by Joseph Badal
“That will be ten Euros,” the man said. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
Demetrios’ stomach did a flip-flop. “Listen,” he said, “I screwed up. I was supposed to pick up the croissants before I came in this morning. My boss is going to have my ass. If you can get them here in less than five minutes, I’ll pay double.”
The man behind the cash register blurted a laugh. “Now you’re talking my language. Twenty Euros and a tip for the girl.”
“Deal,” Demetrios said, relief washing through him. He finished his coffee after taking another bite from the breakfast roll. He dropped a bill on the table, waved the waitress over, and said, “I’ll call you tonight, I promise. I’ve been really busy.”
She smiled and blushed. “I’ll be at home after six.”
No you won’t, Demetrios thought. He brushed his fingers against her arm before she walked away. He heard the man behind the register call out, “Soula, I need you to run across the street.”
Demetrios spied the Englishman the waitress had pointed out to him the other day entering the office building across the street. He quickly punched in Sulaiman’s cell number and said, “It’s a go.”
***
Musa drove the van toward the target. He was a block away when he noticed two moving vans pull up to the front of the building, parking half on the sidewalk. The large vehicles had effectively blocked his ability to park by the curb. He could stop the van on the street-side of the bigger vehicles, but they would absorb the blast, protecting the building. To make matters worse, an Athens cop was watching the moving vans as though he couldn’t decide whether he should make them move on or let them park there.
The traffic moved at sloth-like speed, which gave Musa time to amend his plan. For a moment, he had an impulse to drive by the building, to call off the attack. But the money he would be paid made up his mind for him.
The policeman moved to a spot halfway between the moving vans and the building entrance. He confronted the two truck drivers and all three men were involved in an animated discussion.
Musa pulled his baseball cap down tight on his head and drifted to the right, away from the main flow of traffic, toward the corner of the sidewalk, just behind the first moving truck. He was ten feet from the curb when he floored the accelerator. The van jumped the curb, sped past the rear of the moving truck, and crashed into the cop and two drivers. Two of the men’s bodies flew backward, smashing into the building’s glass door entry. Musa felt and heard the wheels of the van thud over the third man. He let the van careen through the glass windows of a travel agency, crushing a woman in a suit against a wooden desk. As though everything moved in slow motion, Musa saw the green eyes of a young woman wearing a waitress uniform staring at him. Her eyes grew large; her mouth dropped open. She stood at the rear of the shop, trapped by the van. Her arms were raised as though she was surrendering, a large white paper bag suspended in one of her hands.
Musa leaped from the van and landed in the debris of broken glass, wood shards, and a melee of paper. Shouts and screams echoed around him, but none of that worried him. He knew from experience that people would be running for their lives, not standing around watching. He counted on people reacting in that way. He slipped the detonator-triggering device from his tan coveralls pocket and calmly walked out of the storefront and into the building’s main entryway. He moved through the corridor to the rear of the building, to the door he knew, from reconnoitering the building the day before, accessed an alley. He ran down the alley. Where it terminated at a two lane cross street, he stopped and pointed the television-like remote control box back in the direction of the van. He pressed the detonator and then ran to the left as fast as he could. He felt the concussion from the blast and then heat rolled over him. Knocked to his knees, he had to struggle to regain his feet. Running again, he moved farther from ground zero. He knew he was now far enough away from the blast; he didn’t want to be anywhere near the area when the police started to react. He tossed his baseball cap into a Dumpster, then unbuttoned his coveralls on the run. He stopped after another hundred meters and stepped out of the coveralls, balling them up and throwing them onto a garage roof. Musa looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the blast. A massive white smoke cloud rose above the Kolonaki Square area and moved with the wind in Musa’s direction. The eerie sound of screams and sirens drifted on the wind.
Musa stuck his hands in his pants pockets as he slowed to a walk. He wanted to shout the joy he felt. His reputation would rise even more around the world. And the fee he would receive for this job would swell his Swiss bank account to eight figures for the first time. He smiled with an inner peace that warmed his flesh and thrilled him to his core.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
AUGUST 6, 2004
Bob had accepted Tony and Michelle Fratangelo’s offers to accompany him to the Athens airport to pick up Liz. Because Bob was scheduled to meet the Greek Prime Minister at 10:00 a.m., they would all meet Liz at the airport. Bob would then drive her to the Grand Bretagne Hotel, while the Fratangelos would follow in their car. Bob would drop Liz at the hotel, and then leave with Tony for his appointment. Michelle would do whatever she could to get Liz settled in and answer whatever questions she might have about living in Athens. He hoped Andrew Fratangelo would be on his best behavior. Tony had explained that their babysitter had cancelled at the last minute and they had no one else with whom to leave the boy. Bob knew Liz would be beat after her flight. As much as she loved kids, a little boy—especially one as precocious as Andrew—could be trying under the best of circumstances.
Tony parked near a shade tree two blocks from the airport entrance, where he had a good view of traffic leaving the airport. He would see Bob’s rented gray Audi when it pulled away. Bob found a parking spot in the airport lot and entered the terminal building.
***
“Hey, good looking,” Bob whispered as he came up behind Liz at the baggage carousel.
“I hope you’re a young, tall, dark-haired Greek; otherwise, I’m going to be very disappointed,” she said.
Bob laughed. “You’d better turn around and give me a big kiss.”
Liz laughed in answer—the laugh that always reminded Bob of windchimes, turned, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Promise me you won’t ever leave me alone again,” she said. “I can’t stand being away from you.”
Bob hugged her, lifting her off the floor. “That’s a promise I’d love to make,” he said, lowering her to her feet.
She gave him a skeptical look, then smiled and said, “That didn’t sound like a commitment; but we can discuss that later. Right now I want to get to the hotel, take a shower, and spend the rest of the day in bed with you.” Her smile turned lascivious and she kissed his cheek. Her smile disappeared when Bob’s expression suddenly changed. “What?” she asked.
Bob looked at his watch and then back at her. “I’ve got an appointment with the Prime Minister at ten, about two hours from now. I’ll drop you off at the hotel, run to my meeting, and return as soon as possible.”
She turned back to the luggage carousel, as though she was trying to hide her reaction to Bob’s announcement. But she quickly turned again and said, “Better late than never; just don’t make me wait too long, or I’ll find that young, good-looking Greek.”
“If you weren’t so damned beautiful and sexy, I’d take that as an idle threat,” Bob said.
Liz kissed him on the lips and said, “Now, that’s the kind of talk a girl likes to hear.”
***
Pavlos Manganos felt the usual rush of adrenaline as he punched the TALK button on his cell phone.
“Man and woman in a gray Audi just left the airport.”
“No one else with them?” Manganos asked the spotter, a tone of incredulity in his voice. Danforth had always been in the company of another man—at least for the last few days.
“N
o one that I saw,” the spotter said.
Well, I’ll be damned, Manganos thought. “Okay, you know what to do. Call when you’re ready to hand them off.”
Manganos flipped the cell phone closed and briefed Savvas Krinon on what the spotter had told him. Krinon just shrugged.
***
Tony saw Bob drive out of the airport. He couldn’t pull in behind the Audi until five other vehicles had passed. He finally drove away from the curb, not in any great hurry to catch up with the Audi. As long as he kept the Danforths in sight, and as long as he got to the hotel at the same time Bob arrived there. It wouldn’t do for Bob to be late for his appointment with the Prime Minister. And it wasn’t a good idea for Bob to be anywhere in Athens without someone watching his back.
***
“My God,” Liz said, “traffic is terrible. What happened to the Athens of the seventies?”
“Thirty years, that’s what happened. And three million more people.”
He reached over and touched her arm. “You sure it’s all right turning you over to Michelle Fratangelo and her son?”
“Actually, I’m looking forward to meeting her and having the chance to ask about housing.” She looked at Bob and grinned. “Not to mention shopping.”
Bob breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He searched in his rearview mirror for the Fratangelos’ white Taurus. A large panel truck directly behind him obscured his view.
***
Thirty minutes after the first call from the spotter, Pavlos Manganos’ cell phone rang. “Go!” he barked.
“Ten blocks from the square; two blocks from your location,” the man said.
Manganos turned on the motorcycle seat and stared back over Savvas Krinon’s shoulder. He craned his neck until the awkward position and the tension in his body made his neck ache. He looked to the front for a second and rubbed his neck; then he quickly turned again toward the direction from which the Danforth vehicle would come. Almost as soon as he looked back, he spotted the gray Audi and the motorcycle driven by the spotter. When the spotter was fifty meters away, he peeled off the boulevard onto a side street and disappeared.
CHAPTER FORTY
AUGUST 6, 2004
Exhilarated was the word for the way Giorgos Photos felt. He couldn’t sit. He wanted to shout his joy but was afraid the nosey old biddy in the house up the road might hear him and think someone was in trouble. He moved around the living room of his Evoia home like a tiger in a cage, never taking his eyes off the television screen. The television news announcer’s voice had a frantic quality about it as she described the devastation in Kolonaki Square.
The bomb had done more damage than Photos had imagined. The upper floors of the six-story building had collapsed, leaving only twisted metal girders showing above the third floor. Rubble had mounded from the building’s lobby, over the sidewalk, and on the street. Two large moving vans by the curb had been torn apart as though they were tin cans. Men in hard hats and protective clothing crawled over and around the ruins like ants on a damaged anthill. People wandered around the scene as though in a daze, their faces and clothes covered with ash and concrete dust. Ambulances clogged the street in the distance and emergency vehicle strobe lights flashed. Sirens provided an aural background that would normally have been irritating to Photos. This morning, the noise sounded like music.
The announcer kept repeating that hundreds of people worked in the building, including a large number of foreign nationals. “The vast majority of the occupants of the building,” she said, “are Greek citizens. This explosion could prove to be one of the worst disasters of modern times. No one has claimed responsibility for this savage act.”
Photos was confident there would be an uprising of emotion—anger, fear, and sorrow—over the loss of so many Greek lives; but there would also be a demand by the people for action from the government. There would no longer be sympathy for Greek Spring, or for other terrorist groups. And that would be just fine with Photos. The plan was for Greek Spring to disband, disappear. There would no longer be a need for the group. Its original goal of establishing a Marxist-Leninist state would soon be a fait accompli. Photos would have been instrumental in changing the course of Greek history.
The TV screen again showed survivors stumbling around the building’s wreckage, their eyes wide with panic. Rescue workers assisted a few away from the scene. But the survivors appeared to be few and far between. The anchorwoman’s pretty, but concerned face came back to the screen.
“Christo Loutsos is now on the scene. What do you have to report, Christo?” the woman asked.
“Katerina, I’ve just talked with Inspector Socrates Yiatrakis. His team of investigators has found traces of ingredients from an explosive device. There is now no question about this terrible incident in Kolonaki Square being an accidental explosion. It appears someone planted an explosive device in a van that was driven into the Lambrakis Building and then detonated. Witnesses have come forward to claim they saw a van run down three men standing on the sidewalk outside the building just seconds before the explosion occurred. One witness says she saw a man jump down from the van and race through the building right before the explosion. We have no information about this man or whether he escaped the blast and perished when the building collapsed.”
“Thank you, Christo,” the announcer said. “We’ll get back—”
Photos used the remote control to mute the television. His heart was now beating so fast, he thought there might be something wrong. He stepped outside, took a seat on a bench in his backyard, and stared out at the water a half-kilometer in the distance. He felt his heart rate slow. He laughed out loud. “You’re getting too old for all this excitement,” he told himself, and laughed again. There would be more excitement soon, he thought.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
AUGUST 6, 2004
Bob immediately knew a large explosion had occurred. The concussion was a familiar sensation. He had experienced similar sensations in Vietnam, the Balkans, the Sudan, and Afghanistan. He immediately scanned the horizon for the telltale smoke that usually accompanied explosions. Nothing showed.
“Did you feel that?” Liz asked.
“Yeah, I did,” Bob said, while punching the car radio’s ON dial. His cell phone suddenly rang.
“Danforth,” he answered.
“It’s Tony. I just got a call from a friend at the FBI office here. There’s been an explosion somewhere near their building.”
“I felt it just a moment ago,” Bob said. “It must have been a big one to detect it this far away from the FBI building. Did your friend say where exac—hold on a minute, there’s a bulletin coming over the radio.”
A man on the radio started speaking in frenzied, rapid-fire Greek. Bob was only able to pick up part of what the man said; but it was enough to divine the substance of the announcement. An explosion had occurred at the Lambrakis Building in Kolonaki Square and had leveled the building. The authorities feared the casualty count would be very high.
“Turn on your radio,” Bob told Tony. “Channel 87.7. There’s been an explosion in Kolonaki Square. The Lambrakis Building. Do you know it?”
“Shit, Bob, the MI-6 team is housed in that building.”
Bob let that information sink in as he took advantage of a sudden opening in traffic and sped into the left lane. “We need to get Liz and your family to the hotel as quickly as possible. I want them off the streets. Call the office and have whoever is there contact Langley and let them know what’s going on. I’ll call McMasters at the FBI offices and tell him I want to meet at the embassy. This could be the beginning of what we’ve been expecting from the terrorists.”
“What about your meeting with the Prime Minister?” Tony asked.
“Oh, I’m going to meet with him,” Bob said. “But first I want to gather as much information about what happened in Kolonaki. If this was another terrorist inc
ident . . . .” He left the thought hanging.
***
Pavlos Manganos saw the gray Audi speed by his position. For once, traffic wasn’t working in his favor. Vehicles were moving fast. He shouted at Savvas Krinon and pointed after the Audi. Then he put the motorcycle into gear and raced after the car. He moved from lane to lane, quickly gaining on Danforth’s vehicle. He didn’t need to be on top of the car yet; but he didn’t want to lose sight of it. He knew traffic would come to almost a standstill when the Audi entered the Constitution Square area. That’s where he and Savvas would do the job.
***
Tony pulled around the panel truck that had screened his view of Bob’s car. He hit the accelerator when he saw the gray Audi speed ahead, putting ten car lengths between them. He wanted to arrive at the hotel with Bob, so the offloading of his family occurred simultaneously with Liz Danforth exiting the Audi. Tony would give his car keys to the hotel valet and leave the hotel with Bob. He explained all this to Michelle. She had been through this type of exercise before. She didn’t ask any questions; she would do what was expected of her.
***
Bob told Liz what he had heard about the explosion and what he needed her to do at the hotel. This was old hat to her. Like all wives of professional soldiers, career diplomats, and CIA lifers, Liz would act according to the demands of the situation.
“I’ll come back to the hotel as soon as I can,” Bob said.
Liz reached over and touched Bob’s right arm, as though telling him that whatever he needed to do was all right by her, and that he should be careful.