That evening, Ashby was on the balcony of his hotel room. Six o’clock had arrived. A short time later, a knock came at the door. On opening it, instead of the barman, there was a stout, middle-aged man with a thick black beard, square glasses and a bald head. He was as tall as Ashby and wore a dirty, grey suit and open-necked shirt. Smoking a cheap cigar, he looked at Ashby as if he had a score to settle.
“Mister Robert Ashby ?” asked the caller in a heavy Greek accent.
“Yes, I’m Ashby.”
“I am Dimitros Kyriacou – my company is Hellas Global Shipping Line. We owned a cargo carrier, Captain Stratos. May I speak with you....”
Ashby invited the stranger in and offered him a chair.
It seemed that the barman had been warned off. Someone in Piraeus had information which Hellas Global wanted hidden. Rather than challenge his visitor who was fairly sizeable, he decided to play along.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to speak to you, Mr Kyriacou. I have another appointment very shortly.”
“Ha. Nikos, from the taverna at Piraeus – he says he meets you at six. He asks me to see you instead. He thinks it’s better you hear about Captain Stratos from mouth of the oracle, as we say here.”
“I see. If you’re going to tell me what I already know from your company, I think we’ll be wasting each other’s time.”
“No, no. You are looking for information here – in Athens ?”
“Yes, that’s right – but firstly, you already know about the court case in London next week.”
“Certainly – that is the reason why I am here. We say – this – last opportunity, Mr Ashby, your company must pay.” As he said this in halting English, he glared at Ashby and his voice rose in anger. “We wait now, a very long time – three years.”
“I will tell you what I told your brokers, Mr Kyriacou. We think the ship sank in very strange circumstances and that this should be investigated. That’s why I’m in Athens.”
“Ha, it’s a wasted journey for you. What do you look for ? What is it you want ?” Kyriacou was growing angrier by the minute.
“Did you know that the master of the Captain Stratos sank his own ship, the Aegean Star before he commanded your ship ?”
“Who says you that ? Nikos ? He knows nothing. Ha ha ha – it is lies, all lies. You are a big fool.”
“There was a Marine Board of Enquiry which...”
“All lies – nothing, nothing.” To emphasise his point, the visitor slammed his fist down on the nearby table. “Gangsters. Gypsies.”
“That’s very interesting. So, you don’t believe that your Captain Christoforou was a crook, a fraudster, a swindler who scuttles his own ships for money ?”
“Hahahaha, you know nothing, nothing. Our Captain, he was the very best.”
By this time, Kyriacou was yelling at Ashby and talking over him.
“The best....at sabotaging ships ?”
“That is a big insult – I do not listen to a brave man being insulted by you. You must pay, Ashby – soon – or you are very sorry.”
“Is that a threat ?”
“Hahaha, no threat – I tell you, it happens.”
“I see. Well, I wish you good evening.” And Ashby got up and led the way to the door. Kyriacou followed him but seemed to have more to say.
“You must pay, Ashby – we do not wait any longer.”
“Good evening.”
When Ashby closed the door, he laughed quietly to himself at the heated conversation which had just taken place. From the man’s clothes and his manner, there was no doubt that he was accustomed to pushing people around and behaving like a bully. That he was a director of Hellas Global Shipping was unlikely. His clothes were a give-away : it was easy to tell that he hardly ever wore a suit and didn’t work in an office.
If you removed the beard and the glasses, the caller vaguely resembled someone in a newspaper photograph in Meredith’s files. Ashby had seen the photo – it was in a Greek newspaper. The article was about the Aegean Star. The picture was of its Captain, Constantinos Christoforou.
Was it the same man ? Who could say ? If it was, he’d risen miraculously from his watery grave where he was said to have perished with his ship, the crew and all of the cargo.