by S. C. Abbey
Harvey lugged his brown duffel bag on his right as he lumbered to the far side aisle, turning left into the business class section. He walked toward his seat, matching the seat number with his boarding ticket before lifting his luggage to the overhead compartment. He stood by the aisle, waiting for his bulky companion to squeeze into the window seat before settling into his by the side of the aisle. A different flight attendant approached them with a tray of glass flutes.
“Would you like some champagne?” she asked.
Harvey shook his head as his companion reached across him, grabbing a flute and spilling some on the tray in the process. He muttered an apology.
“Ah—the perks of flying business. Would you not like one, Professor Nolan?”
“No thanks, I’m not much of a drinker,” Harvey replied. “But please, don’t go dry on my account.”
The balding man chuckled. He was clearly not planning to. Harvey clipped on his seat belt and exhaled a long breath. The past twenty-four hours had been a nothing short of a disturbing aftermath of last-minute arrangements of all sorts, signing a crapload of documents and preparing for legal inquiries. Thank God the media hadn’t caught on to anything yet. His journey—which he hoped would be a short one—was just about to begin.
“Obermaier, can you please remind me again, when did Louis commit suicide?” Harvey asked the chunky man who was still enjoying his complimentary champagne.
“Hmm—three, maybe four days ago. I’ve lost track of time.”
“Are you sure he actually took his own life?” Harvey said with a doubtful expression. “He really didn’t seem like the type that would kill himself, despite being the oddball he was—”
Obermaier shrugged his massive shoulders. Asking him for his opinion on anything was like asking a doctor if he was afraid of blood—he would just look at you like you were the stupidest thing ever to walk the face of this planet. Obermaier ran Obermaier & McKenzie, a law firm specializing in estate planning. It was a small setup of no more than fifty lawyers including himself in a midtown office in D.C. with two other partners. They provided testamentary support and trust management to a handful of families who had enough money to care about such matters, but not enough to land themselves a top-notch lawyer. Louis was the only exception—he was the richest client the firm had. God knows why he had picked a five hundred dollar-an-hour lawyer to manage his affairs when he could have easily afforded someone double that price and three times more experienced.
Harvey was starting to get a little irritated at the lack of definite answers. “And why are we here again?”
“Professor, I’m sure I answered most—if not all—of your questions when I flew up from D.C. at a moment’s notice. I simply can’t answer what I don’t know anymore.”
You could have at least gotten a better lawyer if you were paying this much, Louis—
“It just struck me as odd that I, of all people, should be the one heading to Athens to claim Louis’s body. I mean, he was a childhood friend, no doubt, but still unrelated by blood—” said Harvey.
“Tanner explicitly stated in his will that in the event of his demise abroad—which isn’t really unexpected considering the choice of activities he usually partakes—the executor of his will and his attorney were to personally escort his body back to the U.S. to bury him beside his mother and father, in an all-expenses paid trip.” Obermaier made a short snickering sound.
Harvey was absolutely sure the lawyer was actually enjoying this.
“As for you,” he continued, “you happen to be the executor of the will, which you are aware, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Good. I drafted that document myself, I remember.” The fat lawyer grinned. “Besides, I can’t find Rachel Tanner. You know how she is. Cut from the same cloth, the both of them—”
“Couldn’t the American Embassy just arrange something and send the body back?” interrupted the professor.
“Of course they could.”
“And why not then?”
“Because I’ve never been to Athens—”
“Excuse me?!” Harvey’s eyes widened.
“Relax, I’m just kidding,” Obermaier said as his expression took a sudden turn for a serious one. “I may not look like much, Professor, but I don’t take my profession lightly. I’m proud when my clients choose to place their trust in me to fulfill their final wishes, and I will see to it that every nitty-gritty detail is effected to the best of my ability, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Harvey softened his glare. The fat lawyer had at least gained a little respect from him in the past few seconds.
“And of course, I get to charge my hourly wages while I’m at it.” Obermaier chuckled.
The respect dwindled as soon as it came.
“But really, Professor Nolan, it was entirely your choice if you didn’t want to come along. I mean, it’s not mandated by law or—”
“No, it’s fine.” Harvey sighed. Despite his grouchy protests, he knew Louis would have done the same for him. They were as close as two peas in a pod. “It’s just a couple of days, we’ll be back before we know it.”
Obermaier’s head bobbed in response, his face starting to flush a shade of crimson from the alcohol. Harvey turned his head to look at the screen on the seat in front of him. It was going to be a long flight ahead.
THE BOEING-717 REACHED maximum cruising height three hours ago. Harvey had planned to catch some shut-eye the moment he was done with the horrible food they served him, but couldn’t keep his eyes closed for more than a minute. His hefty companion, on the other hand, had been snoring quite contentedly and loudly for more than an hour now. A flight attendant strolled slowly along the aisle and caught his gaze. He shook his head before she could ask if he needed something. Louis’s matter weighed heavily on his mind.
The Tanners came from a long lineage of archaeologists who owned large private museums all around the world. They were the first and biggest private collector of dinosaur fossils, which they exhibited, loaned, and traded all over the world. Harvey had first met Louis and his sister more than seventeen years ago in the gardens of Bertram’s residence when he came back from school one day. Possessing the angst that every teenager needed, he had questioned the pair rather spitefully about their presence in his home. Louis was then a boy himself, two years older than Harvey. As it turned out, the pair were there with their mother, Donna Tanner, a world-renowned archaeologist. She had just moved to New York after the death of her husband, Christopher. Bertram invited her to decipher some language on an artifact he’d recently acquired. Despite their not-so-pleasant first encounter, the three of them quickly became friends due to their similar backgrounds—Harvey had, after all, lost his mother, Helena, and subsequently his father, Alastair, as well. Harvey was there when the two of them eventually lost their mother to a tragic expedition that went horribly wrong during their college years. It was then when Louis and Rachel Tanner had to shoulder the weight of their trust fund.
It was only after one of Louis’s trips to the Far East—one which almost took his life—when he decided he had to have a testamentary plan to settle his affairs if something were to happen. He had flown in one day to New York with his lawyer, requesting Harvey to be the executor of his will.
“Harvey, you’ve got to do this for me,” he remembered Louis saying.
“This is ludicrous, even for you,” Harvey said. “Louis, you should get someone who has experience with these matters.”
“I did,” Louis replied as he pointed at Obermaier. “As for you, you’re familiar with the law and you’re the person I trust most in this world. Will you do this for me…?”
That was the first and only time Harvey had met Obermaier, until the day before.
Harvey always knew there was a high chance he was going to bury Louis—or perhaps even Rachel, considering the audacious lives they led. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
The plane
wobbled ever so slightly—turbulence. Harvey blinked hard before closing his eyes once again, sighing in regret.
Hang in there. I’m coming to take you home, buddy.
Chapter 6
KATIE POKED THE cornbread with her fork in a daze, glimpsing the stuffed peppers lying on the plate in front of her. She was hungry but also sick of cuisine that was nothing like what she was familiar with. She wanted some barbecued American ribs drenched in sweet sauce. Yep, that sounds good, she thought. She pressed and stared at the cell phone she had placed on the table, the time and date glaring back at her, indifferent. She picked it up from the table and dialed a well-memorized number. The connecting tone persisted for half a minute before someone answered.
“Katie? Is that you?”
Katie froze at the voice—she was certain that she didn’t dial the wrong number. But it was too late. Damn it, Zoe.
“I know it’s you,” the female voice continued. “It says here on the screen—”
“Mom,” interrupted Katie. Her tone was cold. She couldn’t find it in herself to bother not sounding like that.
“Oh, Katie—my dear—”
It had been years since she had spoken to her mother. The gravity of the predicament still weighed heavily on her heart. She sometimes wondered if she had persisted way too long.
“Where’s Zoe?” asked Katie in a neutral tone.
“She’s in the bathroom, I didn’t mean to…she left her cell phone on the kitchen counter…I saw your name—” her mother replied in short, rapid bursts. “How are you, Katie?” She then paused. “I missed you, you know.”
Katie maintained her silence, she couldn’t trust herself not to say something she might regret later.
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at work.” Katie sighed, though she didn’t let it be heard from her voice.
“New York?”
“Albania.”
“Oh dear, is it safe there?”
“Safer than some back alleys in NYC—Mom—” Katie interrupted herself.
“Promise me you’ll stay safe, will you?” her mother replied. “You and your father—the apple really doesn’t fall far from its tree.” She heaved a sigh. “Both stubborn as mules…”
“Who’s that you’re talking to?” a faint male voice from the background said.
Time suspended for Katie once again. Hearing her mother’s voice was one thing, but her father…
“Kat,” her mother called out to him.
“Mom!” another voice appeared in the background, this one louder, younger, and female too. “Why are you using my cell?! You know you aren’t supposed to—”
“I know, but—”
Katie could hear the cell phone exchanging hands. She breathed in relief.
“Hey!” said the cell’s owner.
“Zoe—” Katie replied but was instantly interrupted by her sister.
“Wait a second!” The sound of silence filled the call, with the exception of occasional footsteps. What an expensive overseas call to be made with so much non-talking, thought Katie.
“Back! What’s up?” asked Zoe.
“Zoe. Moulin. Don’t you ever dare pull that on me again,” threatened Katie as she glared at the innocent corn bread she was destroying with her fork.
“Hey! How was I to know you were gonna call—” argued her sister.
“Did you receive the emails I sent you?” said Katie.
“Work or personal?” asked the Interpol analyst.
“Work,” said Katie.
“Yup, got them three days ago.”
“Have you sent them to Cobbett?”
“Oh, Cobbett’s missing,” Zoe casually said of their superior.
“What?!”
“You know how he is, he disappears and reappears,” Zoe said. “He’ll surface in a week or two—he always does.”
Katie sighed in defeat. Handling the both of them was tough work.
“I did forward your report to the relevant channel, though, and I should have gotten a reply already—”
The sound of Zoe maneuvering her smartphone irritated Katie’s ears, she placed it a little further from them.
“Ah-hah! Got it.”
“What does it say?” asked Katie.
“It says the request in the report is a blatant challenge to the authority of…hmm…is absurd to the…hmm…besides, we have received confirmation that a separate source was secured…declined. It says Mustafa Xaja’s request was declined,” said Zoe.
“I'm not surprised,” Katie said as she exhaled and ran her hands through her hair. Her hair was getting too irritatingly long. “Guess they didn’t take it well when he chose to put a knife through one of them.”
“He had a fight with the CIA? What a nutjob,” Zoe said incredulously. “What will happen to him?”
“He’ll continue fighting where he must, and either perish or find what he seeks eventually. Though the latter is extremely unlikely,” replied Katie.
“Hmm—”
“Bad news for him aside, at least I get to go home soon—this trip has dragged out long enough.”
“Uh-huh—when?”
“I doubt I can arrange anything by today—I’ll probably fly out tomorrow or the day after.”
“Safe flight, Katie!”
“I need a long break,” Katie declared.
“Keep wishing!”
“Yeah I love you too, take care Zoe,” Katie replied to her annoying sister before ending the call.
Chapter 7
ELIAS MICHEL AND Stephenos Linard dragged their feet along the stone pavement. It was a terribly hot day and neither of them had intended to spend it being out on the humid streets of Athens. Beads of sweat gathered at their foreheads, threatening to fall any time—it didn’t help that both young men were in full, blue summer suits. They turned into the dirty-yellow building on their left, ignoring the security staring at them at the door.
A passing officer stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw the young men standing in the waiting room in their suits and sunglasses. Michel continued to munch on the koulouri he had in his hand, creating a mess of crumbs and sesame seeds where he stood.
“Agoria—this is a police station, not a tourist spot. Get out if you wanna eat and sightsee,” the officer said.
Michel ignoring the policeman’s remark headed straight toward the counter where the duty officer was sitting, with Linard trailing behind him, staring at the passing officer through his shades. Michel leaned over the counter, seemingly looking at what the duty officer was up to. The officer at the counter tilted his head up with annoyance registered across his face.
“What do you want?”
Michel reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper, rudely tossing it at the duty officer. He carried on his snacking, spilling more sesame seeds all over the counter. Officer Spiros frowned as he picked up the crumpled document and unfolded it. He started reading what was on it, and in a minute, a flicker of doubt passed his face before he spoke.
“How do I know that you are—?”
Michel dusted his hands and the front of his shirt, causing all the loose crumbs and seeds to end up on the counter before he reached into his other pocket and came up with a black ID holder that he tossed at Officer Spiros in a similar fashion as before.
Officer Spiros picked up the leather holder and stared at it for a second. The flicker of doubt turned into one of concern as he stood up and brought the two items to Officer Giannopoulos, who had earlier been the one admonishing the young men. They stood whispering to each other as they pointed at the documents in their hands and occasionally at the two men. Officer Spiros swallowed his saliva as he approached Michel and Linard, and said to them, “Mr. Michel, Mr. Linard, this way please.”
Officer Spiros turned and walked to toward the back section of the police station, ending at an access-control glass door. He tapped his ID on the black receiver on t
he side and the door popped open. Officer Spiros guided the men into the stairway and they climbed to the fourth floor in silence. Once they had reached the highest level of the building, he ushered the two men across the hallway, reaching the corner office at the end of it. He knocked on the door in a quick rhythm and entered the room when he heard an acknowledgment.
“Afentikó, we’ve got two—”
“It’s okay. We will take it from here,” Linard spoke for the first time as he nudged Officer Spiros out of the way, creating a passage for Michel and himself to enter the office. Michel snatched the document and his identification back from the man as he passed him and walked right up to the desk of Inspector Floros. The station inspector looked up from his desk and glanced at his visitors.
“Who the hell do you think you are—?”
Michel flashed his identification. “Inspector Floros, I am Agent Elias Michel and this is my associate, Agent Stephenos Linard. We are with the NIS.”
Inspector Floros, a plump police station inspector nearing retirement age, paled at what Michel said. The NIS, also known as Ethniki Ypiresia Pliroforion, was the national intelligence agency of Greece—most commonly referred to the Greek equivalent of the CIA. Originally established by Greek-American CIA officers back in the fifties, they were once controlled by the CIA, with agents’ salaries paid for by the Americans, not the Greek government. That changed in the sixties after the war under the administration of Prime Minister Georgios Papandreou—enraged at the dependence on the Americans. Modern-day NIS were in full and complete control of the Greek government, handling everything from counterterrorism to national security concerns. In short, having them appear at your door meant you either knew or had something they wanted, and neither was a good thing.
Floros cast his attention to Officer Spiros. “Can we have the room?” The door closed shut as he returned his gaze back on the NIS agents in front of him. “Please have a seat, to what do I owe the pleasure of—”