But it was in Athens that it all went wrong. Overconfident after his successes with Perry and Andreas, Mood had been too trusting in the latter’s information and had seriously underestimated both the scale and the sophistication of Makis Alexiadis’s security arrangements. He barely made it into the grounds with Andreas’s code before he was Tasered to the ground, disarmed, bound, beaten, and finally dragged like a sack of rocks before Big Mak himself. He never even got a chance to use the stupid finger.
Prepared for death and not remotely afraid, Mood’s defiant attitude and physical courage made an instant impression on Makis. Rather than shooting him at once, Makis began to question him, curious about this fearless, angry giant of a man and what drove him.
‘You came here to kill me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because?’
‘Because you killed my family.’
Salim’s eyes bored into his with laser-like hatred.
‘You’re mistaken,’ said Makis. ‘I don’t even know your family.’
‘That doesn’t matter. You’re responsible for their deaths. For so many deaths.’
The whole story came out then. Makis listened, fascinated. Not only to the horrors of the overcrowded migrant boats – this man’s wife and children had been among the lost cargo on one of their Aegean shipments – but how it was he who had tracked down Perry and Andreas Kouvlaki, murdering both and then branding them with letters ‘in memory’ of the drowned Libyan boy. This lunatic had been using Athena’s calling card without even knowing it! Tit-for-tat brandings! The whole thing was so ironic, you couldn’t make it up. ‘A’ had been for Ava, and ‘P’ for Parzheen, his drowned daughters. Makis, presumably, was to have been marked with an ‘H’ – for Hoda, the man’s dead wife.
It was amusing to think that all this time Mak had been second-guessing Athena, trying to piece together a code that was indeed about loss and rage – just not hers!
But Makis didn’t laugh. Instead he listened intently to Salim’s story. And then he told Mood a story of his own. It was a story that changed everything. A story that reframed what had happened to Hoda and Parzheen and Ava that terrible night, and that provided Mood with a new focus, a new enemy: Athena Petridis.
It was Athena, Mak explained, who had masterminded the people-smuggling operation. Athena who was obsessed with gaining overall control of the Aegean route. Athena who had branded children like animals, like cargo, to stake her claim over their lives, and deaths, and whose calling card Mood had unwittingly hijacked.
Makis Alexiadis had not sought to exonerate himself. That part was crucial for Mood. Unlike the Kouvlaki brothers, he hadn’t needed to. He wasn’t begging for his life. On the contrary, it was Mood whose life was in his hands. Makis could have shot Mood in the head then and there if he’d chosen to. But he didn’t.
Instead, he made him a deal.
Makis would spare Mood’s life, and direct him to the real mastermind behind his family’s deaths. In return, Mood would make no further attempt to kill him. Makis explained to Mood that if he, Mak, were to die, then Athena would assume total control of the Petridis empire and the drownings would only multiply.
The new plan was for Mood to go to the convent at Sikinos, with Makis’s help, find and kill Athena – aka, ‘Sister Elena’ – and bring irrefutable evidence of her demise back to Makis. In return for this task of Hercules, Makis would pull the Petridis organization out of the migrant business altogether and revert to his core areas of expertise – fraud, extortion and drugs. He would also donate $2 million to ‘Open Arms’, the charity that rescued Mood, pulling him from the water on the night of the drownings. ‘Because even if we withdraw from the business, others won’t,’ Makis reminded him. ‘And you can’t kill them all, my friend.’
Makis Alexiadis would never be Mood Salim’s ‘friend’. But the deal he offered was a good one. Mood believed him about Athena, for the simple reason that, as far as Mood could tell, he had no reason to lie.
The world Mahmoud Salim had come to know was full of evil, full of enemies. Makis was one of them. But he was also right: Mood couldn’t kill them all. He had to pick and choose. And if he could kill Athena – the worst of them all, the queen bee of the whole revolting, murderous hive – then surely he would die knowing he had avenged his girls?
That would be enough.
It would have to be.
That meeting had been two months ago. But again, Mood had been overconfident, and much had changed since then.
Athena Petridis was still alive.
Mood had failed in his mission to Sikinos.
According to their ‘deal’, this meant that, officially at least, Makis owed him nothing. And that he, Mood, owed Makis nothing, other than not to try to kill him again. They had shaken hands on that agreement, and Mood Salim’s word was his bond.
Any other man would have left Greece, left Europe, run as fast and as far as he could from the murderous crime boss who had miraculously spared his life once, but would not do so again. But Mood Salim was not any other man. He needed to see Makis. His work wasn’t done. He needed another chance. To put things right. And so he stepped ashore on Mykonos, preparing to walk once more into the lion’s den.
The doctor looked at the reading on his blood-pressure monitor and frowned.
‘Are you taking your simvastatin?’
Makis Alexiadis gave a grunt that might have been ‘yes’. Or ‘no’.
‘What about your diet?’
They were in the study at Villa Mirage, with the vast modern picture windows tinted dark for privacy, and a stunning bespoke concrete and linen couch serving as the patient’s examination table. In the past, Makis had agreed to come into the surgery for his regular check-ups, drawn at least in part by the lure of Dr Farouk’s extremely attractive but depressingly attached receptionist, Mariette. But ever since the dismal failure of Cameron McKinley’s London operation, Makis had been too depressed to get out of bed most days, let alone leave the villa.
How could it be? How was it possible that not only Athena, but Ella Praeger too, had slipped through his fingers? Again! He hated himself for caring more about Ella’s escape than he did about Athena’s. The slippery little witch was proving as cunning as her mother had been before her. Not only had she got away, but she’d managed to kill Roger Carlton, a seasoned operative and reliable assassin with more than two decades’ worth of experience. As for Athena, once again Makis now had zero idea where she was, or whether or not she even knew that an attempt had been made to kill her. Thanks to Cameron’s incompetence, he’d been left naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Was it any wonder his blood pressure was through the roof?
‘My diet’s fine,’ he growled at Dr Farouk, a slight, immaculately dressed Egyptian who always smelled of a distinctive mixture of expensive cologne and camphor. ‘Same chef. No changes. I’ve been a little stressed.’
‘More than a little,’ Dr Farouk said, removing an old-fashioned thermometer from his battered leather doctor’s bag and inserting it under Makis’s tongue. When it came to medical care, Makis preferred tradition. ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider taking a vacation?’
‘This is a vacation,’ Mak mumbled around the thermometer.
‘I’m serious, Makis,’ frowned the doctor. ‘These numbers aren’t good. I know you keep fit, but you’re not a young man any more.’
A knock on the door interrupted this dispiriting conversation.
An ashen-looking lackey stuck his head into the room. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. But a man’s been detained at the gatehouse.’
‘And?’ Makis snapped, as Dr Farouk removed the glass vial from between his lips. ‘Can’t security deal with it?’
‘Well, yes, sir. But they thought … I thought … you would want to know. It’s the man. From Athens.’
‘What “man from Athens”? What the hell are you talking about? There are three million men in Athens, you cretin!’
Dr Farouk watched with alarm as his patient’s
face began to turn a violent puce. It wasn’t healthy how quickly Makis Alexiadis could go from calm to apoplectic in a matter of seconds. He didn’t think he’d ever known a man with less emotional regulation. For all the outward trappings of success and good health, the man’s inner life was clearly a wild and uncontrollable storm.
The poor lackey swallowed nervously. ‘The man … the very tall Arabic man. He was stopped in the grounds of the mansion?’
Makis’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t mean Salim?’
He’s here?
‘Yes, sir. And he’s asking to see you. He says it’s urgent.’
Makis frowned, then laughed. Did the idiot have a death wish? Not many men would be brave – or foolish – enough to dare come crawling back to Makis Alexiadis having failed at a job as important as the one Mood Salim had been given.
He turned to Dr Farouk. ‘We’ll have to finish this later.’
For a moment, the elegant little medic considered protesting. But only for a moment. There was a steel in Mak’s eyes that spelled danger.
‘Show Salim in,’ he barked at the lackey. ‘Then leave us.’
Mood gazed around him at the opulence of the villa as he followed Makis’s manservant down a long, light-filled hallway. This wasn’t opulence in the Libyan style. There was no gold, no rich rugs or priceless antique furniture or chandeliers. This was starker, sleeker, altogether more modern. And yet the endless expanses of marble and glass, and the two vast, abstract stone sculptures at either end of the corridor spoke just as eloquently of wealth, status and power. Perhaps more so. After all, who needed art when one had the limitless blue Aegean sparkling on the other side of windows so enormous and brilliantly clean they were practically invisible? Everything about Villa Mirage was impressive in a clean, controlled way.
‘In there,’ the manservant nodded towards a set of walnut double doors.
Steeling himself for the encounter ahead, Mood pushed them open effortlessly with his weightlifter’s arms and closed them behind him.
Makis, business casual in his shirtsleeves and suit trousers, had his back to him and did not turn around when Mood entered, continuing to stare out of the window.
‘You came back.’
‘Yes.’
‘You failed. You let Athena get away. But you still came back.’
Mood was silent. As this wasn’t a question, it didn’t seem to require an answer.
‘You know I could kill you?’
‘You could try,’ said Mood.
This seemed to amuse Makis. He spun around, smiling broadly. ‘You don’t think I could succeed? I have ten, armed, former Mossad agents on this property, ready to put a bullet in your brain at a snap of my fingers!’
The big man shrugged. His indifference to his own life and safety was impressive, and obviously utterly genuine. ‘I need to know where she is,’ he explained matter-of-factly. ‘I need to try again.’
‘Yes, well. Thanks to your failure at the convent, I don’t know where she is,’ said Makis, a sharper edge creeping into his tone. He wasn’t about to tell Salim the truth, or share any more intelligence with him about Athena’s whereabouts after the last debacle. ‘And even if I did, what makes you think I’d trust you to kill her? You had your chance, Salim. I have other men, better-trained men—’
‘No.’ Mood’s voice was firm rather than angry, but it boomed around the room, ricocheting like a bullet off the wood-paneled walls. ‘I will do it. I will kill her. My girls cannot rest in peace until I do.’
Makis slammed his fist down on the desk so hard he could have cracked it. ‘What the hell happened at the convent?’ he demanded. ‘What went wrong?’
For the first time, a pained look came over the giant Arab’s impassive face, a flash of the anguish that drove him. He seemed to want to explain, but was struggling to find the words.
‘Let’s walk and talk,’ said Makis. ‘We’ll go to my private beach.’
Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a gun and a silencer, tucking both into the waistband of his pants with no more ceremony than if he were grabbing a packet of tissues or a box of breath mints. Once again, though, if Mood was intimidated he didn’t show it, nodding silently as he walked ahead of Mak out of the door.
The two men proceeded in silence through the villa’s gardens and down the winding, private steps to the sand. Mood couldn’t see the security detail watching them, guns poised, but he knew they were there. He also knew that once they rounded the headland to the next cove, if Mak took him that far, that they would be out of sight and out of range. He wondered how many souls, men and women, Makis Alexiadis had killed on this beach, dispatching them to their maker with no more qualms of conscience than if he were shooting a duck or a deer? If what Mood had heard was true, this windswept strip of white sand was where he came to be alone and to indulge his pleasures. To walk. To think. To make love. To kill.
But none of that mattered.
Only Athena Petridis mattered.
As they walked, Makis asked again what had happened at the convent. And this time Mood answered, explaining calmly how there had been a diversion: a girl. And afterwards how a priest had come in and spirited ‘Sister Elena’ away before he’d had time to act decisively; how he’d lost her in the endless maze of ancient passages that led from the nuns’ cells down to the beach.
‘I wanted to hear her admit what she’d done,’ he told Makis, his voice trembling. ‘I needed to hear her say it. But she wouldn’t.’
‘You wasted time,’ Makis responded angrily as they rounded the headland. ‘I told you to do it the second you were alone with her.’
‘I know.’ Mood hung his head. ‘It was a mistake.’ Looking up he added, ‘I won’t make it twice.’
‘No,’ agreed Makis. ‘You won’t.’
In one swift, seamless moment, he pulled the gun from his waistband, spun around and pointed the barrel right between Mood’s eyes. He waited for the big man to flinch or cringe or close his eyes. To exhibit any natural instinct in the face of imminent death. But instead Mahmoud just stood there, unblinking, unruffled. His breath didn’t even quicken.
Perfect. This was the kind of man who could finish Athena Petridis.
He lowered the gun. Smiling, he handed it to Mood. Then, reaching down again, he passed him the silencer. ‘Do you know how to use one of these?’
Mood shook his head. ‘A silencer, yes. But not this model.’
Taking back the Ruger, Makis attached the shining silver cylinder to the barrel with expert fingers, then removed it again before handing both pieces back to Mood. ‘Now you try.’
Mood followed Alexiadis’s lead, screwing on the silencer with no difficulty.
‘Good.’ Makis nodded approvingly. ‘Athena made contact with me this morning. Unfortunately, she survived a second assassination attempt in London and has since gone to ground. However, the good news is she has no evidence to link either operation with me – London or Sikinos – so we’re still in contact over business matters, albeit sporadically.’
‘Where is she now?’ asked Mood, fingering the gun lovingly.
‘I’m not certain yet. But I hope to have a confirmed location soon, some time in the coming days. In the meantime you need to eat, sleep and train. Hard. You can do all of that here.’
‘Thank you,’ Mood murmured, still mesmerized by the gun in his hands.
‘For what?’
‘For giving me another chance.’
Extending his arm, Makis patted him on the shoulder in an almost avuncular manner, all trace of his earlier anger gone. What a bizarre man he was!
‘The only thanks I want is success,’ he told Mood. ‘Do not fail again, Salim.’
Now it was Mood’s turn to smile.
‘I won’t.’
Pressing the gun against Makis Alexiadis’s temple, he pulled the trigger.
The shot was silent. Even the explosion of Makis’s skull as blood and brain tissue splattered out over the white sand was no louder than a
dropped watermelon splitting open on the ground. The soft lapping of the waves and the cawing of the gulls overhead easily drowned out the sound.
Laying the gun on the sand, Mood stripped off, waded into the surf and washed the blood from his hands, face and torso as best he could. Then he returned, pulled the clean clothes from his backpack and put them on, laying his blood-stained shirt and shorts over what was left of Makis’s head. Retrieving the gun and his packet of forged papers and money, he walked calmly to the far end of the cove.
The speedboat was exactly where Athena had said it would be, tethered beneath the roots of a cypress tree at the edge of the shore. Athena was his commander now. His mistress. His purpose. With his family gone, he’d had no reason to live – until Athena saved him. Her voice, her words … it was impossible to explain. But there had been magic in them, some healing power that had stopped him from hurting her back at the convent. That had transfigured him. He couldn’t define it, or rationalize it, but nor could he deny its truth. He could hear her voice now in his head like an angel’s, guiding him:
‘I lost a child too. My only son. I died that day. But I was reborn. God brought you to me, Mahmoud. He brought you to me for a reason. We are bound together in loss. We are one. Our pain is our power.’
He had listened, entranced, while Athena told him the truth about Makis Alexiadis. How it was he, and not she, who had profited from the evil migrant trade; he whose greed and avarice and ruthlessness had led directly to Hoda and the girls’ deaths.
‘He had my husband killed too,’ Athena told Mood. ‘And did this to my face.’ Lifting her veil, she had shown Mood her appalling scars, the melted ruin of her once beautiful face. ‘I was a sinner back then myself. But I’ve repented. I’ve changed. And so can you, Mahmoud. But first you must avenge the ones you lost. Just as I am.’
Climbing inside the boat, Mood started the outboard motor.
I’ve done what you asked, my Athena. I’ve done God’s will. The beast is dead.
With a feeling of deep peace, he sped off into the limitless blue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Phoenix Page 30