Solo (Aka the Cretan Lover) (v5) Read Online Free PDF Page B

cause.
    The rage in Mikali was a living thing. The physical pain which gripped his body was like nothing he had ever known in his life before. He doubled over in spasm, fell to his knees, then curled up in a foetal position.
    How long he stayed there, he had no means of knowing, but certainly towards evening, he found himself wandering through one street after another as darkness fell, with no idea where he was. Finally, he went into a small, cheap cafe, ordered a coffee and sat down at one of the stained tables. It was like the echo of an old tune, the cafe in Paris by the market all over again for someone had left a copy of the London Times. He picked it up, his eyes roaming over the news items mechanically. Then he stiffened as he saw a small headline half-way down the second page.
    Greek Army Delegation visits Paris for Nato consultations.
    In his heart, he knew whose name he was going to find even before he read the rest of the news item.
    After that, the whole thing fell into place with total certainty, as if it were a sign from God himself, when the phone rang. It was Bruno Fischer.
    'John? I was hoping you'd arrived. I can get you two immediate concerts, Wednesday and Friday, if you want them. Hoffer was due to play the Schumann A minor with the London Symphony. Unfortunately he's broken his wrist.'
    'Wednesday?' Mikali said automatically. 'That only gives me three days.'
    'Come on, you've recorded the damn thing twice. One rehearsal should be enough. You could be a sensation.'
    'Where?' Mikali asked. 'The Festival Hall?'
    'Good God, no. Paris, Johnny. I know it means climbing right back into another aeroplane, but do you mind?'
    'No,' John Mikali said calmly. 'Paris will be fine.'
    The military coup which seized power in Greece in the early hours of 27 April 1967 had been expertly planned by only a handful of colonels in total secrecy which to a great extent explained its success. Newspaper coverage in the days which followed had been extensive. Mikali spent the afternoon before his evening flight to Paris at the British Museum, checking through every available newspaper magazine published in the period following the coup.
    It was not as difficult as it might have been, mainly because it was photos only that he was after. He found two. One was in Time magazine and showed Colonel George Vassilikos, a tall, handsome man of forty-five with a heavy, black moustache, standing beside Colonel Papadopoulos, the man who was, to all intents and purposes dictator of Greece.
    The second photo was in a periodical published by Greek exiles in London. It showed Vassilikos flanked by his two sergeants. The caption underneath read: The butcher and his henchmen. Mikali removed the page carefully and left.
    He called at the Greek Embassy when he reached Paris the following morning, and was received with delight by the cultural attache, Doctor Melos.
    'My dear Mikali, what a pleasure. I'd no idea you were due in Paris.'
    Mikali explained the circumstances. 'Naturally they'll get a few quick adverts out in the Paris papers to let the fans know it's me and not Hoffer who'll be playing, but I thought I'd like to make sure you knew here at the Embassy.'
    'I can't thank you enough. The Ambassador would have been furious if he'd missed it. Let me get you a drink.'
    'I'll be happy to arrange tickets,' Mikali told him. 'For the Ambassador and anyone else he cares to bring. Didn't I read somewhere that you have some brass staying here from Athens?'
    Melos made a face as he brought him a glass of sherry. 'Not exactly culture-orientated. Colonel Vassilikos, Intelligence, which is a polite way of saying...'
    'I can imagine,' Mikali said.
    Melos glanced at his watch. 'I'll show you.'
    He moved to the window. A black Mercedes stood in the courtyard, a chauffeur beside it. A moment later, Colonel Vassilikos came down the steps from the main entrance, flanked by Sergeants Aleko and Petrakis. Aleko got in front with the chauffeur, Petrakis and the