The Forty Column Castle

by Marjorie Thelen

  As soon as I got up, I had called Zach in his room.

  “Something’s come up,” I told him. “I’ve got some business to take care of with a Cypriot friend this morning, and then I’m going to Pafos to stay with his family.”

  “Tell you what,” he said, “give me the phone number where you’ll be staying in Pafos, just in case. I’ll go on the Coral Bay Resort, and you can call me when you get to Pafos. We’ll go for a swim this afternoon, if that fits with your schedule.”

  “That might work,” I said and gave him Yannis’s home number. I clung to the hope of a quick resolution to Aunt Elizabeth’s predicament.

  I had donned a black jeans skirt, mini version, great for travel which showed a nice expanse of leg, one of my better features an admirer had once said. I liked silk tees for travel, the scoop neck version, and had a turquoise one on today with my favorite pair of black strappy sandals. I sported very dark, red-framed sunglasses to protect against the bright sun and hide the dark circles under my eyes. I hoped I looked more presentable than I felt.

  Yannis hugged and kissed me, whirling me around. He wasn’t tall but he was strong and had arms like a weight lifter, so even at my height he threw me around like a rag doll. His bright eyes danced as he held me at arm’s length to have a look. He had the build of his ancestors, stocky and broad chested. His olive brown skin set off his most striking feature, green-gold eyes he inherited from his mother’s side of the family, originally from Venice way back in the 15th century when the Venetians ruled Cyprus. His black hair curled slightly behind his ears and had not a hint of brown. He always wore a smile and his shirt collars open. His enthusiasm for life attracted people to him, especially women.

  “It is great to see you. You are as beautiful as ever, but a little too pale,” he said, releasing me. “We’ll have to work on your tan while you are visiting.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “This news about your aunt is terrible. I talked to my cousin, the head of the customs bureau, and he has agreed to meet us at his office in an hour even though this is Sunday and his day off.”

  He gave me a beautiful smile. “So, Princess, let’s have breakfast. It will perk you up.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll be eternally grateful if your cousin can help us, and breakfast sounds superb. I’m running on my reserve tank.”

  He helped me up into his dark green Mercedes, the preferred brand on the island, then went round and climbed into the right side. Since Cyprus was a former British colony, driving on the left was one British legacy. Speaking English with a British accent was another. I found the accent charming but chose not to drive on Cyprus because my brain refused to translate to driving on the left side of the road.

  Warm breeze, blue sky, hot sun. It was good to be back on Cyprus. We drove down a side street to a small cafe on the waterfront, Yannis joking as we went, trying to lighten things up. He parked straddling the curb, an endearing Cypriot custom. At the restaurant we sat outdoors and ordered Greek coffee and English breakfast of eggs, tomatoes, beans and chips.

  I launched into my breakfast as soon as the swarthy waiter set it before me. I especially loved the chips on Cyprus made with the yellow potatoes grown on the island and deep-fried. I picked up the last chip and coated it with the catsup on my plate. I had been relating the details of what I knew about my aunt’s predicament.

  Yannis listened with few interruptions and when I had finished, his intense gaze traveled over my face and beyond my shoulder for a few moments.

  I didn’t like the serious look on his face.

  “My cousin says the authorities have been watching your aunt.” His voice took on the very gentle quality one uses when speaking of the dear departed.

  A chill settled over me even though the day was heating up. I was vaguely aware of the chatter around us as the patio filled with Cypriots. I looked up from sipping my coffee, eyes wide. “You aren’t serious. You can’t be. Watching her for what?”

  “Smuggling.”

  “Yannis, my aunt raised me after my folks died.” My voice ratcheted up several decibels, and I could feel heat creeping up my neck. I got a glance or two from alarmed brunchers and lowered my voice. “Since I was sixteen years old she has been friend, counselor, and confidante. This woman is not a criminal though I admit she’s a little eccentric. They have the wrong person.”

  He pursed his lips and frowned, as if not knowing quite how to continue. I saw more bad news written on his face, as he seemed to search for the right words to say.

  “Marie-Claude, because of the worldwide crackdown on the antiquities trade, the price of ancient artifacts has gone sky high and smuggling has become very, very lucrative.”

  He was in a position to know. He worked for the Department of Antiquities. He studied me like making sure this was sinking in.

  I sat with my elbows on the table and looked down into my half drunk cup of coffee. I did not at all like the direction this conversation was going. I glanced at him when he didn’t continue.

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  He looked toward the blue-green sea, and the glint of the sun sparkled in his black-lashed eyes.

  “There’s a group of smugglers operating on Cyprus who have been difficult to catch because they look and act very normal. Greek and Roman artifacts are their specialty. These bring an extremely high price, especially mosaics, and I don’t have to tell you we have a lot of those.”

  “I know,” I said. I had met him on my first trip to Cyprus when I had visited Pafos as a volunteer with a group of archeologists who helped in the excavation of the Forty Column Castle, destroyed by an earthquake in 1223. Yannis had been project coordinator. We had also helped excavate beautifully preserved floor mosaics in a third century Roman villa.

  “Where does my aunt come in?”

  “They think that some of the people involved on Cyprus are a group of well-to-do though misguided women maybe looking for a little excitement in their lives, who knows. Your aunt was seen with them. The police haven’t made any arrests because they’ve been unable to catch anyone with the goods. Picking up your aunt has been the first break they’ve had.”

  “Yannis, this is absurd. Those antiquities had to be planted in my aunt’s luggage. She isn’t capable of masterminding an elaborate smuggling operation.” I struggled to keep my voice low and my temper under wraps.

  He nodded. “From what I know of your aunt, I agree.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s time for us to meet Chris. Let’s see what he can tell us.” He signaled for the check, paid the waiter, and steered me between the tables to the street. Neither of us spoke on the drive to the customs house. I was too upset. He knew I was upset and didn’t want to make matters worse, I’m sure.

  In the middle of my black mood, my cell phone vibrated.

  “How’re you doing?” It was Zach.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” I said. I shouldn’t have let my black mood escape.

  “Well, if you need me, I’m at the Coral Bay Resort. I think I might have given you the wrong number for my cell.”

  We checked numbers. I had the right one.

  “Will you be able to get away this afternoon?”

  I smiled in spite of myself.

  “I think so. I’ll call you in a bit,” I said and clicked off.

  Yannis looked over and raised an eyebrow.

  “A friend I met on the plane over.”

  “I can tell by the smile on your face,” he said.

  He parked along the curb, scattering birds and children as he screeched to a halt. He helped me from the Mercedes, and we ascended the worn marble stairs of the customs house that sat on a hill overlooking the town.

  The cousin waited for us at the entrance.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Lowell,” Chris Mikolas said in English with British overtones, as we were introduced. He was a fatherly looking man, slightly b
alding, who had a squinty way of looking and, as most of the men on Cyprus, was shorter than I. He led us down a corridor of high ceilings and open windows to a corner office. We sat in the straight back chairs he indicated.

  “Would you like coffee?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” I never turned down an offer of coffee, though I’d had so much I was beginning to twitter.

  The window in the room was wide open and at street level. Mikolas called out the window in Greek and a small boy appeared then disappeared as quickly.

  “I understand Miss Davies is your aunt?” He cleared his throat.

  “Yes, she is. I’m here to secure her release. I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “I see.” Mikolas nodded his head and cleared his throat several more times. I couldn’t decide if it was a nervous habit or I was making him so.

  The small boy reappeared through the window with three espresso sized cups of coffee on a small rectangular tray painted black with gold trim.

  “Here we are. Please help yourself.” He took the tray from the boy and held it toward us. We each took a cup, and Mikolas set the tray on the desk.

  He templed his fingers like people do when they have something important to say. “Your aunt is a cordial person, quite polite and cooperative. We have tried to make her as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Unfortunately, we found some priceless antiquities in her carryon bag.”

  He grimaced like the coffee he sipped didn’t sit well in his digestive tract. “This is a very serious offense, Miss Lowell. I hope you can appreciate the gravity of what has taken place.”

  “I understand about gravity, but this is absurd. My aunt is not the criminal type. Someone planted those statutes in her bag to get them out of the country. Maybe they used her as a conveyance and were going to retrieve them once she was on the plane. That means that everyone on her flight is suspect, the real culprit is home by now, and my aunt is in jail.”

  Mikolas sat, nodding. “We have considered this, Miss Lowell. Believe me when I tell you that this is a complex case. We have been working on it for some time. The people involved are clever. We have good reason to believe that on Cyprus the ringleaders, I think that is how you say it, include three widows with whom you aunt was cordial. Unfortunately, your aunt was the one who got caught.”

  I moved to the edge of my chair, but Yannis spoke up before I could fire my next barrage.

  “Claudie’s concern is getting her aunt out of jail. What does she need to do?”

  Mikolas cleared his throat and looked at me, his heavy brows adding to his serious demeanor. “You will need to post bond to secure her release. But she cannot leave the country.”

  “Not leave the country?” I was out of the chair and pacing the room, my strappy black sandals making hollow clicking sounds on the terrazo floor. “You mean this could take weeks to resolve? We can’t live here indefinitely. I’ve got a mutual fund to manage.” I couldn’t help throwing my arms about as I paced.

  Mikolas started owl-like blinking which evolved into a fit of throat clearing. Finally, he said, “Please do not be upset. I am sure we can resolve this matter. I know this is difficult for you. Please sit down. I will summon the Chief of Investigations, who came today to help you. I will get him.”

  He hurried from the room, and I collapsed into my chair.

  Yannis slid his arm around my shoulders. “We will secure your aunt’s release. Don’t worry.”

  I was scowling. My mood didn’t want a comforting arm.

  “Yannis?”

  “Yes, Princess?”

  “Who are the three widows?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “We need to find out.”

  “All right, we will.”

  Double footsteps echoed in the hallway, and we both looked up in expectation.

  “Here you are,” Mikolas said. “This is Chief Inspector Polydeuces.”

  The Inspector bowed to the room in general. We all murmured introductions at once, and Yannis spoke up. “Inspector, can you help us? We would like to see Miss Davies and secure her release today.”

  The Inspector looked like a younger version of Mikolas and was, indubitably, a cousin.

  “It is possible to see her, but I am not sure about leaving today. It is Sunday, you see, and the people who process the paper work do not work today. Tomorrow perhaps, but that may depend upon legalities. However, I can allow you to visit her.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” Yannis said.

  Clueing me with a smile, he said in a low voice, “One step at a time.”

  I wasn’t pleased but acquiesced, grateful for some action.

  “Follow me then,” the Inspector said.

  * * * * *

  “Marie-Claude! Marie-Claude! Over here, dear. Oh, I am so glad to see you.” Aunt Elizabeth bounced on her toes and stretched her arms through the bars to try to reach me. I shoved past my escorts and rushed toward her voice. Awkwardly, we embraced through the bars of the door. I pushed back, still clasping her shoulders.

  “Am I glad to see you,” I said, trying not to tear up. She looked so forlorn. Her fly-away white hair was pulled back into a wilting French twist. She wore her favorite olive traveling trousers, the ones with all the pockets, and white cotton pullover. Judging by her bare cell, the clothes on her back were all she was allowed. Her face was crinkled into unhappy lines, not at all in keeping with her usual perky smile and lively blue eyes.

  “However did this happen?” I needed to hear the story from her.

  “Marie-Claude, this is such a mystery. I don’t know how those relics got into my bag,” she said, lowering her voice. “My souvenirs were neatly packed into my canvas bag. You know, the pretty green tapestry carry-on I use on trips. My needlework was on top along with my paperback romance, and I had my purse, my red leather one with all the compartments that I just adore for traveling. You know the one.”

  I certainly did. It was never far from her side.

  She hurried on, as was her custom when she was nervous, her words tumbling over each other. “I got pulled out of line as we waited to board, you know in one of those random searches they do now, and they brought my check-in luggage and went through everything.

  “Wouldn’t you know right there under my needlework in a cotton sack carefully wrapped in what looked like gauze were these adorable little statues and four very small pots. They looked like they had been broken and glued back together.

  “The man asked me where I had gotten them and did I have a permit. Of course, I didn’t. I mean they weren’t mine. I had never seen them before. So he asked me would I go with him to talk to the head of customs security. They wouldn’t let me go, and I missed my flight.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, accompanied by intermittent sniffles. She dabbed at the tears with a crumpled tissue she retrieved from her pocket.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Inspector Polydeuces interrupted our whisperings. “We need to observe regulations and have you visit in the waiting area.” He ordered one of the guards to open the door to her cell.

  “Really, Claudie, this has been so humiliating,” my aunt grumbled under her breath, as we walked down the corridor. “There’s no privacy, I haven’t had a decent bath, and the smell in here is just horrid.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I can imagine how awful it must be for you. We’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible.” I patted her arm, trying to comfort her.

  We seated ourselves across a table in a large open area, and our Cypriot entourage collected at the other end of the room for a cigarette. Yannis joined them.

  “How are you holding up? Do you have enough to eat? Are they treating you okay?” I asked, grasping her hands and searching her face for signs of maltreatment, as we sat across the table from each other.

  “Oh, of course, I’m all right, dear. Cyprus isn’t a third world country. I haven’t been tortured or anything. I imagine a jail is a jail though,” she said, philosophical
ly. “One should just never have the occasion to be in one.”

  I had to smile. “But what a shock to be innocently waiting for your flight and the next instance to be accused of being a thief.”

  She nodded. “It has the element of the surreal, like the Twilight Zone. Any minute I think I will wake up from the nightmare.”

  “Nightmare, yes. But someone had to plant the antiquities in your bag.”

  “But, of course, dear. It’s the only explanation.”

  “The next obvious question is did you see anyone near your carry-on?”

  “I have thought and thought about that. You know how I sometimes leave the bag with another passenger while I visit the restroom? Well, I didn’t this time, use the rest room, I mean. But Mrs. Crawford brought me to the airport.”

  “Who’s she? You’ve never talked about her before,” I asked, leaning closer.

  Her eyes brightened, and she tried to tuck some wisps of white hair back into the bedraggled French twist. I could tell she was warming to the subject of a new friend.

  “She’s one of my new traveling companions, dear. We were on the Escort Tour together the second day I arrived. Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Ryan were along, too. You know how I love to take the Land Rover tour into the Troodos Mountains. Well, these three ladies were on the tour along with a few English magazine writers. We had a marvelous time and stopped in a little village for a long lunch with entremezzas. I even treated myself to a little wine,” she said and blushed.

  She only had wine at lunch when she really let go.

  “Where are they from?”

  “Who, dear?”

  “Your traveling friends.”

  “Oh, from England. They have the most elegant accents. Like the Queen herself. They are on holiday here and come every year and rent a house in old town Pafos. They had rented a car, and we went everywhere together. They were ever so friendly. Always wanted me with them. Being an American, I think I was a novelty for them.” She looked down at her hands folded in front of her on the table but seemed to struggle with her next bit of information.

  “We did go to the Turkish sector,” she finally said. “But only for the day, Claudie,” she added when I frowned, as she knew I would. “We drove to Nicosia and walked across the border. That was all. We just looked around a bit.”