Jeffrey Siger_Andreas Kaldis 02

by Assassins of Athens

  “Ping.” The message he was waiting for:

  Printers are hard to find on such short notice.

  “Arrogant bastard.” He said the words aloud. Demon’s immediate reaction was to reply, but he didn’t. His first message said it all. Either the Old Man came up with the money or he didn’t. Demon couldn’t do anything more about it. But if he didn’t pay and Kostopoulos learned who was behind his son’s murder, the Old Man and a lot of others would damn well wish he had.

  The more Demon thought about it, the more he saw a potential upside to Kostopoulos killing the Old Man and a few of the others. It would galvanize the rest into rallying behind him. Then he’d deal with Kostopoulos, assuming Kostopoulos didn’t take him out first and that Efisio was satisfied with Anna as his consolation for no three hundred thousand euros.

  On balance, Demon decided to pray that the money turned up by tomorrow.

  ***

  It was easy finding Tassos’ flight but not so easy finding him. Andreas finally caught up to him in the airport security office, sitting around a card table arguing over soccer with two cops.

  “Afternoon, Tassos.”

  Tassos looked surprised. “Andreas. What are you doing here?” He paused. “Maggie.”

  Andreas smiled. “Glad she surprises you, too.”

  Tassos grinned. “Always has. So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  Andreas looked at the two cops. “Could you guys give us a few minutes?”

  Andreas waited until they left. “I think the time for bullshit has passed. Why are you flying to Milan?”

  “You don’t want some witty answer, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Our mutual friend is sending me.”

  “I hope you’re talking about Kostopoulos.”

  “Who else?”

  “Why Milan?”

  “Now you’re getting a bit too personal.”

  Andreas leaned forward. “Personal is receiving bits and pieces of your wife and kids cut off with a tree-pruner.”

  Tassos’ eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s the way it’s done by these guys.”

  “What guys?”

  “The ones who soon will be asking a forty million euro ransom from Kostopoulos.”

  “Is this for real?”

  “Picked it up from phone calls. We think we found the link between the muscle and the brains.”

  “I won’t bother to ask who the link is because I know you won’t tell me, but I can’t believe these guys are dumb enough to pull this shit while they’re in the middle of negotiations with Zanni. They stand to make a lot more than forty million. At least they think they do.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Different guys, brand new ones. Give me who’s negotiating with Zanni and I’ll give you what I have on the new ones for you to worry about.”

  Tassos paused. “Greece’s usual suspects from the drug trade. Albanian mobsters teamed up with home-grown Greek bad boys. They work together a lot. No surprise.”

  “That’s like saying they’re AEK fans. Too many of them. Give me a name.”

  “I take offense to your using my soccer team for the comparison.”

  “It’s the best I can say about them.” Andreas grinned.

  “So, tell me a bit more.”

  Tassos loved to horse-trade, but this time Andreas didn’t mind, because he intended to tell him what he knew anyway. No way he’d let Tassos fly off blind into this mess. “They’re Italians, specializing in kidnapping, living in exile away from Italian authorities somewhere in the Balkans. We have a first name for one, Efisio, about five feet tall, late thirties. Here,” Andreas handed him a photograph and pointed. “We think this one is Efisio. It was taken yesterday.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Tassos grinned. “The one negotiating with Zanni is tied into the Greek-Albanian crew behind the Angel Club in Athens.”

  “Since when are Albanians involved in the Angel Club?”

  Tassos smiled. “Consider it a simple case of consumer fraud. Albanian drugs are the kind of street shit stepped on and sold to druggies around Omonia and Exarchia. It wholesales for about one-half the price of the Angel Club boys’ homegrown Greek stuff. So, the guys behind the Angel worked out a deal where they exchange one kilo of theirs for two of the Albanians, then sell it in the club as their own pricier stuff. Most of their customers can’t tell the difference between vodka and gasoline. Makes it a no-brainer and doubles their profits.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Greeks, the most adaptive entrepreneurs in the world. Anything else?” said Andreas.

  Tassos pressed on the table and stood up. “No, just thanks, my friend. I appreciate the heads-up.”

  But Andreas knew something else was coming. “What is it?”

  Tassos smiled. “Something you won’t want to hear, but since you asked.” He put his hand on Andreas’ shoulder. “If you found the link, why not just take it out and call it a day.” He dropped his hand.

  Andreas was angry. “And forget about all the other bastards involved?”

  Tassos shrugged. “Whether you cut off the head or sever the spine it’s the same result. Hard for one part to regrow the other.”

  “What about the ones who killed his boy? What bullshit analogy do you have for letting them go free?”

  “Don’t worry about those two. Yeah, I know about them. They weren’t from Greece. It was supposed to be just another quick in-and-out job for them, just like the other times they were asked to teach a banished family a lesson. Too bad for them they became a nonnegotiable deal point. No names, no deal. Their negotiator blinked, we have the names, and like I said, don’t worry about those two.”

  Andreas didn’t have to ask why. “But what about the bastard who heads this whole thing? The one who thinks he can decide who has the right to live here and who will die for staying when he says ‘leave.’ He’s the reason Zanni’s son is dead.” Andreas pointed a finger at Tassos. “You know that as well as I do.”

  “Who’s talking about letting him get away?”

  Andreas smacked his hands together. “Now I get it. Kostopoulos intends to take care of him in his own way. Screw the police. Who needs them? Just hire your own cops, and justice is whatever you decide. Mind telling me how that makes Kostopoulos any different from he who decided killing the kid would make the world a better place?”

  Tassos shrugged again. “No one is trying to play God. We just have different views. Look, I’m a realist. There’s no way we’re ever going to get them all, unless they have a membership list, which we damn well know they don’t. So, all we can hope to do is find the head. And once we do, I don’t care who takes him out, as long as he disappears. That will scatter the rest until some new psycholeader appears. Hopefully, a very long time from now.”

  Andreas had heard Tassos’ views on that subject before and knew it was a waste of time to argue. “Any idea who the big man is?”

  “None worth sharing. It might confuse your instincts.”

  Zanni must be spinning out one new paranoid theory after another—and Tassos had to listen to them all. “Okay, I’ll take your word on that, but I expect you to tell me as soon as you think you have a lead. You’re still a cop, and this is a police investigation.” Andreas knew he might as well have said that last line in Chinese for all the effect it was likely to have on Tassos.

  “You sound like your dad.”

  Andreas took it as a compliment.

  “I better head to the gate. I just want you to know we actually are on the same team, no matter how differently we look at the rules.”

  “If only life were that easy.”

  Tassos smiled and patted Andreas on the shoulder. “Anything else to tell me?”

  “Just be careful. Like I said, these guys are kidnapping pros. The one in the photograph, Efisio, originally came out of the viscous Sardinian crews from the nineties.”

  Tasso
s blanched. “My god. That’s where I’m headed, connecting through Milan to Cagliari in Sardinia. How could they know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Ginny Kostopoulos and the children are on a boat off Sardinia!”

  ***

  It was early afternoon and still no word on the three hundred thousand. Demon was pissed. He left his apartment for a coffee at Exarchia Square but was in no mood to engage in the mindless political rhetoric that came with it. Not that they didn’t have a point; they just couldn’t stop making it over and over again. He left and went back to the same apartment. He didn’t dare go to another. He sensed he was being watched. None of that mattered. As long as he got the money.

  ***

  Tassos made the plane, but a lot of angry people were on board waiting for him. He’d delayed them a half-hour. That was how long it took to fill in Andreas on the purpose for his trip—to verify that appropriate security was in place for Ginny and the children—and to advise Zanni that events were moving quickly in an unanticipated direction. Tassos pressed Andreas for the name of the link, and Andreas insisted on knowing who headed the conspiracy operation. Andreas said he wouldn’t tell, and Tassos swore he didn’t know. They parted shaking hands and promising to let the other know “anything important.” Andreas only hoped it was good news, and soon.

  He called Lila from the car, and they spoke for most of the way back to his office. Not about the case or even about each other, just about things. Little things, silly things. He liked the way she made him feel. He hoped he wouldn’t blow it.

  “Got to go, I’m back at headquarters.”

  “Will I see you tonight?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “That’s not the answer I wanted to hear.”

  He laughed. “Okay, but I can’t promise when.”

  “I don’t care when. Bye, kisses.”

  The smile on his face held up until he saw Kouros sitting on his couch.

  “Did you catch up with Tassos?”

  Andreas sat behind his desk. “Yes, he’s off to Sardinia to meet Mrs. Kostopoulos and her kids on their boat. Can you believe it—Sardinia!”

  “You think it’s a coincidence?”

  “Don’t know, but if it isn’t, someone has a leak the size of the Korinth Canal. Remember that guy you tailed to the airport? From what Tassos said, he’s probably part of an Albanian mob working with locals out of the Angel Club.”

  “That fits with what I have so far from the two who followed him when he landed. He headed straight for the Albanian border. They’re still with him but don’t have much to tell. Strangers there stick out like the Panathinaikos mascot at Olympiakos soccer practice. Can’t get too close.”

  “Tell them not to take any chances.” He paused. “I think others will be dealing with that problem.”

  “Others?” Kouros nodded with a grin. “I like that.”

  He’s sounding more like Tassos every day, thought Andreas. “So, what’s up with Demosthenes?”

  “Not sure, our guess is he’s waiting for someone to get a message to him, by e-mail.”

  “Can we intercept?”

  Kouros gestured no. “Wish we could.”

  “Why do you think he’s waiting for an e-mail?”

  “He hasn’t been on the phone as far as we can tell since he returned home last night. Don’t know if he’s been text messaging on his mobile, but we did pick up typing sounds right after he got in. Later there was a ‘ping,’ like the sound you get from your computer when there’s a message. Ten seconds later, we heard the only words from him since he got back: ‘Arrogant bastard.’”

  “Sounds like he’s pretty pissed at somebody.”

  “Anxious too. He only went out once, to one of those anarchist coffee shops by the square near his apartment. He didn’t stay long. Was back in less than thirty minutes.”

  Andreas nodded. “I think you’re right. And my guess is as soon as he gets whatever he’s waiting for he’s off like a rabbit. I want to be ready for him this time.” He pointed a finger at Kouros. “No more excuses or stories about disappearing hat tricks.”

  Kouros stood up. “Understood.” He left.

  Andreas wanted to go back to thinking about Lila. But that would have to wait.

  ***

  Demon finally got what he wanted. Almost.

  If you still need a printer, try Kolonaki. Might have availability.

  He couldn’t believe the Old Man was making him put on a dog and pony show. Maybe the anarchists at the square had a point: “We all work for ‘the Man’ no matter how independent we think we are.”

  Demon walked up the hill to Kolonaki mumbling a lyric from Bob Dylan’s Sixties’ anthem: “The times they are a-changin.” He made no effort to conceal where he was headed. As far as he was concerned, anyone following him was welcome to know. His revolutionary and drug-dealing constituents valued Demon’s connections with the Athens power elite. If anyone else were interested, good luck at using whatever they thought they found. The rich could take care of themselves. And the Old Man was very, very rich.

  On a side street just off Kolonaki Square, Demon paused outside an elegant old mansion that looked to be a museum. It could have been, but wasn’t. It was home to the Kolonaki Club, Athens most exclusive private club. No one but members and their guests were allowed inside. Ever.

  Demon’s name was on a list of expected visitors, and immediately he was shown upstairs to a private room. He was surprised to see that the Old Man was not alone.

  “Hello, Demosthenes, do you know my old friend, Sarantis Linardos?”

  “Of course I do, everyone knows the publisher of The Athenian. An honor to meet you, sir.”

  The Old Man patted Demon on the back and pointed him to the center of three well-padded and broken-in leather armchairs. The room was furnished in heavy mahogany furniture, bookshelves lined with tracts from another era, Oriental rugs, ornate silver and bronze fixtures, and wealth. Demon did not miss the point of picking this place for the meeting: we have it, you don’t.

  “Demosthenes is Thanassis Mavrakis’ grandson.”

  Linardos nodded and smiled as if he didn’t already know that. A subtle way of making Demon feel he actually might belong here. They sat in a row, like see-no-, hear-no-, and speak-no-evil monkeys.

  “Sarantis, Demosthenes says he is in need of a considerable sum of money in order to resolve a rather messy and unexpected situation involving a family I know you’re familiar with.”

  Why the charade? The Old Man certainly told him all this before. No way Linardos didn’t know what was coming.

  The Old Man looked straight at Linardos. “I thought it would be helpful for our discussion if you understood a bit more of what’s involved.” He gestured to Demon to speak.

  Linardos looked as if he wished he were anywhere but here.

  “I’m not sure what there’s left to tell you, because I don’t know what you were told. So, let me cut to the point.” He turned to face the Old Man. “Oh, by the way, do you think anyone might be eavesdropping or taping us?”

  The effect wasn’t lost on Linardos, who said, “Why? What are you planning to tell me?”

  “Just the truth? Do you want to hear it?”

  “Now, now, Demosthenes, behave.” It was the Old Man.

  “You called this meeting, and I’ve asked a question. Is it safe to talk or not?”

  “You’re the one who needs the money.” The smile on the Old Man’s face was not pleasant.

  “And you’re the ones likely to die if I don’t get it.”

  Linardos bolted up in his chair. “I don’t take kindly to threats, young man!”

  Demon pointed at his chest. “From me? No way. I’m talking about the dead serious threat the two of you face from the man whose son recently turned up murdered in a dumpster.” Linardos looked as if Demon had just stabbed him. Demon paused to let his words sink in deeper. “My question, although possibly moot by now, remains the same. Is it safe to talk in he
re?”

  The Old Man gestured yes. “The entire club is swept for listening devices every week, ever since that scandal involving the tapping of our government ministers’ phones. One can’t be too careful these days.”

  “Good. So, what more do you want to hear, other than that if you don’t give me three hundred thousand euros, Zanni Kostopoulos will find and kill you.”

  “Kostopoulos doesn’t know about us.” It was the Old Man.

  “If you want to take that bet, fine. Not my problem.”

  “Of course it’s your problem. You’re as much a target as any of us.”

  “I had nothing to do with this!” said Linardos.

  Demon spoke as if he’d not heard Linardos. “I don’t have as much to lose. Only my life.” He pointed to each of them. “But the two of you—” he waved his hand in the air. “When Kostopoulos is done with you, you’ll not only be dead, your names will be synonymous with terrorists who murder children. The shame to your families will be eternal. Sandblasters will be working overtime erasing your names from every plaque, every monument, every building…” Demon stopped. He liked his argument but thought he might be overselling. Either they’d bite or they wouldn’t.

  Linardos slouched in the chair, put a hand up to his face, and stared at the floor.

  The Old Man answered. “What makes you think he’d ever find out about us?”

  He’d bitten. “What makes you think he wouldn’t? This is Greece. Everything’s for sale, and everyone wants to see the big ones fall. Are you telling me you can’t think of at least one person who, if given the chance, wouldn’t bring you down?”

  “Like you for instance?”

  Demon smiled at the Old Man. “I’m probably one of the few who wouldn’t, for a couple reasons. As cavalier as I sounded before about dying, I’d prefer not to die, and bringing you down takes me with you. I need you too much. Almost as much as you need me.”