But the sun would soon shine again. Even brighter than before. Once Aryan is arrested by the Greeks he’s as good as dead. We have friends in Greek prisons to see to that.
Malik took a sip of raki.
When my colleagues realize how efficiently I’ve arranged to eliminate our collective problem, even to the extent of first allowing him time to liquidate that difficult NGO woman, they’ll all be clamoring for me to lead them. Malik smirked. I guess I should thank Aryan for all he’s done to make me look so good.
He took another sip. His look turned sullen.
But how can they respect me as their leader when I cannot control my own wife? He gulped down another swallow.
He glared out the doorway toward the living room. That’s where they first did it. Where the adulteress humiliated me. I’ll rain hell down on that whore as soon as he’s gone. Malik swigged down the rest of his drink. But why must I wait? He’s as good as dead now.
Malik pushed himself back from the table and staggered toward the door.
“Wife, where are you? It is your husband calling for you. Come to me now, you whore!”
l l l l l
Andreas wasn’t sure their subtle psychological ploy with the initials in the press release would work. Nor was he sure he wanted it to work. If it did, a killer as unhinged as this one might do something drastic, just to prove he couldn’t be toyed with.
That was the phrase Dana had used: “I think the best way to get at him is to toy with his mind.”
Letting Aryan know Dana actually knew his name seemed the obvious way to go, but if she simply announced it in a press release, he’d no longer have a reason beyond revenge to risk going after her. It would also make the press conference anticlimactic. No, they needed a more subtle way of letting Aryan know Dana intended to expose him.
Yianni had suggested using Aryan’s initials.
“Somehow calling him ‘A K’ doesn’t seem much more subtle than using his name,” said Andreas.
“They’re also your initials, Chief,” added Dana.
“That certainly will attract the attention of the press,” smiled the commander.
“We have to do it in a way that appeals to his intellect,” said Dana. “Something that gets him to realize I am telling only him that I know who he is.”
“Sounds a bit complicated, and if we make it too subtle he might miss it completely,” said Yianni.
“What if we use words starting with his initials to describe him?” said Dana.
“Like, ‘Today, I’ll name the asshole killer?’” said Yianni.
“That’s the idea,” said Dana, “but still too subtle. We need something more definitively tied to him. Something he won’t miss.”
“Maybe we should use capital letters for ‘asshole’ and ‘killer’ or underline his initials in those words?” said the commander.
Dana gestured no. “That’s way too obvious. It tells the whole world we’re trying to say something with the initials.”
“It also screams trap.” Andreas leaned back in his chair. “I like the idea of using the initials of the men you’ll be identifying at the press conference in the words you use to describe them in the press release. If our killer’s as smart as we think, he’ll pick up on the two sets of initials as being far too precise to be a coincidence.”
“I think it’s still too subtle,” said the commander. “And our killer may not be that smart.”
“If you’re right, the worst that happens is nothing beyond a very uneventful press conference.” Andreas looked at Dana. “Because aside from their initials, I’m not going to risk your life by giving you their names to shout to the press.”
Dana smiled. “I’ll take that as a gesture of kindness rather than distrust.”
“Good,” said Andreas. “So, let’s come up with some perfect words for describing AK and MT.”
While the others had worked on the press release, the commander called his friend, the Bishop, to request the use of the monastery and his participation in the service. The Bishop required no convincing because he’d considered Mihalis a true friend. Nor did he fear the danger when told of the risk for, as he explained, such battles with the devil’s minions bespoke the very the history of the monastery.
The commander patiently listened as the Bishop recounted a story the commander had heard before. In the tenth century, Lesvos and many other Aegean islands found themselves plagued by Saracen pirates, who’d plunder, kill, or enslave all those they found. The high, thick walls of the monastery at Mantamados protected its monks from such battles. But early one spring night, as the monks prepared the monastery for Easter, they’d failed to anticipate a pirate raid that early in the year, and posted no lookout to keep watch.
While the monks were at prayer, pirates crept into the monastery and slaughtered every soul but a novice monk, Gabriel, who’d managed to escape to the roof. As the pirates retreated with their plunder, they spied Gabriel on the roof and returned to kill him. They used ladders to climb to him, but as they set foot on the roof, it turned into a raging sea, above which loomed a mighty ferocious fighter in his metal shoes wielding a sword spouting tongues of fire, and he plunged into the mass of pirates, sending them fleeing for their lives and abandoning their plunder.
When Gabriel came down from the roof, he saw his colleagues all dead, and realized he’d been the only one saved by Archangel Michael. From the blood of the slaughtered, and the soil of the place where they perished, he fashioned the bas-relief icon of Archangel Michael that survived to this day in the monastery as one of few such embossed icons in all of Orthodoxy.
The Bishop continued on, and by the time he’d finished and hung up, the others were well into completing the press release.
“So, how did it go?” said Andreas.
“The Bishop’s all in with the plan.”
“Great,” said Andreas.
The commander drew in and let out a breath. “He reminded me of something I’d forgotten about the monastery. It has me thinking fate might be playing a big hand in steering us there to honor Volandes.” He repeated the story leading up to Gabriel’s creation of the icon.
“I’ve heard that story before,” said Dana, “but I don’t see how any of that ties fate into our situation.”
“It’s what happened afterwards,” said the commander. “A shepherd boy saw the pirate ships close by the shore and ran to the monastery to warn the monks, but he was too late. He raced off to tell the villagers of the slaughter, and after confirming what the boy had seen, the villagers charged off in pursuit of the pirates. When they reached a high point overlooking the shore, the bodies of pirates lay scattered everywhere.”
The commander paused to swallow. “Each one killed by an identical single blow from the sword of Archangel Michael.”
He paused again. “Slicing each pirate cleanly in half, from his forehead down through his crotch.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The man knew what to expect. The change in location would disrupt planning, but not change the ultimate result. The assassination might not meet professional standards but no bomb would be used. Bombs killed indiscriminately, and brought with them frenzied media attention. No, this would be done as a personal, directed attack. One that the media would find only brief value in covering.
After all, he thought, that’s the essential purpose of what’s underway on Lesvos, to stay anonymous, unnoticed, and uninteresting to all but those who hire you to do their killing.
In order to get a fix on the assassin’s revised plan, he had to visit the monastery at once. He knew the police would be expecting the assassin to do just that, but he had no choice. The risk had to be taken. The question was, how to make his pilgrimage inconspicuous?
I must keep my presence a surprise.
l l l l l
As Andreas saw it, the response to Dana’s
press release so exceeded expectations as to fall into the category of unbridled nightmare. The media went wild promoting details of a promised live announcement later that afternoon of both Mihalis Volandes’ killer and the man who’d hired him. When the people of Lesvos heard that the Bishop had scheduled a special service at Taxiarchis in the presence of the holy icon of Archangel Michael to honor one bearing his name, many who worshipped the icon’s legendary healing powers took it as a divine sign for anyone in serious need of hope, healing, or salvation to attend.
By mid-afternoon, pious and curious from all over Lesvos had joined together in a growing processional. Some trekked toward the monastery by foot or on horseback, the same as many would during the soon-to-be-held Festival of Taxiarchis, but others drove, each now part of a spontaneous pilgrimage, hoping for some promised revelation.
The commander hung up his phone after taking a call from a colleague reporting on the masses headed toward the monastery. He looked at Andreas. “So much for moving the conference out of town to keep the crowds down.”
Andreas shook his head. “It’s called shit happens. We’ll find a way to deal with it.”
“The crowds make it a lot easier for the killer to blend in among the faithful.”
“Look at the upside,” said Andreas. “It makes it unlikely he’ll use a bomb. Setting one off in a large crowd would label him a terrorist and trigger a relentless worldwide search. Something he definitely doesn’t want.”
“Should I take that as hope, prayer, or fact?” said Dana.
“Any way you’d like,” said Andreas, “but don’t get too comfortable. As far as you’re concerned, it doesn’t change a thing. He’ll just choose a more selective targeting method to try and take you out.”
“So, now what do we do?” asked the commander.
“Distribute the killer’s photo and description to every cop working the crowd, and make sure they pay particular attention to males. Especially any dressed as priests or monks.”
“I’d also keep an eye out for bent-over yiayias wrapped in black shawls,” said Yianni.
“Noted,” said the commander, “though I doubt he’ll go in for the grandmotherly look.”
“He’ll go for whatever gets him out alive,” said Yianni.
“What about in?” said Dana.
“He’s probably already where he wants to be,” said Andreas.
“How are you going to find him?” asked Dana.
“Don’t worry, we will,” said Andreas.
“But how?” Her voice cracked. “Or are you waiting for him to find me?”
The commander leaned forward. “He’s only one man, not a superman, not even Harry Potter with a cloak of invisibility.”
“Nice try, Commander,” said Dana, “but that’s not reassuring. It’s condescending bullshit.”
Andreas slapped his hands on his thighs. “Okay, folks, time to head out to the monastery.”
“How are we getting there?” asked Dana.
“With us,” said Andreas.
“If Ali and I show up in a police car, won’t that scare the killer away? I think we should get there on our own.”
“I think she’s right, Chief,” said Yianni. “He’ll expect police to be there for crowd control, but if she shows up with us in the same car it’ll look like we’re all in it together and smell like a setup.”
Andreas bit at his lip. “Fine, if you want to drive yourself, go ahead. But not with Ali in the same car. That makes it too easy for him to take you both out at once.”
“But I have no way to get there on my own,” said Ali.
Dana turned to the commander. “What about your daughter? Can she give Ali a ride?”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Nothing,” said Dana, not looking him in the eye. “But she once offered to help in any way that she could, and this would be a big help.”
“I don’t want her involved.”
Dana shrugged. “If it’s as safe as you say, and the killer’s not superman, what’s the risk to her of simply giving Ali a ride to the monastery?”
Andreas winked at Yianni.
“Just ask her, please,” said Dana.
Andreas stood up. “Whatever you decide, do it quickly, because we’ve got to get moving. There’s a lot to do at the monastery, and not a lot of time in which to do it.”
The commander picked up his phone and hit a speed dial number, staring at Dana as he did. “Why do I sense there’s something you’re not telling me?”
Dana shrugged.
Andreas stage whispered to Yianni. “Parental intuition.”
l l l l l
Aleka knocked on her boss’ door, wondering how to explain that her father wanted her to take off from work so that she could provide taxi service for her boss’ former number one murder suspect. She couldn’t lie about the reason; the entire island would soon know where she’d been and with whom. Nor could she let him know she knew about the letter he’d sent off to the prosecutor that morning, wrongly accusing her of incompetence. She expected him to be aggressive, so she drew a deep breath and let it out.
“Come in.”
Aleka opened the door. “Sir—”
“What is it?” He sounded more abrupt than usual.
“I need to take the rest of the day off.”
“Why not?” He waved his hands around in front of him. “You have me here to do all your work. Perhaps you’d like to come in around noon tomorrow, so you have ample time to recuperate from your imperative social demands?”
“It’s not something personal.”
“You mean you’re doing lab business on the side?”
Keep your cool. “My father needs me to drive someone to Taxiarchis.”
“So, our illustrious police commander is reduced to poaching on my manpower? Excuse me, womanpower.”
He’s trying to rile me. “I guess you could ask him if you’d like. From what I understand, the suspect in the Volandes murder case released this morning is to attend a press conference at the monastery, but the suspect doesn’t feel comfortable being asked to take a ride in the country in a police car.”
“Ah, and of course, he’ll be far more comfortable with you. Go please.” He shooed her away with his fingers. “And close the door behind you.”
She did as he asked, but left thoroughly confused. He’d gone from active belligerence to defeated resignation in a single sentence.
All she could think as she headed to her car was, Why?
l l l l l
He sat at his desk, biting his lip and staring at the door Aleka had just closed. How had he ever gotten this deeply involved with a madman? Then again, what choice did he have? The killer somehow knew of his past indiscretions in other cases, and though this was a far more celebrated victim than any of the others he’d helped creatively inter over the years, it would be his undoing if he refused. The killer had all the facts he needed to expose him in a scandal that would land him in prison.
The money he’d been paid for placing blame on the refugee was secondary. He agreed to do as the killer asked in order to protect his reputation and family. Well, his reputation. His wife had left him, taking the children with her, two years before. Besides, the killer would have murdered Volandes anyway. It wasn’t as if he could have saved him.
But now things had taken a decidedly grim turn. The situation no longer loomed as simply a matter of his being exposed as corrupt, but of him making decisions that could end up with him dead. The killer had called yesterday morning and told him to change his report so that the refugee suspect was released at once. He’d told the killer that was impossible. That’s when the killer said, “Do it or die,” and hung up.
In a panic, he dictated a letter to the prosecutor, announcing how he’d no choice but to overrule Aleka’s findings in the Volandes inv
estigation due to her grossly incompetent work, and had it delivered to the prosecutor along with his recommendation that the accused refugee be released at once. Only later, in preparation for a possible call from the prosecutor for specific details, did he take another look at the report. That’s when he saw she’d not signed her name, but written instead, “I disagree.”
He’d screamed so loudly that his secretary had come running into his office. He pointed at the report, and said Aleka must have stolen the original version from his desk. That’s when his secretary told him that Dana McLaughlin, the foreign activist and employer of the murder suspect, had met with Aleka in one of the examination rooms after refusing to speak in front of her.
Not knowing what to do, he’d kept his temper in check and not said a word to the bitch until she walked into his office with that request from her asshole father. The bastard had probably put her up to what she’d done to him.
Now all three of them would be together at a press conference. Who knew what they were up to? Nothing good for him, that was certain. He shut his eyes. What should I do? What can I do?
His eyes popped open and he grabbed for his mobile phone. He scanned through recent calls, found the number he wanted, and called it. He crossed himself, hoping for a voice to answer.
“Yes.”
“I have some information on who will be attending that press conference this afternoon which may be of interest to you.”
“I’m all ears,” said Aryan.
An Aegean April Page 25