My muscles were suddenly tense. This wasn't part of the routine passport check. This man looked like the senior police officer in Pylos.
"May we sit down with you, please?" the Port Captain asked. "For one minute when we make some questions?"
They pulled up two chairs and Bert offered them a drink. More smiles and a sharp clap of the hands to summon the waiter. Extra glasses were brought, the wine poured, and I sat there, watching them and wondering what the hell I was do-
ing here, risking my neck, when I could have been safe aboard Johannessen's boat en route for New Zealand.
"Kapetan Kondylakes is not speaking English, so I speak for him. Okay?" And then the Port Captain turned to me as I had feared he would. "Your name is Van der Voort."
I nodded, dumbly.
The police officer produced my passport from the side pocket of his tunic, opening it at the page with my photograph and pushing it across the table to his companion. They talked together for a moment, both of them staring down at the passport. "Van der Voort," the Port Captain said and he looked across at me. "That is a Dutch name?"
"Yes." My hands were trembling now and I kept them out of sight below the table, cursing myself for not realizing that Interpol operated in Greece.
"But you have an English passport. Why, please?"
"Both my parents were English. After their death I was adopted by Dr. Van der Voort and took his name." This took some time to explain and when I had finished he said: "And this Dr. Van der Voort of Amsterdam-what is his full name?"
I told him and he repeated it to the police officer, who nodded emphatically. "And when do you last see him?"
"About eight years ago."
"So long?"
And when I had explained, he said, "Then why do you come to Greece, if you do not like this man?"
I had no ready answer to that. But at least I could relax now. It wasn't me they were interested in, but the old man. "What's the trouble?" I asked him. "Why all these questions?"
He conferred briefly with the police officer and then said, "Dr. Van der Voort entered Greece on March 9 with an Englishman and a Dutch student. They say they are a scientific expedition looking for prehistoric settlements. Now Dr. Van der Voort is not anywhere to be found. Do you know that?"
"I knew there'd been some trouble between him and another member of the expedition."
"And so you come to Greece. You charter a yacht and sail
to Pylos because there is trouble between Dr. Van der Voort and this Englishman, Cartwright." The police officer stabbed his finger at my passport. The Port Captain nodded. "But it says here that you are a ship's officer." He pushed the passport across to me, indicating the entry against Occupation. "Ship's officers do not have money to charter yachts."
"I'm in tankers," I said, and they nodded. Pylos was a tanker port and they knew what the pay was like.
"And you do not know where Dr. Van der Voort is?"
"No."
"Where do you expect to find him?"
"At Despotiko, a village north of Jannina."
He conferred again with the police officer. "Kapetan Kon-dylakes insists that you explain why you come to Greece."
I did my best to satisfy him, but it was difficult to explain when I didn't really know myself. The Port Captain passed it all on to his companion, and when he had finished I again asked him what all the fuss was about, why the police were so interested. But I met with a blank wall. All he said was, "Dr. Van der Voort has disappeared. Naturally the police have to find him."
But that did not explain why, in a little place like Pylos in the south of Greece, the local police captain had been informed about a man who was missing in quite another part of the country. And when I tried to insist on an explanation, the Port Captain rose to his feet saying that Kapetan Kon-dylakes would have to report back to Athens. They left us then, with many apologies for inconveniencing us and a request that we did not attempt to leave until permission had been granted,
"Well, this is a fine old mess," Bert said.
"It's something political, I think." Florrie was staring thoughtfully at her empty glass. "Kapetan Kondylakes referred at one point to security arrangements. But don't worry," she added. "In Greece everything is twisted into a political issue. You have to have patience."
We drank another bottle, the retsina ice-cold and pungent.
the sunlight warm. Later we had lunch in the taverna opposite, picking out the things we wanted from the bubbling pots on the kitchen range-a fish soup and shish-kebab with stuffed tomatoes. The bare concrete room echoed to the rapid sound of Greek. We didn't talk much ourselves. And then, just as we were finishing, the Port Captain and Kondylakes came in, accompanied by a civilian in a light grey suit. He was taller than the other two. "Which is Van der Voort?" he asked as he reached our table.
I got to my feet and he said, "Kotiadis my name. Deme-trios Kotiadis."
We shook hands and he sat down, motioning the other two to pull up chairs. He had a long, rather sallow face, with a big beak of a nose and heavy-lidded eyes. He was smoking a Greek cigarette and this stayed firmly in his mouth. "Do you speak French?"
I shook my head.
"Then excuse my English, please." He clapped his hands for the waiter and ordered coffee for all of us. "You are arriving here in Greece to see Dr. Van der Voort."
I nodded, wondering what was coming.
"We also wish to see him. So we co-operate, eh?" He smiled at me thinly.
I didn't say anything. I wanted a cigarette, but my hands were trembling again.
"You know he has disappeared?"
"Yes."
"He has been missing for two weeks now. Do you know why?"
I shook my head.
"And you don't know where he is?"
"No."
"Then why you come? Have you some message for him, some instructions?"
"How do you mean?" And because I didn't understand what he was driving at I started to explain again why I had come to Greece. The coffee arrived, poured out of individual
copper pots, and he sat staring at me through the smoke of his cigarette. "Do you know this man Cartwright who is with him?"
"No."
"Or the Dutch boy, Winters?"
I shook my head.
"But you know there has been trouble?"
"I know that-yes."
He hesitated. "There was a question of some money taken. But that has been settled now; it is a young Greek boy who breaks open the tool locker of the Land-Rover. So it is not for that reason he disappear." He stared at me, waiting. Finally he gave a little shrug. "If you wish I can take you to this village where they camp."
I muttered something about not wishing to trouble him, but he brushed it aside. "No trouble. I like to help you. Also we can talk-privately, eh?" And he added, to make it absolutely clear that I had no alternative, "It is fortunate for you that I am at Methoni today, otherwise Kondylakes here must take you to Athens for interrogation. If we leave after our coffee we can be at Despotiko tomorrow morning and then you can talk with this man Cartwright. Maybe you discover what I have failed to discover-where Dr. Van der Voort is." He smiled at me and left it at that.
I lit a cigarette and sat there watching him, thinking of the journey ahead and the two of us alone. He was a man in his late forties, or early fifties, well educated and with a strong energetic personality. It was difficult to place him. When I asked him about his official position, all he replied was that he was with a Ministry in Athens and was here to help Kape-tan Kondylakes in his enquiries. He could have been security police, of course. But there was a peculiar mixture of toughness and charm in his manner; also a certain air of secrecy. I thought he was probably Intelligence.
The coffee was strong and sweet and very hot, and as we sat there drinking it, the three Greeks talking amongst themselves, I felt a strong sense of isolation. Florrie touched my hand. "It will be all right, Paul. I'm sure it will." And she added, "We can meet you in Preveza."