by S. C. Abbey
This museum was his brainchild, his idea since day one, and had come a long way since then. Though the Panayiotis family was a rather rich and influential one and had ties with many government officials and private sector business owners, Panayiotis always believed he had attained all he had purely because of his own brilliance and hard work. While not untrue, one might consider the opportunities opened to him were not exactly available to his peers in his chosen field of expertise. For instance, the fact he had managed to get into one of the top universities in the country without so much as an entrance test when he was younger. And his proposal to excavate the Acropolis of Athens hadn’t encountered any bureaucratic road bumps in its journey to approval. But these were all trivial matters to him—he felt he did a good job of it and that was more important than anything. And that included this cafeteria, which he insisted should have a view of the Acropolis. It was his favorite place to sit and stare at it, especially today.
Panayiotis finished his coffee and looked at his watch again—it was about time to step into the office. Work still had to be done. He nipped briskly out of the café and continued toward the direction of his office. The museum started to fill with visitors—mostly tourists and school kids. He largely avoided them and climbed to the third level. At the middle of the Parthenon Gallery, Panayiotis spotted a kid who was no more than ten, admiring from the outside of the gallery, the sculptural decoration of the democratic institution of the city in the fifth century B.C. and the statue of Athena, with his mouth opened, in awe. He strolled to the child.
“Go on,” he encouraged the boy. “Step inside, it looks even more marvelous up close, you know.”
The boy jumped from the sudden intervention. He turned and shook his head at the paunchy Director.
“Do you know what fifth-century Athens was like?” Panayiotis asked, staring at the statue of Athena.
The boy shook his head again.
“The fifth century for the Greek city of Athens was a flourishing era, culturally and economically. It was formally known as the ‘Golden Age of Athens’ after the defeat of the Persian invasion.” He edged the boy forward to the plaque that held the overview of the exhibition.
The boy continued reading from the plaque, “Many of Athens’s most influential names came from this era—the philosopher, Socrates, the physician, Hippocrates, and the historians, Herodotus and Thucydides.”
He nodded at the bright child, patting his head—he loved kids. A woman with plaited hair came running from behind. “Oh my, where have you been, I’ve been looking all over.” From the way she dressed and acted, Panayiotis would bet she was the boy’s teacher.
“No harm done,” Panayiotis interrupted in a gentle manner. “He was just admiring the sculptures. I asked him to.”
The school teacher looked up from her bent position, her eyes widened at the realization of the speaker. “Director Panayiotis! I am so sorry for any trouble he’s caused!”
“None at all.” Panayiotis chuckled as he patted the boy’s head again before he said to him, “Stay curious.” He winked and then continued his journey to his office.
It was days like these that made Panayiotis really feel like he made a difference with this museum. He believed the value of history was limitless and couldn’t be quantified sans the artifacts he had worked so hard in preserving. He prodded along the hallway right before his office with his hands in his pockets. Seemed like it was going to be a good day, as expected. He pushed the glass door and heard a slight commotion from the direction of his secretary’s desk. He could see a young, handsome man arguing with her as he got closer. He was dressed in a navy-checked wool suit and oxblood penny loafers, with a white oxford shirt tucked into his flat-front gray slacks. The man spun to face his direction as Panayiotis spoke.
“What’s all this about?”
Chapter 17
“HOW DID YOU get in here?” the young secretary yelped sharply from her seat.
Harvey stood in front of the plump female with his palms facing out and an abrupt look on his face—he was clearly shocked at the woman’s dramatic outburst. The woman continued to stare at him, not saying a word, all the while holding on to a peeled banana in her right hand which she was starting to try and conceal with her left, rather inadequately. A mail-boy extended his head out from behind a perpendicular wall—judging the scene to be nothing out of the norm, his head disappeared as soon as it appeared.
“Err—a kind colleague of yours kinda let me in. I told her I had an appointment with Mr. Damalitis Panayiotis. She pointed me this way,” said Harvey. He tried not to stare at the banana.
“Director Panayiotis,” corrected the woman. Her expression had softened considerably, compared to earlier—she actually did seem slightly embarrassed about it.
“Yes, of course, Director Panayiotis. Forgive my blunder,” Harvey said, trying to adhere to the age-old wisdom—never piss off the secretary.
“Hmm…” It seemed to be working. “And your name?” she asked.
“Oh, where are my manners? Harvey Nolan.” He smiled before he added, “Professor Harvey Nolan.”
The secretary raised an eyebrow, her red, plastic-frame glasses slid a little down the bridge of her nose. She certainly didn’t look like she believed the young man in front of her was what he claimed to be. Harvey’s reaction didn’t help with his case—his eyes darted around her desk, he was all too used to the reaction whenever his profession came into question.
The space he was in was the kind of connecting space that stood between a larger shared office space and a dedicated one roundabout the corner, except it was at least a thousand square feet large with most of it being the empty carpeted floor. The secretary’s desk was a large, cold-looking gunmetal table with a glass on the surface that held several door-stopper books and a monitor. Harvey peeked at the cover of the book on top of the pile. It was a book named The Republic written by some long-dead Greek philosopher. The book jacket was torn at the edges.
“‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle,’” recited Harvey from memory.
The secretary stopped in her tracks and looked up from her screen. “You read Plato?”
“Any man worth his salt has read Plato.” Harvey’s smile never faltered. “I wrote a short thesis on him once. I was particularly interested in exploring the conception of his views on the relationship between morals and law.”
The secretary seemed fazed. “I’m reading him as well.” She giggled, then pointed to the pile of books in front of her, stating the obvious. She turned her attention back to her computer.
After several clicks of her mouse, “I don’t have you here,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“I said I don’t have you in my list of appointments with the director.” She frowned.
“Of course. Did I mention I haven’t made one?” Harvey grinned.
The secretary didn’t look pleased. “Sir, the director doesn’t take unscheduled calls—especially from strangers who decide to walk into his office and ask for one.”
She pushed her glasses up with the tip of her middle finger. She was doing a rather good job as a secretary. “I’m afraid you have to reschedule and leave now.”
“My dear Miss—” Harvey took a quick peek at the name-stand on the secretary’s desk. “—Camilla, I have a matter of great importance to discuss with the director, you see. I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury of waiting, even for a few more days—”
“You have to schedule a meeting,” repeated Camilla. Her eyes didn’t leave her screen. “The earliest slot I have is next week, Wednesday morning—that is if he agrees to it. I will need you to leave your contact details, I will—”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” interrupted Harvey. “The matter I wish to speak with him involves a dead man.”
The secretary’s eyes widened. “Are you with the police?” She shook her head. “No,” s
he quickly muttered, as if realizing the impossibility of her question as the man standing in front of her was obviously not Greek. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Harvey let out a sigh. He hadn’t expected it to be easy, but still. “Miss—”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. Before I call security.” The poor woman was starting to look positively frightened.
A voice boomed from someone standing behind Harvey. He reacted by turning around.
“What’s all this about?”
Chapter 18
“HAVE A SEAT, Professor Nolan.” Director Panayiotis pointed to the expensive-looking designer couch as he walked toward his desk at the far end of the large room—stopping by to drop his document bag. Harvey trailed behind the man through the doorway of the office—this room was even bigger than the area outside. On the door’s opposite side was a whole row of ceiling-to-floor windows with a perfect view of the hill where the Acropolis rested on. The double-glazed windows allowed the glorious sun rays to enter the room, but kept the heat away. Turning his gaze toward the director, Harvey could see the plaques, medals, and awards that sat on the neat, high shelving behind the desk. Panayiotis traced Harvey’s line of sight to a public service award that sat on the far left of the top shelf.
“They gave me that in the early 2000s—the European Union. Public service rendered for fellow Greeks with the utmost goodwill.” He smiled. “I was elected President of the Permanent Inter-Party Committee of the Parliament for Greeks Abroad in 1999, you see.”
Harvey nodded in response, he could tell Panayiotis was very fond of his ‘trophies.’ The secretary followed behind Harvey, closing the door behind her—prompting Harvey to take a seat on the couch, where Panayiotis joined him. Camilla came to stand next to her employer, awaiting instruction.
“Coffee for me,” said the man as he turned to Harvey. “Professor, can Cam get you something to drink?”
“Just water will do.”
Panayiotis turned to Camilla. “You heard the man.” She nodded and headed toward the door.
Panayiotis leaned back into the designer couch in an attempt to make himself comfortable. He reached into his front pocket where he had dropped the business card Harvey passed to him when they met in front of his secretary’s desk. He studied the white card and then looked at Harvey with a penetrative glance. Harvey returned the gaze, and Panayiotis relaxed his, seemingly pleased with what he saw. He then looked out the window.
“I was there, about two decades ago—Columbia, that is. It was for a speech if I remember correctly. I was quite young then. My first time in New York. Fond memories,” Panayiotis said. Harvey could see a smile starting to appear on his face. “I apologize for what happened with Camilla—she can be quite jumpy at times, but that’s why I like her.” He then turned back to Harvey. “So, how can I help you today, Professor Nolan? What brings you to Athens by the way?”
“A close friend,” said Harvey.
“And who is that?”
“Dr. Louis Tanner.” Harvey added, “He died a couple of days ago in Athens.”
An impassive look on Director Panayiotis’s face replaced the smile. “I’m sorry for your loss, but what has that got to do with me?”
“Director Panayiotis, you were the last person he contacted before he died.”
Panayiotis now began to look positively puzzled. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Professor Nolan—”
Harvey retrieved an iPhone from his pocket and unlocked it. “This was Louis’s cell phone, I got it from the police. I checked the call history. The last number on the call log was your cell phone number, sir.” He handed the cell phone to the museum director.
Panayiotis’s puzzled look remained firmly on his face as he took the ordinary-looking phone in his hand. He didn’t attempt to do anything with it except wave it gently at Harvey. “I really have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Dr. Louis Tanner? The Tanner family? They own museums all around the world?” clued Harvey. His eyes fell on the paunchy man as he studied his reactions. It was the kind of paunch one acquired from having too much good food. Harvey could tell Panayiotis wasn’t acting.
Panayiotis in turn began to look a little annoyed. “I know who Dr. Louis Tanner is. Any archaeologist deserving to be called one would know about the Tanner family. Trouble is I don’t know him personally—I’ve neither met nor spoken to him, ever.”
It was the younger professor’s turn to look confused. “That just doesn’t make sense at all. Look at the phone! Tap on the call history and you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
Panayiotis took out a pair of glasses and put them on, all the while looking at Harvey. He then switched his attention to the phone where he did what Harvey told him to do. His eyes widened. “This isn’t possible. It can’t be.” He stared at his phone number on the call log and noted the time and the date on it. He then looked at Harvey with his mouth agape. “This makes no sense at all—”
Harvey took out his own cell phone and tapped on the photo album where he searched for a photo of Louis. “There,” he said, showing an old photo of Louis and himself to the museum director.
Panayiotis couldn’t have looked more surprised. “That’s—no way—Professor Nolan, there is no way that is Dr. Tanner.”
“Google him,” said Harvey. The pieces of the puzzle were still in a mess.
“What?”
“I said, go on and search for his image on Google. You’ll find quite a few public photos of him, I bet.”
Panayiotis didn’t wait to be asked a second time. He stood from his couch and headed straight to his desk where his laptop was. A couple of minutes later, it was evident he had found what he was looking for. “No way. Shit…” he said to himself before muttering in Greek.
Harvey stared at the director and for the first time that morning, realized how old he looked. The shiny white hair. The lines on his face. And whatever it was that Panayiotis was looking at on his computer screen made him look like he’d seen a ghost. Panayiotis slumped in his chair, his face pale and colorless.
“Director Panayiotis?”
The man didn’t reply.
“Panayiotis?!” Harvey tried a little louder.
The man looked up at him as if he had just realized Harvey was there. He then found his voice. “You have to leave, now.”
“What?” said Harvey, baffled at the turn of events.
“I said leave!” Panayiotis raised his voice. “Now!” He was undoubtedly starting to shout as he pressed the intercom button on his desk phone. “Cam! Get me security! I want Mr. Nolan out of my office right this instant!”
Chapter 19
KATIE FOLLOWED THE crowd that had alighted from the same plane she was in just moments ago. She always felt drained whenever she flew. She never understood how the flight attendants could remain so energetic. The sparse flow of human traffic reflected the flight’s capacity. Though it was a short flight, people in various states of undress moved toward the direction of the customs’ entry gate—Katie could have sworn she saw a man in a pair of shorts that looked like boxers and bathroom slippers exiting the aircraft. People these days just didn’t fly in style anymore.
She walked past a green and black Cosmote billboard advertisement that tried to convince her to sign up for their traveler’s wifi data service. She ignored it and headed straight to the diplomatic line. She had more pressing matters to take care of. Katie really wanted to go home as soon as she was done. Harvey better have a good reason for his suspicions. She took out her passport and Interpol badge, and handed it to the immigration officer lazing at the counter. He had the nerve to yawn.
The officer took a quick look at her badge and said, “Ma’am, what is your business in Athens?”
Katie took her shades off. “En route from Albania, heading back to the States. I’m just staying here for a few days, meeting some local authorities, facilitating international
relations—stuff like that.” She looked firmly at the man, satisfied with the shit she just cooked up.
The immigration officer didn’t look like he was listening to what she was saying anyway. He continued to type on his keyboard, checking something on his system. “I have a notification here from the U.S. Embassy for urgent clearance for one Agent Katie Moulin.” He compared the name to her passport. “Everything seems to be in order.” He stamped it.
Thank God for Zoe. Nobody does things half as fast, Katie thought.
“Baggage?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Checked-in. It should be separated from the others—I asked to be cleared for firearms.”
The immigration officer looked up from his screen, studying Katie’s face. He then slowly stood from his chair. “I’ll have to check if it’s in. Come with me,” he said as he unlocked the swinging door at the side of the counter. “This way please.”
He ushered Katie past the counter, then through a back door into a space that looked like an interrogation room with two doors—the one they had entered through and another which led straight past the customs entry. “One moment.” He disappeared behind the door. Katie exhaled loudly. She spotted a chair and was about to sit when the immigration officer reappeared with her bag. He handed it to her.
“Miss Moulin, I’m going to have to ask you to remove all your firearms and place them on the table. We have to document each and every one of them.” He snatched a clipboard from a nearby table and clipped a piece of paper in place. He then looked at Katie lazily, waiting for her to comply.
Katie sighed. This was going to take a while. She placed duffel bag on the table and unzipped it. She then reached in the bag and removed a semi-automatic pistol, positioning it beside her bag. It hit the table with a dull thud.
“Is that it?”