The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  He had booked a room at a hotel on the seafront. After checking in, he walked around the town. Nearby was a church – Ayios Therapon, according to his book – on which one large breast-like dome looked down on multiple smaller ones. Further round the bay were the remains of a fortress that was originally Byzantine, but he didn’t have the energy to walk there. Then it occurred to him that he could easily dispose of Ivy’s remains beyond the port. No one would know and they would go into the same sea. But he quickly dismissed the thought. He had promised Ivy he would carry out her wishes and he had enough honour left to do so.

  Tomorrow he would go to Molyvos.

  ‘Finally you answer your phone.’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ Nikos Kriaras said brusquely.

  ‘Me too. I’ve just received a package containing a human ear and two fingernails.’

  ‘You too?’

  ‘Maybe raiding the Gogols’ place wasn’t such a good idea.’

  The brigadier grunted.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me?’

  ‘I don’t answer to you. I gather you’re heading to the Gatsos building.’

  ‘With Dinos, yes.’

  ‘Lucky you. I’m on my way to his mother’s.’

  ‘I spoke to her a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Her floor’s about to disappear from beneath her.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  There was a pause. ‘I may as well tell you. The rest of the family will soon find out. Vangelis Myronis was killed during our operation last night.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. He was at the Paradiso Bianco, we’re not sure why. The other customers had all left.’

  Mavros glanced at Dinos. ‘Who was responsible?’

  ‘The ballistics show that Lavrenti Gogol shot him. He had an unusual pistol, a Desert Eagle chambered for .44 Magnum cartridges.’

  ‘Lucky it wasn’t one of your people. It suggests the victim knew something they didn’t want to come out.’

  ‘Correct. I’ll bring Mrs Myroni down to the shipping office if she’s up to it.’

  ‘What about—’

  ‘Put him on.’

  Mavros watched as Dinos listened to Kriaras. His forehead furrowed and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. It seemed that he was more attached to his father than he’d let on. When the conversation was over, he handed the phone back and put his hands over his face.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Mavros said quietly.

  The Fat Man turned round, then looked to the front when he saw his friend’s expression.

  ‘I … I don’t … understand,’ Dinos said, his voice suddenly that of a little boy. ‘Dad … didn’t … didn’t …’

  Mavros waited for him to the finish the sentence, but instead he began to sob.

  Marianthi looked in the mirror and then steered towards the pavement. She got out and opened the back door, squeezing in beside the young man and putting her arm round him. They sat that way for several minutes, then she returned to the driver’s seat and continued down Leoforos Syngrou.

  Dinos cried heartrendingly all the way to the Gatsos building.

  NINETEEN

  Laura Moreno had managed to put two rows of seats between herself and Santiago Rojas on the flight from Madrid to Athens; from Bogota, first class had been full and she’d been forced to sit next to him. Although she’d made clear to him at dinner back home that she wasn’t interested in joining with him to buy out or suborn Gatsos group shareholders, he’d taken that as only a preliminary rebuttal. He spent several hours on the first flight reiterating his points and he’d have had his hand on her thigh for that time and longer if she hadn’t made it very clear that she objected to his advances. He’d given her a loose smile and kept on talking.

  She looked out of the window and took in pale blue water and mountains that looked like they’d been scourged by an angry god. In the half-hour before they landed at Athens, she constructed a plan. Becoming a shareholder in the Gatsos group had been an invitation she couldn’t turn down. Although Kostas was an old goat, his long career had shown that he could make money with his eyes shut. She hadn’t known that Santiago was approached at the same time – if she had, she’d have declined. There was a lot of talk about Rojas in Colombia and he was exactly the kind of operator she didn’t want Colarmco to be tainted by. While having access to Gatsos vessels was a benefit, competition was such that she could have covered her shipping needs with other companies at reasonable costs. The easy thing would have been to sell her shares, even to Santiago, but Colarmco needed every dollar it had for the development of new products and she was damned if she was going to give up a reliable source of income. Of course, Rojas was offering her a way to make even more money.

  Although Laura had done her best to forget the evening when Santiago had come to the house, she was still plagued by the memory of it …

  ‘My dear, you are magnificent,’ he’d said, as he was ushered into the ornate drawing room. His evening suit was exquisitely cut, disguising the bulge of his abdomen. He was in his early fifties, his swept-back hair suspiciously black and his heavy face marked by scars from a logging accident when he was young.

  ‘Santiago,’ she said, turning away. ‘Is this evening really necessary?’ She handed him a glass of the bourbon he favoured.

  ‘You know it is. There are people we must impress, investors who can help us grow.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Don’t be coy, Laura,’ he said, his voice hardening. ‘Our common interest in the Gatsos group is only the beginning. We can become the biggest company in the country, one of South America’s biggest.’ He sipped his whisky and smiled. ‘Of course, it would be enormously beneficial if we came together as a couple as well.’

  It wasn’t the first time he’d proposed to her in such a profoundly unromantic way – business first, private lives way behind. She’d refused him before and had no intention of changing her position now. She bit her tongue and allowed him to escort her to one of Bogotá’s most exclusive restaurants, where they met a group of well-dressed but rapacious businessmen and bankers. Some she knew, but she liked none of them. They were buzzards, carrion creatures who cared nothing for natural justice and the toil of the workers. Her father had often told her that the root of the family’s wealth was its employees. Their interests had to be protected if a profit worth having was to be harvested.

  The dinner was bad enough – false courtesy, off-colour comments, downright unpleasantness. Worse was to come in Rojas’s huge American limo on the way home. The chauffeur raised the partition and Santiago moved close to her. Before she could react, his hand was on her breast and his lips on hers. They stayed there, tongue pushing against her teeth, until she managed to get the small pistol she always carried out of her clutch bag. His eyes sprang open and he pulled away.

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said icily. ‘You’re gross and vulgar. No one would mourn you.’

  He licked his lips. ‘I like a strong woman. Together we can—’

  ‘Do very little. I’ll sell you my holding in the Gatsos group.’

  ‘You’re bluffing, my dear. I know the state of Colarmco’s finances.’

  Laura glared at him. ‘I’ll let you have them at a discount.’

  ‘No,’ Rojas said, his face hardening. ‘You’ll do as we agreed: come with me to Greece and put our proposition to the other investors. You need the money.’

  She couldn’t argue with that. With the concrete mass of Athens to the left of the plane, she was confused about what she was going to do. But Santiago Rojas could go straight to hell.

  The atmosphere in the board room in the Gatsos building was tense but, to Mavros, surprisingly controlled. Eirini Myroni had arrived with Nikos Kriaras, Lieutenant Babis in tow. The widow’s eyes were red, but her expression showed defiance more than shock. Evi ran to her and was embraced with a modicum of maternal love, while Dinos hung back, his face now dry but his head hung. Eirini put an ar
m round him and whispered some words. Then Loukas came up, bent to kiss her on both cheeks and gave his condolences. Mavros waited and then added his own words.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Eirini said firmly. ‘Find my father.’

  ‘That is primarily the responsibility of the police,’ Kriaras said.

  The widow turned her gaze on him. ‘My husband would still be alive if you people hadn’t stormed the nightclub.’

  The brigadier looked past her. ‘Our information was that there were no customers inside. Are you sure you have no idea why Mr Myronis was there?’

  ‘Leave her alone!’ Dinos shouted. His mother took him to a corner with Evi.

  Mavros moved towards Kriaras. ‘It was about drugs, obviously. What I want to know is why Gogol shot him. He must have known something the brothers didn’t want to come out.’

  The brigadier nodded. ‘Since you’re so well connected with the family, see if you can discover what.’ He turned and told the lieutenant to collect the ear and nails for DNA testing. While they and the packaging were being put into sterile bags, Loukas took Mavros’s arm.

  ‘This is a warning to us, I presume,’ he said.

  Mavros shrugged. ‘It’s likely that it was prompted by the raid on the Paradiso Bianco. Whether that means the Gogol brothers are behind the kidnap of your grandfather, I’m not sure.’ He turned to Kriaras. ‘I don’t suppose Lavrenti is talking.’

  ‘Literally not a word. And he’s got a flashy lawyer on his case.’

  ‘No sign of Igor?’

  ‘No. He knows how to look after himself.’

  Loukas Gatsos bit his lip. ‘What do we do now?’

  Kriaras scowled. ‘I’d like to give your half-brother Dinos the third degree, but Siatkas has already warned me off.’

  ‘Aunt Eirini’s protective of him,’ Loukas said. ‘You can hardly blame her at this juncture.’

  ‘What about the couriers who delivered the body parts?’ Mavros asked.

  Kriaras looked even more disgruntled. ‘The packages were handed in at different offices around Athens. We’re interviewing the clerks, but I suspect that, even if they remember the people who brought them in, they’ll have been wearing dark glasses and baseball caps. The names – all of them members of the Junta – and the contact numbers on the documentation are bound to be fake.’

  ‘You might strike lucky,’ Mavros said.

  ‘And you might find Kostas Gatsos.’

  ‘Why members of the dictatorship?’ Mavros said.

  ‘They’re probably far-left tossers covering their tracks,’ the brigadier said dismissively.

  ‘Or colonels’ sympathisers.’

  Kriaras’s expression hardened. ‘I suppose it was you who talked to that shitsucker Bitsos.’

  ‘What?’ Mavros said, playing as innocent as he could.

  The brigadier shook his head and went over to his subordinate.

  ‘So?’ Loukas said.

  ‘I have some angles I need to follow up,’ Mavros replied. ‘I’ll talk to you later. In the meantime, I’m going to try to talk to Mrs Myroni.’

  ‘Good luck with that. Better call her Gatsou, especially now.’

  Mavros went over to the huddle in the corner.

  Evi came towards him. ‘My mother’s taking it worryingly well. They haven’t got on well for years, but I expected at least a few tears.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on her. People react in different ways. She’ll probably fall apart when she gets home. Will you go with her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Evi waited. ‘Was there something else?’

  ‘Your Uncle Pavlos. Vangelis’s death has made me wonder more about the shooting in Lesvos. Could they have been up to something together?’

  Evi’s eyes flashed. ‘What do you mean?’

  Mavros held her gaze. ‘I mean, was there some project they were engaged in without your grandfather’s knowledge?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I’m sure Loukas would have heard of it.’

  Mavros looked at her thoughtfully and then went for broke. ‘Could they have been behind the kidnap?’

  Evi’s head jerked back as if he’d slapped her. ‘You can’t think that,’ she said, her voice low and unsteady.

  ‘I have to consider it. They may have been used by people who subsequently wanted them silenced. Can you check your father’s mobile phone and computer?’

  ‘The police told us his phone was destroyed in the raid. They didn’t find any suspicious calls on the list from his service provider. As for his laptop, it was still with him. The police have it. Apparently it’s damaged.’ She let out a single sob.

  Mavros put his arm around her shoulders. ‘See if he left any notes or the like. It’ll be better if you do that rather than me or the cops disturbing your mother.’

  ‘She told them they could search the house tomorrow and not before.’

  ‘There’s your opportunity then.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Better I keep that to myself.’ Mavros patted her back and then headed for the exit.

  Light flooded into Kostas Gatsos’s place of imprisonment.

  ‘Come!’ yelled the guard in the balaclava. ‘Quick!’

  Kostas got up, then insisted on emptying his bladder into the bucket. He had only small ways of resisting now but they helped him keep hold of his sanity.

  ‘Another trial?’ he asked, as his hands were cuffed behind his back.

  The guard laughed.

  The shipowner was pushed down the corridor, for the first time beyond the door he’d gone through before. There was another one about five metres further on. It opened as he approached.

  ‘Welcome to hell,’ said the Son, his head and face uncovered.

  Kostas’s stomach clenched. He made himself look unconcerned, his eyes on the torturer’s grinning offspring. He’d seen his photograph in the media after a series of violent murders and had never forgotten it. Then he took in the apparatus in the centre of the room. The familiar masked people stood to the rear, Skull making a florid bow.

  As he got closer Kostas made out the lines of nylon and wire hanging from metal bars above a stainless steel table. At the end of each one was a fishing hook, some small, others disguised by plastic worms. The largest were slightly above the corners of the table.

  ‘Only cowards would put an old man through such …’ Kostas struggled for the word. ‘… such abuse.’

  The Son smiled. ‘Abuse is the story of your life – abuse of people, abuse of laws, abuse of institutions, abuse of power.’

  ‘A torturer lecturing me on ethics.’

  The Son grabbed his chin. ‘I’m not lecturing, you piece of shit. As you know very well, I’m telling the truth.’ He kept hold and walked Kostas to the horizontal surface. ‘Look at the instruments of your agony. The small hooks will be attached to parts of your body where the nerves are particularly sensitive – lips, nipples, cock, inner thighs. The big ones go through your shoulders, wrists and ankles.’ He pointed up to the bars. ‘Then you’ll be lifted and suspended in the air, all your weight on the hooks.’

  Kostas pulled away and spat at the other man. ‘Fuck you and all the others. They’re too scared to take off their pathetic masks.’

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ the Son said, taking hold of the old man’s chin again. ‘Would you like to hear it?’

  Kostas took a deep breath and pushed the younger man against the table. There was a grunt.

  ‘You’re a tough bastard,’ the Son said, twisting the small hook Kostas had stuck into the fabric of his jacket. ‘But that will just make things worse for you.’

  ‘How much fucking worse can they get?’

  The Son grinned. ‘There are always choices. For instance, if you hadn’t been so recalcitrant, we’d have offered you a way out – a way to return unharmed to the ugly green building in Phalero Bay.’

  ‘You’re lying. You can’t wait to string me up.’

  ‘You’re a good judge of characte
r, old man. But my desires aren’t paramount here.’ He shrugged. ‘Still, since you don’t want to hear our proposition, I’ll just have to fulfil them.’ He turned to the guard. ‘Hold him tight.’

  Kostas watched as the lines on the near side were pulled aside. His clothes were ripped off, then he was lifted on to the steel surface and his arms and legs secured with leather straps.

  ‘Come closer, my friends,’ the Son said. ‘You’ve been waiting for this for a long time.’

  He took hold of one of the hooks and, after pinching the flesh on Kostas’s right forearm, skilfully inserted it in the skin.

  ‘No screams? Very good. Let’s go for one of the big hooks.’

  ‘Please,’ Kostas gasped. ‘I want to hear your proposition. Please.’

  The Son put down the large hook reluctantly, looking round at his colleagues. ‘Who would like the privilege?’

  ‘It’s mine,’ said the woman wearing the crocodile head. ‘Kindly remove that hook. Carefully.’

  The Son complied, provoking only a low moan from his victim.

  ‘Kosta Gatso,’ the woman began, ‘I am authorised to—’

  ‘Who authorised you?’ the old man demanded.

  ‘I advise you to be silent,’ Crocodile said. ‘Your next outburst will lead to the termination of the offer.’ She turned to the Son. ‘And to a long and agonising death. Nod if you understand.’

  Kostas did so.

  ‘Very well. I am authorised to offer you your life on the following conditions: one, that you liquidate all of your personal holdings in the Gatsos group.’

  There was no response, but Kostas’s eyes were suddenly glazed.

  ‘Two, that you establish a not-for-profit foundation with a budget of one billion euros, dedicated to the improvement of the lives of Greece’s poor including immigrants and the Roma. Three, that you pay a sum of three billion euros to the Greek government in lieu of the taxes you have evaded throughout your life. Four, that you set up a fund of one billion euros to compensate those employees of Gatsos companies and their families who have genuine grievances. And five, that you withdraw from all business and social activities, and confine yourself to your property on the island of Anydhros. That is our proposition. You have twenty-four hours to consider it. Light, a clock, paper and pencil, and a table and chair will be provided so that you can make whatever basic calculations may be necessary.’ The woman stepped back.