“Welcome to my life,” said Andreas. “Any idea on where to go from here?”
“Seems like something for the big boys.”
“CIA?”
“Them, or MI6, or a few Middle East shops. They’re the ones most likely, outside of Russia, to know if there’s some basis for Russians possibly being involved. The Cold War never ended as far as they’re concerned. They all keep an eye on each other, like jungle cats stalking the same prey. As for knowing for certain,” Tassos shrugged. “Without a major leak or screw-up by someone directly involved, I doubt anyone will ever know. Killing monks isn’t the sort of operation someone’s likely to brag about, even to clandestine ops buddies.”
Andreas drummed his fingers on the table. “If we bring this to one of the big agencies, no telling how they’ll run with it.”
“Or spin it,” said Kouros.
Tassos nodded. “That’s for sure. Once this gets out it won’t be under your control. The big boys will play it to fit their agendas, which I guarantee you are a lot different from finding who killed an old monk on some tiny Greek island.”
“I know, that’s why I don’t want to go that way. At least not yet. So far, all we know for certain is first, there’s a monster of a damn mess out there, and second, someone went out of his way to put me in the middle of it. The only chance I see at getting an angle on what’s going on is if I can find that ‘someone.’” Andreas looked at Tassos. “That’s why I need your help, old friend. Find out who got me into this.”
Tassos smiled. “Would you like me to arrange for world peace while I’m at it?”
Andreas laughed. It had taken time, but Andreas had come around to accepting the value of Tassos’ unorthodox police methods and backchannel contacts, as different as they were from his own. “You’re the only one I know who actually might be able to do that, too. So, what do you say?”
“Can’t think of a better thing to do at this point in my life than blindly jump into the middle of a potential religious war with Russia.”
Andreas smiled and touched Tassos arm. “Thanks. Once again, I owe you. Big time.”
Tassos grinned. “Have you picked out a name for the baby yet?”
Andreas smiled. “If a boy, after my father. If a girl, Lila’s mother.”
Tassos nodded. “Damn well better. Your dad was the best cop I ever knew.” Tassos stood up and patted Andreas on the back. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back.”
Andreas stood. “Are you sure you want to be seen with us?”
Tassos put his arm around Andreas’ waist and steered him toward the car. “My friend, if the Russians are behind this operation they’ve been watching us by satellite all morning, and if it’s somebody else…” he shook his free hand in the air. “Let’s let them know that now they’ve got three of us to deal with.”
Andreas smiled. “I feel so much safer now.”
Tassos took his arm from around Andreas’ waist and smacked him on the back of the head.
On the drive back, Andreas called the abbot to set up interviews with the monks they’d missed the day before.
The abbot was apologetic. “I’m sorry Chief Kaldis, but I never had the chance to tell them you wanted to speak with them. I only learned this morning that they’d taken a late boat Sunday night in order to be back in their monasteries in time for Easter observances.”
Andreas let out a deep breath.
“I’ll e-mail you their names and how to get in touch with them as soon I get that information. I’ll also send you copies of whatever computer backup we find for Vassilis’ work, but so far our network administrator has found nothing for him newer than two months ago. Sorry.”
“Thanks, just get everything to me right away. Okay?”
“Certainly. Goodbye.”
Andreas looked at the bright side: there was nothing left for him to do on Patmos, at least for the moment. He turned to Yianni in the back seat. “Looks like we get to go home.” Then he looked over at Tassos. “Would you like us to give you a lift to Syros? The extra weight is no problem for the helicopter, it’s a big one.” He smiled.
Tassos gave him the middle finger gesture. “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll drop you at the heliport. It wouldn’t be fair to my friend who sailed though the night to get me here by dawn if I left him to make the four-hour return trip home alone.”
For most men, twenty minutes or so in the air versus four-plus hours on a choppy sea back to the island capital of the Cyclades was a no-brainer choice. That, Andreas thought, was another reason Tassos had so many well-connected friends willing to do so much for him: he never took them for granted. Andreas hoped somewhere out there one of those friends had an answer. Any answer.
***
Tassos dropped them off at the heliport and drove down toward the harbor. He knew this wasn’t a simple murder and that Andreas knew it, too. There was something almost spooky about this one. And a lot of toes to step on: Greek, Russian, and God knows what else. He didn’t mind that so much; he just wished there were a head he could bust or an arm he could twist to get a lead, some place to start. He let out a breath. It would come to him, it always did. God willing.
***
“Surprise, I’m back. See, I kept my promise.”
Lila chuckled into the phone. “I know. Tassos called. He said he’d made sure to ship you home.”
“He’s such a bastard.” Andreas laughed.
“So, when do I get to see you?”
Andreas looked at his watch. “We’re on the way to the office—”
“So, sometime before midnight?”
“No, honest, I should be home this afternoon.” He looked at his watch. It wasn’t even noon.
Lila laughed. “Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry, do what you have to do. Just knowing you’re nearby is all the comfort I need. Kisses.”
Andreas hung up and stared out the window, wondering what he’d done to deserve her. And how much longer could she stand a life with him. He didn’t want to think about that.
Fifteen minutes later he was back at GADA. Athens was a place more than five million called home, and where few ever seemed to be asleep at the same time. Some never seemed to sleep at all. GADA was in the heart of the action, across the street from the stadium of one of Greece’s two most popular soccer teams, down the block from Greece’s Supreme Court, and next to a major hospital.
No sooner did Andreas sit behind his desk than Maggie came bouncing through his office door. She dropped an envelope on the desk. “So, what did he have to say?”
“What did who have to say?”
“Tassos.”
“Of course, how could I have thought this was about police business?”
“It is about police business, I don’t need to ask you what he has to say about other things.” Maggie smiled. “I want to know if he can help you find the guy you’re looking for.”
Andreas stared at her. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“When he called to find out where you were, I knew it had to be serious if he wouldn’t talk to you over the phone, and since we both know what he’s good at,” she seemed to swoon at a different thought, “I figured you were looking for someone.”
Andreas shook his head. “You’d have made a terrific cop.”
“Too limiting.” She turned and left.
He watched her bounce out the door; five-feet, three-inches of red-topped, endless energy.
Andreas opened the envelope. It contained the photographs he’d given Kouros of the crime scene. He took them out and spread them on his desk. There were dozens. What a tragedy. Time to focus: on each photograph, on each section of each photograph, on everything in context with all else. Looking, studying, hoping to find a clue, anything that might help. But all he kept seeing was the same thing: a sad-looking, silver-haired monk, lying dead on a street, clutching a
cross. What a terrible end for such a wonderful life, for any life.
He stood up and walked over to the window. What was going through that monk’s mind when faced with the end of his life? To accept his death…to fight…to pass along a message? There were no signs of a fight or a message, and he was clutching his cross. His choice seemed clear. Acceptance.
Andreas had reached a dead end. Now it was up to Tassos.
Chapter Six
Andreas was in the middle of a dozen things on a half dozen different cases when Maggie buzzed him. “It’s him.”
He didn’t have to ask whom she meant; he just picked up the phone. “Are you about to make me as happy as you’re making my secretary?”
“I hope so—but differently.”
“Where are you?” Andreas looked at his watch. It wasn’t even two. “You can’t be back on Syros.”
“No, we stopped for lunch on Ikaria.”
“Ikaria?” It was a northern Aegean island, a little less than halfway between Patmos and Syros. “Why Ikaria?”
“I have a lot of friends here from the old days.”
Andreas knew that for Tassos the “old days” meant Greece’s military dictatorship years, between 1967 and 1974, and his time spent as a rookie cop in an island prison guarding the junta’s political enemies. He’d taken great pains to befriend all the politicians under his care as a hedge against Greece’s return to democracy. That made him great friends among both outright fascists and hardcore communists. No doubt the ones on Ikaria fell into the latter category. It was a bastion for communists long ago forced to relocate there from other parts of Greece.
“I have what you want. I’m on a landline, do you want to chance it?”
“What the hell, if every phone line in this country’s tapped, we’re wasting our time trying to save it anyway. Shoot.”
“It was a lot easier than I thought. The person who called the minister of public order to get you assigned to the case didn’t try to hide who he was. Everyone in the office knew.”
“Why don’t I think I’m going to like what’s coming.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as you think.” Then Tassos told him the name.
“Great, a former prime minister. How’s that not bad news? Who’s possibly going to make him talk? He’s untouchable, another dead end.”
“Are you finished?”
Andreas slammed his hand on the desk.
“As I was saying, it was easier than I thought. You see, the person who got him to make the call also must have figured that a former prime minister was untouchable, that no one possibly could force him into revealing a confidence, and so he didn’t bother to use an intermediary when asking for the favor. What he didn’t know was that the prime minister owed a few favors of his own.”
“I could kiss you.”
“Don’t pucker up quite yet. The prime minister has, as he admits, ‘a weakness for contraband antiquities,’ and that’s had me bailing him out of more than one politically sensitive nightmare. But he’s of the kind that doesn’t like being reminded of favors owed. When I told him what I wanted, he raged on about ‘How dare I ask him to betray his word,’ ‘Who did I think I was asking him to violate a confidence,’ etcetera, and he threatened to hang up.” Tassos paused. “But he didn’t.”
Andreas could almost see a grin through the phone.
“We reached a compromise. He said he couldn’t give me the name because there’d be no way for him to deny he was the source. Instead, he gave me a phone number. Said it’s for the man who wanted you assigned to the case. Our distinguished former prime minister’s exact words were, ‘Take this number and lose mine.’”
“The next sound you hear will be a kiss—”
“Hate to wreck your style, but I’ve a boat to catch. I checked out the number, it’s in Thessaloniki.” Thessaloniki was Greece’s second largest city, located in northeast Greece. Tassos quickly read off the number, then repeated it. “Bye-bye.”
“Thanks, kiss, kiss.” Andreas stared at the number, then pressed the intercom. “Maggie, come in here, please.”
She was in before he hung up.
“I need you to find out what you can about this number.” Andreas held out a piece of paper.
She didn’t take it. “It’s a Thessaloniki number, no further information.”
He stared at her. “You ran it for him, didn’t you?”
Maggie shrugged. “He was on a boat in the middle of the Aegean, and we knew you’d want to know. What’s the problem?”
Andreas put the paper down. “No problem. Just wondering why I’m always the last to know what’s going on in my own office.”
“You’re too busy handling the big things.” She smiled. “Besides, we want to try to get you home in time for dinner, don’t we?” She turned and left.
Andreas stared at the door. Now the women in his life were teaming up on him. He stood no chance.
He shut his eyes and sat quietly for several minutes, then picked up the phone and dialed. It rang six times and he was about to—
“Hello.” It was a formal, resonant, male voice.
Andreas swallowed. “It is I.”
“And whom would that be?”
“The chosen one.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, or how you got this number.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“You chose me.”
There was a pause. “I heard you were good. Chief Inspector Kaldis, I presume.”
Andreas thought to reach out for the man’s name, but decided it better to act as if he already knew his identity. “So, where do you want to meet?”
“Why should I meet you?”
“Oh, you’re definitely going to meet me. I’m just giving you the choice of having me show up on your doorstep with a brass band, or doing it less conspicuously at a location of your choosing.” Andreas held his breath. If the man hung up, he was nowhere.
“Give me a minute.”
It seemed like an hour.
“How’s seven tonight at the Sofitel?”
“At Venizelos Airport?”
“Yes, call this number when you get there.”
“See you then.”
“Looking forward to it. Goodbye.” The line went dead.
Andreas didn’t hang up. He dialed Lila’s number. So much for making it home this afternoon. He still might make it for dinner, if it wasn’t an early one.
***
Andreas and Kouros were at the hotel by four. A team sat in a van directly across from the hotel entrance with instructions to photograph everyone going in and out, as well as anyone in its outdoor café adjacent to the entrance. The hotel’s front door was fifty yards from the main terminal and the place had a virtual monopoly on anyone needing a room at Athens’ international airport. It also was convenient for travelers looking for a place to meet with locals. Many simply sat at the café, did their business, and left without ever going inside the hotel. Andreas guessed this guy would want privacy and get a room for their meeting. A male-female team was instructed to hang out in the lobby, photographing everyone getting off the elevators, just in case he’d already checked in.
At precisely seven Andreas strode into the lobby and dialed the number.
“Hello.”
“I’m here.”
“You need a room key to get the elevator to stop at my floor. I’ll send someone down to meet you.”
“What does the ‘someone’ look like?”
The man laughed. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Andreas wondered if he should reconsider his decision to meet without backup. He thought to say something to his team in the lobby but decided against it; someone might be watching him now that he’d made that call. He walked to the elevators. The only
thing waiting for him was a massive reproduction of a classic, white marble Cycladic statue of a female form, arms crossed below the chest. It stood against the far wall at the end of the elevator bank. He was staring at it when an elevator door next to him opened.
A couple in jeans, tee-shirts, sneakers, and matching baseball caps stepped out, speaking English and clutching a map. Nope, not them. Another elevator door opened. This one was at the far end, next to the statue.
A man stepped out and turned to face Andreas. The statue vanished. The sun would have disappeared behind this guy. He was a giant, but not just any giant, a graying blond one in full Eastern Orthodox cleric dress: hat, cross, and all. Backup no longer seemed relevant. They’d need a howitzer to stop this guy. Andreas stepped inside the open door and the cleric followed. He put a room key into the slot by the floor buttons and pressed six.
If this guy’s taking me to room 666 I’m not going in. His private Book of Revelation joke had Andreas smiling to himself, but then the man opened the door to room 616. The man waved him inside without saying a word or entering the room, then closed the door behind Andreas. Another man was inside, alone in the room, sitting on a chair by the window. The sunlight passing through the window made it difficult to make him out.
“Welcome, my son.” The man did not stand, just extended his right hand.
He was wearing a finely tailored, dark blue suit, like the Italian one Lila had bought Andreas for his birthday. He wasn’t sure if he should shake or kiss the man’s hand. Perhaps this was a test to see if Andreas actually knew who he was. Andreas moved slightly to the left as he approached him, just enough to shield the sun a bit and get a better look. The man was old but looked fit. His silver hair was pulled into a tight bun behind his head, in the fashion of Italian movie stars. And Greek clerics. Andreas bent over and kissed the man’s hand.
Prey on Patmos Page 6