slowed down. He gestured towards the vessels.
'The big ferries. They go to Crete and Corfu and Rhodes. The small one is soon sailing for Siros.'
Newman jerked his head. The name of the vessel was clearly marked on its compact stern. Ulysses. The last cars and trucks were edging their way up the ramp, forming three rows.
'How long to Siros?' he asked.
Two hours.'
Marler was staring at the wall of buildings to the left facing the waterfront. Four-storey blocks, they carried names of various shipping lines, most of which he recognized. Watching him in his rear-view mirror, Nick grinned again and gesticulated.
The headquarters of so many shipping empires. Others have registered in Panama. Some of those big men have yachts which come in to Zea. Petros Gavalas has a small yacht there - what these people would call a rowboat. And still our friends are with us.'
That black Mercedes?' Newman enquired, careful not to look back.
'Yes. And we have made too many turns for it to be a coincidence. Let us see what he does when we turn down to Zea.'
They had left behind the big shipping company buildings. Now they were driving along a narrow street which twisted and turned, following the indentations of the coastline. On the landward side were small old apartment blocks. Freshly painted, they had pots and tubs holding decorative shrubs standing on their balconies.
'It would cost you a fortune to live at Zea,' Nick said. 'Only the very rich have an apartment here ...'
Staring ahead beyond the windscreen Newman saw a signpost to the right as Nick slowed to a crawl. Zeas Port. He turned down a sloping track leading to the sea and along a platform below a high stone wall. The small harbour was crammed with ships moored hull to hull - and each worth hundreds of millions of drachmae. The million-dollar class.
Nick drove along the jetty which curved round the exclusive harbour, protecting it from the sea. Executing a three-point turn, he pointed the car the way they had come. He was parked by the stern of a small yacht, Venus III. Jumping out, he opened the rear door.
'This is Gavalas' yacht,' he remarked. 'A very small fish.'
'How could he afford even this?' Newman asked.
'He buys cheap. During the oil crisis he buys it for one tenth of its value from a man who needs cash. Petros is cunning.'
'What happened to the black Mercedes?' Marler enquired, standing by Newman on the jetty.
'It stopped by one of the apartments on the hill, one man got out, carrying a violin case. Then it drove off.'
'Odd that,' Marler observed and lit a cigarette.
'Please?' Nick was puzzled. 'I do not understand.'
The car follows us from Syntagma. He has no way of knowing where we are going. We arrive here and they drop off one man at an apartment. Some coincidence.'
Newman was running up a flight of steps to a narrow ledge beneath the wall which was now waist-high. The view out over the harbour hit him. The emerald sea, very calm, sparkled with dazzling reflections from the sun. On the far side and further out a fleet of freighters waited, stationary, bows pointed towards the harbour, smoke drifting lazily from their stacks.
Tor Christ's sake come down,' Marler called out.
Newman turned, leant his arms on the wall. It was so hot he could barely stand the heat. He stood looking down at the assembled craft. From one of the photographs taken by Masterson this was where he had stood when he took them. On the jetty just-about the point where Marler waited.
He recognized the huddle of old apartment blocks, the hills rising behind, bare, mushroom-coloured, flecked with scrub. There had to be something here which would give a clue as to why Masterson had come to Zea. He walked down the steps and spoke to Nick, who was polishing the bonnet of the car.
There's a whole queue of big ships, mostly freighters, waiting to come in.'
'The cargo docks on the other side,' Nick explained. They will be waiting for the signal from Marine Control to berth.'
Newman frowned
'The big ferries. They go to Crete and Corfu and Rhodes. The small one is soon sailing for Siros.'
Newman jerked his head. The name of the vessel was clearly marked on its compact stern. Ulysses. The last cars and trucks were edging their way up the ramp, forming three rows.
'How long to Siros?' he asked.
Two hours.'
Marler was staring at the wall of buildings to the left facing the waterfront. Four-storey blocks, they carried names of various shipping lines, most of which he recognized. Watching him in his rear-view mirror, Nick grinned again and gesticulated.
The headquarters of so many shipping empires. Others have registered in Panama. Some of those big men have yachts which come in to Zea. Petros Gavalas has a small yacht there - what these people would call a rowboat. And still our friends are with us.'
That black Mercedes?' Newman enquired, careful not to look back.
'Yes. And we have made too many turns for it to be a coincidence. Let us see what he does when we turn down to Zea.'
They had left behind the big shipping company buildings. Now they were driving along a narrow street which twisted and turned, following the indentations of the coastline. On the landward side were small old apartment blocks. Freshly painted, they had pots and tubs holding decorative shrubs standing on their balconies.
'It would cost you a fortune to live at Zea,' Nick said. 'Only the very rich have an apartment here ...'
Staring ahead beyond the windscreen Newman saw a signpost to the right as Nick slowed to a crawl. Zeas Port. He turned down a sloping track leading to the sea and along a platform below a high stone wall. The small harbour was crammed with ships moored hull to hull - and each worth hundreds of millions of drachmae. The million-dollar class.
Nick drove along the jetty which curved round the exclusive harbour, protecting it from the sea. Executing a three-point turn, he pointed the car the way they had come. He was parked by the stern of a small yacht, Venus III. Jumping out, he opened the rear door.
'This is Gavalas' yacht,' he remarked. 'A very small fish.'
'How could he afford even this?' Newman asked.
'He buys cheap. During the oil crisis he buys it for one tenth of its value from a man who needs cash. Petros is cunning.'
'What happened to the black Mercedes?' Marler enquired, standing by Newman on the jetty.
'It stopped by one of the apartments on the hill, one man got out, carrying a violin case. Then it drove off.'
'Odd that,' Marler observed and lit a cigarette.
'Please?' Nick was puzzled. 'I do not understand.'
The car follows us from Syntagma. He has no way of knowing where we are going. We arrive here and they drop off one man at an apartment. Some coincidence.'
Newman was running up a flight of steps to a narrow ledge beneath the wall which was now waist-high. The view out over the harbour hit him. The emerald sea, very calm, sparkled with dazzling reflections from the sun. On the far side and further out a fleet of freighters waited, stationary, bows pointed towards the harbour, smoke drifting lazily from their stacks.
Tor Christ's sake come down,' Marler called out.
Newman turned, leant his arms on the wall. It was so hot he could barely stand the heat. He stood looking down at the assembled craft. From one of the photographs taken by Masterson this was where he had stood when he took them. On the jetty just-about the point where Marler waited.
He recognized the huddle of old apartment blocks, the hills rising behind, bare, mushroom-coloured, flecked with scrub. There had to be something here which would give a clue as to why Masterson had come to Zea. He walked down the steps and spoke to Nick, who was polishing the bonnet of the car.
There's a whole queue of big ships, mostly freighters, waiting to come in.'
'The cargo docks on the other side,' Nick explained. They will be waiting for the signal from Marine Control to berth.'
Newman frowned
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