A Darker God (48 page)

Chapter 44

T
here was no sign of Melton, but the man he’d shot was coming into the spotlight, descending the marble steps, carried along like a wild boar by arms and legs. The body bumped and swayed with the stately tread of the four troopers who held it.

They put him down by the side of the first victim.

The crowd approached tentatively. No one called out in horror or even surprise. Heads were shaken, a puzzled murmuring began. Montacute tore himself from Thetis’s side and made his way over to take charge. He moved people back a short way from the two bodies, knelt, and checked to confirm that they were, indeed, both lifeless.

He got to his feet, cleared his throat, and voiced the question on the tip of everyone’s tongue: “Who in blazes have we got here? Will someone kindly put a name to these two?”

Shrugging shoulders, raised eyebrows, bleating denials, and finally silence were his response.

Letty pushed through to the inspector. “I can identify this man. The solitary spectator. His name’s Soulios Gunay and he’s a tobacco merchant. From Turkey.” She felt bound to add,
out of a scarcely understood respect: “But he’s really a native of Macedonia.”

“Good God! This is him?” Montacute snorted and harrumphed. “I had imagined someone more formidable. Um … thank you, Miss Talbot. Perhaps you would hold yourself ready to make a statement later?”

Freddy Wentworth was suddenly with them, leaning over the other body. He stood up again, a spectral figure, white in the face, his evening suit thick in stone dust, his shirt stained with spilled wine and blood from his cut hands. “And I can identify
this
man. The one in the shrubbery.” He spoke quietly to Montacute. “But would prefer to do so in private, Inspector, if you wouldn’t mind. I will just say that he is known to the authorities. And those same authorities will expect you to deal … diplomatically … with the remains in the prescribed manner.”

Unsatisfied and in a mood to challenge any authority that got in his way, Montacute shouldered Wentworth aside. Deliberately trying to puncture the diplomat’s discretion, he began a provoking recital of the victim’s wounds. “Shot through the shoulder … small-calibre weapon … probably a consequence of Miss Templeton’s sharpshooting.”

A murmur of approval went up from the crowd.

“Another …” He turned the corpse over onto its front. “The second, I’m assuming … from a more powerful pistol, caught him in the back as he fled.” He looked at the major’s gun, which was still, discreetly, being held in his hand. The major nodded crisply in acknowledgement of his contribution.

“Well done, sir!” someone said from the crowd, and this was echoed by other admirers.

“The third—and the coup de grâce, I’m thinking—was administered by a steady hand and the bullet passed through the victim’s temple.” Again the major nodded.

“He got what he deserved!” a voice commented stoutly.

“Assassin!
That’s what he was. Here to shoot the Prime Minister, no doubt. And as he wasn’t present, the fiend went for his wife, poor lady. You’re jolly lucky he didn’t have a go at you, too, Wentworth!”

“Scum! Thank God the military were here!”

“Albanian, probably. Troublemakers! Look at that evil face! Makes you shudder! Odd, though, don’t you think? Anyone noticed? He’s an elderly bloke … What would you say? Fifty? I thought assassins were all young hotheads? University students and the like.”

“If we were told his name we probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce it,” someone drawled. “I expect we’ll have to wait and read it in the
Times.”

Hating them, hating the place, Letty reached for Gunning’s hand and whispered in his ear.

    “I simply can’t think why London bothered to issue you with handcuffs, Montacute! You don’t appear to have made much use of them! One young heroine incarcerated for the best part of a day by mistake and that’s about the sum total of your law-enforcing, what?”

Wentworth was blustering, Letty considered. Probably nerving himself to tell them a walloping great lie to cover up some machinations his diplomatic staff had been involved with. She decided not to ask him to marry her. The thought of being hitched to a man who lied for a living was unappealing.

They were sitting around a polished table in one of the state rooms of the Embassy in bright morning light. Civilised, reassuringly official surroundings. Murmuring staff had supplied them with pens and notebooks and blotters. Coffee and shortbread had been served. An aide had apologetically slid under their hands a government form, which Wentworth had waited for them to sign before he began the meeting. “Would
you mind? Official Secrets Act and all that nonsense. Can’t even begin until you’ve scribbled on it and returned it to Swinton … Thank you all so much. Now I can stick you in the Tower and cut your throats or something if you divulge a word.”

The First Secretary, clearly fully recovered from his ordeal of the previous evening, was freshly bathed and smelling faintly of Trumper’s best hair oil. Freshly briefed also, she didn’t doubt. The telegraph between Athens and London must have been running hot overnight. She, Gunning, and Montacute had been summoned to appear before him to be fed the official line.

“But first—may we hear the latest news of Miss Templeton? You were at her bedside for most of the night, I understand, Montacute? Very devoted.”

“She’s doing well. She’ll be in plaster and on crutches for the next six months but she’s a strong girl. She was lucky. There’s a surgeon in the city, a friend of Doc Peebles, retired but with extensive experience of war wounds, who was able to dash along and operate. He saved her leg. But she won’t be striding the boards for a while yet. Thank you for enquiring, sir.”

“I hope I would always show concern for my staff, Inspector.” Wentworth smiled.

“What? Freddy! What are you talking about?” Letty asked.

“It’s a deep state secret, but I’m perfectly certain the lady herself feels little allegiance to the state—any state—and will soon, herself, blurt out the truth of the matter! Under pretext of being under the influence of some opiate or other, perhaps?” He seemed pleased to intercept Montacute’s guilty start.

“I anticipate her account: Recruited in London, she volunteered to be seconded to my staff here in Athens for the duration of a period of acute danger to the life of the Prime Minister.”

“Recruited? Volunteered?” Montacute’s tone was blistering, lacking any deference. “Miss Templeton was
coerced
by the bullying servants of a corrupt Home Office! Five years in Holloway prison or do as we suggest … A fine notion of secondment!”

“Come now! She was offered a most respectable and worthwhile assignment, Montacute. Any patriot would have considered it an honour to accept. She was fully briefed and trained in the use of countersurveillance and firearms. And, in the event, you cannot deny that she performed her duty most nobly!”

Montacute was not placated. “She was fond of the woman she was protecting and would have given her life in her defence anyway. You were lucky there. Suppose your ‘target’ had been some loathsome ingrate—you’d still have twisted her arm.”

Wentworth did not deny the accusation; he tiptoed around it. “We were indeed fortunate that a genuine friendship blossomed between the two. Infernally difficult to supervise and shadow a female, especially here in Greece. And this was no product of the seraglio we were protecting! Here, there, and everywhere on show in public places. Street soup kitchens in the Plaka one minute, dinner parties in Kiffissia the next! Protection could only be undertaken by one of her own sex and one who blended in with Madame Venizelos’s chosen background and extracurricular activities. We do not normally recruit females for such work. We were lucky that Miss Templeton’s particular abilities came to our notice at the right moment.”

He leaned confidingly to Montacute: “Probably premature to make any mention of an honour in the offing, but …”

“The right moment, you said, Freddy?” Letty challenged, sensing they had him on the retreat. “How did you know that Venizelos was in danger?”

“Ah. We had a murmur … no, for once it was more than
that … clear indications from the very highest authority, back in England, that a plot to assassinate him was—once again—under way. But this time, we were up against something more threatening than the usual student-inspired revolutionaries. There have always been signs, Laetitia, that the Royalist party … you understand to whom I am referring when I say …”

“I have sufficient knowledge of Balkan politics,” Letty lied. “Do get on with it, Freddy.”

“… would go to any lengths to remove the P.M. from power with a finality, but their attempts have always been easy to counter. This time … For a start there was money behind it. And the originator tapped into an increasingly strong Europe-wide linkage. We suspect, if we were able to track it back far enough, we’d find the Kaiser himself in the middle of the web. He is known to be actively pursuing the signatories of the Versailles Treaty … an implacable fellow who has not yet accepted that for him the war is over … And Venizelos has always been his enemy, the royal family of Greece his silent supporters. But the
originator
, the moving force behind all this—and I know you will surmise, Letty, that I am speaking of your friend Gunay—insisted on orchestrating the attempt himself. For personal reasons, which I do believe you could make clear to us?”

“That’s true,” said Letty. “But I’m sure we’re all aware …” She ignored the attempt to divert her into an account and waited for him to carry on.

“And, being a complete unknown, and a clever unknown, he might well have succeeded.” He left a pause and then allowed himself a little modest self-congratulation. “A cold, scheming brain fuelled by a deep personal motive, in the driving seat of a well-funded political organisation, run by the German and Greek military. Formidable opposition, you will say! And I will agree. Hard to crack!”

“And was poor Thetis shoved all by herself into the front line to counter all this firepower?” Gunning asked. “Was she also responsible for the Prime Minister?”

“Ah, no. He had his own shadow. You may have noticed him playing rather an assertive role towards the end. Melton. Our Invisible Fixer. They come in useful at times like this.” He smiled dismissively. “We knew an attack was to take place. We knew the organisation would go on and on with these attempts until it was pulled up at the root. And that is what everyone longed for! The final and total annihilation of this noxious nexus.” Receiving no answering smile, he pressed on: “It was decided this time, with the full knowledge and cooperation of the Venizelos couple—who don’t lack courage—to let things proceed unchecked. The network would, it was calculated, reveal itself as it played its hand.

“Inevitably, an assassin would creep out of the woodwork. With a bit of luck, he would be taken alive and be required to account for himself. Melton was brought in to exercise his very special skills in matters of this nature. It’s what he does. There are some men who don’t object at all to dirtying their hands in the name of their country.” He hesitated for a moment to flick an imaginary speck from his cuff with a manicured fingernail, expecting—inviting, perhaps?—a scything riposte from Montacute.

Into the sullen silence, he went on: “The Prime Minister’s appearance at the play was the perfect opportunity for the organisation. And our man, believe me, was ready to put his body and his gun between the P.M. and any assassin who dared to put his head above the parapet.” His voice curdled with patriotic pride.

“Geoffrey Melton? Can we be talking about Geoffrey Melton? I can see him torturing a luckless creature or two in a twisted way, but gallant self-sacrifice?” Letty huffed. “Can you be quite certain of this, Freddy?”

Wentworth gave her a smile tight with secret knowledge. “The gentleman has an impressive record of service to the state … for one so young …” was all he cared to add. “But this whole affair was what you might call a setup. A rat trap. The Venizelos pair were the willing bait and Melton the killing blade in a trap set by us.”

“Whoever
you
are! But the Prime Minister backed out at the last minute and the network knew that!” Letty objected.

“Good Lord!” said Gunning, suddenly inspired. “Because
he
was never the target! It was
Helena
they had in their sights all along!”

Wentworth nodded and waited for Gunning to pursue his theory.

“It was Gunay’s twisted thought, wasn’t it? His own wife had been lost and he’d suffered her loss for years. He knew Venizelos had mourned his first wife for a quarter of a century. Uxorious chap! He could imagine the shattering effect of losing a second wife, and he relished the thought of the old man’s suffering his way to the grave.”

“And
politically
, it was an astute move. And this is what appealed to the Royalist faction who couldn’t care less about the P.M.’s sensibilities. He’s an old man now. Supported, strengthened, motivated by his active younger wife. I think it’s clear to all that he would have given up and retired back to his flat in Paris had she been taken from him in this way.”