Seton-Charles asked.
'Just two men.' Anton continued as though talking to himself. 'I must remember no pork. Lamb and chicken is their diet – and somewhere I will find Turkish coffee. In a supermarket in Winchester, probably.' He looked round.
