The Keys of Hell. Jack Higgins

      The Chief turned, took in Chavasse’s appearance and nodded. ‘Glad to see you back in one piece, Paul. I hear things were pretty rough over there.’

      ‘You could say that.’

      The older man moved to his chair and sat down. ‘Tell me about it.’

      ‘Albania?’ Chavasse shrugged. ‘We’re not going to do much there. No one can pretend the people have gained anything since the Communists took over at the end of the war, but there’s no question of a counter-revolution even getting started. The Sigurmi, the secret police, are everywhere. I’d say they must be the most extensive in Europe.’

      ‘You went in using that Italian Communist Party Friendship cover, didn’t you?’

      ‘It didn’t do me much good. The Italians in the party accepted me all right, but the trouble started when we reached Tirana. The Sigurmi assigned an agent to each one of us and they were real pros. Shaking them was difficult enough, and the moment I did, they smelt a rat and put out a general call for me.’

      ‘What about the Freedom Party? How extensive are they?’

      ‘You can start using the past tense as of last week. When I arrived, they were down to two cells. One in Tirana, the other in Scutari. Both were still in contact with our Bureau operation here in Rome.’

      ‘Did you manage to contact the leader, this man Luci?’

      ‘Only just. The night we were to meet to discuss things, he was mopped up by the Sigurmi. Apparently, they were all over his place, waiting for me to show my hand.’

      ‘And how did you manage to get out of that one?’

      ‘The Scutari cell got a radio signal from Luci as the police were breaking in. They relayed it to Bureau Headquarters here in Rome. Luckily for me, they had a quick thinker on duty – a girl named Francesca Minetti.’

      ‘One of our best people at this end,’ the Chief said. ‘I’ll tell you about her one of these days.’

      ‘My back way out of Albania was a motor launch called the Buona Esperanza, run by a man named Guilio Orsini. He’s quite a boy. Was one of the original torpedo merchants with the Italian Navy during the war. His best touch was when he sank a couple of our destroyers in Alexandria harbour back in ’41. Got out again in one piece, too. He’s a smuggler now. Runs across to Albania a lot. His grandmother came from there.’

      ‘As I recall the original plan, he was to wait three nights running in a cove near Durres. That’s about thirty miles by road from Tirana, isn’t it?’

      Chavasse nodded. ‘When Francesca Minetti got the message from Scutari, she took a chance and put it through to Orsini on his boat. The madman left his crewman in charge, landed, stole a car in Durres and drove straight to Tirana. He caught me at my hotel as I was leaving for the meeting with Luci.’

      ‘Getting back to the coast must have been quite a trick.’

      ‘We did run into a little trouble. Had to do the last ten miles on foot through coastal salt marshes. Not good with the hounds on your heels, but Orsini knew what he was doing. Once we were on board the Buona Esperanza, it was easy. The Albanians don’t have much of a navy. Half a dozen minesweepers and a couple of sub-chasers. The Buona Esperanza has ten knots on any one of them.’

      ‘It would seem that Orsini is due for a bonus on this one.’

      ‘That’s putting it mildly.’

      The Chief nodded, opened the file that contained Chavasse’s report and leafed through it. ‘So we’re wasting our time in Albania?’

      Chavasse nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. You know the way things have been since the 20th Party Congress in 1956, and now the Chinese are in there with both feet.’

      ‘Anything to worry about?’

      Chavasse shook his head. ‘Albania’s the most backward European country I’ve visited and the Chinese are too far from home to be able to do much about it.’

      ‘What about this naval base the Russians were using at Valona before they pulled out? The word was that they’d built it into a sort of Red Gibraltar on the Adriatic.’

      ‘Alb-Tourist took us on an official trip on our second day. “Port” is hardly the word for the place. Good natural shelter, but only used by fishing boats. Certainly no sign of submarine pens.’

      ‘And Enver Hoxha – you think he’s still firmly in control?’

      ‘And then some. We saw him at a military parade on the third day. He cuts an impressive figure, especially in uniform. He’s certainly the people’s hero at the moment. Heaven knows for how long.’

      The Chief closed the file with a quick gesture that somehow dismissed the whole affair, placing it firmly in the past.

      ‘Good work, Paul. At least we know where we stand. You’re due for some leave now, aren’t you?’

      ‘That’s right,’ Chavasse said, and waited.

      The Chief got to his feet, walked to the window and looked out over the glittering city, down towards the Tiber. ‘What would you like to do?’

      ‘Spend a week or two at Matano,’ Chavasse said without hesitation. ‘That’s a small fishing port near Bari. There’s a good beach, and Guilio Orsini owns a place on the front called the Tabu. He’s promised me some diving. I’m looking forward to it.’

      ‘I’m sure you are,’ the Chief said. ‘Sounds marvellous.’

      ‘Do I get it?’

      The old man looked out over the city, an abstracted frown on his face. ‘Oh, yes, Paul, you can have your leave – after you’ve done a little chore for me.’

      Chavasse groaned and the older man turned and came back to the desk. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long, but you’ll have to leave tonight.’

      ‘Is that necessary?’

      The old man nodded. ‘I’ve got transport laid on and you’ll need help. This man Orsini sounds right. We’ll offer a good price.’

      Chavasse sighed, thinking of Francesca Minetti waiting on the terrace, of the good food and wine in the buffet room below. He sighed again and stubbed out his cigarette carefully.

      ‘What do I do?’

      The Chief pushed a file across. ‘Enrico Noci, a double agent who’s been working for us and the Albanians. I didn’t mind at first, but now the Chinese have got to him.’

      ‘Which isn’t healthy.’

      ‘It never is. There’s a boat waiting at Bari to take Noci over to Albania tomorrow night. All the details are in there.’

      Chavasse studied the picture, the heavy fleshy face, the weak mouth – the picture of a man who was probably a failure at everything he put his hand to, except perhaps women. He had the sort of tanned beach-boy good looks that some of them went for.

      ‘Do I bring him in?’

      ‘What on earth for?’ The Chief shook his head. ‘Get rid of him; a swimming accident, anything you like. Nothing messy.’

      ‘Of course,’ Chavasse said calmly.

      He glanced through the file again, memorizing the facts it contained, then pushed it across and stood up. ‘I’ll see you in London.’

      The Chief nodded. ‘In three weeks, Paul. Enjoy your holiday.’

      ‘Don’t I always?’

      The Chief pulled a file across, opened it and started to study the contents, and Chavasse crossed to the door and left quietly.

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