Santorini Caesars

by Jeffrey Siger

  “We need to talk,” said Andreas.

  “Not here,” said the Brigadier, looking over his shoulder at two security guards chatting up a secretary. “Who knows what that prick might decide to do.”

  “Which one?” said Yianni.

  “Take your pick.”

  Andreas smiled. “How about Dal Segno? Is that public enough for you?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes.” They stepped outside the building and the Brigadier waved to his driver. “You’re welcome to ride with me. I’ll bring you back for your car when we’re done.”

  “Thanks, but it might not still be here when we got back.”

  The Brigadier nodded, got into the backseat, and was gone.

  “I like that waving to his driver bit,” said Andreas as he and Yianni walked toward their marked blue-and-white cruiser.

  “That only works if you’re willing to let someone else drive,” said Yianni holding out his hand for the car keys.

  Andreas waved him off. “Sort of like our minister.”

  “Huh?”

  “From what I saw upstairs, Babis is definitely not driving the ministry.”

  “I wonder who that Prada guy is?” said Yianni.

  “No idea. I never saw him before.”

  “Me either. Maybe we can get an ID on him from the photos.”

  “What photos?” said Andreas.

  “The ones I took on my phone while you and the Brigadier were playing beat up on the troll.”

  ***

  With its fancy shops, restaurants, residences, and reputation as Athens’ ritziest downtown area, the Kolonaki neighborhood was a discouraged destination for public appearances by leaders of the current government. The area’s affluent lifestyle didn’t fit the party’s working class image, and at the top of the list of places to avoid stood Dal Segno Caffe with its reputation as the inner sanctum for Greece’s old-line political lions.

  Which made it the perfect place to meet.

  Andreas drove up onto a pedestrian walkway next to the cafenion and parked.

  Yianni shook his head. “First assault, now illegal parking. You’re a damn closet recidivist.”

  “Just order the coffees. I’ll find us a table.”

  They headed toward a storefront made of broad glass, polished natural wood, green marble, and Parisian green trim, and walked through a break in a line of sidewalk café tables into the cafenion.

  “Pick out some of those too,” said Andreas pointing at an array of Italian cookies and assorted sandwiches inside a glass display case.

  “I’ll have to report you to Lila.”

  Andreas waved an open palm in Yianni’s direction as he stepped out onto an awning-covered patio. He headed toward an empty table tucked away in a corner behind the patio’s lone tree.

  He wondered how real his risk of arrest was. It made no sense, but if this government truly represented the left wing coup so many accused it of being, anything could happen. Tassos had told him many stories of how the Colonels ran their right wing junta. No reason to think these guys on the left would be any different. After all, Stalin wasn’t a pussycat. But he couldn’t worry about that. Prada might be hoping to make him a symbol of police aggression, but that would be hard to pull off if the parents of the murdered girl didn’t go along with it, and impossible if the Brigadier spoke out in Andreas’ defense.

  “Screw ’em all,” Andreas muttered under his breath as he sat down. If they wouldn’t take his advice on how to deal with the demonstrations, that was their loss. He had enough other things to worry about. From here on out, the demonstrators were their problem, not his.

  The Brigadier arrived just as Yianni showed up carrying coffees and a plate of cookies and brioches.

  “Sorry I’m late, I had to take a phone call.”

  “I figured you like your coffee black,” said Yianni.

  “That’s fine, detective. Thank you.”

  “Here’s your fat-free cappuccino, Chief.”

  Andreas looked at the Brigadier. “My wife has everyone around me trying to keep me on a diet.”

  The Brigadier patted his slight belly. “It’s a Greek curse once we pass a certain age.”

  “See,” said Andreas, picking up a biscotti and waving it at Yianni before taking a bite, “the Brigadier’s on my side of the pastry issue.”

  Yianni smiled. “From the way you tossed that Prada guy into the minister’s lap, I’d say you stay in pretty good shape.”

  “Adrenaline helps,” said the Brigadier. “Why did you call him Prada?”

  “I named him after his sports jacket. It seemed more respectful than asshole.”

  The Brigadier shrugged. “One of you called him that too.”

  “Guilty as charged,” said Andreas putting the biscotti down on the edge of his coffee saucer. “What’s your take on our little get-together with Babis?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” said the Brigadier.

  “If Prada actually wanted to pin what he said on me, and needed your help to pull it off, I’d have thought he’d be smart enough to run it by you first.”

  “If that’s your way of asking whether I knew anything about what went on back there before it happened, the answer is no.”

  “Not at all,” said Andreas. “In fact, I apologize for not thanking you sooner for standing up for me in there. I’m just trying to figure out why they thought you would lie for them.”

  The Brigadier shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Any idea who Prada is?” asked Yianni.

  “You heard what I heard.”

  “How’d you end up in the meeting?” said Andreas.

  “The minister called me to say there’d been a crucial development in the case and that he wanted to talk to me about it in person.”

  “Did you ask him what it was?”

  “No.”

  Andreas blinked. “Why not?”

  “I had no reason to.”

  “No reason?” Andreas leaned back in his chair and fixed his eyes on the Brigadier’s. “With all due respect, sir, from out of the blue the head of the Greek police personally called to tell you there was a crucial development in your daughter’s murder case, and you simply let the conversation drop there?”

  The Brigadier nodded.

  “It doesn’t fit with you being a general. Generals are by nature suspicious and used to getting answers to their questions.”

  The Brigadier smiled. “So are chief inspectors.”

  “I know,” said Andreas, “which leads me to think the reason you didn’t ask was because you thought you already had the answer to what he planned on telling you.”

  The Brigadier stiffened in his chair. “And what are you suggesting that was?”

  “The identity of your daughter’s killers.”

  The Brigadier’s expression turned grim. “That’s preposterous.”

  Andreas shook his head. “I think you have a very definite idea of who killed your daughter, and thought the minster did too. The part I haven’t figured out yet is why you didn’t want to hear him say the names?”

  “You’re way off.”

  “Am I?” Andreas leaned in toward the Brigadier. “You know as well as I do this wasn’t a case of your daughter being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was a designated target, and your mind’s been racing over a list of her possible killers since the moment I told you she’d been assassinated.”

  The Brigadier bit his lip. “I’m not going to deny any of that. Of course, it’s consuming me…” he closed his eyes and let out a breath, “when I’m not worrying about how my wife will bear up at the funeral tomorrow. But I have no one in mind.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to put you through this now,” said Andreas, “but we have no choice.”

  The Brigad
ier nodded and opened his eyes. “And, yes, when the minister called acting so coy, I thought he wanted me with him as window dressing for some dramatic announcement he planned on making to the press to quell the demonstrations. I had no idea that he and…” his expression twisted into anger, “your Prada guy planned on using me to set you up as the political fall-guy for their PR disaster with the rioting.”

  “Fair. I’ll accept all of that except for the ‘no one in mind’ part. Even I could have people in mind.”

  “Fine, then. Chase after them, and leave my thoughts to me.”

  Andreas leaned in closer. “I wish it were that easy, Brigadier, but I’ve got the distinct impression something’s going on here that’s a lot bigger than you’re letting on. In fact, I’m pretty well convinced that the only reason your daughter was a target was because she was your daughter.”

  The Brigadier sprang to his feet. “How dare you suggest she was murdered because of me?”

  Andreas waved for the general to sit. “Please. You’re disturbing their coffee break.” Andreas nodded at two nearby tables filled with customers all staring at the Brigadier.

  He drew in and let out a deep breath as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He sat down and leaned in toward Andreas. “We both know there are a hell of a lot of people out there willing and capable of doing seriously bad things. That’s why you and I have jobs.”

  “And all I want to know is whether any of those people spring to mind as a likely candidate for going after your daughter?”

  He gestured no.

  “Come on, work with me on this. There’s got to be somebody out there you can finger as a possibility.”

  “You mean like terrorists?”

  “I mean like anyone.”

  The Brigadier closed his eyes for a moment. The grim look took over his face again as he opened them. “There are some I know who are quite accomplished at violence and have no love for the path our current government is following. I do not share their views, but I still can’t see them going after my daughter because of me.”

  “Who are they?” said Andreas.

  The Brigadier gestured no. “I can’t identify them.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  The Brigadier closed his eyes again.

  Now Andreas sat grim-faced and waited for the Brigadier to open his eyes. “If you knew terrorists were about to attack Greece, would you warn the country?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why aren’t you speaking out now? Is it because the ones you’re reluctant to name are Greeks? Does it matter one iota whether a Greek or a Martian killed your daughter? She’s just as dead.”

  The Brigadier stared into his cup.

  “There is a war looming here, Brigadier, and you’ve got to pick a side.”

  “Which side is the right side?”

  Andreas shook his head. “If you have to ask that question, we’re already doomed.”

  The Brigadier rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his massive right hand. “They’re military colleagues.”

  “Planning a coup?” said Andreas.

  “The military tried that with tanks in the streets fifty years ago, and it didn’t work out so well. I don’t think you can harness the long term support of the Greek people with promises of better living through coups d’état.”

  “Then what are you saying?” said Andreas.

  “To my way of thinking, a traditional military coup is out of the question.”

  “Are you suggesting there’s something ‘non-traditional’ percolating?” said Andreas.

  The Brigadier shrugged. “I don’t know. But any military man giving serious thought to coup possibilities would know that a coup could not possibly succeed without powerful outside benefactors.”

  “‘Outside benefactors’?”

  “Our history is full of them. After all, only with Russian and Western European help did we succeed in our 1821 War of Independence.”

  Andreas stared up at the tree. “The more things change, the more they remain the same.”

  “Bet you wish you hadn’t asked,” said the Brigadier.

  Andreas brought his eyes back onto the Brigadier. “It’s certainly not the sort of answer I expected.”

  “Excuse me, Brigadier,” said Yianni. “I’m as up as the next Greek for a good conspiracy theory, but if what you said is true, I still don’t see why whoever they are went after your daughter.”

  “Like I said, I can’t either. I never presented a threat to them.”

  “That you know of,” said Andreas.

  The Brigadier chewed at his lower lip.

  “So, I’m back to my initial question,” said Andreas. “Who are they?”

  The Brigadier looked away. “We call them the Caesars. They’re career military who believe they can run Greece better than its civilian leadership. History is full of that sort. Every military has them. It’s why our Constitution places such clear limitations on the powers of the military.”

  “Do you have any names for these Caesars?” asked Andreas.

  “Some are seasoned and frustrated, some young and idealistic, but all are pissed off at how dysfunctional our country’s become.”

  Andreas leaned forward. “What about it, Brigadier, are you prepared to talk about them?”

  The Brigadier rubbed his cheek. “They characterize themselves as a military think tank organized to hammer out ideas on how civilian leadership can better help the country. Their members take great pains not to take public positions on any controversial subjects and they offer their suggestions in private to those politicians who wish their assistance.”

  “Then what makes you think they’re dangerous enough to have possibly played a part in your daughter’s murder?” asked Andreas.

  “I’m not saying they did, just that they’re capable of doing it. Remember, their careers are dedicated to preparing to kill for their country. All it would take is one fanatic among them.”

  Andreas nodded. “Do you have names?”

  “I’ll give you names, but I think it’s better if you decide for yourself what sort of threat they actually present.”

  “How are we supposed to do that?” said Yianni.

  “They’ve put together a retreat this weekend for senior and general staff level officers to discuss the future of Greece.”

  “Seniors?” said Andreas.

  “Seniors are the equivalent of majors through colonels, and general staff are admirals, generals, and air marshals.”

  “With all due respect, Brigadier, you can’t be serious,” said Yianni. “Top level military brass calling an open meeting to plan a coup?”

  The Brigadier smiled. “They’re not insane, Detective. The stated purpose is to discuss new ways in which the military can help Greece’s government negotiate its way through the continuing crisis.”

  “Sounds rather transparent and non-confrontational to me,” said Yianni.

  “Yes, precisely like the bullshit Greeks are used to hearing every day from their civilian leadership,” said the Brigadier.

  “Are you suggesting it’s meant to be something more?” asked Andreas.

  “Like a means for determining who among them might be sympathetic to using aggressive methods for restoring Greece to glory?” added Yianni.

  “Perhaps it’s just their way of getting away for a weekend with their buddies,” said the Brigadier with a shrug.

  “Where’s the meeting?” said Yianni.

  “Santorini.”

  “A bit out of season, isn’t it?” said Andreas.

  “Probably why they chose it. Beauty, calm, and invisibility.”

  “Do you know where on Santorini?” said Andreas.

  “I can get the information for you, but there’s no way they’ll let you in.”

  “Just get
us the info,” said Andreas.

  “Don’t kid yourselves. These are tough guys, all very security-conscious, and a lot smoother than their Golden Dawn ex-military brethren-turned-members of parliament.”

  Andreas leaned back in his chair. “And if they’re behind your daughter’s murder, deadly too.”

  ***

  Andreas tossed Yianni the keys as they reached the rear of the police car. “You drive.”

  Yianni opened the driver side door as Andreas slid in on the passenger side. “I see you like the Brigadier’s idea of having a chauffeur.”

  “I must respect the workings of an ingenious tactical mind.”

  “I won’t even try to guess what’s running through your head.” Yianni crept the police car along the walkway through a crush of noontime pedestrians and onto the street.

  “I was wrong about the person the Brigadier would be using to track down his daughter’s killers.”

  “Are you saying we should call off surveillance on his aide?”

  Andreas nodded. “He knows that if his daughter’s murder was meant as a message to him, he’d be risking the lives of others in his family to use someone obviously connected to him.” Andreas slapped his right hand on the dashboard. “He’s using us to do it for him. No one can say he’s behind it because it’s only natural for cops to be looking for the killers.”

  “If that’s his plan, then why did we have such a hard time getting him to tell us who’s organizing that meeting on Santorini?”

  “He could be playing the reluctant virgin,” said Andreas.

  “There aren’t too many of them around these days. Reluctant or otherwise.”

  “I’ll take your word on that.”

  Yianni patted the steering wheel. “But what you say makes sense for another reason too. If the Caesars aren’t the bad guys, and word got out he’d been accusing them, he’d have made some serious enemies and undermined his reputation among his fellow military brass. Cops and soldiers share the same attitude when it comes to distrusting anyone who washes the family’s dirty laundry outside the house.”

  “The Brigadier’s style has me wondering how much he actually knew in advance of what the minister had in mind for our little get-together this morning.”

  “Do you think his standing up for you and tossing Prada across the desk was an act?”