“Are you saying your guess is Mykonos?”
Andreas nodded. “It’s our only possible shot at finding him alive. We’ve got three thousand islands in this country, all but a couple hundred deserted. Not to mention the number of boats out there. I’m just going for the long shot with the best odds. Kidnappers want a place where they feel safe and in control. And if they’re from Mykonos, I’m picking here.”
“Okay, so now what?”
“I’d like to do what our brothers on Syros did. Turn every cop on the island loose on finding him. But if I’m right about Tassos being here, as soon as Sergey hears about the search he’ll likely panic and kill him.”
Andreas scratched his head. “I think we’ve got to turn to civilians for help. After all, it’s their island. And no one knows it better than they do.”
“How can we do that and keep it quiet? Locals love to gossip. It’s bound to get back to Wacki.”
Andreas nodded. “Sometimes it seems almost everyone on this island is in Wacki’s pocket, or someone like him, but there are a lot of good people out there who aren’t. And some of them are indebted to Tassos. He’s done good things for many of them, and if those folks aren’t prepared to keep their mouths shut to save his life…heaven help this place.”
“So, whom do we talk to?”
“Since it looks like they took him from Syros by boat, let’s start with the coast guard.”
Law enforcement on the seas and in the nation’s ports was the responsibility of the Hellenic Coast Guard, also known as the port police, commanded by a harbormaster.
“I’ll ask the harbormaster to find locals who might know something. He should know the ones we can trust not to gossip. After all, that’s how the coast guard gets most of its information on what’s happening in Mykonos waters. From folks like fisherman, ship captains, marine suppliers, boat agents, and union guys shuttling passengers between the cruise ships and the port. They’re the ones who notice when something’s not right.”
“That’s still a pretty big chance to take. Gossip is like breathing around here.”
Andreas nodded. “I’ll tell him to round up the ones he trusts the most, but not to tell them why, and to bring them here without letting them call anyone. That way we’ll at least get a shot at convincing them not to talk. Besides, what other option do we have?”
“Prayer?”
“I haven’t stopped since Maggie called.”
“Amen.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The coast guard SUV climbed a steep, paved mountain road along a rocky, gray-brown hillside. The road was originally dirt; and time, inattention, and the fiscal crisis seemed determined to return it to its roots. It also didn’t help the residents’ pleas for road repairs that the elegant homes that sprouted in the area during Greece’s boom years were owned primarily by non-locals who did not vote on Mykonos. Local politicians with influence who’d favored the wholesale issuance of building permits to seasonal residents, and local businessmen who profited off a construction craze fueled by off-islanders’ money, often had a very different attitude toward those same folks when asked to provide them with municipal services paid for out of public coffers.
“I remember when no one wanted to live out here,” said a barrel-chested fiftyish man with salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard to match. He was in the back seat, on the passenger’s side, looking down the mountain. “My grandfather used to say that even the goats had given up on this land. “Now look at it. Covered with people.”
“The goats had more sense, Panayis. The people just had more money,” said the man next to him of about the same age, but thick-waisted and clean-shaven.
Panayis laughed. “I wish my father had kept some of the land instead of selling it off. Maybe then I’d be as rich as you, Alex, and not have to spend my life working for a living.”
“Fishing is a noble profession, my friend. I just prefer doing it as a hobby.”
“Yeah, when you’re not overcharging me for boat repairs.”
A third middle-aged man in the backseat laughed along with Panayis. “Yeah, Alex, the last time you rebuilt an engine for one of my taxi boats you charged me almost as much as a new one would cost.”
“That’s only because you’re my cousin, Manolis. If you weren’t family I’d have charged you double.”
Everyone in the SUV laughed.
A lean, spectacled man, older than the others and sitting up front, said to the driver. “I think it’s time for an explanation. When you called and said you needed our help ‘right away,’ how could we refuse? After all, you command the coast guard on Mykonos. But we have a right to know what’s going on.”
The harbormaster said, “Absolutely, Vangelis. And I promise you’ll get your answer in a few minutes.”
Near the top of the hill the paved road twisted left up toward the air force’s radar station and a dirt road cut off to the right. The SUV took the dirt road and bumped along for a couple more minutes before stopping on the right next to an arched doorway in a seven-foot high natural stone wall.
“I know this place,” said Alex. “The owner’s a customer.”
Manolis smiled. “Then maybe you shouldn’t go in. It could be a trap.”
“Malaka,” said Alex, equating him affectionately to a wanker.
The gate in the doorway swung open and Andreas stepped out. He opened the front and rear passenger’s side doors and nodded toward the doorway. “Gentlemen, I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry. We have a lot to do in a very short time.”
Vangelis set his eyes on Andreas. “Before I move from this seat, I want to know what has our former police chief dragging us out to the middle of nowhere?”
Andreas nodded. “It’s simple. Without your help a man will die in a matter of hours. Now, if you please, let’s hurry inside.”
And they did.
***
Once inside the house, Andreas offered them water, refused their request for tsipouro, and showed them to chairs arranged outside on the covered terrace. He and Kouros stood with their backs to the sea, facing the five men
“Let me get right to the point,” said Andreas. “If any of you talk about what I’m about to tell you with anyone, the kidnap victim is as good as dead. And by ‘anyone’ I’m including your wives, girlfriends, and priests. Do any of you have a problem with keeping this strictly among ourselves?”
All gestured no, but Panayis said, “How long do we have to keep it secret?”
“I’ll let you know, but if we don’t find the victim by tomorrow morning, he’ll probably be dead.”
“Who is it?” said Alex.
“Tassos Stamatos.”
For an instant the only sound was the wind.
“Who kidnapped him?”
“Where did it happen?”
“When?”
Andreas put up his hands. “I know you have a lot of questions, but most of them I can’t answer.”
Vangelis raised his hand and paused until the others were quiet. “I have only one question. What can we do to help our friend?”
The others nodded.
“Thank you,” said Andreas. He told them everything he could about the kidnapping without disclosing who he thought was behind it.
Panayis was the first to speak up. “If they crossed over from Syros as late as you say and running fast, someone who fishes nights off of Rhenia might have seen something.
“Local sailors coming out of Syros headed for Mykonos know to aim for aspros cavos, the white-faced northwest cape of Rhenia. With the amount of moonlight last night that stone face would have been lit up like a beacon. And boats running fast in the dark get noticed. You’re always worried the captain might be drunk, drugged, or up to no good. And if you don’t recognize the boat or who’s behind the wheel, you keep a damn close eye on it until it’s past you. Let me make some calls
.” He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Remember,” said Andreas. “Nothing that might get back to whoever we’re looking for.”
Panayis nodded, and launched into an animated telephone conversation punctuated by malaka as the principal noun, verb and modifier. His face lit up in a Santa Claus-like smile as he hung up.
“We’re in luck. Sometime after one in the morning an idiot in one of those inflatables went flying by him and three other boats, rocking the shit out of them.”
“Any idea who it was?” said Manolis.
“No, but he wishes he did. All they could tell was that it looked like a Marvel.”
“That’s a Greek-made inflatable,” said Alex. “There are quite a few of them around the island.”
“Anything on the captain?” said Kouros.
“No one recognized him.”
“How many people were in the boat?” said Andreas.
“Couldn’t tell. It had one of those canopies that covers everything from the wheel forward.”
“What?” said Alex.
“I said it had a bow canopy.”
Alex rubbed his cheek. “There could be some dangerous people involved.”
“We wouldn’t be here if there weren’t,” said Andreas.
Alex drew in a deep breath and spoke as he let it out. “About a year ago the owner of a thirty-two foot Marvel had me fit it out with a custom canopy like the one you described. When I said it would ruin the primary function of the boat he told me, ‘mind your own fucking business.’”
“Who was it?”
Alex said the name.
“Christ,” said Vangelis. “He’s the scummy bastard who brings in Eastern European prostitutes and calls them exotic dancers. I’m ashamed he’s Mykonian.”
“I guessed that was why he had me put on the canopy. So he could move the girls on and off the island unseen.”
Panayis shook his head. “If he was driving that boat last night one of my guys would have recognized him. Everyone knows that asshole.”
Vangelis said, “The talk among Albanians who work on my construction jobs is that he’s the Mykonian front for the Albanian mob. Maybe one of his mob friends was using the boat?”
“Where’s he keep it?” said the harbormaster.
“Depends,” said Alex. “Right now in Ornos, away from the north wind.”
Andreas looked at the harbormaster, “Do you think you could ‘quietly’ find the boat?” Andreas emphasized the word with finger quotes.
“We’ll try. But we may have to use a helicopter.”
“As long as it looks routine and doesn’t raise suspicions.”
The harbormaster nodded and made a call.
“Gentlemen,” said Andreas. “If you were looking for a place on Mykonos to hide Tassos in order to do whatever you wanted to him, and get in and out unnoticed, where would you pick?”
The answers ran from the obvious––an off-the-beaten-track farmhouse, church, or old mine––to the not so obvious middle of the town. The latter suggestion took note that the boat would have arrived on Mykonos at the perfect hour for using the town’s chaotic nightlife as cover, and with the right connections it would have been simple to smuggle him into town in a vehicle authorized to be there at those hours.
In other words, they had everywhere to look and nowhere.
Andreas was mulling over the possibility of going after the boat owner when the harbormaster said, “We got lucky. Around sunrise two of my guys in a patrol boat were on the eastern side of Mykonos, and decided to make a loop around the outer islands of Dragonisi and Stapodia. In a cove on the southwest of Stapodia, just below a church, they saw the boat.”
“Are they certain?” said Andreas.
“We also know its owner’s reputation. His boat is no stranger to us.”
“Did they check it out?” said Andreas.
“No one seemed aboard and two men on the shore with spear guns and free-diving gear waved that everything was okay. Nothing looked suspicious.”
“Lucky thing your guys didn’t get curious,” said Kouros. “I hate to think what might have happened had they unknowingly started pressing Tassos’ kidnappers.”
Andreas was excited. “It’s the break we needed. What can any of you tell me about Stapodia?”
“There’s not much to tell,” said Vangelis. “It’s an uninhabited, arid, brown rock in the Mediterranean surrounded by cliffs and accessible to the top only by a path that runs by that tiny church.”
“It’s about six miles southeast of Mykonos. About a mile long and four hundred yards at its widest part. I always thought it looked sort of like one of those German sausage dogs,” said Alex.
“It’s called a dachshund,” said Vangelis.
“I used to go there with my father when I was a kid,” said Manolis. “The north and east sides of the island are sheer rock cliffs. The south is too, but there the cliffs tend to angle in toward the center of the island and aren’t as badly beaten by the winds as the north and east sides. The west is narrow and cliffy, too, but at least there’s that path by the church heading up from the west to the top. Once you’re at the top there’s still not much level land. It’s basically an island for hawks.”
“Hawks?” said Kouros.
“Yes. In late summer, after the chicks hatched, my dad and I used to rescue the ones abandoned by their mothers because they couldn’t fly. We’d bring them home and raise them until they were strong enough to fly. My father used to say it was the least we could do for all that nature did for us.”
“There’s a lighthouse at the top,” said Alex. “No one lives there now that it’s automated. But there’s still a concrete cistern next to it for water.”
“And that path is the only way up and down,” said Vangelis.
“Sounds perfect for holding off an invading army,” said Kouros.
“Unless you plan on coming in by helicopter,” said the harbormaster.
“Too risky,” said Andreas. “They’d hear us coming, might panic, and kill Tassos. Are you sure there’s no other way up?”
“If there is, I only know one person who might know,” said Manolis.
“Who’s that?” said Andreas.
“Temi. He was the last lighthouse keeper. His family is from Ano Mera and they built that church on Stapodia.”
“Where’s he now?” said Andreas.
“Probably in a taverna around the square in Ana Mera drinking his homemade wine,” said Alex.
Andreas looked at the harbormaster. “Can you bring him here?”
“I can try, but he definitely doesn’t fit your non-gossip profile. When Temi drinks he can’t stop talking.”
“We don’t have a choice. But, if we have to, we’ll find some place to keep him incommunicado.”
Alex smiled. “That won’t be difficult as long as you let him bring along his wine.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Temi had spent most of the afternoon at his old friend Frederiko’s farm next to the reservoir in Marathi. His friend had supplied the homegrown vegetables and freshly caught fish, and Temi the homemade wine. By the time Temi and his small, dust-covered pickup truck reached his favorite hangout in Ano Mera, he’d fully attained the state of philosophic ecstasy so sought after by the ancients through wine.
His jolting ride in the harbormaster’s SUV from Ano Mera’s town square to the house at the top of the mountain had done nothing to diminish Temi’s self-perceived clarity of thought on all things.
A small, thin man, with a craggy, walrus-mustached face and a black fisherman’s cap perpetually perched upon whatever silver hair remained beneath it, Temi embodied the tourist’s post card image of “old” Greece; and he relished that role.
Andreas offered Temi coffee. Temi refused and instead magically produced a small bottle of wine
from a front pocket of his baggy pants.
“Later,” said Andreas holding out his hand for the bottle. “But first I need your help with something very important.”
Temi shrugged and handed Andreas the bottle. “Wine is also important. It captures the essence of sun, rain, earth, wind, all of God’s unique natural gifts in one exquisite form for us to enjoy while bringing us closer to the Almighty.”
This is going to be tough, thought Andreas. “Frankly, at the moment, I’m more concerned about keeping a really close friend away from the Almighty.”
Temi twisted his head like a perched hawk trying to make out what had caught its eye.
“Do you know Tassos Stamatos?”
“Yes, of course I do. I knew him and his wife. Tragic what happened to her and their baby. When was it now?”
“Around forty years ago. His wife and son died in childbirth,” said Andreas.
Temi nodded. “Yes, tragic.”
“He needs our help and we’re hoping you can answer some questions about Stapodia.”
“Ah, Stapodia. My personal Delphi. How I miss my visions there.”
“Is there another way to the top besides following the church path?”
Temi smiled. “Ah, I see you are also a philosopher,” and waved his hands in the air. “All about us are the results of men who listen to the charlatans of change telling them that the way to the top is easy. Just allow money to lead you.
“Our beaches, our land, our culture, our children, our very souls are all we need offer in exchange. A simple transaction. Why not? Who cares about those yet to come? Or those who came before and left us as shepherds of this island paradise.”
“I’m talking about a somewhat different path,” said Andreas.
Temi nodded. “I know. But mine is for more than one man, it is for our island, our nation. We have lost our way.”
“Please, Temi, is there another path to the top of Stapodia?”
“Follow Satan’s path.”
Patience, Andreas. “What are you talking about?”
“My dog. Satan was my companion there for many years. He knew a way. But he’s gone and the path may be too. Who knows what could have happened to it in these frenzied times of build everywhere.”
Mykonos After Midnight Page 18