The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  ‘That’s all bullshit. You can’t believe a pisshead like Maniadhakis.’

  The man in the centre leaned forward. ‘Yes, we can, because unlike you he was ashamed of what he had done. He wanted to atone for it.’

  ‘I’m not atoning for anything.’

  ‘Then you are destined for a lonely and lingering death. As is every member of your family. Take him away.’

  The guard pulled Kostas to his feet and held him there, giving him a final chance to speak. Then he unlocked the chain and dragged him to the door.

  As they got there the presiding judge called, ‘Remove the nails from his other hand.’

  Kostas Gatsos wet his boiler suit.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘You’ve got no right,’ Dinos said. ‘Lady, these men are kidnapping me.’

  The Fat Man laughed. ‘If we were kidnapping you, would we do it in a taxi, bonehead?’

  Mavros was talking to Loukas. ‘Yes, tell Mr Siatkas we’re on our way. I think Dinos wants a lawyer. What? OK, here he is.’ He could hear Loukas speaking firmly to his half-brother. ‘All right?’ he asked, when the connection was cut.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Marianthi said. ‘Kidnaps are such anxiety-inducing jobs and the bastards usually don’t pay us.’

  Yiorgos grinned. ‘We’ll pay. Well, my long-haired friend will.’

  ‘I don’t care as long as I get what I’m owed.’

  They headed back down Kifissias Avenue, going against the heavy traffic flow, and were back in the centre of Athens in less than half an hour. Siatkas’s office was on Omirou Street, near Syndagma Square.

  ‘This is the parting of the ways,’ Marianthi said dramatically.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ replied the Fat Man. ‘I’ve taken one of your cards.’

  She smiled at him, not entirely ironically. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call with a fluttering heart.’

  Mavros got out and held the door for Dinos, who immediately lit a cigarette before walking into the building. The entrance hall was well appointed, pale grey marble on the floors and the walls off-white. To Mavros it said, There’s wealth, but most of it’s in Swiss banks. They took an unusually spacious lift up to the sixth floor. A stately middle-aged woman rose from the reception desk, nodding respectfully to Dinos and not staring at his nose. She looked at Mavros and Yiorgos as though they were rubbish men.

  ‘Mr Siatkas, please,’ Mavros said, giving his name.

  The woman led them down a long corridor lined with dark wood. She opened the door and showed them into a large office with a view of the Acropolis. A thin man with close-cut white hair and a thick moustache stood up. The remains of a salad were in a bowl on his desk.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said, with a wide smile. ‘Take that away, Rina. I’ve had enough rabbit food for the day. Mr Dino, how good to see you. It’s been a long time. What happened to your nose?’

  ‘I was mugged, Theo.’ He turned to the others. ‘And these men are harassing me. They think I know something about the kidnap. Tell them I’m the last person capable of that.’

  The lawyer turned up his hands. ‘I’ll do what I can. Gentlemen?’

  Mavros introduced himself and the Fat Man.

  ‘Alex Mavros in the flesh. I used to follow your career with interest. You certainly had a talent for setting the pussy among the avian rodents. I hear you’ve been otherwise occupied in recent years.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I can still ride my bike.’

  Siatkas laughed. ‘I imagine you can. Otherwise Mr Loukas, who’s nobody’s fool, wouldn’t have employed you.’ He stroked his moustache. ‘Though I did advise a substantially lower fee.’

  Dinos turned to Mavros. ‘How much are you getting?’

  He and the lawyer kept silent.

  ‘Enough to buy all the Gogol brothers’ stock of narcotics,’ the Fat Man hazarded.

  Dinos looked outraged.

  The lawyer took them to a set of armchairs round a glass table.

  ‘I presume you know of the Gogol brothers, Mr Siatka,’ Mavros said, after they’d sat down.

  ‘Water? Coffee? Something stronger?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Mavros said firmly. ‘Answer the question, please.’

  The lawyer continued to stall, pouring each of them a glass of water from a crystal decanter.

  ‘The Gogol brothers,’ he said at last. ‘I’m aware of their existence. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Like you don’t know,’ Yiorgos said. ‘I suppose you’re unaware that Dinos is a junkie and dope dealer, who gets his supplies of dope from the Gogols.’

  Theo Siatkas’s expression was inscrutable.

  ‘You’ve been instructed to cooperate with me,’ Mavros said. ‘Please do so or I’m calling your Mr Loukas.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ the lawyer said emolliently. ‘You must understand that my primary concern is looking after the Gatsos family’s interests.’

  ‘Yiorgo, phone Brigadier Kriaras and tell him about Dinos’s link with the Russians.’

  Siatkas cracked. ‘No, no, that won’t be necessary. Of course I know about Dinos – and his father – and their … dealings with the Gogols.’

  Mavros wasn’t letting him off the hook. ‘And have you had dealings with them?’

  ‘I … there are issues of client confidentiality.’

  Mavros took out his phone and started pressing buttons.

  ‘Very well.’ The lawyer looked at Dinos and raised his shoulders. ‘I was authorised by Mrs Eirini Myroni to pay a sum to the Gogols when Mr Dinos was … in trouble with them.’

  ‘I thought his father handled that kind of thing.’

  Siatkas brushed the lapels of his tailored blue suit as if disposing of dust and the mites in it. ‘Mr Vangelis is not always … reliable. Nor does he have access to large amounts of cash. He is not a Gatsos, of course.’

  ‘How much was this sum?’ the Fat Man demanded.

  ‘300,000 euros.’

  Mavros looked at Dinos. ‘Do you sell to the whole of Kolonaki?’

  ‘Of course not. The Gogols run high stakes poker nights. I … I got in over my head.’

  Mavros turned back to the lawyer. ‘What happened? Did you deliver the cash?’

  ‘I don’t get involved in that kind of activity,’ Siatkas said condescendingly. ‘A meeting was arranged and one of my juniors attended. The issue was resolved satisfactorily.’

  ‘So you don’t know the Gogols personally?’

  ‘Why are you interested in them?’

  Mavros stood up. ‘I’ll tell you why. They got their claws into the Gatsos family via Dinos here – I’m betting they’re the ones who did the Polanski number on his proboscis – and they have the professional ability to carry out a high-profile kidnap. We already know Dinos told them about the layout of his grandfather’s villa on Lesvos. There’s also the question of the bodyguards. I was told you’re responsible for the family’s security and that you hired the men, who happened to be Russian.’

  The lawyer looked at him impassively. ‘I didn’t hear a question, Mr Mavro.’

  ‘You want a question?’ Yiorgos put in. ‘How about this? Did the Gogol brothers supply you with the bodyguards?’

  Siatkas kept his eyes off the Fat Man. ‘I’m struggling to follow. First you say the Gogols may have kidnapped Mr Kostas; then your elegantly attired associate suggests that the bodyguards came from the brothers. But one of those men was killed by the kidnappers. Surely that wouldn’t have been in the Gogols’ interests? If the bodyguards were in on the kidnap, why didn’t they carry it out themselves?’

  It was a reasonable question and Mavros had been waiting for it. ‘First, if you think Russian mobsters aren’t capable of duping and killing one of their own, you’ve lived a very sheltered life – which I find unlikely. Second, you haven’t answered my associate’s question. Did the bodyguards come from the Gogols?’

  The lawyer smiled. ‘No. One of my people hired them from an agency we’ve used for
years. They have personnel from many countries, usually former special forces men, and it happened that these three were Russian.’

  ‘The name of the agency?’ Mavros asked.

  ‘Hightower Executive Security. They’re based in London, but I’m sure one of their people will fly down if you want to question them.’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  The discussion moved on to potential motives for the kidnap. Siatkas came up with several business rivals who could have been responsible, but he didn’t show much enthusiasm about any.

  ‘How about the Svolos family?’

  Dinos perked up, something the lawyer registered.

  ‘They’re a busted flush,’ Siatkas said. ‘I doubt they can afford to upgrade their cars every year, never mind finance a sophisticated kidnap.’

  ‘She and her mother seem to be very frightened of Serbs,’ Mavros said.

  ‘Oh, those scumbags,’ Dinos said. ‘They borrowed money last year and haven’t been able to pay it all back. The interest rate’s ridiculous.’

  Mavros moved over to the window. He could see the large Greek flag flapping on top of the parliament building. Inside they would be arguing about the financial crisis – too late and too ineffectively.

  ‘Perhaps the Svolos family gave information to these Serbs in order to pay off at least part of their debt,’ he said, his back still towards the others.

  ‘Nadia would never …’ Dinos’s voice faded.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Theo Siatkas said.

  ‘That’s because you’re a well-attired type who pimps for rich folk,’ the Fat Man said.

  ‘Indeed I am,’ said the lawyer, smiling expansively.

  Mavros went back to his chair. ‘Dino, would you mind waiting outside?’

  ‘What’s this?’ the young man asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not about you.’ Mavros waited for him to get up. ‘Yiorgo, give him a hand.’

  Dinos left, swearing under his breath.

  ‘What’s the big secret?’ Siatkas asked.

  Mavros caught his gaze. ‘The Colombians. I hope Dinos isn’t involved with them.’

  ‘What Colombians?’

  ‘Don’t play the fool. Laura Moreno and Santiago Rojas.’

  ‘Mr Loukas told you about them?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I found out for myself, but he confirmed they’re shareholders in the group. What do you know about them?’

  ‘Actually, very little. Mr Kostas brought them in. He handled the background checks himself. I’ve met them several times, of course.’

  ‘Did either of them strike you as being involved in the cocaine trade?’ the Fat Man demanded. ‘Or other illegal drugs, for that matter.’

  The lawyer’s eyes opened wide. ‘They’re respectable business people. Laura Moreno’s father built the company up to one of the country’s largest.’

  ‘You can see the reason for our interest,’ Mavros said. ‘Lots of product in South America and plenty of Gatsos group ships to move it around the world.’

  ‘That insinuation could get you sued.’

  ‘I’m only speculating, Mr Siatka.’

  ‘I recommend you desist.’

  ‘Can we go now, Alex?’ Yiorgos said. ‘The stench of ox excrement is really getting to me.’

  ‘You’ll let me know if you have any further thoughts, Mr Siatka,’ Mavros said. ‘And I need copies of all the threats received by Kostas Gatsos in the last two years, plus your responses to them. You can courier them to me.’ He gave his mother’s address, then got up and led the Fat Man out. Dinos went back in. After closing the door behind him, Mavros lingered. Raised voices weren’t long in coming.

  Jim Thomson fell asleep in his window seat not long after the Qantas jumbo jet took off from Melbourne Airport. When he woke, the plane was well across Australia. He looked down at the great red desert, straining to catch a glimpse of Alice Springs but aware it had already been left behind. He still had an affinity with the dry earth and sand; it was where the sea had finally been drawn out of him. All his years in Melbourne, he had never been in the ocean. Ivy and he went to the beaches and she swam every day she could, completely at home in the water. She never asked why he wouldn’t go in but she knew he had painful history. He told her he’d been on the ships, that was all. Marigo still belonged to him in spirit, her parents no doubt long dead and memories of her – and him – on Ikaria faded and few. Would he have stayed with her if she and their child had survived? Deep in his soul he doubted it.

  Soon the plane would be over the eastern reaches of the Indian Ocean, heading for Singapore to refuel. They would fly across Indonesia but the Philippines were far to the north east. He wondered about Pilita. He’d never told Ivy about her either. The time he spent with her had been blessed – not that he believed in any deity; at least that had survived from the Party’s teachings. The simple life in Eastern Samar had been a necessity for him after the horror of the Homeland’s sinking. Suddenly he found himself thinking of that night and the terrible days that followed, as the sun burned away the outer layers of skin from his face and hands. What had happened to the ship? They were in open sea and the weather had been fine. Distant memories resurfaced, rumours about the owner, a sharp operator called Gatsos, Kostas Gatsos, that was it – from time to time he would have his ships scuttled to collect on the insurance. Is that what had happened with the Homeland?

  He dismissed the thought for consideration later. Now Pilita had returned to him, her smooth dark skin and glossy black hair, her small, exquisite breasts, her delighted abandon … Why had he left her? It wasn’t that he’d fallen out of love with her, and certainly not vice versa – she was even more devoted, despite their lack of children. No, it had been a feeling that he had to move on, that the village by the sea wasn’t his destiny. Not that he knew what his destiny was. He laughed at himself for thinking he should ever have possessed such an epic attribute. His heroic age had lasted a few days in the security police building in Bouboulinas Street. It was rather that, since then, he had some kind of anti-destiny, the lack of a future. The barrenness of the outback had been right for him. It had got rid of his past to the extent that he was able to love another person and even live in a city with many people of Greek ancestry. The time in Samar had served to make him a no one and using the dead cook’s name after he left Pilita had been appropriate. The name he once had no longer existed for him.

  And then came the irony of Ivy’s own Greek heritage. She didn’t speak the language because her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was two and she’d been adopted by people of English descent, whence her name. It was only when she got interested in her family heritage a few years before she met Jim that she found out her grandparents had been Greek immigrants to Australia after the Second World War. They had died before she was born and what little remained of their possessions had been sold off to pay for her parents’ funerals. But she knew where they came from; the island of Lesvos, where he was going to sprinkle her ashes.

  The White Sea, he thought. That was what the Turks had called the Aegean, in contrast to the Black Sea further north. Ahead he could see the bright blue of the Indian Ocean. The water he’d been thrown into from the Greek naval vessel hadn’t been white, apart from the foam left by the propeller. The colour he remembered most from Ikaria was a greeny-blue, deepening as days turned to evening. There had been plenty of white-capped waves when the wind got up. Off Samar the Pacific had many hues, but there was never enough white to merit the use of that colour as a description.

  And now he was going back to the White Sea. He felt his stomach clench. It would have been better if his shame and guilt had drowned there as had been intended by the torturers. Much of his life had been spent in slow, repetitive voyages between ports that were often little more than heaps of coal or grain silos, glorified fishing harbours or cities that had turned their backs on the uncontrollable, violent element they depended on. The sea was pitiless, unforgiving, bitter.
Men who took to it became like it. That was the real root of his decision to leave Pilita. To live in her village, he had to fish. The creatures he brought up were often ferocious, their jaws snapping as they died in the small boat’s hold, their glassy eyes contemptuous of mankind’s victory over them. The sea was hostile and a myriad killers lived in it.

  Jim Thomson was suddenly aware that casting his beloved Ivy’s remains into the White Sea that surrounded her ancestral home was the last thing he wanted to do.

  ‘Lieutenant Babi?’ Mavros said into his phone, as he and the Fat Man walked away from the lawyer’s office.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Do you know anything about Russian and Serbian gangsters?’

  There was a pause. ‘I work for the head of the organised crime division.’

  ‘So that’s a yes.’

  The policeman grunted.

  ‘Can we meet to discuss them?’

  ‘Sorry, can’t do that.’

  ‘What do you mean? Brigadier Kriaras told you to—’

  ‘It’s not that. I’m otherwise engaged today.’

  ‘How about tonight?’

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘Can’t you spare half an hour?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘I’ll have to call the brigadier.’

  ‘I strongly advise against contacting my superior. He’s extremely busy.’

  ‘Is that right? OK, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  Yiorgos turned to him. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking myself. I think Kriaras is going to raid the Gogols.’

  ‘Finally the cops do something right.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that.’ Mavros called Kriaras’s private line and mobile; both rang out and no messaging service was in operation. ‘If the Russians are involved in the kidnap they might take very unkindly to being hassled.’

  Yiorgos groaned. ‘As in, no more Mr Shipowner. And no more second payment of 250 grand.’

  ‘You mercenary tosser.’