“I’m sorry to interrupt the show,” the man on the stage said once the applause died down. “I ask that you remain in your seats for an important announcement.”
He stepped to the edge. The orchestra musicians looked up at him from their sunken pit. The single spotlight illuminated the proud ridges of his face and the curve of the lips he’d inherited from his mother. He was dressed entirely in black, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
“My name is Sebastien Goh. I worked on board the Glacier until very recently. Over the past month, I’ve learned something evil is happening on this ship. There are people in command who use their power to commit horrifying crimes. You are not in danger, but there are people on board who are. We need your help.”
Confusion rumbled throughout the theatre in a wave of hushed voices.
“The leader is Kostas Kourakis, the ship’s hotel commander. He’s been entangled in a human trafficking ring for at least three decades.”
Sebastien pointed his finger directly at Kostas, who sat dumbstruck amid a protective sea of white uniforms in the commanders’ box.
Kostas turned to either side of him and saw that the eyes of his wife, son, and daughter were wide with astonishment. Sweat gathered beneath his helmet of hair.
“Lies!” he screamed, jumping to his feet. “This man is the criminal.” He looked at the four security guards stationed beside the exits. “What are you standing there for? Get him!”
The guards glanced at each other with uncertainty before marching down the two carpeted aisles that dissected the lower-level seats. They closed in on Sebastien, two from the left and two from the right. The guards were halfway to the base of the stage when the radios strapped to their belts hummed alive.
“Stand down,” the voice declared through the transceivers. The tone of authority was unmistakable, but Sebastien could hear the veiled vulnerability. It was Nikos. “Let him speak.”
The guards stood in the middle of the aisles with hands on their radios, unsure of what to do, while everyone watched them.
Ilya observed the scene from behind the black velvet curtain at the side of the stage. In one hand was the radio he had taken from Nikos. In the other hand was the phone that stored the audio clip he’d created. Nikos hadn’t realized six days earlier, when he was fighting the urge to kiss Sebastien in the elevator descending from Sunset Deck, that he was being recorded. Every word he spoke was caught by the phone in Sebastien’s pocket. It hadn’t taken Ilya long to splice the fragments to form phrases that could prove useful.
He couldn’t help himself from smiling as he saw the puzzled looks on the faces of the guards, who stood paralyzed in the aisles.
Sebastien’s voice was louder as he continued. “Kostas uses the Glacier to transport women throughout the Mediterranean for this network of gangs. These women are held captive and coerced into working for them. They’re bought, sold, and smuggled like human cargo.” He scanned the audience, but he couldn’t see any faces with the spotlight in his eyes. “I know this because I discovered one of them imprisoned in a cabin hidden below decks. She’s supposed to be handed over tomorrow in Cannes. From there, we don’t know what they’ll do to her.”
Kostas trembled as he stood in the commanders’ box. The veins that snaked beneath his skin were inflamed, blood surging through them. “Somebody apprehend that man!” he barked. “I command you!”
A number of junior officers in white-and-gold uniforms filed out of their seats and took nervous steps down the aisles. Nobody knew what to do, but nobody wanted to sit still in open defiance of their leader. Forcefully detaining a man on stage in front of two thousand people was an order nobody was eager to carry out, especially given the gravity of the accusations.
An elegant woman in a sparkling red dress stood up from her seat near the front. “Don’t touch him,” she shouted with a booming voice. “We want to hear what he has to say.”
The officers halted their advance as several other guests stood from their seats, voicing agreement.
“Let the boy speak!” demanded one elderly gentleman in a tuxedo.
“Don’t you lay a finger on him,” threatened a lady with a bouffant of silver hair.
Sebastien continued, gripping the microphone in his sweaty palm. “With the help of our friends from the staff and crew of the Glacier, we rescued this woman from where she was being kept. But she’s not safe. Not yet. She will be in danger unless justice is served to everyone involved. Even if we were able to smuggle her off the ship and into safety, there would be more women. More slaves. That’s why I’m standing here in front of you. We can’t sit back and let this continue. We stop this cycle tonight.” He paused for a deep breath, steadying his hands. “And if you’re not sure if you believe me, listen to what the victim has to say.”
Another spotlight flickered alive. Athena Vissi walked onto the stage.
Scenarios played in Nikos’s mind while he sat alone with his wrists and ankles bound to the wooden chair. He didn’t know what Sebastien had planned, but he knew it wouldn’t end well. How had things gone so wrong?
The stillness that hung over the House of the Heel was maddening. Something serious was happening that night, and here he was tied up like an animal. The possible outcome that frightened him the most was Sebastien getting hurt. It was clear by the stun guns and tranquillizers that the rebels were prepared to use violence. Ilya had taken Nikos’s radio, keys, and phone. If something terrible happened to Sebastien, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.
The twine cut into his flesh as he struggled. Leaning forward, he was able to stand on his feet in a crouched position. With a ragged breath, he propelled himself backward into the air. He cried in pain as he landed on his back with the chair behind him.
Dazed, he looked up at the vaulted ceiling while he steadied his breathing. Lying on their makeshift mattress of sheets, tangled in each other’s naked limbs, they had always thought it was the night sky painted above. Now, Nikos realized they’d been wrong. The swirl that distorted the stars in the sky wasn’t air. It was water. He was looking up at the surface of the sea as though he were a drowning man.
He blinked several times, willing the tears back into his eyes.
With a jerk of the arm, he realized his painful attempt at freedom had worked. The wooden armrest of the chair lay broken beside him, still bound to him like a splint. It didn’t take long for him to untie the knots with his free left hand.
He ran to the door, then stopped. Spinning around, he took in the soft light and quiet solitude of this room that had concealed his happiest moments.
He vowed to never return.
Like Sebastien, the young woman who stood on the stage was dressed entirely in black. Long dark hair framed her wary face. Her large eyes were alert but hesitant. They shifted to the side, and he responded with an encouraging nod.
“My name is Athena,” she said, the microphone almost touching her lips. “Everything Sebastien said is true.”
The entire theatre went silent once the mysterious woman appeared on the stage. The guards and officers stood scattered down the aisles like a parade on pause. Even Kostas had nothing to say.
“My family needed money to keep our father alive,” Athena said. Her voice was bolder. “A man I considered a friend introduced me to the criminals. I borrowed money from them I couldn’t pay back. The only way to pay the debt is to work for them. I didn’t know how much danger I was in until I boarded this ship. They took my passport, all of my identification. I was locked in a cabin as a prisoner until Sebastien and his friends rescued me.”
She flashed him a determined look before her eyes drifted to the floor.
“I was branded once I boarded the ship.” She turned around, her back facing the audience, then pulled her hair up to reveal the symbol carved into her neck. Gasps echoed throughout the Odeon. Many of the Greek guests recognized the six connected little circles. Cautionary tales of what the symbol represented had been told to young girls for a generation.
/> “It’s Aphrodite’s flower,” Sebastien said, “an ancient symbol now used by a network of traffickers that Kostas Kourakis is a part of. The operation has existed for decades. They branded all of their girls with this symbol — including my mother.”
Ruby Goh’s young face appeared on a white screen hanging above them. Her hair was suspended around her squinted eyes, her mouth frozen open with silent laughter. With the image blown up to this size, the symbol could be seen clearly in the reflection of the mirror behind her.
“Thirty years ago she met a young Greek sailor whose cargo ship was docked in her home country of Singapore. He promised to take her to France, the same country where Athena is being transported.”
Sebastien paused, his lungs burning. He could feel the flames push their way up his chest. He looked out into the audience, but all he could see was his rage. It was white and blinding, a fire that burned with an intensity that was all too familiar.
“My mother didn’t make it to France,” he went on, the microphone shaking in front of his lips. “She escaped and started a new life in Québec. But she always had this reminder of what could have become of her, carved into the back of her neck as if she were someone’s property.” The volume of his voice rose, those last few words nearly shouted. “That young sailor’s name was Kostas Kourakis, the man sitting right there — my father.”
An anguished screech came from the commanding officers’ box. It was Kristo. He screamed as he climbed over the people seated beside him before tumbling into the aisle. He charged toward the stage, limbs battering the air. Sebastien stepped out of the spotlight to see the boy’s contorted face. There was no longer fear in his eyes. There was only rage. They truly were brothers.
One of the junior officers blocked Kristo’s rampage down the aisle, holding him back by the chest. The boy’s fists beat against him, but the officer didn’t let go.
“He’s lying!” Kostas screamed, delirious with anger. There was a rattle in his voice, like the tail of a snake. The skin exposed above the collar of his shirt flared into deep red streaks. “None of it is true. I’ve never seen that woman in my life.”
Sebastien’s throat tightened when he saw Nikos burst through the doors of the theatre. The deputy security commander’s eyes were wide with bewilderment as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. His gaze went from the two black-clad people under the spotlights, to the aisles covered in paralyzed officers and security guards, to little Kristo’s clawing hands.
“Nikos!” Kostas screamed in his direction. “Remove that man immediately!”
Nikos looked up at the target on stage. Their eyes locked, and for a moment everything was still. They grappled with each other despite the distance between them, grasping for a signal that they’d be on the same side in the end, that they hadn’t just imagined the connection that bound them. A moment decoding what was hidden behind each other’s eyes was all it took to know the truth. They both cared about their individual selves more than what they had together. Neither knew the full landscape behind what they’d so carefully shown one another.
Your move, Achilles.
Nikos broke the gaze and shouted at his guards in a barrage of Greek, pointing at the stage. They shook themselves out of their indecisive stupor and resumed their advance down the aisles.
“That’s the man,” Athena said in a calm, steady voice. Her delicate finger pointed directly at him. “He’s the man who handed me to the criminals, the man I thought was my friend.”
Nikos scowled at her. “This woman is crazy,” he shouted at the hundreds of eyes fixed on him. “She’s delusional. Disturbed. You can’t trust a word she says.”
The lights dimmed. Everyone froze as a scene was projected on the screen above the stage. The grand finale.
The video captured two men having a conversation in a white-walled office. The back of one man’s head could be seen directly in front of the camera’s lens, but the uneasy features of the young security commander’s face were in clear view. Their words poured out of the theatre’s speakers like a torrent of truth. They spoke Greek, but much of the audience could understand the lyrical words, including the sea of white uniforms surrounding Kostas in the commanding officers’ box.
“You’ve found a great beauty, there’s no doubt about that.”
“We can’t risk her escaping again.”
“Mr. Goh has been dealt with. He’s gone, and he has no evidence.”
“I planted doubt. He thinks she could be crazy.”
“All we need to do is get her to Cannes. She’ll be taken from there, and she’ll no longer be our problem.”
Cries of condemnation roared throughout the theatre as the conversation on the screen came to an end.
“Get them off the stage!” Nikos screamed. Panic overthrew his tightly controlled demeanour. “What are you looking at?”
The guards and officers standing in the aisle had pivoted so they were no longer facing the stage. Instead, they stared at Nikos with judgment in their eyes.
“Now all of you know the truth,” Sebastien said, his voice booming through the speakers. “And you have a choice. You can do nothing — forget what you’ve seen tonight and ignore the evil happening on board this ship — or you can help us stop it.”
Shouts reverberated across the near-perfect acoustics of the Odeon as people stood from their seats, turning to face the two unlikely perpetrators.
Nikos continued to shout while his guards advanced on him. As they reached out to detain their commander, his fist struck one of them in the jaw. The officers in the aisle came to the aid of the blue-suited guards. Nikos lashed out at them like a lone lion surrounded by a circle of wildebeests. One of the officers tackled him to the floor, pinning him against the carpet with knees on his shoulders. Nikos was soon subdued as one of his former subordinates flipped him onto his stomach. He writhed on the floor with his wrists cuffed behind his back.
Kostas was trapped by the crowd of white uniforms in the commanding officers’ box at the back of the theatre. His colleagues stood up from their seats and turned to face him, a wall of contempt. They despised him. He considered these people to be his pedestal. They held him up in his position of power. They protected him. He suddenly realized his commands were meaningless if they decided he was no longer fit to command.
“Let me pass.” Kostas’s tone was firm. He stared into the eyes drilling into him, but nobody moved. Alexis and Katerina stood helplessly at his side. “I said let me pass, you imbeciles!”
“It’s over,” one officer said as though stating a fact.
Kostas didn’t know what else to do. His entire body shook as the laughter burst out of him.
“This isn’t funny,” said another officer who looked ready to grab him by the arms.
“Sometimes the only thing left to do is laugh or cry,” Kostas said, his face hijacked by a ridiculous grin. “Let me laugh.”
Before anyone could stop him, he stepped onto the armrests of his seat and jumped onto the ledge that led to the mezzanine. The upper half of his body clung to the top of the short wall while his legs kicked at the officers who tried grabbing him from behind. The heavy soles of his shoes connected with faces and shoulders as his arms hoisted himself over the ledge.
He tumbled into the mezzanine, knocking over several bottles of liquor along the way. They shattered on the tiled floor beside him with a symphonic crash. He heard people shouting as they climbed in pursuit behind him.
Kostas pulled himself up from the floor with the help of the long bar that ran along the edge. He stumbled around the counter and ran across the room. It was an ominous blur of blue-tinted statues and broad-leafed trees. At first, it seemed as though he might make it out of the theatre. Then the pace of his legs slowed.
Along the far wall of the mezzanine, blocking the doors that led to the halls outside, was a crowd of people. They were dressed in black instead of the usual turquoise and grey uniforms, but Kostas knew they were staff and crew.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, her voice playful yet menacing.
“Get out of my way,” he ordered.
Rosa stood beside Diya. The usual warmth on her face was replaced by something as cold and hard as a slab of marble. She also held a stun gun.
“You’ve lost,” Rosa said. “Now you are the powerless one.”
A stampede of footsteps closed in on Kostas from behind. He spun around to see he was surrounded by two dozen officers. They had followed him over the ledge of the mezzanine and now had their hands held out in front of them, ready to use force if need be.
Kostas knew Rosa was right. He had lost.
Standing there on the tiled floor, trapped between the white uniforms of the ruling class and the black costumes of the rebels, he couldn’t suppress a twisted feeling of pride. This unification was unlike anything he’d seen before. The power had shifted like a rebellious tide, and now he would be drowned by the surge. He was defeated, yes, but he was also proud.
Because he knew all of this had been set in motion by his son.
TWENTY-THREE
The Same Place at the Same Time
Kostas Kourakis was a different man thirty years earlier. The young sailor couldn’t hide the sense of awe that overwhelmed him whenever they pulled into a new port. It was easy to understand. The poor son of an unwed mother never dreamed he would one day travel the world, yet here he was. His fellow Greek shipmates would poke fun at him, but the truth was they were charmed by the young man’s wide-eyed wonder. It was refreshing to be around someone unjaded by life at sea — or by life in general, for that matter. They called him Gélio, the Greek word for “laugh.”
The arid heat of their native Greece had done little to prepare them for Singapore. That evening their stiff white uniforms were transparent with sweat within twenty minutes of leaving the ship.
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