‘There is only one imam at that mosque. Abdi Bakri. He sent them all to Pakistan. My father doesn’t realise that – he still thinks Amir went to see the family there and work for our cousin.’ She frowned, thinking of her father’s naiveté.
‘Do you know anything about this Abdi Bakri?’
Tahira shook her head. ‘Only that he hasn’t been in Birmingham more than a few years.’
‘Was he in Pakistan before that?’
‘Pakistan? I don’t think so. He’s North African. But why, is that important?’
‘It could be very important.’
‘I suppose I could try and find out.’
And as Tahira spoke the words, Liz knew she had a new agent. Did Tahira realise what she’d volunteered for? She would soon find out.
Berger was on edge, though he did his best not to show it in the office. It had been a shock for everyone when the police had arrived on Monday afternoon and told them that Maria Galanos had been found murdered in her flat. Apparently her parents had spent the weekend trying to reach her on the telephone; the concierge had finally relented on Monday morning and used her key to open the poor girl’s door. With Greek efficiency, it had taken the police most of the day to contact her employers.
Falana had fainted when she’d heard the news, and Berger had sent her home right away. But he knew that her alarm was felt by everyone else in the office, and even now, three weeks later, the atmosphere remained tense as well as mournful. In his experience, sudden deaths were upsetting; a murder had the added effect of being frightening.
Katherine Ball was due out in a couple of days, and Berger was looking forward to her arrival – her imperturbable confidence might rub off on his edgy staff. He wished it could rub off on him as well. Unlike the staff, he didn’t think Maria’s murder had anything to do with her personal life, or was the random act of some homicidal psychopath. He was sure that her real role in the office had been discovered, either because she had asked too many questions or because she had found something out which she hadn’t been able to tell anyone in time – Berger’s secretary said that Maria had been looking for him on the day he had gone away for a long weekend.
So perhaps there was a spy in the office after all, one prepared to kill to keep their identity secret. Which meant they might kill again. Berger had not felt so exposed for several years, not since moving out of his risky former life and joining the calm backwaters of charitable work. Or rather, calm no longer; he kept wondering if Maria’s death was not an end but a beginning, and if the killer would continue to kill anyone who might get in the way. In the way of what, though? Berger didn’t know, but it had to include the hijacking of the UCSO shipments.
He wanted back-up – protection, yes, but also someone with a fresh perspective who might see what was going on here in a way that Berger couldn’t. The people from the British Embassy who’d sent Maria had been no help at all. They’d just told him to keep his head down and say nothing about them to the Greek police while they awaited instructions from London. He’d heard no more from them. That wasn’t good enough for him. He hated returning to his former way of life, but he hated being in danger again even more.
The switchboard put him through right away. ‘Trade Affairs,’ a flat Midwestern voice announced. ‘This is Hal Stimkin.’
‘My name is Mitchell Berger. I run the UCSO office here in Athens. I’m Brown Book status.’ This was the register of former employees. ‘I need a meet – ASAP.’
There was a pregnant pause. ‘Well, Mitch. Give me a minute or two and I’ll get back to you. What’s your number?’
Berger gave him a number and the phone went dead. He could imagine the process now put in train – the encrypted email to Virginia, the internal call, the email back. Three hours later he was still musing on how long it would take when his phone rang. It was Stimkin. ‘OK, Mitchell. Now here’s what we’re gonna do…’
He was preoccupied for the rest of the day – even Elena, his normally timid secretary, commented on it when she brought him coffee at four that afternoon. He did his best to focus on work affairs – after Maria’s death he had postponed the planned shipment but needed now to reschedule it – but he was glad when the clock showed six o’clock. By then the office had emptied and he had the lift to himself as he left the building.
He had an hour to kill so he walked. Spotting any surveillance in Athens at that time of night was well-nigh impossible, though he felt pretty sure that if anyone were watching him it would be an individual rather than an organisation, and would therefore be easier to shake off.
