He raised the shirt to show the belt, opening a pocket stuffed with banknotes.

‘You lied,’ the German said, his voice even higher than before.

‘It happens.’ Mavros undid the belt, aware that the skinhead’s eyes were locked on it. He raised an eyebrow at Mikis, whose face remained as impassive as a statue’s. Meanwhile, Mesner had taken a crumpled plastic bag from the pocket of his jeans. ‘Let me see.’

Mavros didn’t know anything about ancient coins, but he didn’t think the German was smart enough to substitute thirty worthless coins when he’d had no idea an exchange was on the cards. Not that it mattered, considering what he now had in mind.

‘Thirty of them because your grandfather’s a Judas, eh?’

Mesner nodded. ‘For a Greek, you’re unusually smart.’

Mavros let that go — for the moment. ‘One,’ he counted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mikis move closer to the skinhead.

‘Two.’ Oskar Mesner licked his lips.

‘Three.’ Mavros held out the money-belt — then grabbed the bag of coins, pulled back the belt and kneed Mesner in the groin.

‘Smart and nasty,’ he said, with a grin.

Mikis had his fingers round the sidekick’s throat.

‘I think it’s time this pair went for a short flight,’ Mavros said, nodding towards the bar.

They dragged the Germans over to the entrance. Mikis flung the big man towards the Greek nationalists, then Mavros launched Mesner at the barman.

‘Time to go,’ he said, turning on his heel.

They stopped briefly at the end of the street. The music had stopped and had been replaced by yelling and the sound of breaking furniture.

‘Thanks,’ he said to the Cretan.

‘My pleasure. I hate those bastard Nazis.’

It was only after they got back to the Jeep and were heading for the resort that Mavros had a disturbing thought. What if Oskar Mesner wasn’t the weak-minded scumbag his body suggested he was? What if he took other steps against his grandfather?

As they drove out into the sweet-smelling night beyond the city, he reckoned that was unlikely. He had saved Rudolf Kersten nine thousand Euros, got his precious coins back and made himself a grand.

Result.

EIGHT

Mavros woke up at eight, his head and body heavy. He had to report back to the Kerstens before he continued the search for Maria Kondos, although he had called after he got back to confirm that he had the coins. After a shower, a couple of excellent croissants and a Greek coffee that wasn’t a complete disgrace, he called the Fat Man’s flat in Athens.

‘Oh, boss, I was so worried about you.’

‘Cut the crap, Yiorgo. I’ve been away for under twenty-four hours.’

‘And suddenly you find you need me.’

Mavros laughed. ‘As it happens, yes. I want you to do an Internet search on some people.’

‘Great,’ the Fat Man groaned. ‘You know how much I adore modern technology.’

‘You fool no one. Ever since your blessed mother departed this life of sorrows, you’ve hardly been off that laptop you bought.’

‘One word,’ Yiorgos said. ‘Girls.’

‘And the odd, I mean huge number of conspiracy theories.’

‘Are you saying the CIA doesn’t run the world?’

Mavros sighed. ‘Check out the following please: Rudolf Kersten and David Waggoner.’

‘Waggoner?’ the Fat Man repeated. ‘Wasn’t he one of those British agents who screwed up the patriotic struggle in Crete?’

‘Try to keep an open mind till after the search, will you? Email me whatever you get asap.’

‘Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.’

‘Long live the revolution,’ Mavros replied, then cut the connection. He picked up the bag containing the coins and the money-belt and headed for the stairs.

Downstairs, Renzo Capaldi was again hovering around the door to the Kerstens’ apartment.

‘Still here?’ Mavros asked cheerfully, as he knocked.

‘How is Mr Kersten?’ the security chief asked, keeping his distance.

‘Ask me when I come out.’ Mavros followed a maid in a black dress into the living area. ‘Good morning,’ he said to the elderly couple, who rose politely from their places on the sofa.

‘Good. .’ Rudolf Kersten broke off, his eyes on the objects in Mavros’s hands. ‘What have you there?’

Mavros opened the plastic bag and let the German pour the coins on to the glass table. Then he laid the money-belt down beside them.

‘I gave a thousand to your grandson,’ he said, ‘and I’ve taken a thousand for myself, as agreed.’ Although Mikis Tsifakis had refused to accept any payment for his part in the previous night’s events, Mavros was going to give him some cash. ‘I take it those are the missing coins.’

Kersten nodded slowly, then glanced at his wife. ‘What happened with the money? I can’t imagine Oskar turned it down.’

‘He didn’t.’

Hildegard leaned forward. ‘Did you hurt him, Mr Mavros?’

‘Not more than he would have hurt me. He may try to get in here again, though. I recommend you tell Mr Capaldi to check the shutters and doors, and to set up a patrol outside.’

‘Quite remarkable,’ Kersten said, his voice low. ‘We have much to thank you for.’

Mavros shook his head. ‘It was no problem and I’ve been very well recompensed. If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my original job.’ He glanced at the glistening coins. ‘I’d also recommend you put those and the rest of your collection in the hotel safe or — better — a bank’s. Presumably your grandson won’t be here for too much longer.’

‘We’re not sure about that,’ Hildegard said. ‘He’s fascinated by the film and the anniversary of the battle next week. The last we heard, he had no work back in Germany.’

‘If you want him to leave, you’re right not to give him any more money. That thousand should get him home. Now, I have to get back to my original case.’

Rudolf Kersten got up and followed him towards the door. ‘Dine with us tonight, Alex,’ he said. ‘I’m more grateful than I can say.’

‘Let me see how my schedule pans out.’ Mavros found himself touched by the old man’s gratitude — though the Fat Man would have said it was no more than relief that he’d got his ill-gotten possessions back.

Outside, he nodded to the bulky Italian. ‘Don’t go away. I think you’re about to be called in.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t panic. I put in a good word for you.’

One case down, another harder one to go, he thought, as he walked to the stairs. This time he was going to arrive panting whether Cara Parks liked it or not.

As it happened, the actress was breathing more heavily than Mavros when he was let into her suite. She was in a leopard skin leotard that left little to the imagination, performing high kicks. He was relieved to see that Rosie Yellenberg wasn’t present.

‘Sit down,’ Cara said. ‘Let me get a towel.’ She reappeared with one over her shoulders.

Mavros tried not to stare at her well-toned thighs, but found himself looking at her breasts before he glanced away. ‘I need you to set something up.’

‘Shoot.’ The actress poured herself a glass of water and drained it in one.

‘There’s a driver from the company servicing the crew-’

Cara Parks let out a peal of laughter.

‘Let me rephrase that,’ Mavros said, wondering if she was flirting with him. She certainly seemed less uptight.

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘What about him? Or is it her?’

‘The former. I need him today.’

‘That handsome, huh?’

Mavros flashed her a look that gave her to understand, if she hadn’t already, that he wasn’t interested in men.

‘Consider it done.’ She wrote down the name when he said it. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Various places.’

‘Not saying, huh? Good. Make sure you don’t tell any of the others, especially dear Rosie.’

The actress’s tone was corrosive. Mavros realized the strength of character she had needed to attain the position she occupied on the Hollywood pecking order. He wouldn’t have liked her to be an enemy.