He debated for a while about getting rid of the Seat, just in case it had been spotted back in Rethymno, but he decided not to. He would only have to use it for one more journey, the following afternoon, and he believed he would be exposed to far more risk of being identified if he tried to hire or steal another car.
Stein plugged the laptop and the mobile phone into power sockets for recharging. He might well have to use one or the other the following day after he’d left the hotel. Then he jammed the back of a chair under the door handle, stripped off and ran a bath. He took the SIG into the bathroom with him, just in case.
Forty minutes later Martin Fitzpatrick walked back across the street and sat down next to Richter. ‘We make progress,’ he said. ‘They had to get it cleared with their powers that be, which is why it took so long, but they’ll be taking no further official action over the incident. If anyone pushes them they’re going to claim that it was accidental death. Ross was entitled to carry a firearm in certain circumstances, although we both know he wasn’t armed today, so the official position will be that it was an accidental discharge with no third-party involvement.’
Fitzpatrick pushed a piece of paper across the table. ‘They’ve tracked down the full registration number of the Seat. You were right: it’s a Cordoba and it was hired a short while ago here in Rethymno by an American tourist called George Jones.’
Richter nodded. ‘That’s a new name, of course, but I’ve no doubt it’s the same man.’
‘Right. The Cretan police have put out a watch order for the car itself, but a hands-off instruction for the driver, as you requested. As soon as anybody spots it I’ll let you know. Where are you going to be for the rest of the day?’
‘Right here in Rethymno,’ Richter said. ‘I’ve got a room at a hotel about half a mile up the street. I’m going to hire a car this afternoon so that I’m able to get moving immediately, but until I hear from you, I’ll be staying at that hotel. I’ll have the mobile Ross gave me switched on at all times.’
Fitzpatrick stood up and extended a hand. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said. ‘Just a shame about the circumstances. I’ll be in touch.’
As the SIS officer walked away, Richter’s mobile rang.
‘Richter.’
‘Tyler Hardin,’ the voice said. ‘I don’t know if it’s much help to you, but I’ve been passed a preliminary report about the weapon used to kill Curtis.’
‘Wait one,’ Richter murmured, putting the mobile down on the table. He pulled a ballpoint pen and notebook from his pocket and prepared to write. ‘Go ahead,’ he said.
‘OK, Curtis was killed by two bullets from a nine-millimetre weapon, presumably a pistol. The local forensic laboratory has only been able to state what weapons within that calibre didn’t fire them.’
‘Which were?’ Richter asked.
‘OK, this isn’t my field, so I’m reading from a list here. The two bullets I pulled out of Curtis’s chest had six grooves and a right-hand twist, like those fired by just about every other 9mm pistol that’s ever been built. The weapons that couldn’t have fired them include a Glock; Steyr; some of the Czech CZ models; Heckler and Koch; most of the Russian pistols like the Makarov and Tokarev; most Chinese pistols; Colts; and the old Luger. Colts have six grooves but a left-hand twist in the rifling, and all the others have a different number of grooves, usually four, or a strange barrel shape like the hexagonal thing on the Glock. Does any of that make any sense to you?’
‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘It makes perfectly good sense, but it doesn’t help much. It just means whoever killed Curtis wasn’t helpful enough to use some kind of more unusual weapon that could help me to identify him.’
Stein sat down on the edge of the rather hard bed and looked at the map that he’d spread out beside him. The laptop computer was perched next to the bed on an upright chair, the screen again displaying the email he’d received earlier that day from McCready. He’d read the text at least half a dozen times and still wasn’t sure about it.
It was just about possible that McCready was prepared to play it straight. The single, and unquestionable, advantage that Stein had was actual possession of the steel case containing the flasks and the Company file. To recover those items, he believed McCready would go to almost any lengths, so he was fairly certain that a helicopter from the US Navy frigate would appear at the pick-up point specified. What he wasn’t sure about was who else might have been told to turn up at that rendezvous, and what their orders might be.
The problem was, Stein couldn’t actually see what other options he had. Before he’d shot that unknown man in his hotel room, there had been at least a chance he could have tried slipping away from Crete by air or ferry, but the killing had precluded that. The Cretan police would by now have both a good verbal description of him and a copy of his passport photograph, since the hotel clerk in Rethymno had photocopied all three of their passports as they’d checked in. The fact that the name on that passport wasn’t the same as the one he was currently using was, in that context, irrelevant. If the police had done nothing else meanwhile, they would at the very least ensure that all the port and airport officials would have his picture sitting on view right in front of them.
One alternative he had considered was to hire or steal a boat and sail it up towards the Greek mainland. But Stein knew that his own abilities fell far short of what was required: just getting that open boat back to Chora Sfakia after the dive had taxed him to the limit.
So, despite the inevitable risks, he really had no option but to turn up at McCready’s rendezvous. He’d be sure to get there early, take every possible precaution, and watch his back as best he could. If he even made it as far as the chopper, he’d feel safe. Until then, Stein was going to be living on his nerves.
Sitting in the hotel bar late that afternoon, a coffee cup, a bottle of water, a glass, two mobile phones and an unopened novel arranged in front of him, Richter had come to broadly the same conclusions as Stein, and for pretty much the same reasons. The Cretan police were probably not as efficient or as organized as some other European forces, but they’d had plenty of practice in locking down all the regular routes off their island.
The only way Richard Watson or George Jones, or whatever his real name was, could get off Crete was if somebody arranged some kind of a clandestine pick-up for him, and that probably meant either a boat or a helicopter. Fortunately, Richter was in a pretty good position to do something about either option – or, to be exact, he wasn’t, but HMS
Richter reached for the Enigma mobile he’d collected on the ship itself and dialled a London number. It took him nearly five minutes to reach and brief the duty officer, and another two minutes before he heard Simpson’s less than amiable tones in his ear.
‘Now what, Richter? And who’s this man Ross you’ve managed to get killed? I’ve had Vauxhall Cross bleating on about him for the last hour.’
‘I didn’t get him killed, Simpson,’ Richter snapped. ‘Charles Ross was the man the local Six office loaned me, mainly for his language and lock-picking skills. Unfortunately, he encountered the last of these three Americans I’ve been chasing. The Yank was armed: Ross wasn’t. The outcome was entirely predictable.’
‘Not by you, apparently, Richter.’
‘I can’t tell the local Six people how to conduct their business. We had one pistol between us, and as I was acting as the downstairs man, it seemed more appropriate that I should be carrying.’
‘So you say. My guess is that Vauxhall Cross will want you grilled and served up on a platter once you get back here. First Lomas, now this man Ross – and in less than a week, too. That’s a pretty unimpressive record even by your standards.’
‘I don’t give a toss what Vauxhall Cross – or anyone else, for that matter – thinks of me. I’m trying to do a job over here – like you instructed, if you remember – and I’d manage it a lot better if you climbed off my back and gave me some real help instead of bitching about what’s gone wrong.’
‘Watch your mouth, Richter. What help do you want now anyway? Another Six man to act as a bullet-
