The Greek Key Read Online Free PDF Page B

Tweed asked Howard. 'If it was murder and we don't act fast the Prime Minister will call us to account.'
    'I don't like blackmail,' Howard replied stiffly.
    'Who does? You haven't answered the question.'
    'Well,' Howard began, his manner breezy, 'first he's a fox, then he's a goat . . .'
    'I don't find that the least bit amusing,' Tweed snapped.
    'In that case, what do you propose?' Howard's well-fed face was flushed with annoyance. 'And I still maintain Marler could go on his own. Newman is surplus to requirements - I do realize he's rendered valuable service in the past . . .'
    'Very generous of you,' Tweed interjected. The trouble was Howard realized Newman was wealthier than he would ever be. The foreign correspondent had made a fortune from his best-selling book, Kruger: The Computer That Failed. Tweed spoke decisively.
    'Marler and Newman will travel to Greece together. Masterson went alone - and see what happened to him.' He glanced at Paula but she was already recording his instructions.
    'Marler's deputy, Harris, can take over the German sector in his absence. Agreed, Marler?' He went on as Marler nodded. 'The investigation covers two very different areas. Greece. Dealt with. Newman reports back to me over Patterson's scrambler phone at the Athens Embassy.'
    'Why not Marler?' Howard bleated.
    Tweed, in full cry, ignored the interruption. 'I shall drive with Paula to Exmoor and check that area. Pete Nield will come with us in a separate car. He will appear not to know us. He will come armed.'
    'Why?' demanded Howard.
    'Because I don't know what we're walking into. One man has already been murdered.'
    'That has yet to be proved,' Howard objected.
    'Everyone I asked believes that. I have an open mind but I'm taking no chances. We start tomorrow - before the scent goes cold. The contents of this cigar box Harry posted me will be checked by our experts in the Engine Room in the basement. I want someone to visit Harry's country cottage in Sussex. What was it called?'
    'Clematis Cottage, near Apfield,' said Paula, continuing her writing.
    'I will contact Jim Corcoran of Airport Security at Heathrow. He'll check the passenger manifests of all flights to Greece over the past three weeks.' Tweed looked briefly at Howard who had lapsed into silence. 'If we can find which flight Masterson used we may find the name of that Greek girl Monica saw him with in Bond Street.' He turned to Paula. 'How is Monica?'
    'Harry Butler took her home. He'll pull her round. Should he go down to check Clematis Cottage?'
    'Good idea. And tell him to look at a power cruiser moored at a landing stage a few hundred yards south of the cottage. He turns off to the right along the first track.'
    'Is that the lot?' Howard enquired with a hint of sarcasm.
    'No. We need photos of Harry Masterson run off by the Engine Room urgently this evening. Newman and Marler will need them when they're tracking his movements in Greece. And I want careful blow-ups of the photo of the Greek girl at Zea. Some for Newman and Marler, some for me to take to Somerset.'
    'I think I'm going.' Howard stood up. 'I do have other work calling for my attention. I can't rubber-stamp all this in a memo . . .'
    'So you'll have a little extra time for that other work calling for your attention.' Tweed smiled. 'Thank you for your cooperation and attendance.'
    Howard withdrew, closing the door behind him as though it were made of glass. Round the table there was a sense of relief.
    'I have held back two intriguing points.' Tweed told them. 'Harry made a reference to a friend at court at the Ministry of Defence. I hope to visit him before you leave tonight. I can't imagine why Harry went there.'
    'And the other point?' asked Marler
    'Endstation.' Tweed looked round the table. 'Like a clue to a crossword puzzle. Mean anything? Suggest anything? The word is written - in Harry's writing - on the back of a British postcard. Just that one word. Endstation .'
    'Sounds like Cockfosters, the last