walk. And he had his camera equipment with him.'
'So what happened?'
'It could have caused a disaster, but Masterson had strong nerves. This stupid photographer took a picture of him with a flashbulb. Masterson wobbled, then recovered his balance and went on. There was a gasp from the people watching.'
'Stupid, as you say.'
'But that is probably where the newspapers got the picture from,' Nick continued. 'All these photographers are after extra income. He took the picture when Masterson was grinning at the crowd - and the picture in the papers was like that. Mind you,' he added grimly, 'that was the only picture he was allowed to take.'
'Somebody stopped him?'
'Yes. Several people protested. The receptionist rushed over and gave the photographer hell. Anything else I can do to help?'
'Drive us to the port of Zea, then on to Cape Sounion.'
'You have the time?' Nick asked. 'Two hours there and back. And it would be best to wait a couple of hours. The traffic.'
'A couple of hours from now then. You still have the Merc?'
'A new one. Parked outside. I'd better go check the meter.'
'Two more things, Nick. Does the name Ionides mean anything?'
'Hardly. It's a common name. I know two. Both shopkeepers. And the other thing?'
'Christina Gavalas,' Marler interjected. 'Does that name mean anything to you?'
'You are joking?' Nick was amused. Marler's expression remained blank. 'You both know Greece. Surely you have heard of Petros Gavalas?'
'You mean the legendary Resistance leader during World War Two?' Newman asked. 'I didn't make the connection.'
'Christina is his granddaughter. She hates him. The Gavalas family is a strange story. Maybe I wait until we drive to Zea and tell you then. If she is concerned in any of this you have big trouble on your hands, my friends.'
5
Leaving the room, closing the door, Nick glanced along the corridor to his right, away from the exit. A small man wearing the black clothes of one of the hotel staff stood making a fuss about closing a window.
Nick looked away quickly, made his way downstairs and out of the hotel to where his Mercedes was parked in the blazing sun. He used a finger to loosen his collar. The heal seemed even worse. Dry and like a burning glass as the sun shone out of a sky as blue as the Mediterranean.
He was polishing the bodywork, which already gleamed like glass, when the small man in black jacket and trousers strolled out of the restaurant exit and round the corner. He was smoking a cigarette as he stood admiring the Mercedes.
'That is a real car. You are taking one of the customers for a drive?'
'Who knows when business will turn up?' Nick stopped polishing and stood facing the little man, the same man who had sneaked up behind him when he first arrived and asked reception to inform Newman he had arrived. Dark eyes too close together between a thin ferret of a nose. A smear of a black moustache above full lecherous lips.
'What is your name - and why aren't you on duty inside the hotel?' Nick demanded.
'I am Giorgos. I am entitled to an afternoon break. You think it is a pleasure working in this heat?'
'Get yourself another job if you are not happy. They pay you, don't they? Now, move away from my car. I am busy even if you can fritter away the day.'
Nick turned his back on the little man, polishing the car as he watched Giorgos walking back up the hill towards the restaurant entrance. In the wing mirror he saw Giorgos pause at the corner, take out a notebook from his pocket and scribble in it before he disappeared. He had recorded the registration number of the Mercedes.
To conceal his action half an hour later, Giorgos waited behind a corner before joining a crowd of pedestrians walking over a street crossing. Nick was still working on his car.
Giorgos made his way along the top side of the square facing the pink-washed building which had once been the Royal Palace. Now it was the Parliament since Greece had become a republic.
In the centre of
'So what happened?'
'It could have caused a disaster, but Masterson had strong nerves. This stupid photographer took a picture of him with a flashbulb. Masterson wobbled, then recovered his balance and went on. There was a gasp from the people watching.'
'Stupid, as you say.'
'But that is probably where the newspapers got the picture from,' Nick continued. 'All these photographers are after extra income. He took the picture when Masterson was grinning at the crowd - and the picture in the papers was like that. Mind you,' he added grimly, 'that was the only picture he was allowed to take.'
'Somebody stopped him?'
'Yes. Several people protested. The receptionist rushed over and gave the photographer hell. Anything else I can do to help?'
'Drive us to the port of Zea, then on to Cape Sounion.'
'You have the time?' Nick asked. 'Two hours there and back. And it would be best to wait a couple of hours. The traffic.'
'A couple of hours from now then. You still have the Merc?'
'A new one. Parked outside. I'd better go check the meter.'
'Two more things, Nick. Does the name Ionides mean anything?'
'Hardly. It's a common name. I know two. Both shopkeepers. And the other thing?'
'Christina Gavalas,' Marler interjected. 'Does that name mean anything to you?'
'You are joking?' Nick was amused. Marler's expression remained blank. 'You both know Greece. Surely you have heard of Petros Gavalas?'
'You mean the legendary Resistance leader during World War Two?' Newman asked. 'I didn't make the connection.'
'Christina is his granddaughter. She hates him. The Gavalas family is a strange story. Maybe I wait until we drive to Zea and tell you then. If she is concerned in any of this you have big trouble on your hands, my friends.'
5
Leaving the room, closing the door, Nick glanced along the corridor to his right, away from the exit. A small man wearing the black clothes of one of the hotel staff stood making a fuss about closing a window.
Nick looked away quickly, made his way downstairs and out of the hotel to where his Mercedes was parked in the blazing sun. He used a finger to loosen his collar. The heal seemed even worse. Dry and like a burning glass as the sun shone out of a sky as blue as the Mediterranean.
He was polishing the bodywork, which already gleamed like glass, when the small man in black jacket and trousers strolled out of the restaurant exit and round the corner. He was smoking a cigarette as he stood admiring the Mercedes.
'That is a real car. You are taking one of the customers for a drive?'
'Who knows when business will turn up?' Nick stopped polishing and stood facing the little man, the same man who had sneaked up behind him when he first arrived and asked reception to inform Newman he had arrived. Dark eyes too close together between a thin ferret of a nose. A smear of a black moustache above full lecherous lips.
'What is your name - and why aren't you on duty inside the hotel?' Nick demanded.
'I am Giorgos. I am entitled to an afternoon break. You think it is a pleasure working in this heat?'
'Get yourself another job if you are not happy. They pay you, don't they? Now, move away from my car. I am busy even if you can fritter away the day.'
Nick turned his back on the little man, polishing the car as he watched Giorgos walking back up the hill towards the restaurant entrance. In the wing mirror he saw Giorgos pause at the corner, take out a notebook from his pocket and scribble in it before he disappeared. He had recorded the registration number of the Mercedes.
To conceal his action half an hour later, Giorgos waited behind a corner before joining a crowd of pedestrians walking over a street crossing. Nick was still working on his car.
Giorgos made his way along the top side of the square facing the pink-washed building which had once been the Royal Palace. Now it was the Parliament since Greece had become a republic.
In the centre of
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