The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  ‘As if you care about Kostas Gatsos.’

  ‘A job’s a job for all that, as we half Scots say.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Warn the Gogols?’

  Mavros gave that some thought. ‘Anonymous call … could work. On the other hand, the cops nailing them might get the case moving.’

  ‘You’d better not tell Loukas and Evi Gatsos that.’

  ‘Hm.’ Mavros looked at his watch. ‘In the meantime, we need to talk to the rest of Dinos’s parea.’

  ‘Sounds like a job for Marianthi, a driver with great potential.’

  ‘Yiorgo, you’ve got no chance with her.’

  ‘Says who? When did you last get your end away?’

  ‘That’s confidential.’

  ‘I’m guessing three months.’

  ‘You can guess as much as you like.’

  ‘Four months.’ The Fat Man made the call. ‘She’ll be here in ten minutes.’

  ‘Great. Now all we have to do is find Agam, Kirki and Jimmy.’

  ‘Why don’t we ask Dinos?’

  They were standing in the shade of a tree at the back of the neoclassical Academy of Athens building. Immigrant traders, many African, had laid out arrays of fake big brand handbags, Chinese underwear and pirated DVDs. No one was looking, never mind buying. The traders would go hungry tonight.

  ‘I think he’ll tell us to go to hell.’ Mavros took out his notebook. ‘We know their parents’ names. Shouldn’t be a problem to find where they live. Hang on …’

  ‘Every word, great master?’

  ‘Piss off. No, I’ll use this poxy machine’s Internet function.’ Mavros had finally been talked into getting a smart phone by his sister a couple of months back. He had reached tech overload and restricted his use of the device to phoning and listening to music.

  ‘Facebook?’ said Yiorgos. ‘Aren’t you a bit old for that?’

  ‘I use it to keep in touch with university mates.’

  ‘Mates, eh?’

  Mavros shook his head. ‘Of the male sex.’

  ‘I knew you were—’

  ‘Shut up. Here we are. Agamemnon Pyrsos. Nice looking guy.’

  ‘If you like skinny guys with bald heads and spots.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at his photos.’

  ‘Seems to spend all his time in cafés. Typical rich layabout.’

  ‘Let’s check out Kirki Houkli … uh-oh, she’s more private. No photos. On to Jimmy Tsakos. Plenty of photos.’

  ‘Is that what they call designer stubble? It’s much better sculpted than yours.’

  ‘Looks like an insoluble geometry problem.’ Mavros went back to Agam’s page. ‘It’s the same place, isn’t it?’

  ‘Looks like it. Their favourite haunt?’

  ‘Could be. And there’s the name. Martha and Bennie’s. Can’t be many places with that name. Let’s see what the phone directory says.’ He called one of the several services whose adverts clogged the TV channels. ‘It’s in Kifissia.’

  ‘What a surprise.’ The northern suburb was one of the richest in the greater Athens area. ‘There she is!’

  Mavros watched as his friend set off towards the road at a rapid pace. By the time he got there, Yiorgos was in the front passenger seat, talking faster than a smitten teenager.

  ‘If I can interrupt,’ Mavros said, giving the destination.

  He spent the trip looking out the window with the Stones at full volume through his headphones. The Fat Man on the pull was a fearsome sight, let alone sound.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘That’s the third trial completed.’ The presiding judge was speaking English.

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘Frightened.’

  ‘You had fingernails removed from other hand?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently he screamed like a baby.’

  ‘Good. He’s breaking, old bastard. You have decided case for next trial?’

  ‘Not yet. We’ll leave him on his own for a week.’

  ‘Thinking about this. Health OK?’

  ‘He’s strong for his age. Or at least he was. Now he’s cracking, that may change rapidly.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe bring next trial ahead. Other things happen.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You not need know.’

  ‘But our location is safe?’

  ‘You have guards, yes?’

  ‘Of course. I was only wondering if an operation against us was at the planning stage.’

  ‘Maybe. Kriaras is under pressure and you know how he react.’

  ‘With displays of force.’

  ‘Yes. Stand by for change of plan.’

  ‘As ever you can rely on me.’

  ‘As ever? You mean as long as we pay big money.’

  ‘That’s the way of the world.’

  ‘Way of your world is pain and death. You do this for free, I think.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  ‘Careful I not come.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to see you again.’

  The connection was cut.

  Marianthi pulled up outside Martha and Bennie’s in Kifissia. It was a typical high-end café with buttock-wrenching metal chairs around dark wood tables, coloured tiles on the floor and condescending waitresses.

  ‘There’s our pal Agam,’ Mavros said, looking at the photo on his phone.

  ‘And the other guy’s Jimmy Tzakos, isn’t he?’ said the Fat Man.

  ‘Which means there’s a decent chance the woman is Kirki Houkli.’

  While the men were well turned out, the female member of the group had fair hair like a bird’s nest style and was wearing a crumpled white T-shirt and ripped jeans.

  ‘Stick around if you like,’ Mavros said to Marianthi.

  ‘Yes, please do,’ added Yiorgos.

  ‘I’ll find somewhere to park off the main drag,’ the driver said, giving the Fat Man a wink.

  Mavros and he went to the table occupied by the three young people.

  ‘Mind if we join you?’ the former asked, with a smile.

  ‘Why?’ said Agamemnon Pyrsos, his voice nasal.

  ‘Because I want to talk to you.’ Mavros took the inner of the two empty chairs and Yiorgos the one that effectively blocked the three in. ‘My associate here had a conversation with Dinos Gatsos this morning.’

  Agam and Jimmy exchanged glances.

  ‘You won’t get us to spill our guts like he did,’ the latter said. He had a mole between his carefully shaped eyebrows. ‘We’re not frightened of you.’

  The Fat Man gave him a slack smile.

  ‘I’m working for the Gatsos family,’ Mavros said, introducing himself. ‘On the kidnapping of the old man.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with us?’ Kirki said, putting down her milky frappé.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Nothing, obviously,’ said Agam. ‘We’re Dinos’s friends. I’ve never even met his grandfather.’

  ‘I did once,’ said Jimmy. ‘Not a pleasant man.’

  Mavros looked at the young woman.

  ‘Me? My father’s a society hairdresser. He isn’t the kind of man Kostas Gatsos has any time for.’

  ‘You’re the kind of young woman he might have time for,’ Yiorgos said, leering.

  ‘You’re disgusting. I’ve never even seen him in the flesh.’

  Mavros looked at his notebook. ‘Agam, your father Dhimitris sold several sculptures to Mr Gatsos.’

  ‘That was when I was in short trousers.’

  ‘Like these ones?’ Mavros held up his phone. He had accessed a photo from the Gatsos archives. Kostas was standing with a curly-haired man in front of an art work that looked like it had recently exploded. There was a small boy in front of them. ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’

  Agamemnon Pyrsos hung his head while Kirki and Jimmy laughed.

  ‘You’re very fetching,’ the young woman said.

  ‘Leave off.’

  ‘The point being,’ Mavros said, ‘don’t lie to me. I do this
for a living.’

  Yiorgos nodded vigorously, the five-year hiatus completely forgotten.

  ‘Here’s a question for all of you. What does Nadia Svolou feel about Kostas Gatsos?’

  ‘Where is Nadia?’ Jimmy said, glancing at his showy watch.

  ‘Answer the question, please,’ Mavros said.

  ‘If you’re so smart, you’ll know about the feud between the Svolos and Gatsos families,’ Agam said disdainfully.

  Mavros’s gaze was icy. ‘If you’re so smart, you’ll tell us why she hangs out with Dinos Gatsos.’

  ‘Because she likes him,’ Kirki intervened, stretching across the table for a sachet of sugar and revealing much of her chest. ‘Anyway, the old bastard cut Dinos off. There’s no love lost there.’

  ‘Which is why I’ve been wondering if Nadia and Dinos played a part in Kostas Gatsos’s kidnapping,’ Mavros said.

  The three young people laughed loudly.

  ‘That’s insane,’ Jimmy said, running ring-laden fingers through his hair. ‘Nadia wouldn’t hurt a fly and Dinos is a …’ He broke off and looked away.

  ‘Dope dealer?’ supplied Mavros. ‘I know. Which makes him vulnerable to pressure, especially from the people who supply him.’ He looked around the table. ‘You know who they are, of course.’

  Silence, apart from the café’s pounding music.

  ‘The Gogol brothers, Igor and Lavrenti, own the Paradiso Bianco, a club your parea often visits. They’re easy to recognise – there are scars all over their faces.’

  More silence.

  ‘All right,’ Mavros said, ‘here’s how this works. I finger you to the cops as Dinos’s fellow dealers …’

  Eyes sprang wide.

  ‘Or you come clean. Yiorgo, count down from ten.’

  Jimmy Tzakos crumbled at six. ‘All right, all right. Dinos did blab to those Russian headbangers about his grandfather’s villa in Lesvos. He was drunk and stoned, we tried to stop him.’

  Kirki Houkli’s bare foot was heading up Mavros’s thigh. ‘Please, give us a break.’ She inhaled sharply as he caught her ankle between his knees and squeezed hard. ‘All right, I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

  Mavros relaxed the pressure but held the ankle where it was.

  ‘There’s this Colombian guy,’ Kirki said.

  Agam and Jimmy tried to look surprised, but neither was convincing.

  ‘Santiago something …’

  ‘Anyone else know his surname? No? Go on.’

  ‘We met him in the Paradiso – when was it? – early in the summer, I think. He came in with Dinos and Nadia. They’d been out to dinner at L’Abreuvoir.’

  The Fat Man pursed his lips. It was one of Athens’ most exclusive French restaurants, patronised by the rich and their hangers-on.

  ‘Did this Santiago meet the Gogols?’ Mavros pressed.

  ‘He already knew them. They greeted him like he was a brother.’

  ‘Kirki!’ hissed Agam.

  ‘What’s the harm? Anything to get these idiots off our backs.’

  ‘Idiots?’ Yiorgos said. ‘Which makes you what?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Mavros said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Colombian went through to the back with the Russians and Dinos. They were away for at least an hour. That’s all I know. Can I have my foot back now?’

  ‘Not yet. Did you ever see Santiago again?’

  ‘No.’

  The men also answered in the negative.

  ‘Did Dinos – or Nadia, for that matter – say anything about him?’

  ‘Not a word,’ Kirki said. ‘We wondered about that because they usually tell us everything, especially Dinos.’

  ‘So the word “kidnap” was notable by its absence.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Have any of you been foolish enough to cultivate the Gogols?’

  ‘No!’ said Kirki. ‘They scare me. I only go to the club because of Dinos and Nadia. They get us cheap drinks.’

  ‘Gentlemen?’

  ‘Same here,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘And here,’ said Agam.

  ‘Not to mention the not so cheap drugs.’ Mavros glanced at Yiorgos then stood up. ‘That’ll do for now.’

  ‘For now?’ Kirki said. ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’

  Mavros looked at her and the others, then followed the Fat Man out.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked, as they walked down the street.

  ‘I need to call Marianthi.’

  ‘“Athens, and a wood nearby.” I’m going to start calling her Titania and you Bottom. I meant about Dinos’s friends’ story.’

  Yiorgos shrugged. ‘Spoilt rich kids in over their heads. I can’t see any of them as kidnappers.’

  ‘Or instigators. No, neither can I. But Nadia Svolou’s link to the Colombian – who I’m assuming is Santiago Rojas, the Gatsos group shareholder – puts her back in the frame. Maybe she’s less of the lost girl than she looks. Dinos still strikes me as a waster and not much else.’

  The Fat Man was talking volubly on his phone.

  Mavros looked at the newspapers pinned up around a kiosk. They all had headlines about the financial crisis and the government’s attempts to curtail tax evasion. There wasn’t any mention of Kostas Gatsos who, he was sure, had steered many millions away from the tax authorities over the years.

  Marianthi took them back to the centre. Yiorgos started winking theatrically as they approached the end of Kifissias Avenue and Mavros decided to let him have the evening off. He asked the driver to take him to his mother’s flat.

  ‘Be good,’ he said, as he got out of the yellow cab.

  ‘We won’t,’ the Fat Man said.

  Marianthi laughed. ‘Is he always like this?’

  ‘Oddly, no. It’s your fault.’ Mavros watched the car turn off Kleomenous and then ran up the stairs. The case – or perhaps his friend’s rare success with a woman – had energised him.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Dorothy said falteringly, after she let him in. She lay down on the sofa, her face grey.

  He went over. ‘Are you all right, Mother?’

  ‘I think so. I just felt a little faint.’

  ‘I’ll call the doctor.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.’

  There had been an increasing number of these spells in recent months. Dorothy had been taken to hospital and sent home after tests. Her neurologist had told him and Anna that she was healthy enough for an eighty-five year old, especially one with her medical history.

  Mavros brought her a pot of her favourite tea, a concoction of fruit and herbs, and a plate of shortbread. As she’d said, she was soon sitting up and looking better.

  ‘Don’t worry, Alex,’ his mother said, her eyes moving to the photos of Spyros and Andonis on the sideboard. ‘You know I’ll soon be going wherever they are. It’s nothing to be sad about.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Mavros said, his voice nearly breaking.

  She laughed softly. ‘I know, I know. For years I’ve been telling you to put your father and brother behind you and get on with your own life. I’ve been backsliding, haven’t I?’

  ‘You have. I’m going to put rocks behind your rear wheels.’

  His mother took his hand and he felt her fingers tremble. ‘It was good advice for you, but I never really took it myself. Spyros’s death was one thing – he lived a good and courageous life, though he deserved another decade. But Andonis … he was so young … and we never found him, despite your best efforts … imagine if I die and he’s still alive. If I could only see him in the flesh before I go …’

  Mavros blinked back tears. He wished he could see Andonis too. His elder brother had been his hero when they were young, as well as his best friend and example. But it was too late now. Andonis had been gone for nearly four decades.

  ‘What are you doing this evening?’ said Dorothy, returning to her usual self.

  ‘Anna’s not going to be happy. I need to see No
ndas.’ He called his brother-in-law, who agreed to come round when he finished work.

  Mavros spent the time trying to speak to Nikos Kriaras and Lieutenant Babis. Neither responded. Something was definitely about to happen and that worried him. He tried to distract himself by accessing articles about the Svolos family’s business activities. There was no doubt that the holding company was an expiring duck.

  Nondas arrived with a bunch of flowers for Dorothy. They’d always got on well, not least because he had blunted many of Anna’s sharp edges.

  ‘Svolos?’ Nondas said, over Mavros’s shoulder. ‘I give them till Christmas.’

  ‘Generous. Anything more on the Gatsos group?’

  Nondas took out the CD-ROM and inserted it into the disk drive. ‘Look here.’ His fingers darted over the keys until a page came up.

  ‘The Greenland Reefer Company,’ Mavros read. ‘Not marijuana.’

  ‘Sadly, no. Reefer, as you must know by now, means refrigerated ship.’

  ‘Of which the Gatsos group has several.’

  ‘And this company, based in Panama, owns one ship, the Greenland Reefer.’

  ‘What’s the interest?’

  Nondas had pulled up a chair. ‘Two things. First, the ship’s been under arrest in Ulsan, South Korea, since last May, on suspicion of breaking trade sanctions with North Korea. And, second, the Greenland Reefer Company used to be owned by a Colombian who had a small share in the Gatsos group, but who was shot to death in a roadside ambush in August. It’s now owned by Santiago Rojas, who bought it from the victim’s relatives at what seems to be a bargain price.’

  Mavros raised an eyebrow. ‘His name’s been coming up a lot recently.’

  ‘According to the English-language Colombian press, the murder has the mark of professional criminals. Rojas may have been behind them. If he can organise a shooting in Colombia, he can probably manage a kidnapping in Greece.’

  ‘Not least since he was here in the early summer.’

  ‘Was he indeed? A sanctions-breaker and a murderer.’

  ‘And quite possibly a drug baron. I’ll explain later.’

  Nondas sat back and undid his tie. ‘The thing is, this Rojas doesn’t manage the ship or arrange its cargoes.’

  ‘Let me guess. That’s done by one or other Gatsos.’

  ‘Kostas, as far as I can tell.’

  ‘Could Rojas be trying to edge the old man out, first by nailing him for going up against the UN – which failed because of Gatsos’s influence over much of the media here and abroad – and then by disappearing him?’