Santorini Caesars

by Jeffrey Siger

  He floated, “Hi, honey, I’m home,” out into the apartment as soon as he walked through the front door.

  No answer.

  He walked through the rooms looking for any sign of life. “Hello?”

  Marietta met him just outside the kitchen. “Mr. Kaldis, Mrs. Kaldis is sleeping.”

  “Was trying to,” came from the living room.

  “Oops,” said Andreas, handing the flowers to Marietta and heading on toward Lila lying on the sofa in a cream silk bathrobe.

  “Sorry about that, my love.” Andreas bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

  “You’re home early.”

  “How are you feeling?” He sat on a chair next to the sofa up by her head.

  “Just perfect. Feet swollen to where I have no ankles, battery acid popping into my throat every time I lie down, and don’t even ask what it’s like when I need the loo.”

  Andreas smiled. “Hope I’m not catching too much blame.”

  “Blame? For this?” Lila pointed at her belly. “No.” She sighed. “Though at times I must admit there’s a bit of resentment at how men get to go on living their lives without any of the physical restrictions we have to put up with.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh, but it’s all worth it in the end.”

  She reached out her hand and Andreas took it. “So, why are you home early?”

  “To spend time with you,” he swallowed. “Before I have to leave for Santorini in the morning.” He braced for her to drop her hand.

  She didn’t. “I rest my case.”

  “That’s not what I thought you’d say.”

  “For how long?”

  “That’s better.”

  Marietta came into the room carrying Andreas’ flowers in a vase. “Mrs. Kaldis, look at the beautiful flowers Mr. Kaldis brought for you.”

  Lila used Andreas’ hand to pull herself up to a sitting position. “Oh, so you’ll be away for that long.”

  Marietta put the flowers on a table next to the sofa and quickly left the room.

  Andreas waited until Lila seemed to have found a comfortable sitting position. “At least one night.”

  “At least?”

  Andreas looked back toward the kitchen then leaned forward and whispered. “I think we’ve uncovered a plot to assassinate the Prime Minister. We think it’s planned to go down tomorrow night.”

  Lila crossed herself. “My God, who’s behind it?”

  Andreas swung over onto the sofa beside her. “We don’t have a scrap of hard evidence. It’s all speculation at this point.”

  “Names, please.”

  “As I see it, Prada for sure, and likely Babis. A lot of effort has gone in to setting it up to look like a military operation so that the military takes the fall, but to me it’s all pointing to a foreign-run organization.”

  “What foreigners?”

  “An international consulting firm called the Mayroon Group.”

  Lila shook her head. “That sounds crazy. Like a James Bond film.”

  “Until it happens, then the entire world says it was so obvious, how could the authorities have missed it?”

  “But what do they have to gain?”

  “Power and first claim on our nation’s assets. They helped get the Prime Minister where he is, but he’s no longer playing ball with them.”

  “Then I take it their purpose is not to create a more perfect socialist state.”

  “I don’t think the label matters. All they want is a more perfect puppet government to control.”

  “They want to seize power so that the seizers can rule?”

  Andreas nodded.

  Lila shook her head and slapped her hands on the sofa. “Is there anyone anywhere in our government who actually cares about our country? Our families? I’m sick and tired of one politician after another, one party after another, all focused only on what puts money in their pockets and nothing else. They’re the reason we’ve got this Mayroon Group, and who knows how many others like them, believing they can direct our future. We’re just numbers to them.” She smacked the sofa again and sighed. “I’m worried.”

  “About what?”

  Lila rubbed her belly. “I fear for our children’s future if we remain in Greece.”

  Andreas put his arm around his wife. “You’re really wound up.”

  Lila rested her head upon his shoulder as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m more worried about you. If these people are willing to assassinate our Prime Minister and they think you might be able to stop them….”

  Andreas kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to me. There’s no way for Mayroon to know I’m on to them.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “You have to trust me on that.”

  “But why does it have to be you? We can live anywhere in the world.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Good question. Every day I go to work at a job that at times seems hopeless. And, yes, I’ve asked myself, ‘Why do I care when so many others seem not to?’ ‘Why don’t I quit?’ ‘Why don’t we move out of Greece as so many we know already have?’ For me the answer is simple. I don’t want the bastards to win.”

  Andreas paused. “Greece came this close,” pinching his thumb and index finger nearly together, “to getting booted off the euro, possibly falling out of the European Union.

  Andreas bit at his lip. “If Mayroon succeeds, we face the same fate as if we’d exited the EU. Our country run by profiteers, where the strong rule as unchecked as feudal lords, taking whatever they can from the weak. And those lords will not all be Greeks, certainly not in places where foreigners come with great wealth to spend on great vices. We’ll all suffer, especially our children. Or we’ll join the stream of migrants passing through Greece on their way to hoped-for better lives in other lands.” Andreas shook his head. “I can’t allow that to happen.”

  Lila lifted her head from his shoulder. “You can’t stop it alone.”

  “I can try.”

  “How?”

  Andreas stared toward the Acropolis. “I wish I knew. I really wish I knew.”

  Lila reached over and turned his face toward hers. “The flowers are lovely. And a wise decision on how to deal with a cranky wife.”

  “You’re not—”

  Lila put a finger to his lips. “Of course I am.” She kissed him.

  “Okay, I know when not to disagree with you.”

  Lila smacked him lightly across the chest. “I’m glad your sense of humor is back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve changed the color in the baby’s room again.”

  I guess that means we’re staying.

  ***

  Sappho parked her car at the edge of a roundabout close by a taverna and next to a long series of ascending, pebble-inlaid, deep-tread steps, set off on the left by a blue double-pipe railing, and on the right by a white masonry wall bearing a sign in the shape of an arrow marked CASTLE pointing up the steps.

  She stepped out of the car and stood next to the driver side door. Not a bit of sunshine, starlight, or moonbeams made it through the cloud cover, but at least it wasn’t raining; the sky held a dull milky-gray glow in its clouds. She watched Petro pull up and park his motorcycle next to her. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Nope, not a chance. I just decided you needed space.” He smiled.

  Sappho forced a grin on an otherwise grim face. “My guess is this is the entrance they’ll use if the Prime Minister plans on walking up to the top. The main square is a bit farther down the road, but this gives him options on the route to the top.”

  “It’s as good a place as any to start. We can check out the other possibilities later.”

  “You really don’t plan on sleeping tonight, do
you?”

  “Just lead the way,” he waved his hand toward the steps, but abruptly held it up for her to stop. “What about that?” He pointed to a sign warning that vehicles parked where they’d parked would be towed.

  “I’m local. They know my car. No one will tow me.”

  “What about me?”

  She shrugged. “Who cares? Let’s go.” She started toward the steps.

  Petro followed, shaking his head. “Hey, show some mercy. I might get shot at before this is over.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  The name Pyrgos meant tower or castle, and much of the village’s modern-day attraction remained rooted in the diligent preservation of its medieval configuration and atmosphere, despite having grown far beyond its original castle walls. What remained of Pyrgos’ roughly fifteenth-century castle sat atop the highest village on the island, silhouetted against the slopes of Mount Profitis Ilias. The village once boasted a citadel ringed by the solid outer walls of abutting houses built as a protective perimeter for an enclosed community of churches, houses, stables, assorted hiding places, and a labyrinth of passageways. The citadel’s narrow roads followed the contours of the hillside, leading up to a single entrance into the castle, one guarded from above by a place where boiling oil would rain down upon invaders successful enough to overcome its other defenses. If all else failed, the village relied upon a system of underground tunnels for its ultimate escape plan.

  Petro followed Sappho’s lefts and rights, twists and turns, up dimly lit stone steps and stretches of paths, past one church after another.

  “How many churches are in this village?” he asked.

  “Last I heard, around forty-five. You should see them during the day. Some of them look like they belong on top of a wedding cake.”

  They entered a small square. More steps on the far side led up to yet another church.

  “Let’s stop here for a minute,” said Petro.

  “Tired already?”

  “No, we need to talk about a plan.”

  She pointed to a wall without windows over by the steps. “Over there. Too many eavesdroppers in this town.”

  “In every town.” Petro leaned in and whispered to her, “I sense we’re almost at the top.”

  She nodded. “Up the steps is the Church of Agios Nikolaos. From there it’s not far to what remains of the castle and Theotokaki, a tenth-century church inside the castle walls.”

  “But where’s the tree?”

  “In the square in front of the entrance to the castle. Aristocrats used to gather there in what was called The Coffee Shop High Up.”

  “Catchy name,” said Petro.

  “So much for the history lesson. What’s your plan on figuring out where the bad guys are?”

  Petro let out a breath and leaned his back against the wall. “It’s all closely packed buildings with doorways, windows, rooftops, and a million other places to hide, plus church bell towers that give a potential shooter an angle on practically every part of the village….” He waved his hand in the air. “We’re in a literal assassin’s paradise.”

  “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “It isn’t.”

  Sappho walked toward the steps. “Well, let’s head on up for a look at the tree.”

  “Whoa. Two people wandering about in the dark in lousy weather in front of an unlit Christmas tree is about as obvious a tip-off as I can think of for anyone on the lookout for something out of the ordinary.”

  “So, hold my hand and act as if you’re hoping to get lucky.”

  Petro bit his tongue and took her hand. The best play at the moment for improving his situation seemed to be no retort, witty or otherwise.

  They took their time reaching the square, pausing every so often along the way to enhance the image of two lovers strolling aimlessly in the dark. The square looked smaller than he imagined, only thirty meters long by less than half that in width, but the unlit tree stood out in bold silhouette against the clouds.

  “Impressive-looking tree,” said Petro.

  “Usually there’s more light up here. I guess they’re keeping it dark so that when the tree goes live tomorrow night it’ll make a big impression. I’ve been thinking,” whispered Sappho in his ear, “there are a lot of places to hide, but unless your assassins are suicidal, they don’t want to be caught.”

  Petro nodded. “I agree with that.”

  “Which means they need to find a place with a clear escape route.”

  “Do you know of any?”

  “Regrettably, a lot. This village was built with escaping from pirates in mind. But they’d have to be a local to know the secrets.”

  “I doubt they’re local. But who knows what they know?”

  “My grandfather used to play in a tunnel under the castle as a kid. It ran from here to Exo Gonia. It would have been perfect for what you have in mind, but it was destroyed in the earthquake of 1956.”

  “Anyone ever try to repair it?”

  “The town tried in 1996 but stopped because it wasn’t technically feasible.”

  “Do you know where the old tunnel entrances are?”

  She gestured no. “Are you thinking your assassins dug out a tunnel?”

  Petro gestured no back. “They wouldn’t have had time. I just want to make sure no one else might have done the repair work and our bad guys know about it.”

  “I’ll ask my father.”

  Both stood staring at the tree outlined against the sky.

  “Where to now?” she asked.

  “Let’s check out the other routes the Prime Minister might take to get up here.”

  “I doubt they’ll make you any more comfortable.”

  “I know,” said Petro. “But at least I get to hold your hand.”

  Sappho didn’t say a word. Nor did she let go of his hand.

  ***

  Andreas and Yianni arrived shortly after sunrise, and Petro met them outside the airport arrivals building.

  “Nice ride,” said Andreas pulling forward the passenger side front seat so Yianni could squeeze into the back.

  “I particularly like the neon green,” said Yianni. “So understated.”

  “It’s Sappho’s. You guys didn’t give me much notice on picking you up. I had to make do with what was available.”

  “Ignore him,” said Andreas. “Just tell me what you’ve got for us.”

  “A lot of potential hiding places, and nothing more than that. We covered what seemed every centimeter of Pyrgos and spent the rest of the night up by the square where the ceremony’s taking place sitting in the living room of Sappho’s aunt’s house staring out a window looking for anything suspicious.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “Yeah, her aunt. Sappho told her we’d come to the village for dinner, had car trouble, and needed a place to stay until morning. I don’t think she believed us. She kept peeking in to see what we were up to.”

  “Smart lady,” said Yianni.

  Andreas drummed his fingers on the dash. “Maybe something will pop out at us in the daylight.”

  “I thought the old tunnels under the castle might be the way they planned on doing it,” said Petro. “It would be the perfect escape route, because even though there are a lot of places to hide in Pyrgos, there aren’t a lot of ways out. We could choke off the exits and trap them in here rather easily.”

  “And they’d know that,” said Andreas.

  “But the tunnels aren’t passable. Sappho’s father checked with his friends in construction.”

  “Couldn’t they just blend in among the crowd and disappear?” asked Yianni.

  “Yes, but let’s remember one very important thing.” Andreas paused his drumming on the dashboard. “In order for the plan to work, they can’t be anonymous killers. There can be no doubt l
eft in anyone’s mind that the military orchestrated it all. They want the whole world to think that Greece’s military assassinated its Prime Minister.”

  “But the killers still have to get away,” said Yianni.

  “Unless they actually are Greek military,” said Petros.

  “Even if they are, whoever’s behind it won’t want them caught,” said Andreas. “At least not alive.”

  “Maybe they’ll use a bomb?” said Yianni. “Take out the assassin and the target at the same time”

  Andreas gestured no. “I don’t see Mayroon inspiring that sort of suicidal dedication in its assassins. If the killers who took out the Brigadier’s daughter are any indication of the kind of talent Mayroon employs, they’re not the sort willing to die for a cause. Professionals who get paid to kill for a living want to survive to spend their money. Besides, a bomb of any sort runs the risk of being confused with the non-lethal type of bombings our homegrown terrorists love to do. It muddies the blame-it-on-the-military message this whole operation is about.”

  Andreas stared out the side window as they entered the outskirts of Pyrgos. “There has to be a plan that screams military and gets the assassins out alive. We just have to figure out what it is.”

  Petro peeked at the clock on the dash. It read eight a.m. “We’ve got nine hours left to do it. The ceremony’s set to take place at Santorini’s signature moment of sunset.”

  Andreas rubbed his forehead. “Great. Let’s find a good place for breakfast, because it looks like we’ll be skipping lunch.”

  “Hopefully not dinner,” said Yianni.

  “I know the perfect place,” said Petro.

  “Have you eaten there?” said Yianni.

  “No, but I spent much of last night staring out a window in its direction fantasizing over what breakfast must be like there.”

  “Between the aunt peeking in on you all night, and your fantasizing over the perfect breakfast, it sounds like your girlfriend had a really great time,” said Yianni.

  “You can ask her when you see her. I’m inviting her to breakfast. We’ll need her to find our way around the village.” Petro glanced over at Andreas. “If that’s okay with you, Chief.”