by Jerry Cole
“I’d like to get in, if you don’t mind,” Greg chanced. “I’ve flown all the way from California to be here, and I would like to see what’s happening with my machine.”
The man did not move, and Greg moved forward, as though to pass him, but the man held out his arm and placed a hand on Greg’s chest.
“Excuse me,” Greg said, his irritation rising. “I appreciate that you’ve been looking after the site, but your services are not—”
“We are not security,” the man said, his jaw set in a firm line. “We are the police. And when I say to wait here, you must wait. My commander will be out shortly to speak with you.”
It was a frustrating five minutes for Greg, as he stood on the sidewalk, unable to go any further. He was no longer in the shade and cursed himself for forgetting to purchase any sunblock. The burning rays were already searing at his neck and ears. He was about to call the office when another officer appeared from behind the screen and waved the first policeman away.
Greg showed him his pass and the man nodded and invited him onto the site. “My apologies,” he said. “We have had some trouble here.”
“I’m the head of the company that’s been hired for this work,” Greg said, now too irritable to hold back his thoughts, “and to be denied access to my own machine is unacceptable. I’d like the name of that officer. I’ll be reporting him.”
The commander smirked a little at the outburst, but said nothing. As they walked through rubble and piles of broken concrete and dust, Greg thought back to the commander’s earlier words.
“What kind of trouble are we talking about now?” he asked. “Do you mean the protestors pouring concrete into the entrance to the shaft?”
“Yes,” replied the policeman, “that is part of it, of course. But last night we were given reports that there had been an illegal party on this site, and when we investigated, there were signs that there had been drug use.”
His English was impeccable, and Greg suspected that the stout, middle-aged commander had been placed at the site for that very reason. It must have been obvious that eventually, something would have to be done about the constant disruptions. News about the development of the previous night made Greg’s heart sink. Not only was he dealing with daily vandalism, but now it was inferred that they were entering a possible crime scene.
The commander seemed to read his mind and offered a placating hand on Greg’s back, before taking it away when he felt the white shirt was sodden with sweat.
“We have let them go with a warning,” he said, “but it would appear that someone hates your presence here.”
“I would have to agree,” said Greg, “from the reports I’ve been getting. I’m here to hopefully change all that so we can come to some kind of arrangement. We have work to do here, work that has been approved and funded by your own government.”
“I understand,” said the policeman, and with that the two men arrived at a pit, ahead of which lay a large tunnel that was lit with bright lamps until they disappeared down into the earth. The entrance to the tunnel, twenty feet high and fifty feet wide, was now clear, but from the sight of jagged pieces of concrete brick that jutted out from the sides, along with red spray paint daubed all over the walls, Greg began to get an idea of just how much Eddie and the team had been dealing with over the last three weeks.
There was litter all over, broken glass bottles, empty cigarette packets and other garbage. It looked like an abandoned quarry for sure, and not a place of modern architecture. Greg rubbed his hand over his forehead.
“What happened to the security that my man had arranged for the weekend?” he asked. The policeman shrugged.
“There was nobody here but those in the party,” he said. “Perhaps they joined in. There was a lot of marijuana.”
“I’m sure there was,” Greg mused, not entirely to himself. “I imagine it would benefit certain people greatly if this place was deemed a crime scene.” He peered into the tunnel but there was nothing to see. Betty was deep underground, silent and still. There was no work to be done on a Sunday. Each passing day without progress meant thousands of dollars down the drain. At this rate, there was no chance that the work would be completed on time.
“Do not blame yourself for this,” the police officer said, as he watched Greg’s serious face pondering over the huge burrow in the ground. “You are not the first and I do not think you will be the last.”
“I just don’t understand,” said Greg. “Can I ask your name, please?”
“Nikos,” replied the man. “Nikos Virkakis.”
“Nikos,” said Greg, thinking about each of his words with care. “I am trying to bring something wonderful to your city. I do not understand why we’re being thwarted at every turn.”
“There are people with power who do not want you here,” Nikos said mysteriously.
Greg understood what this meant. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and held a handful of cash in front of the police commander a handful of cash.
“I don’t even know what’s here,” he said. “These are all fifty euro notes. I think fifty euros is pretty much the same as fifty dollars, right? Here, take it.” He bundled the notes into Nikos’ top pocket. Nikos said nothing, and pushed the money further into his pocket, so it was no longer sticking up. From the brief glance both men had made at the cash, they estimated there were at least five hundred euros in the bundle, crisp, clean notes that had never before been spent.
“Get me a meeting with these people you talk about,” said Greg. “And get me decent security. I don’t care what it costs. Here.” He reached into his wallet again, but while Nikos looked at him hopefully, he was disappointed to see that instead of more cash, Greg was holding out a small white card.
“This is me. On it is my cell number. I’m staying at the Electra. I want a meeting tomorrow morning with the mayor and whoever else I need to see to get my machine through the city. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” said Nikos, “but security at such short notice is not easy here in Thessaloniki.”
Greg raised his eyebrows sardonically.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that despite that, you’re going to do your best to make sure I get the security I need,” he said. “Because you know that if you do, then there’s more of those pretty pink papers in that pocket there for you. I get it. You’re here to play both sides. But I don’t think you’ve known until now exactly what side you’re on.”
He sounded ridiculous and he knew it. But he was too angry to care anymore. And it seemed his act had hit home. Nikos was listening to every word he said, and his eyes gleamed at the inference that the more he assisted this tall, steely-haired stranger from America, the sooner he would be able to have the pool in his backyard emptied of dirt and sand and instead filled with clean water his children could swim in.
“I will call you later today,” he said. “You have my word.”
“That’s all I want,” said Greg, and he reached out and shook the man’s hand. “If this site can make it through the night without a single act of vandalism, and if you can get me the meeting, then I’ll know you’re a man of your word.”
With that, the two men turned around and left the site. Without the correct protective gear and enough staff to assist him, he knew that he was not going to see Betty today. It pained him to think he was so close but was choosing to walk away, but at the same time he felt a little victory had been won.
On exiting back onto the main road, he was confident that Nikos would call in whatever he had at his disposal, which he imagined wasn’t a couple of sledgehammer-bearing friends but was instead an organized security company. The commander was already barking orders into his radio by the time Greg shook his hand once more and headed back to the hotel, this time to a cash machine, from which he withdrew a new bundle of notes to replace the ones he’d used to bribe the police officer.
He went back to the hotel and up to his room. He took off his soaking w
et shirt and the tight jeans whose thick denim only served to make him even more irritable. He sat on the balcony in his boxers and a white t-shirt and ordered an ice-cold beer delivered to the room. He could have kissed the woman who brought it. Not only was the beer cold, but the glass it was to be poured into was literally icy, having been sitting in a freezer. He sipped at his drink and decided to call Henry and update him on proceedings. Greg was confident that the meeting the following day would be organized. Nikos’s eyes had glowed hungrily at the sight of all those notes, and that hunger would not be easily satisfied.
Greg sat back in his chair, sipped his beer and quietly felt a burning sense that finally, someone was listening. He’d already accomplished more in twelve hours in the city than his whole team had managed in three weeks. And he was prepared to continue the fight.
Chapter Eight
By four-thirty, there was no sign of Nikos, and a small seed of doubt began to creep into Greg’s mind. Perhaps he had overestimated the co-operative manner of the Greek police. However, at five o’clock promptly, there was a call on the telephone by his bedside.
“Yes?” Greg asked into the receiver.
“Mr. Marsh,” came a voice, “there is a police sergeant here to see you.”
“Thank you,” said Greg, relief spilling out of his voice and down the telephone. “Please send him up.”
As he imagined, it was Nikos, and he had come alone. Greg invited him into the suite, through the room and out onto the balcony, where they sat at the table on which the map from the morning was still unfolded.
“Can I get you something?” Greg asked. “A beer? Something to eat?”
“No, thank you,” said Nikos. “I will be going home soon, and my wife has cooked my favorite dinner. She will be angry if I come home and I am not hungry and smell of alcohol. She will say I have been in a tavern.”
Greg laughed, but not so much that he forgot the seriousness of the policeman’s visit.
“Have you managed to sort out what I asked for?”
“I have arranged five security guards to be posted at the site at all times,” said Nikos. “They are part of the best company in the city, and I trust them to make sure that no more walls will be built to stop your men from working, and no more parties will be held.”
“That’s excellent,” said Greg. “I’m very grateful. And the meeting I have asked you to arrange?”
“That was not so easy,” said Nikos. “This is why I am late. It is very bad for me to interrupt a holy day with matters of business. However, I have spoken to the secretary general, Costas Dimitriou, and he has agreed to meet with you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” said Greg. “This is excellent news.” But there was doubt on Nikos’s face, and Greg pressed him for more information. Nikos hesitated, choosing his words carefully, not so much because he wasn’t sure of how to say them in English, but more that he wasn’t in any hurry to offend the man who could not only pay for his pool to be finished but could get his daughter the beautiful wedding gown she wanted, too.
“This is a small city,” he began, and then stopped, before finally adding, “and I do not think you will be having this meeting alone.”
“Am I in any danger?” asked Greg. The question may have seemed foolish, as though the Californian engineer was about to enter a den full of the Greek mafia, each holding firearms, but Nikos’s hesitancy certainly indicated there was cause for concern. However, the policeman held up his hands.
“Of course, no,” he said. “You will be safe. The meeting is at the municipality office. There is no worry about this. But word has already begun to spread around the city that you are here to make sure nothing stops the work from going ahead.”
“Well, that’s correct,” said Greg. “That’s exactly what I’m here for. This is why the taxes you pay are being used to bring my company in.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Nikos, “and I support you, my friend. We are together in this, no?” He patted Greg’s knee and Greg raised an eyebrow with humorous skepticism.
“My email address is on the card I gave you earlier,” he said, and Nikos nodded. “When you get home I want you to email me the time and location of the meeting tomorrow, with the names of everyone you think will be there. I will check it out. In the meantime, you’ve come through for me today, and on behalf of my company I’m grateful.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small white envelope previously requested from the front desk. In it, he had placed three hundred euros, and he passed the envelope over to Nikos.
“If I need anything more from you, I hope that you will be able to help,” he said, and Nikos took the envelope and squirreled it away in his top pocket once more.
“You can be sure of that, Mr. Marsh,” he said.
“Efcharisto,” said Greg, recalling the word, and Nikos smiled as he got up from his chair.
“Parakalo,” he responded, and he left without another word.
Once Nikos had gone, Greg took his laptop from his briefcase for the first time since his arrival. He booted it up, connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi, and began to search the Internet for details on the main members of the city’s municipality.
Immediately he saw the name Nikos had mentioned: Costas Dimitriou. Greg searched for him alone, along with the city’s name, and immediately hundreds of Greek web pages were listed. What a strange language, Greg thought, as he peered at the characters. The letters don’t even look like real letters. They look more like shapes. There were triangles, rectangles with lines through them, and a strange upside-down horseshoe on feet. For all Greg knew, he may as well have been reading Chinese. The search engine prompted him to translate the web page into English and he gratefully selected the option. Though the sentences did not read clearly, he was able to get an idea of what the articles were about. It seemed Costas Dimitriou had been an odd choice when the newly-elected government had placed the sixty-three-year-old in the role, given his age and his seemingly ultra-conservative views. The new prime minister was known for leaning very much to the left of the political spectrum. However, he had been a surprise hit with the city, responsible for creating more jobs for young people than his predecessors had in the last thirty years.
Unsurprisingly, Greg read, Dimitriou had vehemently opposed a proposal to legalize gay marriage, citing that the church made it clear that such a thing was forbidden. Despite that, progressive inhabitants of the city remained hopeful that they would eventually see equality.
From the little he knew of Greece, Greg was aware that it was a highly religious country. Like many Orthodox states, much was controlled by the church. However, building a metro through the city and lightening the loads of thousands of people was only a good thing, and he was not concerned that Costas Dimitriou’s strong faith was about to get in the way of TMD’s project. After all, surely even the most Orthodox needed to travel efficiently.
That evening, Greg spent a pleasant few hours wandering around the city. He walked along the seafront, breathing in the salty air, and down to the white tower he had not had the chance to pass the previous night. He knew nothing of its history. However, he marveled at the architecture, the fastidious way the bricks had been laid in a perfect circular turret. He wondered how old the tower was, and who had climbed to the very top and looked out over the sea, perhaps to warn the city of marauders or pirates who were on their way.
He stopped for dinner at a bar along the seafront, sipped a glass of wine and considered the next morning’s meeting. Trawling through copious web pages had not given him too much. He knew he was facing the lion’s den on his own. Eventually Nikos’s email arrived with the time and location of the morning’s rendezvous, but there was no mention of who else may be present. Greg was intrigued at the inference that there may be people there who he should be careful of. People who could cause him trouble. However, Greg Marsh was not a man to dwell on what may be. Instead he decided to concentrate on the beautiful sunset that cast a glow over the city, and one Greg had to ad
mit was even more beautiful than those he had witnessed over California all his life. He left the bar and found a bookshop still open, and was pleased to see they had a variety of books in English. He bought a paperback by an author he’d been meaning to read for years, but had never had the time to. He returned to his hotel, sat on the balcony and read until his eyes were heavy.
The following morning, he woke early, showered, shaved and had coffee downstairs in the hotel lobby, before leaving the hotel and making his way toward the municipality building. He found the building on the map he’d gotten from reception, and enjoyed following it to his destination. As much as he could not have done his job half so well without modern technology, he was often happy to ditch the cell phone with its location-pinpointing features in favor of a good, old-fashioned map. He cut through streets already jammed with parked cars though it was barely nine a.m., until he arrived at a neat white building. The signs were in Greek and English, and he knew he had the right place. On entering through the heavy doors, he made his way to the reception desk.
A woman even more beautiful than the seductive flight attendant from his flight looked up at him with quizzical eyes. Greg smiled and handed over his identification.
“I’m here to see Mr. Dimitriou,” he said. She typed something into the computer in front of her and her dark eyes seemed distrusting as she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot see anything in here about Mr. Dimitriou having a meeting with you this morning,” she said. “Perhaps you have the wrong day?”
“No, I definitely have a meeting booked with him,” said Greg, “but it was arranged rather late in the day yesterday, so I imagine his calendar has not been updated. Please can you put through a call and tell him that Greg Marsh from Turbo Metro Drilling is here to see him, as arranged?”
He enunciated the name of his company with added emphasis so there was no confusion, and as he did so, he heard what seemed to be a yelp behind him. He turned around to see a man leap out of his chair and come over quickly, his arm outstretched in a friendly gesture. Before he knew what he was doing, Greg had reached out his own hand and the man had taken it and shaken it with vigor.