For all the flowers and the blossom on the trees, there was a palpable sense of doom in the air and he was glad when his passports and documents arrived and he could get back to his task, the first part of which was to take the train to Athens.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

To travel through Greece was to enter another nation in political turmoil: it was in the middle of an election battle, in which fear of the communists mirrored that which Cal Jardine had left in Spain. They were expected to make great gains, and the taxi that took him from the main station of Athens down to the port of Piraeus, where Manousos Constantou-Georgiadis, the fellow he must see, had his factory, passed walls plastered with lurid posters, not one of which he could decipher.

What Ancient Greek he had learnt at school, not as much as he should since it was damned difficult, did not run to the understanding of modern political slogans, though it did make him reflect on what he had been taught about the glories of Athens and the Persian and Peloponnesian Wars, a reminder this was a country he had always wanted to visit.

You could not call on a man like Constantou-Georgiadis without first making contact in writing, which he did under the name Moncrief, by a cable he had translated into Greek, the day following Peter Lanchester’s departure from Paris, using the Hôtel de Crillon as a very impressive postal address to which the man should reply.

That approach had to be circumspect, but the Greek was in the metal fabrication business, so it was not hard to come up with a reason to call, his claim to be a freelance industrial designer looking for a company to turn his drawings into products not requiring that he provide a registered business address that his contact could check up on.

On the outskirts of the port city, the factory, when they finally found it, was not impressive, more a tumbledown large workshop than industrial, like many of the buildings that surrounded it, in an area of dusty backstreets. When asked to wait, in itself a linguistic drama, his taxi driver looked uncomfortable; this was clearly known as a rough area.

Once inside, the reception area and the offices belied that first impression, being well furnished, bright and clean. Whatever the secretarial competence of the girl to whom he gave his name, sitting at the desk behind a large new-looking typewriter, she possessed striking attributes and that was before she stood up.

Blessed with long black hair, pale skin that obviously rarely saw the sun and a bosom the eye could not avoid being drawn to, she struggled with his name and his request, but gave him such a beautiful smile that he felt like an old and close friend. When she stood to enter the inner sanctum, she showed long legs in silk stockings, above high-heeled shoes, and a very becoming posterior that swayed deliciously when she walked.

Which made it all the harder to take seriously the walking syllabub that came out to greet him – Constantou-Georgiadis was not just short; he was all of five feet and shaped like a pear, with all his excess fat, and there was much of it, concentrated below his midriff, which made his walk a serious waddle. A pair of very thick-rimmed glasses set off his fleshy pasty face; this was a man who did not deserve his glamorous employee.

‘English I no speak,’ he said, in a way that made it sound as though he had spent all day rehearsing it.

The relief on his fat face when Cal replied in perfect German was palpable, and the flabby hand he produced to shake had a grip like a dead fish. Next he rattled off something in Greek to his secretary, before indicating they should both go into his office, where Cal was invited to sit, while the Greek went to occupy a chair on the opposite side that seemed twice the size he needed.

Cal had waited till this meeting to make up his mind as to what approach to use; he needed to form some view of whom he was dealing with – a sharp businessman or a mere front. Added to that, he was not in a position to negotiate the price he would have to pay – that would be decided by the seller, and so desperate was the Republic that it would cough up whatever was demanded.

This looked to be a bit of a fly-blown outfit, certainly from the outside, a facade more than a place of genuine manufacture, especially with such a beauty in the outer office and such a contrast before him. He saw no point in beating about the bush, so decided to avoid small talk and get straight to the point.

‘I am in the market to buy a large quantity of arms and I believe you are in a position to help me do that.’

Manousos Constantou-Georgiadis, whom Cal had now decided to think of as MCG, sat so still and looked so shocked it was as if someone had hit him with a club; that was until his lower lip moved soundlessly several times before finally he could speak. ‘I think you have made some mistake, mein Herr.’

‘No mistake; those who had told me of your contacts do not make errors.’

‘And who would these people be?’

‘I believe if I said that, before he died, Sir Basil Zaharoff told me of your associations, you would not deny it.’

‘I do not know Zaharoff.’

‘But you know of him, and more importantly, he knew all about you; for instance, that you have a major shareholder called Rheinmetall-Borsig.’

‘That is not hard to find out.’

‘The nature of the association is not one I think you would broadcast – indeed I am sure you would wish to keep that very discreet – so it would take a man who knew both the arms trade and where the bodies are buried to set me on a trail that leads to your office. An office attached to what? Not a factory that could produce much.’

MCG stood up and waddled out of the door, returning with the cable that Cal had sent him and he had no doubt asked for, his face worried, looking at it as if it would provide either enlightenment or a route to credible evasion.

‘Then you are not an industrial designer?’

‘No, but I take it you are in the business of making a profit.’

‘A man does not go into business for any other reason.’

‘And if you were offered such a thing to an extreme degree, would it not be hard to resist? The client I represent has a difficulty of supply that is close to insurmountable. Any goods would have to be shipped without the usual documentation; for instance, there could be no End User Certificate and the whole matter would have to be so discreet as to be utterly and completely capable of being denied, and if not that, explained away.’

MCG’s face was a picture; for all his features were too bloated to be interesting, Cal could almost see his mind working as his wetted lips were rubbed together. The glasses came off and went back on again, he sat forward in his chair, then pushed back, expelling air, which was all a bit excessive – if he was in the business, right at this moment there was only one client with those problems.

‘Rifles?’ he asked finally, a product easy to supply and relatively easy to both supply and ship with discretion.

‘Yes.’ Just as he began to look relieved, Cal added, ‘And automatic weapons, light and heavy machine guns, mortars, both fifty and eighty millimetre, anti-tank and anti-personnel mines, and if possible, some light field artillery and the requisite ammunition to last for twelve months of combat.’

If he had had any blood in his face it would have drained out, Cal thought, as he reached into his pocket.

‘Here is a list of the equipment I would like. In terms of quantity there is no limit, it is more what is able to be supplied, and I will undertake to ship from any port you name. I would, of course, be disappointed not to have the holds of that vessel full. As to payment, that will be made in gold to you and you must pay your principal, though I assume he will set the price.’