The message waiting for Dillon and Blake when they arrived at Farley Field was explicit. They were to wait to hear from Ferguson. They joined the pilots in the RAF officers’ mess for a meal and were halfway through it when Dillon’s mobile sounded. He nodded to Blake, got up and went out of the front door of the mess, taking the call standing on the tarmac.
“I know you’ve been hanging around up there for some time,” Ferguson said, “but a lot’s happened. I know where she is, Corfu, and I know who Judas is.”
“But how?”
So Ferguson brought him up to date.
When the Brigadier was finished, Dillon said, “What now?”
“I’ll be joining you at Farley soon. Ask Captain Vernon to prepare a flight plan. I should be hearing from Aleko, of course.”
“So we hit from the sea?”
“That would seem logical.”
“We’ll need tooling up.”
“Aleko has a rather extensive range of equipment, but I’ll bring a few items from the armorer.”
“Fine. We’ll see you when we see you, then.”
Dillon went back to the mess and sat down. “That was Brigadier Ferguson,” he said to Captain Vernon. “He’d like you to file a flight plan to Corfu.”
Blake looked up, frowning.
“That might not be possible before the morning.” Vernon pushed his plate away and stood up.
“I’ll come with you,” Lieutenant Gaunt said and followed him.
“What the hell is going on?” Blake asked.
“We’ve found them, thanks to Teddy and that black raven sketch. It wasn’t Israeli, Blake, it was American. Judas is one of your own.”
“Then tell me, for Christ’s sake,” Blake demanded. “Everything.”
When the armorer at the Ministry of Defense knocked on the door of Ferguson’s office, he found Ferguson at the window looking out at Horse Guards Avenue.
“Ah, Mr. Harley.”
“Brigadier.” Harley almost clicked his heels. A retired sergeant-major, he had served in the Korean War with Ferguson. “How can I assist, Brigadier?”
“A black operation, Sergeant-Major, very black. Your authorization is on the desk there.”
“Thank you, sir.” Harley picked it up, folded it and put it in a pocket, then took out pad and pen. “What would you require?”
“Three flak jackets, very latest model, and in black. Black jump suits to go with them. Stun grenades, night-vision goggles, also a pair of good night-vision binoculars.”
“Weaponry, sir?”
“Handguns, silenced of course, and silenced machine pistols of some sort. What would you suggest?”
“Silenced Brownings for the pistols, sir, still the preferred handgun of the SAS, and I’d stick to the Uzi for a machine pistol. The latest model the Israelis have come up with is a superb silenced version. Anything else?”
“Semtex is always useful. I’m thinking of blowing doors.”
“I’ll make up a box for you. Small charges for five-second timer pencils and three- or four-quarter-pound blocks for anything bigger, plus a selection of assorted timers.”
“Excellent. At your soonest, Sergeant-Major, and delivered to Farley Field.”
“I’ll see to it myself, sir.” Harley folded the pad. “Sounds like the kind of order Mr. Dillon would have given me.” He hesitated. “I heard a whisper, sir. I hope it isn’t true.”
“Farley Field, Sergeant-Major, at your soonest.”
“Of course, sir,” and Harley went out.
Aleko made good time on the main road, turning into a narrow track when he was close to his destination, negotiating the way slowly over the uneven surface in the light of the headlamp. When he rode into the yard of the farm, it was midnight, but there was still a light in the kitchen and a dog barked. Aleko switched off the engine and pushed the Suzuki up on its stand. The door opened and Goulos, an aging man with gray hair, appeared, holding a shotgun.
“Who are you?”
“It’s your cousin, Constantine, you fool. Put the gun away.”
The dog had rushed out, still barking, but now started to whine and lick Aleko’s hand.
“What kind of time is this?” Goulos demanded.
“Ask me in and I’ll explain.”
“Well, come in. My wife’s away so you’ll have to make do with me.”
Aleko took a package from the Suzuki’s side bag and followed him. It was a country kitchen with stone floor, open fire, and pinewood furniture. He put the package on the table.
“One thousand Marlboro cigarettes, my gift to you.”
Goulos almost went berserk. “These things are like gold, so expensive. Almost too good to smoke, but I will.”
“Here, have one of mine for the time being and let’s have a drink,” Constantine said.
Goulos went to the cistern, opened it, and took out a bottle. “This is a German wine called Hock. Marvellous when cold and the cistern is better than an ice box.”
He got a corkscrew and opened the bottle, poured two glasses, and accepted one of Aleko’s cigarettes. “Wonderful.” He expelled the smoke. “So I die a little earlier. Who cares? I hear you’re doing really well with the smuggling these days.”
“Fair.”
“What nonsense, you make a fortune. So what do you want with your poor old cousin?”
Aleko poured more Hock. “You’re family, Goulos, and I love you, but if you let me down in this affair, I’ll kill you myself.”
“That important?” Goulos said. “Well, what are families for? So tell me.”
“Castle Koenig,” Aleko said.
Goulos stopped smiling. “You’ve got a problem there?”
“I could have. A serious problem. Tell me anything you can.”
“Well, this American family has owned it for years. The present member is, or was, a colonel in the Israeli Army, name of Levy. The family have always been well liked locally. He used to have holidays as a boy, learned some Greek, but these days” – he shrugged – “it’s not the same.”
“In what way?”
“Well, he always had caretakers, Zarchas and his wife, because he only came to the castle now and then, but about two months ago he fired them without explanation.”
“And then?”
“Five young men turned up, all Israelis. They’ve been there ever since. One of them, called Braun, does the shopping at the village store. He doesn’t have Greek, so uses English.” He poured Aleko another glass of Hock. “They’re there now, I know that for a fact, also Colonel Levy. What’s it about, Constantine?”
“Bad people is what it’s about,” Aleko told him. “I think they’re holding two women captive.”
Goulos smiled beautifully. “Now isn’t that a coincidence? Little Stefanos, my goat boy, was on the slope close to the castle a few days ago. He was in the olive grove looking for a stray, and he could see into the courtyard. Someone drove in in a vehicle, then two of the Israelis helped a woman out and took her in the main door between them.”
“My God,” Aleko said. “That’s it.”
“No, there’s more. He was up there again yesterday when the same thing happened, only this time the woman involved had to be carried inside.”
Aleko banged on the table. “Like I said, bad people, my cousin.”
“So what will you do about them?”
Aleko smiled. “Oh, something appropriate.” He stood up and shook hands. “Enjoy your cigarettes,” and he opened the door and went back to the Suzuki.
When he returned to the taverna, his nephews and Stavros were sitting at the bar, the only customers, Anna standing behind.
“What happened?” she demanded.
“First I phone Brigadier Ferguson, then I’ll explain.” He went through to the office and was back in five minutes. “Right,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
Ferguson had taken the call while seated in the back of his Daimler on the way to Farley Field. He had never felt such elation. He sat there thinking about it, then phoned the President on his mobile. Cazalet was in the sitting room at the White House having coffee and sandwiches with Teddy, when he took the call.