In the first place, somebody’s life, thought Liz, looking at him and remembering what had happened to Maria, his last attempt at infiltrating an agent. The dead girl seemed to hold for him all the importance of a tax deduction – something to be written off.
Fane went on, ‘Look, the simple truth is, if we don’t take charge of this operation, the Americans will.’
‘The Americans? What have they got to do with it?’
‘Quite a lot by now.’ He was looking slightly sheepish. ‘You were right about the head of the Athens office – he’s ex-Agency. Langley has suddenly started to take an interest in what they’d previously dismissed as a parochial Greek affair. It feeds into their growing concern about Somalia.’
‘What’s that got to do with putting someone on board the Aristides?’
‘Simply this: if we don’t do it, Langley will. And I’m sure that neither of us wants that to happen.’
She didn’t answer at once. Fane was right to think that it would be disastrous for the CIA to come charging mob-handed into the case. Now was not the moment for a ‘bombs away’ approach.
But Fane’s alternative, putting a Six officer on board, was equally unpalatable to Liz. The emphasis then would be less on discovering any links between the Birmingham mosque, Al Qaeda and Somalia, and more on adventures against pirates and… well, ultimately, she thought cynically, furthering Fane’s own glory. No, thanks, thought Liz.
She said, ‘I agree we don’t want the Americans taking over. But I don’t think it should be one of your people on board.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Fane, looking affronted.
‘Because if anyone’s going to do this, it should be one of us.’ Before he could object, she continued, ‘If there are people on board who are in collusion with the pirates, the likelihood is that they will be British masquerading as Pakistanis.’ She told him what Peggy had found out about the six crew members who had disappeared during the Aristides’ previous voyage. She went on, ‘And we’re obviously in the strongest position to spot them. We’re already investigating the mosque in Birmingham that Amir Khan used to attend. We think that’s where he was recruited to do whatever he was sent out to Somalia to do. It may be that all this links together. Anyway, it’s in our bailiwick. So whoever we put on the Aristides should know the details of our investigation and be from this side of the river.’
She pointed out of the window. ‘Low floor perhaps, but the view from here looks pretty clear to me.’
In the Athens office of UCSO, the shock of Maria Galanos’ death had begun to wear off, to be replaced by an atmosphere of oppressive gloom. The usual high spirits of the Greek girls were dimmed, and Mr Limonides had become even more withdrawn. Katherine Ball was due in from London the following day, and Mitchell Berger was hoping that her brisk professionalism would lighten the mood and return them to normality.
Claude Rameau had come back from ten days in Rwanda, and Berger had been trying to keep track of her – not an easy task since she clearly regarded the office as merely a convenient place to drop in to from time to time when it suited her. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Claude Rameau was the source of the leak about the UCSO shipments. An accomplice, possibly, but not the prime mover. For a start, she wasn’t in the country enough, let alone in the office, to know in detail what was going on – or to keep an eye on the ships’ manifests.
No, the obvious suspect was not someone in the office at all. Berger’s suspicions were now focused on the shipping agent, Mo Miandad. Acting on these suspicions, he had followed Miandad the previous week when the man left the UCSO offices in the late afternoon after one of his regular visits to Mr Limonides. When Mo got on to a bus, Berger hailed a passing cab and, to the obvious delight of the taxi driver, told him to follow the bus. They’d stopped and started, keeping closely behind the bus as it made its way for two miles or so across the city, until Berger saw Miandad alight. The taxi driver had been disappointed when Berger leaped out and paid him off. He’d asked if he should follow on slowly behind, ready in case he was needed again, but Berger told him to go away.
They had ended up in a part of Athens that Berger did not know – a suburban enclave of flats and small houses, which from the look of the pedestrians on the street seemed to be occupied largely by older people, with a good smattering of ethnic minorities. He followed Miandad from a distance, and spotted him turning into a terrace of stuccoed houses where he opened a front door with a key. This must be where he lives, thought Berger. That seemed to be confirmed when, minutes later, an Asian woman and a teenage girl, both wearing headscarves, came out of the same front door.
