A Colder War by Charles Cumming Read Free Book Online Page A

had never had much time for thin-skinned bureaucrats and couldn’t be bothered to summon an apology for whatever offense his remark might have caused. “You can understand why I have to ask. In order to complete a full report on the accident, Scottish Widows needs to know everything…”
    As though he had already grown tired of listening, Makris leaned down, picked up a slim briefcase and set it on the table. Kell was still speaking as two thick thumbs operated the sliding locks. The catches popped, the lid sprang open, and Makris’s face was momentarily obscured from view.
    “I have the flight plan here, Mr. Hardwick. I made a copy for you.”
    “That was very thoughtful.”
    Makris lowered the lid, passing Kell a one-page document covered in hieroglyphs of impenetrable Greek. There were boxes where Wallinger had scrawled his personal details, though no address on the island appeared to have been provided.
    “The flight plan was to take the Cessna over Aignoussa, then east into Turkey. It is customary for Cesme or Izmir to take immediate responsibility for aircraft entering Turkish airspace.”
    “This is what happened?”
    Makris nodded gravely. “This is what happened. The pilot told us he was leaving our circuit and then changed radio frequency. At this point, Mr. Wallinger was no longer our responsibility.”
    “Do you know where he was staying on Chios?”
    Makris directed his eyes toward the flight plan. “Does it not say?”
    Kell turned the sheet of paper around and held it up for inspection. “Hard to tell,” he said.
    Makris pursed his lips, as if to imply that Chris Hardwick had caused secondary offense by his failure to read and understand modern Greek. He took back the flight plan, studied it carefully, and was obliged to admit that no address had been given.
    “There seems to be only Mr. Wallinger’s residence in Ankara,” he conceded. Clearly, this was a minor breach in aeronautical protocol. Kell suspected that, first thing in the morning, Makris would hunt down a junior colleague at the airport and take significant pleasure in reprimanding him for the oversight. “But there is a telephone number,” he said, as though to compensate for the clerical error.
    “A telephone number on Chios?”
    Makris did not need to look back at the code. “Yes.”
    According to a preliminary report sent to Amelia the day before the funeral, Wallinger had used his own logbook and JAR license to hire the Cessna in Turkey and his own passport to enter Ankara, but had then left no trace of his movements once he arrived on Chios. His cell phone had been switched off for long periods during his stay and there was no activity on any Wallinger credit card, nor on his four registered SIS legends. He had effectively spent a week on Chios as a ghost. Kell assumed that Wallinger had been with a woman, and was trying to conceal his whereabouts from both Josephine and Amelia. Yet the lengths he had gone to suggested that it was equally plausible he had been making contact with an agent.
    “Do you recognize the number?”
    “Do I recognize it?” Makris’s reply was effortlessly condescending. “No.”
    “And have you heard anything about what Mr. Wallinger was doing on Chios? Why he was visiting the island? Any rumors around town, newspaper reports?”
    Kell accepted that his questions were what is known in the trade as a “trawl,” but it was nevertheless important to ask them. It did not surprise him in the least when Makris suggested with a light cough that Mr. Hardwick was exceeding his brief.
    “Paul Wallinger was just a tourist, no?” he said, raising his eyebrows. It was clear that he had no desire to improvise an answer. “I certainly have not spoken to anybody, or read anything, which suggests other interests. Why do you ask?”
    Kell produced a bland smile. “Oh, just background for the report. We need to ascertain whether there was any chance that Mr. Wallinger deliberately took his own