The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  Gritsis’ chest had deflated. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘When you have the Gatsos wealth behind you, nothing remains secret.’

  ‘Except where the decrepit pirate is right now.’

  Mavros smiled. ‘True. Tell me about the feud. To put your mind at rest, I don’t think you know anything about the kidnap.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Gritsis said sarcastically.

  ‘On the other hand, if I later find out that you’ve concealed information from me, I’ll make sure the tax authorities run a very exhaustive audit on your finances and those of your friends.’

  Gritsis glanced inside, turning away when Makis Theotokis and Stelios Xenos gave him questioning looks.

  ‘I need to sit down,’ he said, staggering slightly.

  Mavros took his arm and helped him to a chair, then sat next to him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My heart’s not so good and this isn’t helping.’

  ‘Talk and it’ll soon be over.’

  ‘There isn’t much to it, believe me. Gatsos bought a piece of land I’d had my eye on for decades and built his ugly pile there. An outsider, for God’s sake. He claims he’s a local, but he was only on Lesvos for a few months when he was a kid. I argued with him more than once and he told me to fuck off. When I set my lawyers on him, he got his people to burn down one of my factories.’

  ‘Can you prove that?’

  ‘Of course not, but I’m sure of it. That was the beginning of my company’s decline.’

  ‘So you had a strong motive to dispose of him one way or another.’

  Gritsis’s face whitened. ‘What do you mean?’

  Mavros ignored that. ‘You live here, don’t you?’

  ‘I have a house in Mytilene, but I’ve always spent the weekends and holidays in Molyvos. Now I stay here most of the time.’

  ‘That means you’ll have picked up plenty of gossip about what goes on at the villa.’

  ‘I don’t deal in gossip.’

  ‘Let me ask some specific questions. Did you hear about anyone taking an interest in the villa in the weeks and months before the kidnap?’

  Gritsis stared at him. ‘You mean like they were casing the joint?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘He had guards, you know – big Russian brutes.’

  Thanasis Gritsis looked around. ‘Listen, I haven’t told anyone this and I don’t want it getting back to me.’

  ‘It won’t – as long as we aren’t seen together for longer than it takes.’

  ‘All right, all right. There was a fisherman who used to work off the Gatsos place, Pipinos was his name. He told me that one of those gin palaces was often in the vicinity – not close, but definitely a presence.’

  ‘A motor yacht?’

  ‘Yes, those things show-off Athenians drive around in during the summer – like sea-going 4x4s.’

  ‘Did Pipinos see who was on it?’

  ‘That was the thing. The people weren’t the usual clueless city-types. They were all burly men in black T-shirts and shorts. Some of them would go diving, even though the water there’s too deep for spear-fishing.’

  ‘Are you sure they weren’t guests of Gatsos or more guards?’

  ‘Yes. Pipinos saw them head off at full speed one time the Gatsos boat came out.’

  Mavros studied his interlocutor’s expression and decided he was telling the truth.

  ‘Where is this Pipinos?’

  ‘That’s the thing. His kaïki was found one day in late August near the Turkish side. Pipinos wasn’t on board and there’s been no sign of him since. But I’ll tell you what makes me suspicious. The forward anchor was missing.’

  ‘Accident? Suicide?’

  ‘Pipinos was very experienced. As for suicide, his only daughter was getting married a few weeks later. Besides, he wasn’t that sort.’

  ‘Who do you think murdered him then? Why didn’t you tell the police?’

  Gritsis’s jowled chin sank to his thick neck. ‘I’m a coward like everyone else, you fucker. After Gatsos was kidnapped, I didn’t want the people who shot his son and his guards coming after me. Besides, where’s the proof?’

  Mavros leaned closer. ‘You’ve got insurance, haven’t you? What is it, a photograph?’

  ‘Yes, of the boat. I told Pipinos to take one for his own safety.’

  ‘That was smart of you. It didn’t occur to you that telling Kostas Gatsos about these people might have prevented his kidnap?’

  ‘Like I care. What am I, his guardian angel?’

  ‘Give me it. Now.’

  ‘My lawyer has the original. I’ve got a copy at home.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. Tell your friends you’ll be back shortly.’

  Gritsis did so. The others watched uneasily as he and Mavros disappeared round the corner of the old warehouse.

  Ten minutes later they returned, though the trio of old men departed almost immediately.

  ‘I kept you some lobster,’ Laura said, giving the Fat Man a triumphant look. ‘And some pasta.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ Yiorgos asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  As Mavros started to eat, he caught a glimpse of the man in the corner. Their eyes met briefly and then a copy of the International Herald Tribune was moved sideways to break contact.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Kostas Gatsos was led into the judging chamber and sat on the chair in front of the table, his ankles chained to the floor. The people in the crocodile, bird of prey, skull and octopus masks were there again. The Son was sitting in the centre, his head and face uncovered.

  ‘Time’s up,’ he said. ‘Will you do as required?’

  Kostas sat still, his favourite line of Tennyson running continuously through his mind – ‘To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield’.

  ‘Mr Gatso, your time is up,’ the Son repeated.

  There was no reply.

  The five heads clustered together.

  ‘Very well,’ the Son said, after they had separated, ‘you leave us no choice.’

  Kostas waited until he’d been unchained. ‘Fuck you and fuck your children, your mothers and your grandmothers!’ he yelled.

  The guard backhanded him across the cheek and he fell sideways.

  ‘You can’t take my money!’ Kostas said, his voice shrill. ‘Loukas will stop you, the shareholders will stop you.’

  The Son stood up. ‘You think so, old man? Would it interest you to know that many of the shareholders are ready to remove you from your position as president of the Gatsos group?’

  ‘Liar!’

  The Son started reading from a list of names.

  Kostas listened carefully until the recital ended. ‘Their shares come to no more than 30% of total holdings.’

  ‘True,’ the Son said mildly. ‘To get over 50% several of the close family would have to side with the rebels’

  Kostas was pulled to his feet. ‘That will never happen,’ he said, shaking off the guard’s hand.

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The Son nodded to the figure in the crocodile mask. It was removed to reveal Kostas’s daughter Eirini. Before he could react, the octopus head came off. His son Pavlos’s wife Myrto sat smiling at him. Then the bird of prey’s head was lifted from that of her daughter Nana.

  ‘Unbelievable!’ Kostas gasped.

  ‘But true,’ said the Son.

  ‘What are you crazy women doing?’ the old man screamed. ‘You’d be on the street without me!’

  Eirini gave him a sharp smile. ‘Everything is about you, isn’t it, Baba? You’ve spent years despising my husband and son. Did you really think that wouldn’t hurt me?’

  ‘The same with Pavlos,’ said Myrto. ‘You treated him like a slave and Nana like a deserter when she went to New York.’

  Her daughter nodded. ‘We think it’s time you retired, Pappou. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a Ukrainian hooker t
o keep you warm.’

  ‘You all happily took the money provided by the group,’ Kostas said, his tone was less assured. ‘You’re really selling me out?’

  The women looked down on him, making no attempt to hide their contempt.

  ‘You realise, of course,’ said the Son, ‘that your family members only came for today’s judgement. The earlier judges were who they said they were – people whose lives you ruined.’ He turned to his left. ‘Would you like to see who’s concealed by the remaining mask?’

  ‘To hell with all of you,’ the old man said, but he couldn’t resist looking. ‘You!’

  Santiago Rojas stared at him as if he was a scab-ridden dog. ‘Your time is over,’ he said, turning to the others exultantly.

  Kostas’s four traitors left the room without a further glance at him.

  ‘I imagine you’ll be looking forward to getting out of this place,’ the Son said, stepping down from the dais.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Kostas muttered.

  ‘But first there’s a formality we have to go through.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The Son smiled. ‘Your punishment has still not been carried out. Bring him to the torture chamber.’

  Kostas watched as the muscular figure strode ahead. He could understand Myrto and Nana caring nothing for him, let alone the drug-dealing piece of shit Rojas – they weren’t Gatsos blood; but his own daughter Eirini? What had happened to turn her against him?

  Not long afterwards, when the first hooks had been applied, the Son told him about Vangelis Myronis’s death. He should have known his useless son-in-law would extract a price, even from the after life.

  Kostas Gatsos wished he’d already crossed the bar, as Tennyson had put it, but his passage was going to be a very arduous one. The tape over his mouth meant he couldn’t even scream.

  After dinner Mavros and the others went to a bar for a night cap and then headed back to the guest house. He had already sent the photograph of the boat to Loukas and asked him to run a check: its name, Meltemi Rider 7, was visible at the bow.

  ‘What are we doing tomorrow?’ the Fat Man asked, one arm round Marianthi.

  ‘We’ll check the villa. You never know what the police might have missed.’

  ‘Right,’ said Yiorgos. ‘Breakfast at 9?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Mavros said unenthusiastically.

  ‘I’ll have done fifty laps of the pool by then,’ Laura said.

  ‘It isn’t very long,’ he pointed out.

  ‘All right, a hundred. Actually I think I’ll find a beach. I want to taste the sea.’

  The Fat Man and Marianthi had already gone upstairs.

  ‘I have a bottle of aguardiente,’ Laura said.

  ‘Should I be frightened?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed. ‘It’s only 30% proof. Although sugar cane’s the main ingredient, it has an aniseed taste.’

  ‘Colombian ouzo?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘All right, I’ll try anything once.’

  She led him into her room. It was larger than his, with a four-poster bed draped by a mosquito net.

  ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘I’ve only got an electric repellent.’

  ‘Ladies need pampering,’ Laura said, handing him a glass. ‘Salud!’

  They drank and the top of his head remained on, just.

  ‘Not bad.’ He followed her to a sofa by the window. The shutters were still open and the lights of the town pulsed in the gusty night.

  ‘You have no woman, Alex Mavros?’ she said, crossing her legs.

  ‘Not so you’d notice.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Mavros took a deep breath and told her about Niki, then about the threat to Gatsos that could have come from the Son.

  ‘That’s awful,’ she said, clutching his forearm. ‘You think this man killed your Niki and took Kostas?’

  ‘There isn’t much evidence in either case, but I’m sure he has some involvement in the former. As for Gatsos, I can’t tell. Whoever took him has covered their steps very well. What I don’t understand is why Pavlos was shot. If his father was taken to facilitate the take-over of the group, something he was working on, then why is he dead? I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more than one set of kidnappers, or at least people with different aims.’

  Laura looked at him. ‘You’re taking a risk telling me such things. How can you be sure I’m not a – what is the word – plant?’

  ‘You don’t look like a geranium.’

  She slapped his hand lightly. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do and I can’t be sure. But in my business, even though I’ve been out of it for five years, you get a sense for people who aren’t what they seem.’

  ‘And I am not one of those?’

  ‘Everyone dissembles. The question is, how much?’

  She drank again and smiled. ‘So am I dissembling now?’

  Mavros felt a warm wave flood across his body. It was a long time since that had happened. He became reckless.

  ‘You’re trying not to let your desire for me become obvious.’

  Laura Moreno wasn’t shocked. She moved her face closer to his and held his gaze.

  ‘And you?’ she said, her voice low.

  ‘I’m failing abysmally to do the same.’

  They kissed, aniseed on their lips and tongues. Then their hands began to move across each other’s bodies, parting clothing and slipping on to burning flesh.

  At some point Mavros detached his mouth. ‘I think … I think we should move to the bed. I’m sure I heard a mosquito.’

  Laura laughed. ‘I can hear hundreds.’

  Soon the net was closed around the bed and clothes were removed. In their cocoon the lovers inhabited a private paradise.

  Again Jim Thomson woke early. He had slept very little, rolling about for hours before he slipped into unconsciousness. He was going to dispose of Ivy’s ashes that morning, but that thought wasn’t what kept him awake – it was the long-haired man with the stubbled face in the taverna who’d done that. He’d looked him up on the internet after he’d been in Athens and found photos of him in online newspaper archives. His hair was greyer and his face more lined, but it was unquestionably him: Alex, little Alex. He remembered playing with him when he was a boy, even though he himself had been much older. That came from the time he had repressed for so long and the memory was hazy. Smiles and laughter, joy when he saw his brother, those came back to him. Alex Mavros. He was presumably following some lead on the Gatsos kidnap. He had considered talking to him in the taverna but he hadn’t been able to – not with other people there. Alex had gone outside with the loudmouth called Gritsis for some time. What had he discovered?

  Thomson remembered the eyes – blue, but with a splash of brown in the left one. The boy had been shy about the flaw but he seemed to have got over it. It was obvious there was chemistry between him and the pale brown-skinned woman. She was stunning, a South American he guessed. There had been times in Brazilian and Venezuelan ports that he’d never wanted to suppress, even after he was with Ivy.

  The time had finally arrived. He got up and washed his face, then put on the clean clothes he had ironed the night before. He wasn’t wearing a suit or tie, but he wanted to look his best. Ivy always smiled when she saw him in the new clothes she’d bought. ‘My handsome man,’ she’d say. ‘It was a happy chance that brought us together.’

  But now to part for the final time. He picked up the urn and left the house. On his way down the cobbled lane that led to the northern edge of the town, he picked a few bougainvillea blooms, stabbing his fingertips on the thorns. He walked down the road to the cemetery into the northerly. The sea was heaving, waves dashing against the rocks below. He’d be lucky to get away without a soaking, not that he was bothered by that prospect after his swim to the Gatsos place. He’d been going to take a small branch of cypress as he passed along the enclosure of the dead, but that wasn’t right for Ivy. She had been for life and was now
destined for eternal movement. The earthbound tree was inappropriate. Blossom that faded quickly was better, though the sea was what she had wanted as her last home; she understood her own nature better than anyone.

  Thomson scrambled over the wet rocks, the urn under his arm like a rugby ball – he had watched many games on the TV without understanding what the players got out of the violent contact sport. They were lucky; they hadn’t been through what he had at their age. He found the spot he’d decided on and kneeled down on the rough stone. Spray came over him and he looked out at the sea. In the early morning light it was grey, but there were white crests and curls as the wind beat down. He struggled to get the top of the urn off and then leaned forward, his hand over the gritty contents.

  ‘Go, Ivy,’ he said, his words torn away by a strong gust. ‘Go to your ancestral element. I hope I’ll be able to join you. Go, my Ivy. You’re free.’

  He let the ashes sprinkle over the water, watching as they disappeared almost immediately in the surf. When the urn was empty he sent it in after her. It was gone in an instant as well. Then the white sea splashed him from head to toe. He stood up and stepped away, content to have the last of Ivy on clothes he would never wash again.

  At breakfast the Fat Man gave Mavros a look that showed he’d understood immediately what had happened between him and Laura. Their faces must have given them away. Marianthi was more discreet, concentrating on the fresh bread and jam.

  ‘Morning,’ Mavros said, reaching for a jug of juice.

  ‘It certainly is from where I’m sitting,’ said Yiorgos. He smiled at Laura, who caught his eye with no sign of embarrassment.

  ‘Right,’ replied Mavros. ‘Here’s the plan. We drive over to the Gatsos villa and see if we can get in. If we’re lucky there won’t be a police presence any more.’

  ‘You’re going to break in again?’ the Fat Man said.

  ‘Again?’ repeated Marianthi.

  ‘He’s always doing it,’ Yiorgos said, putting his head down. His plate was filled with cheese, bread and biscuits.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Nothing. I was just outlining what we’ll do today. First we’ll go over to the villa. Maybe you’ll notice if there’s anything different.’