The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  ‘Here he is,’ Evi said, opening a glass door. ‘Louka, this is Alex Mavros.’

  The thin man in his late twenties who rose from behind a wide mahogany desk had a distracted air.

  ‘Ah, the private investigator.’ He came round and extended a hand.

  ‘Ex-private investigator.’

  Loukas stared at his sister.

  ‘Brigadier Kriaras explained we would have to tempt Mr Mavros into taking up his old profession again,’ Evi said.

  ‘Please call me Alex. You should know that I’ve been doing other things for the last five years.’

  Loukas led him to a set of armchairs in the corner of the office.

  ‘Good view,’ Mavros commented. ‘If you can get used to everything being green.’

  Evi sat down opposite him and kicked off her shoes with evident relief. ‘One of our grandfather’s ideas. The Gatsos family brand is all about standing out from the crowd.’

  Loukas sniffed and ran a hand over his slicked back black hair. ‘We’ve been standing out a bit too much in the last month.’ He looked at Mavros. ‘So we have to convince you to take the case. I’d have thought the down payment would have done that. Coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Mavros was as yet unwilling to accept anything from the shipowners. The Fat Man would lambast him if he heard he’d even crossed their threshold. Even lapsed Communists regarded their kind as robber barons who exploited the few Greek seamen they still employed. They were part of the shadowy powers that pulled the strings of marionette politicians and public servants – as was shown by Kriaras acting as their front man.

  ‘What can we do to bend you to our will?’ Evi said, with a girlish laugh.

  Mavros rubbed his stubble; he’d deliberately not shaved that morning, though he had showered and put on a clean shirt and jeans. The leather jacket and biker boots weren’t up for discussion.

  ‘The police have been crawling all over your grandfather’s disappearance for a month. What do you expect me to find that they haven’t? Plus, kidnapping isn’t my speciality.’

  ‘Grandfather’s a missing person, isn’t he?’ Evi said. ‘You’re very good at finding them. In fact, you’ve never failed.’

  Mavros considered telling them that his brother, Andonis, was the one who’d got away, but decided they weren’t entitled to know that.

  ‘Let’s start from the beginning.’ He raised a hand as Evi let out a squeak of excitement. ‘I need to get a feel for the case. When I have, I’ll decide whether to take it.’ He turned to Loukas. ‘I’m not going to take your money and then pretend to work for it.’

  The young man caught his gaze. ‘Believe me, you wouldn’t be allowed to do that.’

  Mavros held the look until Loukas broke away.

  ‘Very well, Evi will give you the file we have compiled on our grandfather, as well as the press cuttings and links to other media reports that refer to the kidnapping. I believe the brigadier will allow you to examine the police records.’

  Mavros nodded. ‘That’s all very well, but what I need from you – and other members of the family – is what isn’t in any files.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Evi said.

  Mavros was aware how tightlipped shipowners were. His decision about taking the case would hinge on how they responded to what he was about to say.

  ‘Some of this the police must have asked. For instance, who were his enemies? And don’t bother saying he didn’t have any. Had he received any threats? Is there a power struggle going on over the presumably large number of companies he owns? What’s the state of his private life?’

  Loukas and Evi exchanged glances.

  ‘You’re right,’ the former said. ‘The police did ask most of those questions.’ He fell silent.

  Mavros sat still, prepared to play the game for as long as it took.

  Loukas cracked first. ‘We provided the answers we thought were appropriate.’

  ‘And they didn’t have the nerve to ask for more details?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s very simple. If you even want me to consider taking the case, you need to answer all my questions.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Loukas said, gesticulating while remaining in his chair. ‘How do we know that you won’t go to our rivals or the press with such sensitive information?’

  ‘Pleasant to meet you,’ Mavros said, getting up to leave. He was halfway through the office before Evi caught up with him. Without shoes, she was like an unusually broad child.

  ‘Come back, Alex,’ she said. ‘Please, we’ll give you everything you want.’

  Mavros kept going, lifting her off the ground on one arm. ‘I don’t think so. This’ll never work.’ He reached the lift and pressed the button with his free hand, then lowered his passenger to the floor.

  ‘I’m begging you, Alex. You must help us.’ Evi started to cry again.

  The nearest desk workers concentrated on their work even more assiduously. Mavros wondered if they’d seen the owner’s granddaughter in such a state before. Maybe it had been standard since the old man had been taken – or even before.

  ‘I’ll pay you the quarter million myself.’

  ‘That isn’t the issue.’

  ‘I mean just to consider taking us on as clients.’

  Mavros failed to hide his surprise. Loukas might have been stand-offish, but his sister really did seem to be desperate about her grandfather. He felt sympathy for her well up despite his distaste for the hyper-rich.

  ‘What your brother said before about me not being allowed to take liberties – that implies I’ll be under scrutiny. I can’t accept that.’

  ‘Loukas is always suspicious, it’s in his nature.’

  And not yours, Mavros wondered.

  ‘I’ll sort that out,’ she said. ‘Will you come back?’

  ‘All right. But you don’t have to pay me to do so.’

  Evi drew a silk-clad sleeve across her face, damaging both it and the remains of her make-up, then smiled.

  Mavros knew he was done for. He felt sorry for her and he wanted to make things better. As the Fat Man said, he was always a sucker for people in need; not that his friend would have included members of a shipowning family in that group.

  FOUR

  Kostas Gatsos woke when the door was opened.

  ‘Food,’ said a gutteral voice. The door was rapidly closed again.

  He felt his way over in the dark until he found a bottle of water that was double the size of what he was normally given and then a metal pot. He touched it, then lifted the lid. The smell of meat in sauce filled his nostrils. His fingers located a plastic spoon and he knelt down over the plate like a dog at its bowl. He shovelled the food into his mouth from close range – it was tasty and on a bed of rice. He had only just finished when the door opened again.

  ‘Bring bottle,’ came the order.

  Kostas went out of the room and was led round a corner. The ceiling light made him blink even though it wasn’t very bright. This time his captor was masked and there was no hood for him. Bare feet stinging on the gritty floor, he was led to a double wooden door set into a rough stone wall.

  The man in the balaclava knocked three times.

  ‘Come forward,’ said a familiar male voice in Greek from the other end of what was like an old storeroom, the walls rising to an arch.

  He did as he was told. More lights came on and he saw a table on a platform. Behind it were five figures, the central one in a balaclava and the others in masks that made his stomach churn. He swallowed bile, wishing he hadn’t eaten so quickly.

  ‘What is this?’ he said, running his gaze over the four figures. All were wearing black, but each had a different, oversized mask. One was a crocodile head, the next that of a bird with a long beak; beyond the man in the balaclava was a figure wearing a gleaming human skull, while the last was an octopus, pink tentacles hanging down like dreadlocks.

  Kostas stumbled against the back of a wooden chair. The guard put hand
cuffs round his wrists, this time not behind his back, and fastened them to a chain mounted on the floor. Kostas was then forced to sit.

  ‘Drink if you will,’ said balaclava man.

  Kostas sipped from the bottle and put it on the tiled floor.

  ‘The court is in session.’

  ‘Court?’

  ‘The prisoner will be silent until he is addressed,’ said the man in the centre. ‘Every breach of this rule will result in a fingernail being removed.’ He raised a pair of gleaming pliers from the table.

  Kostas had to work hard to stop his meal erupting. He drank again.

  ‘Konstandinos Gatsos, son of Emmanouil, you are accused of breaking UN Security Council Resolution 418 of 1977, which mandated an arms embargo against South Africa. Your vessels KEG Hope, KEG Providence and KEG Fortitude transported over three thousand tonnes of small arms and ammunition, air defence and missile systems, and armoured cars. How do you plead?’

  ‘What? Not guilty, of course.’

  ‘Why “of course”?’

  ‘There’s no proof of any such activity.’

  ‘There’s always proof.’ The man in the balaclava turned to his left.

  A female voice emanated from the crocodile head. ‘Do you remember a Chief Officer Platon Zimas?’

  ‘How can I be expected to remember—’ Gatsos broke off as the man in the centre raised the pliers. ‘No.’

  ‘Let me refresh your memory.’ Crocodile Head pressed keys on a laptop and an image appeared on the wall behind the table. ‘Do you recognise yourself in this photograph?’

  ‘I … yes.’

  ‘And your son Pavlos?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘A captain and a chief officer.’

  ‘Their names?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The woman turned to her left. ‘He’s lying.’

  The man in the balaclava rang a small hand bell. The guard moved forward.

  ‘Remove a fingernail.’ The pliers were tossed to Kostas’s captor.

  ‘No, no! I recognise the captain.’

  The man in the centre raised a hand. ‘His name?’

  ‘Lefteris Kotetsis.’

  ‘Captain of the …?’ said the crocodile woman.

  ‘KEG Hope.’

  ‘And next to him is …?’

  Kostas eyed the man with the pliers, his fingers twitching. ‘Platon Zimas.’

  ‘Thank you. And what did Chief Officer Zimas do?’

  ‘I don’t understand. His job, of course.’

  ‘Last chance.’

  The man with the pliers stepped closer.

  ‘He … he made unauthorised copies of the cargo manifest.’

  ‘Which he intended to pass to the United Nations because he was so appalled by how the arms were being used in South Africa.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  The woman ignored the question. ‘Chief Officer Zimas arrived at Athens Airport on March 4th 1985 on a flight from Karachi. He was picked up by a company car and never seen alive again. His body was washed up on a small beach near Lavrio and could only be identified by dental records. The driver said that the dead man had asked to be dropped on the coast road outside Glyfada because, I quote, “he seemed a bit upset and needed some air”. The driver also stated that the chief officer took all his luggage from the car, although none of it was subsequently found.’ Crocodile Head looked up. ‘But you know all that.’

  ‘I … the poor man killed himself. That’s what the coroner’s ruling said.’

  The woman stood up, got down from the platform and walked towards Kostas.

  ‘What you don’t know is that Platon Zimas, my father, called my mother from Glyfada. He said he was frightened and that people were after him. The phone call was cut short.’

  ‘I know nothing of this. Why didn’t your mother tell the police?’

  ‘Because she was terrified. Men came to the apartment. I was only four, but I remember them. You paid her to keep quiet, not that it was very much. She took an overdose when I was fourteen. What do you have to say to that?’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Losses. But this is all speculation. I know nothing about your father’s death. And how did you find out about the copies of the manifests?’

  ‘Because he told another officer, who was too scared to talk,’ the man in the centre said.

  ‘And you … you found this man?’

  ‘We found everything,’ the crocodile woman said, turning away.

  ‘Members of the court, what is your judgement?’

  ‘Guilty,’ said all four masked people.

  ‘Full sentence is deferred. In the meantime remove all the nails from the prisoner’s right hand.’

  Kostas Gatsos screamed, and went on screaming till he fainted three minutes later.

  Evi Gatsou asked Mavros to wait outside her brother’s office. Through the glass he could see her moving her arms as she talked. He wondered about their relationship. Loukas was older though not by much, and ‘Kostas Gatsos’ was engraved on the door. Wasn’t it presumptuous of the grandson to have already taken over the missing man’s office? Did he know something he wasn’t sharing? But if so, why pay for a fruitless search?

  Evi emerged. She’d put her shoes back on and her head reached his abdomen.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve talked sense into him.’

  Mavros followed her in, closing the door.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr … Alex,’ Loukas said. ‘We really need your help. I considered calling in experts from abroad, but we need a local.’ He smiled tightly. ‘Especially one with your record.’

  ‘It doesn’t concern you that I’ve been away from work for five years?’

  ‘If you think you can do it, I’m prepared to accept that.’ Loukas frowned. ‘You’ll have to sign a confidentiality agreement.’

  Mavros raised his shoulders. ‘I always observe client confidentiality. But I do reserve the right to use trusted staff during investigations.’ He would need help if he took this case, that much was obvious. ‘I take it you’re prepared to answer my questions about your grandfather’s enemies, private life and business activities, as well as whether he had been threatened.’

  Loukas slid a stapled document across the table.

  Mavros looked through it and signed. It wasn’t the first time rich clients had required him to do so. The potential damages for disclosing classified information were very high.

  ‘This applies even if you don’t take the case, of course,’ Loukas said, retrieving the document. ‘My sister says you won’t charge for your initial consultation, but I can’t accept that. Our grandfather always said – says – that people should be appropriately reimbursed.’

  Mavros was pretty sure that didn’t apply to the crews on the family ships, most of whom would be Filipinos or similar these days.

  ‘I’ll pay you 1000 euros for your time today.’ Loukas opened a drawer, took out two notes and pushed them over the mahogany surface.

  Mavros smiled. ‘No receipt?’

  ‘I’d hate to go against the canard about tax-evading shipowners.’

  ‘No doubt.’ Mavros sat down, which had the effect of bringing Loukas round the table to join him. A minor power play. ‘Let’s start with threats. Were there any?’

  Loukas said, ‘no’ and Evi, ‘yes’ at the same time.

  ‘So I’ll take that as a …?’

  ‘He got threats all the time,’ Evi said. ‘Always anonymous, in English as well as Greek, both frequently mangled and misspelt.’

  Her brother waved a hand dismissively. ‘Disaffected crew members, anarchists, nothing serious.’

  ‘Do you employ security personnel?’

  ‘Grandfather had bodyguards, if that’s what you mean,’ Evi replied.

  ‘No one at senior level?’

  ‘Our lawyers deal with such things – Siatkas and Co. I presume you’ve heard of them.’

  ‘They have a …
reputation.’

  ‘Indeed they do. They respond to the messages in the necessary fashion.’

  ‘I’ll need copies of all those messages and replies in the six months before Mr Gatsos was seized.’ Mavros saw the smile on Evi’s lips. ‘Or rather, I will if I take the case. How about enemies?’

  Loukas laughed. ‘He was the last of the great individualists in shipping. Everyone in the business hated him. Not on the surface, of course. He was invited to all the parties and receptions, and everyone smiled like snakes. However, you may be surprised to hear that shipping is basically an honourable business. A man’s word still counts for something.’

  Mavros caught his eye. ‘And what did Mr Gatsos’s count for?’

  Loukas frowned. ‘Plenty. He played hard but fair.’

  ‘I’m going to need records of any deal or intervention that could have caused bad blood. Over the last ten years. These things can fester.’

  ‘All right,’ Evi said. ‘Regarding Grandfather’s private life – he was married and divorced twice. Marguerite, Loukas’s grandmother, was American and died in 2008, while Tatiana, my maternal grandmother died in 1997.’ She raised her right hand to the corresponding eye.

  Loukas said, ‘I have a sister, Nana, who’s married to an art dealer and lives in New York. Our mother, Myrto, spends most of the year in Paris.’

  ‘Do they have anything to do with Gatsos shipping?’ Mavros asked.

  Loukas smoothed an eyebrow. ‘They both have shares in several of the group’s companies and sit on some boards, but neither has any interest other than in collecting their fees and dividends.’

  Mavros noted his sharpness of tone.

  ‘Then there’s my mother, Eirini,’ Evi said.

  ‘Who married a waster by the name of Vangelis Myronis,’ Loukas put in. ‘He was given various jobs in the group but proved to be both incompetent and venal. Fortunately Aunt Eirini is neither and she keeps him in check.’

  Evi glared at him.

  ‘You know I’m only telling the truth,’ Loukas said smoothly. ‘Do you want to tell Alex about Dinos or shall I?’

  Evi lowered her head. ‘My brother, Dinos, who’s twenty-five, was named Konstandinos after our grandfather. Pappous preferred that Loukas be given the name of his older brother, who was killed by the Turks before the family left the village in Turkey.’