by Joseph Badal
“The information isn’t available yet. Perhaps by tomorrow.”
“What about my earlier call?”
“The one named Tony has been in the country for a short time. He lives in Kifissia, near the corner of Kokkinara and Levidou.” He supplied Demetrios with the address.
“You know my number,” Demetrios said, and depressed the plunger on the telephone. He kept the receiver against his ear and pretended to continue his conversation while surreptitiously surveying the area around the phone booth. When he decided he was not being watched, he hung up the receiver and walked away from the booth.
Demetrios knew that Greek law required all hotels to take their visitors’ passports when they checked in and to enter information from the passports into their computers. This information was then downloaded to the Ministry of Justice database. Ironic, he thought. The system had been put in place to track possible terrorists coming to Greece. What the government didn’t know was the terrorists were using the same database to track law enforcement personnel. In another day, at the most, his cousin Stavros would pass on the name of the hotel where Robert Danforth was staying. But now he needed to scope out the house where the CIA man Fratangelo lived.
Demetrios removed the .38 caliber Colt revolver from the waistband of his trousers, hidden under his leather jacket. He stashed it in the storage compartment in the back of his Vespa, and quickly mounted the scooter and headed for Kifissia.
***
Giorgos Photos looked out at the huge clock mounted on an iron pole at the street corner. It was almost 2:00 p.m. “Demetrios should be here any moment,” he announced. “Then we can get started.”
“What’s going on?” Savvas Krinon asked, looking at Pavlos Manganos who sat in an overstuffed chair in a corner of the room. It was unusual for Photos to hold meetings where more than one other member of Greek Spring was present.
“Patience, my friend. I believe you will find the wait worthwhile. I—” A knock on the apartment door interrupted Photos. He waited to make sure the correct number of knocks was tapped out, then stepped to the side of the door. He removed his pistol from his back pocket, unlocked the door, and shouted, “Come in.”
When Demetrios Mavroyianni entered, Photos tucked away his pistol and slapped Mavroyianni on the back. “I assume you have good news,” he said.
“Of course,” Demetrios said, nodding at Krinon and Manganos.
“Good,” Photos said, pointing to a chair at the small square wood table in the center of the room where Krinon and Manganos were seated. Mavroyianni sat down and waited for Photos to sit across from him. Then he described the location of Tony Fratangelo’s house. He reported that he should have the information on Robert Danforth’s location tomorrow.
“Excellent job,” Photos said. He patted Demetrios on the shoulder and stood, signaling that their meeting was over. “Call me when you get the hotel information.” He led Demetrios to the door and locked it after the man left. When he turned around, Krinon and Manganos were standing.
“Perhaps it’s time for me to explain what I have in mind,” Photos told them. “We are about to make a statement that will make all we have done before pale in comparison.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JULY 30, 2004
Bob jumped at the sudden ringing of the telephone. He’d been so engrossed in the file he was reading that even the innocent sound of the telephone jolted him. It was nearly 3:00 in the afternoon. He watched through his open office door as Stacey Frederick answered the phone, smiled, and then told the caller to, “Come on up.” She hung up the phone and announced to the rest of the team—Sam Goodwin, Tony Fratangelo, and Bob, who were seated around a large conference table—that Stanton Markeson and Cyril Bridewell from the British team were on their way up. She moved to the suite’s entrance door and pressed a buzzer releasing the downstairs front door.
Two men came into the room carrying two boxes each and dropped them on the floor just inside the door. Stacey introduced them to Bob.
“I didn’t sign on to be a damned day laborer,” Markeson growled.
Bridewell laughed. “The climb up the stairs nearly did Stanton in.”
Bob observed that Markeson was not built for physical labor. While the blond, blue-eyed, thirty-something Bridewell was medium height, powerfully built, and breathing normally, Markeson was puffing as though he’d just run a mile, uphill, with a fifty-pound pack on his back. He was short, rotund, florid-faced, and looked about sixty-five.
Bob shook the men’s hands. “What’s all this?” he asked as he offered chairs at the table to Markeson and Bridewell.
“Gifts from the chief,” Bridewell responded. “Mr. Townsend received a copy of the files you provided London and thought he should reciprocate.” He pointed at the four boxes. “These contain some of what we’ve been able to accumulate on terrorist activities in Greece since Jeffrey Saunders’ murder four years ago. There are six more boxes down in the van. It’s the sum total of what the Greek Ministry of Public Order has given us so far, plus what we’ve dug up ourselves.”
Markeson handed Bob a floppy disk he removed from his shirt pocket. He’d gotten enough of his breath back to be able to say, “You’ll find all sorts of interesting stuff on this disk. It was downloaded from the Scotland Yard computer and contains Intelligence files they’ve gathered since the mid-seventies on terrorist activities in Greece. The file names are fairly explanatory. You see one that seems interesting, all you have to do is access the database. The access instructions are on the disk as well.”
“We have access to the entire Scotland Yard database?” Bob asked with a smile.
Markeson emitted a rolling, thunderous laugh and devolved into a hacking, smoker’s cough. When he stopped coughing, he said, “I said the chief had reciprocated, not that he had lost his mind.”
Bob laughed. “You had me excited there for a moment.” Then he turned to Sam Goodwin and asked, “Do we have anything we can offer our guests to drink?”
“You bet,” Sam said, and left the room.
“While Sam gets the drinks,” Bob said to Tony, “perhaps you and Cyril could bring up the remaining files from the van.”
After all the file boxes were stored in the CIA office and Sam had returned with a tray of bottles of water and limonada, Bob slid forward in his chair and said to the Englishmen, “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Markeson said, after he glanced at Bridewell and received a nod from the man.
Bob looked Markeson in the eye and said, “I understand you’ve lived in Greece for a number of years, that you are well-connected in both business and governmental circles, and that you know the Greek mentality. Tell us what you really think, your gut instincts about Greek Spring.”
Bob knew there was a tendency for bureaucrats to downplay the input from players in the field, especially players who had been in the field for an extended time. There was an inclination on the part of people at headquarters to look upon such operatives as though they’d “gone native,” and to discount much of their input. Bob suspected the British were no different than the Americans in this regard. He still got angry when he thought about the form letters that Jimmy Carter’s CIA Director, Admiral Stansfield Turner, sent out on October 31, 1977, purging the Operations Directorate of some of the most valuable people in the Agency. Termination notices were sent to agents in the field who had been in place the longest, and who knew the cultures and languages of the countries in which they were stationed. That day was still known in the Agency as the Halloween Day Massacre.
Markeson’s expression turned serious. He seemed to be thinking about Bob’s question and there was something about the look in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, that told Bob he wasn’t used to being asked for his opinion.
It took Markeson several moments to respond, but when he did, his expression had softened a bit and there was a tone of respe
ct in his voice. “I think we’ve got a very small group of thugs involved with Greek Spring. Maybe twenty, thirty people. The core members of the group have been at it for over two-and-a-half decades and have reached a point where they are so damned confident and arrogant they believe they can continue committing crimes with little or no fear of being caught.” Markeson looked around the room, took a drink of limonada, and continued. “I think the group has support from well-placed persons in the Greek Government.”
“How well-placed?” Tony Fratangelo asked.
“Very well-placed,” Markeson said. “Either high-level individuals and/or people who work for those individuals and have access to information about the investigations into the terrorists’ crimes.”
“Any ideas about who these individuals might be?” Stacey asked.
Markeson shook his head. “I’ve got all kinds of ideas, but I can’t think of one person who I could indict. Hard evidence is just not there. The actions taken by certain political leaders would lead one to believe they were in bed with the terrorists; but”—he shrugged—“who knows?”
“What actions, for instance?” Sam Goodwin said.
“Well, let’s take the civil security forces,” Markeson said. “Karamanlis broke up the security forces when he became Prime Minister in the ’70s. When Andreas Papandreou took over in 1981, he further emasculated the security forces. As a result, the civil security force’s performance in dealing with terrorism in Greece has been a tribute to incompetence. Karamanlis and Papandreou’s actions would lead you to believe they intentionally undermined the effort to investigate terrorism.
“In the case of Papandreou, remember that he was about to take power in Greece via democratic elections when the Papadopoulos military junta took over the country on April 21, 1967, and arrested Papandreou. He would have a powerful motivation to allow a group of terrorists to take revenge on the United States and Britain for their support of the Military Government.”
“Keep in mind,” Bridewell interjected, “that the civil security forces played a big role in the junta. They earned a reputation for brutality against their enemies and a number of policemen were tried for torture and other human rights violations after the junta was overthrown. Government leaders have overreacted by dismantling the security forces, thereby damaging their ability to perform efficiently.”
“So we don’t know if Karamanlis and Papandreou were aiding and abetting the terrorists intentionally, or inadvertently,” Tony said.
Markeson stretched out his hand and waved it from side to side. “Maybe both,” he said. “The government’s position on international terrorism has been reprehensible on more than one occasion. They have supported fundamentalist regimes in the Middle East and have actually released terrorists who were arrested after they committed atrocities here in Greece. All because they wanted the support of various Arab countries in Greece’s conflict with Turkey. They also wanted those countries to make investments in Greece.”
“Including the purchase of arms and munitions manufactured in Greece,” Bob interjected.
“Just so,” Markeson said.
Silence hung in the room. Bob guessed the others were thinking along the same line he was: How in God’s name could a small group of criminals even be identified when the leaders of the country were, for one reason or another, aggressively or passively protecting them? But Bob had put a lot of thought into this question and felt the time was right for a change in the Greek attitude toward Greek Spring and other such groups.
“Thank you, Stanton,” Bob said, rising from his chair at the head of the table, “that was very helpful. I appreciate your time and your expertise. We should probably let you and Cyril get back to your office.”
The two Brits stood and shook hands with the Americans. Stacey showed them to the door and returned to her place at the table a few seconds later.
“Are we all in agreement with Markeson?” Bob asked.
Tony, Sam, and Stacey stated they were all on the same page.
“Okay, let me add a few thoughts,” Bob said. “First, I think the 2004 Olympic Games are already changing the situation. The European Union is pouring millions of Euros into Greece to make it a showcase for all of Europe. For the 1992 Games in Barcelona, which coincided with the five hundredth anniversary of Columbus’ discovery of the New World, the wealthier European nations made Spain a showcase for the continent. That’s the plan for Athens this year. The last thing Greece or the other countries in the region want is wholesale slaughter by terrorists while they’re trying to bring visitors here from all over the planet. Which means we’re going to have more support from the locals in our efforts than ever before.
“Second,” Bob continued, “I am certain the terrorists know this and they’re going to fight like lions protecting their prides to prevent this from happening. Which means we’re going to see escalation in terrorist activity. They’re going to want to send a message to both their sympathizers and opponents that they mean business. And, based on the way the Greek Government has reacted to terrorist threats in the past, the terrorists probably believe the government will roll over and play dead as they ratchet up their attacks.
“Lastly, I think the essential goodness of the Greek people will prevail. There has been some sympathy among Greeks for the terrorists because the terrorists have claimed to have nationalistic motivations, and because they rose out of opposition to the military junta. The terrorists’ actions of late, however, have raised some interesting questions in the minds of the average Greek. When Greek Spring started assassinating Greek prosecutors and businessmen, their nationalistic motivations had to have come into question.”
“Sounds like we have a natural made conflict between the government and the terrorists,” Sam said. “If your position is correct, we could have a serious problem. The more the government clamps down, the more the terrorists react. This thing could intensify way beyond what exists today, or what the terrorists have done in the past.”
“But what makes you think the Greek leaders will change their behavior?” Stacey asked. “Remember, we’ve been hearing rumors for years that highly placed Greek politicians and bureaucrats have been protecting Greek Spring. Hell, a number of the top people have made public statements in support of terror groups. Markeson made all of that clear.”
Bob rested his elbows on the table and covered his mouth with his hands, looking from one team member to the next. He thought about what Sam and Stacey had said, then sat back and said, “Both of you make good points. Sam, I think you’re absolutely correct. The terrorists will more than likely become more active. But the more aggressive they become, the more likely they’ll make a mistake. One of them will blow himself up in the same way the 17 November member did, or someone will witness one of their crimes and report it to the police. And the more crimes they commit, the more they’ll alienate the Greek populace.” Bob turned to Stacey. “And we’re going to make it very uncomfortable for anyone who defends these bastards. With or without the assistance of the Greek authorities.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
JULY 30, 2004
Something was eating at Bob, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He’d gone back to reading case files since Markeson and Bridewell’s visit. He focused on Greek Spring’s acts of terrorism, its MO. Although they had used several different methods of violence, there seemed to be a similarity in many of the attacks. Not only was the same .45 pistol used over and over again, but the attacks usually involved more than one killer. The vehicles—vans, cars, and motorcycles—used in their attacks were often stolen. He tossed the incident file he was reading on the table and got out of his chair. Greek Spring had injured four Turkish diplomats in a bombing attack thirteen years ago.
Bob glanced at his watch. He expected a call from Jack Cole at Langley in five minutes, at 6:30 p.m. Athens time. Five minutes to try to dredge up what was nibbling at the fringes of hi
s memory. Something about that attack in 1991.
Bob paced his small office. “Come on, man, think,” he growled at himself. At times like this he wondered if his synapses would have sparked and given him the answer he was looking for if he were twenty years younger. He criss-crossed the office until the jangling of the telephone diverted his attention. He grabbed the receiver and plopped back down in the chair behind his desk.
“Hey, Jack, right on time,” Bob said.
“You know, a phone call letting me know that you had arrived in Greece and that all was well would have been appreciated.”
Bob exhaled an “Oh” into the phone and said, “Hi, Liz. I was going to call you tonight after I went back to the hotel.”
“Yeah, and the moon is made of cheese.”
Bob groaned. “I’ve been a bit busy, honey. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know how it is.” She paused for a moment, and said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I rented the house to a nice couple who are going to be in the area for one year while the wife finishes her doctorate at Georgetown. They’re moving in next week. I have plane reservations to arrive in Athens on the sixth of August, next Friday. I’ve arranged to store the cars and the furniture—”
“Whoa, Liz,” Bob said. He knew his voice was raised and that he had allowed anger to affect his tone; but he didn’t have time to deal with this now. He was going to have a tough enough time with his mission in Greece without having to worry about Liz. “I thought we agreed to discuss the timetable for you coming over here. I haven’t even got my feet on the ground yet. I don’t have a place to live. You can’t—”
“Hold it, buster,” Liz said in a throaty voice that Bob had heard her use on their son Michael when he’d acted up. She’d rarely used the tone on him. “You need someone watching out for you. If I don’t fly over there, you’ll work eighteen-hour days, seven days a week, and you’ll miss half your meals. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming to Athens. I’ll find a place for us to live. Any questions?”