by Joseph Badal
John drew the pistol from his waistband and pried her right hand from the bar she tried to crush. He put the gun in her hand and raised her arm until the barrel pointed directly at Leidner’s chest.
He planned for Zoë to shoot Leidner. Then he would take the pistol from her and claim he’d done it out of rage and revenge. He would have to spend some time in prison, but it would probably not be forever—and Zoë would have her mind back. In that instant, he realized she hadn’t been the only one driven to madness by Leidner.
Zoë continued to stare at the prisoner, seemingly unaware of the weapon in her hand. Leidner appeared about to crumble. He trembled, his hands up in a defensive posture. Saliva drooled down his chin. He pissed in his pants and began to sob.
“Shoot him, Zoë!” John whispered. “Shoot him! Make him pay for what he’s done.”
Her gun hand shook. The motion caused her to look at the weapon for the first time. She brought the shaking under control and slipped her index finger into the trigger guard.
Leidner slid down the cell wall and collapsed to the floor in a quivering heap. All of his power, all of his arrogance were gone. Leidner devolved into nothing. That was apparently all the revenge Zoë needed. She seemed to understand what Leidner had become. She lowered the pistol—her arm hung by her side. She dropped her chin onto her chest and wept.
John heard the key inserted into the cellblock door. He stepped between Zoë and the door, took the gun from her hand, and put it back into his waistband. The jailer and their original escort came through the door. Both expressed their apologies for disturbing them and then they seemed extremely embarrassed when they noticed Zoë’s tears. John thanked them for their kindness and lead her toward the cellblock door. He happened to look to his right and noticed for the first time that the safe and the six strongboxes were stored in the cell directly opposite Leidner’s windowless cell. The bastard’s only view was of the containers he would never be able to claim.
They walked out into the glorious Aegean sunlight. Zoë looked exhausted. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked across at the bay. The water glittered as though diamonds had been sprinkled on its surface.
She looked up at John with a sparkle in her eyes, but she was still so haggard, so pale and weak. While they drove back to the hospital, they didn’t talk. John stroked her hair while she leaned against him. It was communication enough. The simple act of touching affirmed their love for one another.
In the days that followed, Zoë seemed to find John’s attitude toward her incredible. She was amazed he didn’t consider her “spoiled.” His reaction helped her to talk about what had happened. Talking about it facilitated her healing. Hearing about it sent a chill through John that he thought would freeze his heart and numb his brain. It took all the willpower he had to keep from returning to the jail to murder Leidner.
In the end, Zoë’s recovery was all he needed. But he had to admit that Leidner’s mental demise and the deaths of his cohorts gave him added pleasure. It gave him even more gratification to learn that, with the assistance of reinforcements sent from Athens, the police had swept the island and taken five other men into custody. All had Swiss passports and criminal records. Two of the men had explosives in their possession. All were armed when arrested.
“Ektheekeesee! Revenge!” John said to himself. Perhaps I’m becoming more Greek every day, he thought.
MAY 30
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
It took Athens seventeen days to decide which part of the governmental bureaucracy would be responsible for taking a cut out of whatever they found inside the safe and the strongboxes.
On the day the hospital released Christo, still pale and weak, twenty pounds lighter, the Vangeloses got word the Greek Government had made its decision about the safe and strongboxes. The government scheduled a public ceremony for 10:00 the next morning at the Pythagorio Police Station.
Nick and Christo each was at his own home. Zoë and her mother—since being released from the hospital—stayed at the Vangelos house in Kokkari. John had moved back into his hotel room in Vathi.
John slept fitfully that night, more from being alone for the first time in weeks than because of excitement over the “loot” in the Pythagorio jail. And then, of course, his dream returned. But this time it went further than usual. He experienced the explosion, the death of his men, and watched the Taliban fighter approach him—in slow motion. He once again felt the muzzle of the man’s rifle press against his forehead, and saw him pull the trigger. Misfire. And, as always, he pulled his pistol from its shoulder holster and pointed it at the head of the tribal warrior. But, unlike every other episode of this personal horror show, it didn’t stop there. This installment carried him through to the end, as it had really occurred years earlier.
He woke bathed in sweat and cried inconsolably. When he had pulled his pistol, his enemy had dropped to the ground in front of him and tried to surrender. John could have taken him prisoner. Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mutilated bodies of his two men hanging over the sides of the Jeep. John put a neat hole in the front of the Taliban fighter’s head and blew out his brains. How often would he have to kill him, he wondered.
MAY 31
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
The police sent a large van to pick up the Vangelos family. They’d all congregated at Nick’s house, including Nick’s brother, Pavlos, who had flown in from his military base. For all of them, the upcoming event wasn’t about money. It would be vindication for Petros, proof his death in the defense of the map had meant something. At least that was their hope.
Layla Vangelos’s all-black widow’s dress seemed to express the mood of all the van’s passengers. Each of them seemed to have retreated into their own thoughts. When the van pulled up in front of Police Headquarters, John waited on the sidewalk.
Nick helped his mother out of the vehicle. Zoë took her mother’s other arm. They walked abreast to the building entrance. Layla suddenly stopped in front of John. She shook her arms loose from her children’s hands, leaned over, and put her right hand on his chest, over his heart.
She told him in Greek that he was a good man and she thanked him for all he had done. “You’re welcome” didn’t seem sufficient to John. But, from the look on her face, she didn’t need a response.
The police had set up a double row of chairs to accommodate fourteen guests in the building’s small reception area. They all took seats.
A minute later, Christo hobbled in on crutches to a spontaneous outburst of applause and cheers from the police. This was the first time he’d been in the station house since his injuries. Christo had lost a great deal of weight and had still not recovered his former coloring. He looked pale and weak. The shouting and applause had barely died down when three men in custom-tailored suits and slicked-back hair walked briskly into the room. One of the men strode over to Christo, who instantly struggled to rise from his chair. They looked at each other for a moment, then embraced.
Christo introduced him to the others as Panayiotis Argyres, his first cousin and the Greek Minister of Taxation and Revenue. It crossed John’s mind that half the bureaucrats in Greece must be related to Christo. Argyres chatted briefly with Layla, Zoë, and John. Then he shook Nick and Pavlos’s hands.
Argyres made the government’s announcement while a standing-room-only crowd continued to file into the reception area. All the cops on Samos seemed to be in the room. Argyres spoke slowly, as though his words were too important to rush. John found the pace of the man’s Greek easy to follow. Argyres spent a couple minutes on amenities and then read from an official looking document:
“The duly elected and democratic government of the Republic of Greece has on the date inscribed below determined that its rights to any and all salvageable items taken, or to be taken, from the ship known as the Sabiya, registered to a Mister Mehmet Arkoun, and sunk in the Aegean Sea on or about
January 17, 1945, in a location detailed on Addendum #1 to this statement, are as follows: In accordance with Greek Maritime Law and International Maritime Salvage Law, one-half of the appraised value of all items salvaged will be paid to the Greek Government. Additionally, any income from the sale of any salvage items will be taxed according to current laws of Greece. The remaining one-half of the salvage rightfully belongs to the Vangelos family and will be turned over to them.”
Argyres then recognized the courage of the Vangelos family. He expressed condolences over Petros’s death and praised the bravery of the local police and Coast Guard, especially noting the names of the officers and sailors who’d been killed. He then looked at John and thanked him for his courage and sacrifice. Finally, Argyres ordered that the strongboxes and the safe be brought into the reception area.
The seven containers were hauled into the room by cops who obviously struggled under their weight. The safe had been placed on a dolly. When the containers were all lined up in front of the audience, Argyres ordered them opened. One of his aides, armed with a bolt-cutter, put his entire weight into the task of snapping the padlock off the first strongbox. When the lock fell away from its hasp and clattered to the floor, he moved down the line and broke all of the locks, but opened none of the strongboxes.
Then two officers at opposite ends of the line of strongboxes pried around the edges of the boxes with hammers and crowbars and loosened the rusty seal of seven decades of corrosion. Argyres gave the signal to open them.
Beginning at the left, one of the aides put both of his hands on the lid of a strongbox and lifted. The hinges were stiff with rust, so it took some effort for the man to raise the creaking lid.
When they saw what that first box contained, several of the police officers forgot themselves and cursed out loud from shock. Diamonds—thousands of them—filled the first box.
The next strongbox contained an incredible assortment of precious gems, including rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. The next three boxes were filled with gold bars. The sixth strongbox, similar to the first one, was piled to the lid with more diamonds. Even the polished and poised Argyres could only sit there with his mouth agape while he stared at the astonishing treasure.
Two officers carried an acetylene torch into the room. The crowd was ordered to turn away from the torch’s brilliant, blue-white glare while a technician who wore protective goggles worked on the safe’s hinges. John and the Vangeloses followed Christo to his office, where they sat, or stood, or paced for over a half-hour until the sound of shouts reached them.
When they returned to the reception area, the safe’s door lay on the floor. Stacks of what looked like banknotes were piled high inside the vault. A book of some sort rested on the banknotes. On top of the book, a single sealed envelope. Argyres reached inside the safe and picked up the envelope. The paper appeared yellowed and fragile. He carefully opened it, stared inside momentarily, then set it aside. He picked up the book and scanned through its pages. “Does anyone read German?” he asked.
One of Christo’s men stepped forward.
“What are these things?” Argyres asked.
After a brief examination, the policeman declared, “The book is the captain’s log. Its last entry is from the sixteenth of January, nineteen forty-five.”
“What’s in the letter?” Argyres said impatiently.
The young cop seemed to labor while he read the handwritten letter. When sure he had it right, he turned to Argyres. “The letter was written by a General Franz von Leibecht and is addressed to Mr. Freiderich Leidner.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Argyres demanded. “Read it to us.”
The policeman translated the letter into Greek:
“My Dear Freiderich:
I regret to inform you this will be the last shipment I expect to make. The war is over for all intents and purposes and I must concentrate on avoiding the madness that will surely accompany the defeat of the Third Reich.
Although this last shipment is smaller than the previous two consigned into your capable hands, it will still be worth your time and effort. As with the other shipments, my instructions are the same. Kindly liquidate the jewels and gold and invest the cash proceeds in securities you deem appropriate. On this occasion, I wish you to open accounts in the names of my three children, Katerina, Siegfried, and Lisle. My share of the proceeds should be put into those accounts.
As always, your part of the shipment is thirty-five percent. I am sure you will enjoy this wealth appropriated from the vile Jews and other mongrels who had a stranglehold on Germany’s economy. They will never be able to enjoy it anyway, now that we have exterminated them.
Best regards for the future.”
The German general had signed it and had written the initials “SS” after his name. The postscript below the signature read: “Heil Hitler!”
A pall replaced the exuberant mood that had just a moment ago filled the room.
John now knew what Fritz Leidner had been so anxious to keep hidden—what he’d been so willing to murder over. The man’s father had been a Nazi collaborator. He had built his financial empire on a foundation of millions stolen from murdered innocents.
EPILOGUE
PRESENT YEAR
AUGUST 10
CHAPTER ONE
The release of the German general’s letter caused an international furor. There was immediate reaction against Switzerland. The denials the country and its bankers had made for decades about having had nothing to do with laundering or hiding assets taken from Holocaust victims were now revealed as evasions.
The Greeks did not fare much better. When the news media reported that the Greek Government would grab a hefty cut of the blood money—plus taxes on the remainder—it was vilified in the international press. Things got even worse when the Vangelos clan held a news conference in Vathi that CNN carried to every corner of the planet. Layla announced that the family had donated its share of the loot to two funds: One for the families of the policemen and sailors murdered by Leidner and a second to aid the resettlement of refugees, including Jews wanting to immigrate to Israel. “I could never take money that belonged to persons who suffered at the hands of the Nazis,” she said. “This is a decision we have all made together.”
The picture of this simple peasant woman donating tens of millions of dollars to assist people she would never meet inspired others who poured millions of dollars into relief organizations. Letters, cards, and gifts addressed to Layla Vangelos and Family deluged the post office in Vathi. Thousands of travelers cancelled vacation plans that included Greece or Switzerland. It didn’t take long for the Greek government to come around and change its position. Whatever it would have gained from its one-half share of the salvaged wealth would be eaten up in lost tourism revenue.
It took six weeks to appraise the contents of the six strongboxes. The banknotes, as it turned out, according to a note found between the pages of the ship’s log, had been payment to the Sabiya’s captain for transporting the booty from Turkey to the Italian coast along the Tyrhennian Sea. How the cargo was to be transshipped from there to Switzerland was anybody’s guess. The government turned the captain’s money over to the Greek Orthodox Church with the stipulation that the funds had to be used to help the poor.
The appraised value of the jewels and gold in the salvaged boxes was announced in the middle of August—more than ninety-eight million dollars.
When Nick heard that figure, he looked sick for a moment—but only until Layla scowled at him. Then he sheepishly declared, “Oh, what the hell. I can still salvage the rest of that boat. It ought to be worth a million or two.”
Based on General von Leibecht’s letter to Fritz Leidner’s father, it was determined that the total current value of all the assets confiscated by the SS officer was at least three hundred million dollars, because, as von Leibecht’s letter had said, ‘this shipm
ent was the last and least valuable of three shipments.’
The German Government immediately froze all of the von Leibecht family’s assets. The General had died in a freak automobile accident just before the end of the war while he fled the advancing Russian Army. But his wealth had been transferred to his heirs, whose place in Germany’s financial and social circles now changed suddenly and considerably.
The scandal precipitated by the discovery of the Sabiya destroyed the Leidner family almost overnight. Swiss authorities applied a new law that allowed the government to appropriate the assets of any Swiss citizen or company proven to have collaborated with the Nazis. The capital base of the Leidner family’s bank, Banque Securite de Swisse, determined to be the equivalent of ten point eight billion dollars, was, after the liquidation of debts, added to a fund the government and the country’s banks had already established for the families of Holocaust victims. Depositors received their funds, then Banque Securite de Swisse disappeared at the stroke of a pen wielded by the Commissioner of Finance and by the Justices of the Supreme Court of Switzerland. To add insult to injury, the Greek Government shipped Fritz Leidner, now in a catatonic state, to Switzerland for prosecution. The Greeks wanted nothing to do with the expense of prosecution or medical care.
John, of course, had discovered his own treasure—non-taxable and a whole lot more fun to wrap his arms around.
AUGUST 17
CHAPTER TWO
John sat in the back of the taxi and dropped the newspaper and his briefcase on the seat next to him. He looked out the window at the wall-to-wall traffic that clogged Athens’ streets. He couldn’t get over the changes that had occurred in the city in the years since he’d lived here before. Then he smiled. There have been a lot of changes in my life, too, he thought. He’d come to Greece to find himself. My God! I did that, and a whole lot more.