The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  Nondas slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’ve solved the case, Alex.’

  ‘Hardly. We still have no idea of Kostas Gatsos’s whereabouts.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Are you boys staying to eat?’ Dorothy called.

  ‘No, thanks,’ Mavros said. ‘We’ve got dinner at L’Abreuvoir.’

  Nondas grinned.

  ‘Hardly your kind of place, dear. Very expensive.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mother, we’re not paying.’

  Mavros called Loukas Gatsos and arranged to meet him and Evi at the restaurant in an hour. The conversation Nondas had with Anna was less straightforward. Another late night at the office didn’t really cut it.

  Laura Moreno was nervous. It was a rare sensation and one she didn’t like. She hadn’t felt this way since her father died when she was only two years out of Harvard Business School. In the twelve years since then she had not only consolidated Colarmco as one of the world’s most highly rated arms companies, but had increased profits by over 150%. It was still a family business but her brothers, two older and two younger, realised her capabilities early on and did not contest their father’s stipulation in his will that she become CEO. It helped that she’d made them all board members. She’d also done things that had been beyond her father: she’d not only made the company profitable internationally, but had given it a patina of respectability. Weapons were not sold to anyone with large amounts of cash; potential customers were vetted and the nature of their need for arms investigated by in-house experts.

  But none of that was the source of Laura’s discomfort. She stood at the open French windows in the drawing room of the old house on the hill and looked down at Bogotá. The breeze tugged at her black evening dress and made her draw her lace shawl tighter around her shoulders. She felt her nipples harden in the flimsy bra and stepped back. That was the last thing she wanted her guest to notice.

  ‘Ah, señorita, you are beautiful tonight,’ said Conchita, her long-serving maid. ‘You are beautiful every night, but that dress … Your hair is all right? The gold is wonderful against the black. Such skin – you are a true South American princess.’

  ‘Stop it, Conchita. Half the country is mestizo.’

  ‘But not many pay the attention you do to their Amerindian roots.’

  ‘I don’t ignore my European heritage.’

  ‘No, but you feel closer to your ancestors in the high lands.’

  It was true. Her father had traced the family back two hundred years. One of their Spanish ancestors had married a princess from a chiefdom in the Andean highlands. She had been to the area several times and was learning the dialect.

  ‘Such a shame you never found the right man, my child,’ Conchita continued. ‘But maybe your fortune will change. Maybe even tonight.’

  Laura waved her away in mock annoyance. With customary acuity, her maid had identified the reason for her nerves – the man who was expected. She looked up at the portraits on the walls, men and women in their finery with unnaturally perfect skin and features. But the visitor was not coming to make love to her in the way her ancestors would have been familiar with. No, he was coming to exert power over her, to force his way on to the board of Colarmco and to steal the family’s wealth. But he had made a serious mistake. She fought harder than any man and she never lost; although being hardnosed in business had made a mess of her love life.

  The butler opened the door to her rear and ushered in the visitor.

  ‘Señor Santiago Rojas, señorita.’

  The logging tycoon walked across the Persian carpet, his chest almost bursting from his frilled evening shirt.

  SIXTEEN

  Mavros and his brother-in-law found Loukas and Evi Gatsos sitting outside the restaurant. Both were in the clothes they’d been wearing earlier.

  After introducing Nondas, Mavros said, ‘Long day at the office.’

  ‘They always are,’ said Loukas.

  ‘Must be worse since your grandfather was kidnapped,’ Nondas offered.

  Loukas eyed him dubiously. ‘We have more responsibilities, yes. What do you do, Mr Chaniotaki?’

  ‘Investment banking. No shipping, though.’

  ‘Ah.’ Loukas turned to Mavros.

  ‘Nondas is also my associate. He’s been looking through the Gatsos group financial data. I’ve sworn him to secrecy, of course.’

  Loukas and Evi looked at each other.

  ‘You should have asked us, Alex,’ the young woman said, more disappointed than angry.

  ‘I told you I would be using trusted associates.’

  ‘Very well,’ Loukas said. ‘I’m sure Mr Chaniotakis will be aware of the consequences of classified information getting into the public domain. It will be obvious where it came from.’

  Nondas smiled, untroubled by the implicit threat. ‘You can trust me. I’m a Cretan.’

  That made even Loukas laugh.

  ‘Let’s order,’ he said.

  Mavros and Nondas decided on chateaubriand, while the others went for fish. They all had consommé to start. Loukas ordered bottles of Bourgogne Aligoté and Clos de Tart.

  ‘I take it this is an update,’ Evi said, picking at a piece of bread.

  ‘Of sorts,’ said Mavros. ‘More an exchange of information, I hope.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Loukas.

  Mavros took a sip of wine. ‘The Greenland Reefer Company.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re insulting our intelligence,’ Mavros said.

  ‘What do you need to know?’ Evi put in, glaring at her step-brother.

  ‘I need to know what you know.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Loukas testily. ‘The vessel is under arrest in South Korea on suspicion of breaking trade sanctions with North Korea.’

  Mavros looked at him. ‘Who sent the ship to the North?’

  ‘That I don’t know, but I imagine my grandfather was involved.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Mavros nodded to Nondas.

  ‘The former owner of the company was killed in an ambush in Colombia a few months ago. Are you aware who now owns it?’

  Loukas hesitated. ‘I can’t know everything about the group.’

  Nondas turned to Evi.

  ‘I have no idea,’ she said.

  ‘Even though there are so few Colombians with shares in the group,’ the Cretan pondered. ‘No matter. The current owner is Santiago Rojas.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Loukas.

  ‘There’s something else I’ve discovered about him,’ Nondas said. He’d told Mavros as they walked to the restaurant. ‘He’s suspected of having links with FARC, the Marxist-Leninist revolutionary army. His logging company operates near areas under FARC control and the Colombian authorities have tried unsuccessfully to remove his workers.’ He paused. ‘But there’s more.’

  Loukas had stopped eating. ‘There always is.’

  ‘FARC – which has a record of kidnapping high-profile individuals – has been involved in cocaine production for years, getting much of the financing for its activities from selling the drug. Of course, what they need most of all is weapons.’ Nondas stopped again, this time to cut off a piece of steak and put it in his mouth.

  Mavros watched, impressed by his brother-in-law’s ability to hold an audience. He’d only seen that during family recitals of Cretan banditry and World War Two heroism.

  ‘Weapons,’ Nondas repeated.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Evi. ‘Laura Moreno’s Colarmco.’

  ‘Indeed. But I haven’t been able to find anything linking her company and Rojas’s.’ Nondas wiped his mouth. ‘Apart from the fact that both are shareholders in the Gatsos group.’

  ‘Our grandfather was responsible for involving Laura and Santiago,’ Loukas said. ‘My father may have known something about it, but I have seen no files. Anyway, what could one Colombian company selling arms to another which then supplies the guerillas have to do with us?’

  ‘Now you really are showing disrespect,’ Nondas
said mildly. ‘Your grandfather may have managed to keep news of the Greenland Reefer out of most of the media, but Lloyd’s List reported that North Korean-made rifles and light artillery were found on the ship.’

  ‘We knew about that,’ Evi said, ‘but Pappous said it was South Korean propaganda.’

  ‘Despite these photos,’ Mavros said, holding up his phone.

  ‘Yes,’ said Loukas firmly. ‘I’ve spoken to the captain and seen copies of the manifests. The ship did discharge in North Korea, but sailed in ballast.’

  ‘That’s still an infringement of UN sanctions,’ Mavros said. ‘But I don’t care about that. What bothers me is that you’ve been less than frank. I’m beginning to wonder if you’d ever have told me about the Colombians if Nondas here hadn’t spotted their names.’

  Loukas took a sip of water – he hadn’t touched his wine. ‘What is it you’re saying?’

  ‘Look, nothing’s written in stone, especially this early in an investigation,’ Mavros replied. ‘But Dinos’s links with the Gogol brothers, the Colombians’ potential involvement in both gun-running and the drugs trade, and your grandfather’s close ties to Santiago and Moreno can’t be overlooked.’

  ‘You think the Colombians are behind the kidnapping?’ Evi said, her voice soft.

  Mavros shrugged. ‘They could be, as could the Russian gangsters.’ He turned to Loukas. ‘You are being straight with me when you say there’s been no ransom demand – of any kind? No attempts by the Colombians to increase their shareholdings in the group?’

  ‘None at all. Come, Evi, I think we’ve heard enough idle speculation.’ Loukas got up.

  ‘Please call me later,’ Evi said, before she followed her step-brother. She looked shell-shocked.

  ‘Touched a nerve there, didn’t we?’ Nondas said, reaching across the table for Loukas’s half-eaten fish. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll mind if we drink their wine too.’

  ‘Feel free,’ said Mavros. ‘I’m the one who’s been left with the bill.’

  ‘Put it on expenses, fool.’

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Purple Leader to Red Team,’ Lieutenant Haralambidhis said.

  ‘Receiving. In position.’

  ‘Green Team?’

  ‘Receiving. In position in 30, repeat 30 seconds.’

  ‘Blue Team.’

  ‘Receiving. Perimeter secured.’

  ‘Yellow Team?’

  ‘Receiving.’ The last voice was Elisavet Latsou’s.

  ‘Is she up to this?’ Brigadier Kriaras asked. He was sitting in an armoured Land-Rover, wearing combat fatigues and body armour. The rest of the team that would go in the front of the Paradiso Bianco was in a similar vehicle close behind.

  ‘I’m sure of it.’ Lieutenant Babis was in the same garb, his helmet already on and a pump action shotgun across his knees.

  ‘You’d better be. Are all the customers out?’

  Haralambidhis made a call on his phone and spoke briefly. ‘Yes, sir, our man inside confirms it’s clear.’

  ‘Let’s do it then.’ Kriaras put on his helmet.

  ‘All teams, move forward in three, two, one – GO.’

  The driver took the Land-Rover down the road that had been blocked by traffic police a minute earlier. Immediately after it got to the front of the nightclub, Yellow Team ran forward and used a ram to smash open the heavy doors.

  ‘Stay here, sir,’ Babis said, opening his door.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kriaras replied, his service pistol drawn.

  There were shots from inside the building, then shouts from the rear. Green Team was covering the back, while the larger Red and Blue teams were spread out along the sides of the car park.

  Babis ran in, stepping over the motionless body of a man in a suit – one of the bouncers. He headed for the door at the side of the stage. It had already been broken down. There were more shots.

  ‘Two of ours down,’ he heard in his earpiece. It was Elisavet. ‘And one other, unidentified.’

  He ducked as machine-pistol fire sprayed above him. Through the haze he saw four bodies on the floor, two of them moving. The rear door was pushed open and cold air rushed in. Babis saw two men break out, firing machine pistols at the unprotected faces of the Green Team officers. Two of them went down. The men kept running.

  ‘Red, Blue Teams,’ he said into his mouthpiece, ‘redeploy to rear of building immediately.’ He raised the shotgun but, before he could fire it, was hit by several shots when one of the men turned. He crashed to the ground, stunned by the impact to his Kevlar vest.

  From there he saw Sergeant Latsou drop to one knee, raise her pistol and get off three shots. The man who’d hit him dropped with a cry. The other turned and let out an agonised yell. He tried to drag the other man with him, but was forced to make evasive moves when Elisavet continued to shoot. He ran ahead on his own, replacing the machine pistol’s clip. Again he fired at face height, officers diving to the ground.

  Babis hauled the shotgun to his shoulder and fired four times, the recoil making his chest hurt even more, but the runner was out of range. He was at the fence, then over it. Sergeant Latsou screamed in frustration as she fired on the run. Then he was gone.

  ‘After him!’ Babis shouted. He watched as Elisavet rallied the unwounded officers and got them over the fence, then his head slumped to the ground.

  He couldn’t have been out for long. When he came round, his body armour had been removed and he was in the recovery position. Brigadier Kriaras’s boots were a metre away.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Like a horse rode over me.’

  ‘Metaphorically it did.’

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘I’m talking about your career in the organised crime division.’

  Babis remembered. ‘One of them got away.’

  ‘Igor Gogol. Lavrenti’s taken shots to the legs and lower back, but he’ll live. He bit the hand of the officer who tried to give him first aid.’

  ‘Animal.’

  ‘His brother and he killed three men and left another four with serious facial injuries. Some may lose their sight. He also shot two uniformed men on the other side of the fence, fortunately only in the arm and leg.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘The only positive note was struck by Sergeant Latsou.’

  ‘She shot Lavrenti.’

  ‘And she’s leading the search for Igor, though I don’t have much hope of apprehending him. He’s bound to have a car stashed nearby.’

  ‘At least we’ve got the other one for resisting arrest.’

  ‘Don’t worry on that score. There’s a large consignment of cocaine in the basement. People were measuring it out and putting it in sachets.’

  ‘Maybe we can get him to talk. They might have old Gatsos.’

  ‘We’ll try, of course, lieutenant, but I’m not optimistic. Our only chance was to take them both. If anything, the situation’s worse now.’

  Babis groaned as he sat up. ‘How’s that, sir?’

  ‘You know Igor has a reputation for extreme violence. That might be very bad news for Kostas Gatsos if they were the ones who took him.’

  Babis heard Elisavet’s voice in his earpiece. ‘Yellow Team. Request permission to terminate search.’ He relayed the message to Kriaras.

  ‘Yes, bring them back. I already have uniformed officers looking for suspicious pedestrians or vehicles in the area.’

  A paramedic came over and asked Babis to bare his chest. There were three red marks where bullets had been stopped by the vest.

  ‘You’ll need an X-ray to make sure no ribs are broken.’

  Babis touched the marks gingerly. ‘Later. Go and check on the others.’ He got up and watched as Sergeant Latsou jogged across the car park, her team behind her.

  ‘Good shooting,’ he said, when she stopped in front of them.

  ‘Indeed,’ said the brigadier. ‘You’re one of the few success stories of this chaotic operation.’

&
nbsp; ‘We weren’t expecting such a violent response,’ Babis said.

  ‘Always anticipate the worst, isn’t that what you were taught at the academy?’

  Babis watched as Kriaras stalked off. When he turned back, the sergeant had taken off her helmet and untied her hair.

  ‘SWAT Barbie,’ he said, taking a chance.

  ‘My weapon’s still loaded, lieutenant,’ she said, looking at the shotgun on the ground. ‘As well as being centimetres from my hand.’

  Babis raised his hands. ‘Ceasefire in effect.’

  ‘No such condition for women in the Greek police.’ Elisavet Latsou went to her people, one of whom had been knocked flat by gunfire.

  ‘Shit,’ said Babis.

  ‘Another one!’ yelled an officer from behind a desk that had been overturned. He ducked down, then reappeared. ‘Deceased male, shots to the chest and head. Wearing a suit.’

  Sergeant Latsou crossed the room. ‘Lieutenant, you’d better get over here.’

  Babis got to his feet with difficulty and went towards her, almost doubled up in pain.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said, when he saw the middle-aged man sprawled on the floor. His photograph was on the operations board. It was Vangelis Myronis.

  It was now officially the worst night of his life and the rest of it would be spent writing his report. Would he still have a job with Kriaras by dawn? If he did, he wouldn’t be surprised if the brigadier sent him to tell Kostas Gatsos’s daughter what had happened to her husband.

  ‘I am become a name,’ Kostas Gatsos recited.

  ‘For always roaming with a hungry heart

  Much have I seen and known; cities of men

  And manners, climates, councils, governments,

  Myself not least, but honour’d of them all.’

  Tennyson’s Ulysses had been his favourite short poem since he was in his late teens. Now he was old he identified even more with Ulysses, who had finally come home after ten years fighting the Trojans and another ten on the return voyage. The long poem that had always meant most to him since he was at primary school – he’d been a precocious and voracious reader – was Homer’s Odyssey, whose hero the Romans knew as Ulysses. He thought it was why he’d become a shipowner; the endless movement of the waves, sometimes welcoming, at others tempestuous; the monsters to be overcome; the loss of comrades. All those were echoed in his business life. He had used people – bankers, brokers, traders, politicians, industrialists, shipbuilders. When he needed them he was their friend, showering gifts and hospitality; but when they no longer mattered, he cut them loose like fatally holed vessels. He had used the people who worked for him, inspiring them to sacrifice all for the group and then getting rid of them before they learned too much to gain a hold on him. He had treated his wives like chattels, dressing them in the finest fashions and jewellery to improve his own image; he had abused them in numerous ways in the bedroom, in front of the children and in public. But still his huge and ravenous ego wanted more of everything – money, power, influence, sex …