Prey on Patmos

by Jeffery Siger

  “What do you know about Zacharias?”

  “He’s very well educated, speaks a half-dozen languages, and came to Mount Athos in the mid-nineties.”

  “From where?”

  “I don’t know his origins, but his passport is Swiss. I know because he once asked me if he should obtain a Greek passport now that he was a Greek citizen.”

  “What rank does he hold in his monastery?”

  “None, he does not want rank. Which perhaps is why he’s so well thought of by so many. He presents no threat.”

  Andreas thought, this guy Zacharias seems too good to be true. What’s he doing in the outcast monastery if he’s so talented? “Do you happen to have a file on him?”

  The Protos paused. “What you’re asking is highly irregular.”

  “So is the murder of a monk. And I’m trying to keep it that way.”

  The Protos let out a breath. “You have your own special way with words.”

  “Can you arrange for me to come up and meet with Zacharias?”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “Impossible, this is Holy Week.”

  “Your Holiness, I appreciate all that but like I said—”

  “My son, I understand what you’re about to say, but you don’t understand. That monastery has the strictest rules of any on our Holy Mountain. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed access during Easter Week. From Sunday to the following Sunday at noon it has no contact with the outside world. There is no telephone and even electricity is forbidden during that holy period. There is no way you can visit or communicate with Zacharias until Sunday afternoon.”

  Andreas let out a deep breath. “When can you get me his file?”

  “The one I have, right away, but it contains little more than what I’ve said. Any additional information would be in his monastery’s file.”

  “And not available until Sunday.”

  “Assuming the abbot cooperates. Sorry.”

  Andreas thought damn, but said, “Thank you, Your Holiness.”

  “You’re welcome, my son.” He paused. “And I appreciate all that you’re doing. Bless you and your family.”

  “Thank you.”

  Between the garlic and the blessing things were looking up. Now if only he had some idea of where the devil to look for an answer, or something like that.

  ***

  This was the time of year he liked least. Most held the opposite belief. They lived for the pageantry and depth of Orthodox Easter. He couldn’t stand being cooped up for almost eight days, and counted off every day, every hour, until Sunday noon, his own resurrection day. But he never let on. Never. He had their trust and wasn’t about to lose it with a casual gesture or word. No, he wouldn’t let down his guard for a second.

  Gaining trust wasn’t as hard as many thought, at least not for Zacharias. He’d been doing it for years, long before finding his way into monastic life. Through time and patience he’d take the measure of one he wished to befriend, then with an easy smile, become exactly what the other wanted him to be, allowing his target to take center stage and credit for whatever mattered to the other. And when the potential friend questioned Zacharias’ motives—and that time always came—Zacharias was at his best.

  He’d confide a past that made him less than perfect, one that encouraged rescue and, in a monastery, a shared desire for salvation. His story forged a relationship in spiritual steel. The other now “knew” Zacharias’ weaknesses and understood him completely: Zacharias was a soul seeking redemption and a place in heaven through a revived life of selfless good works and prayer.

  And to keep all of them believing that, he’d keep on praying.

  ***

  “These still are pretty good.” Kouros was eating one of the spanikopita from the night before.

  “Obviously, you’re a bachelor,” said Andreas.

  “And proud of it.” He finished off the last bite and reached for another one.

  “Stop already, I’m getting sick watching you eat that crap.”

  Kouros didn’t stop. “So, how did your early morning call go to the Protos?”

  “Just terrific, everything’s absolutely perfect in paradise. The answer to our question on the surprise appearance of the twentieth abbot at the Protos’ ceremony turns out to be a dead end. We’ve got a savior monk reuniting the gone-astray monastery with the flock. And I can’t even talk to that monk until Sunday morning.”

  “Sunday, why Sunday?”

  “No person or communication is allowed to enter or exit that monastery from Palm Sunday through noon on Easter Sunday.”

  “Bummer. Which monastery is it?”

  “The one Maggie and I were talking about last night.”

  “Chief, you never mentioned the name. The two of you were looking at some paper and I was falling asleep.”

  Andreas shook his head and said the name.

  Kouros stopped in mid-bite. “You’re kidding me?”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the monastery of the three missing monks. The monks we never got to interview on Patmos.”

  Andreas sat up in his chair. “The same ones Abbot Christodoulos said left to return—”

  “Sunday night. But if what the Protos told you was true, no way they could have made it back to that monastery in time to take part in Easter Week.”

  Andreas nodded his head.

  “Maybe you misunderstood what the abbot said?”

  “No way.” Andreas paused. “But maybe he didn’t know that monastery’s rule and just thought that’s where they were going.”

  “Maybe, but before the abbot came to Patmos he was on Mount Athos for a half dozen years. If that monastery was as strict as the Protos said, he must have known they couldn’t have made it back to their monastery in time.”

  “Kind of makes you wonder.” Andreas picked up a pencil, stared it, and put it back down on his desk. “Let’s see what the abbot has to say for himself.”

  ***

  Lila always liked time to herself and had no doubt that’s what helped keep her from going mad when, after her husband’s death, virtually every eligible man in Athens and beyond was after her. She detested all the phony posturing and hustle of the dating scene, and learned that “eligible” could be a relative term to many a currently married man who saw landing Lila as a unique opportunity for “trading up” the social ladder. She’d even tinkered with the idea of escaping her suitors by hiding away in a monastery for nuns. But the fates were Greek and they had their own plans for her. Or so Lila now liked to say.

  At the moment, though, Lila was not alone. Her mother had stopped by and they were sitting in Lila’s kitchen having coffee. As a child, Lila would sit in her mother’s kitchen and watch her hover around the cooks, making sure everything was prepared “just like your father likes it.” Even though her mother never had to cook or touch a dirty dish, she was as much an old-school Greek wife as any you’d find in the remotest mountain village: husband ruled, wife did all else—albeit, in Lila’s mother’s case, with a houseful of servants to help.

  Kitchens were where Lila and her mother liked to talk when alone. They preferred the cramped intimacy of a cluttered kitchen table to the formality of china- and silver-filled dining rooms.

  Lila sighed. “I never expected this to happen.”

  Her mother glanced at Lila’s belly.

  Lila stroked her tummy. “No, mother, not the baby, I mean this.” She waved her hands around and over her head. “I didn’t even know Andreas ten months ago. Now we’re about to have a baby together.”

  Her mother nodded. “Are you afraid?”

  Lila’s lip quivered. “Yes. And I feel so ashamed that I am.” She started crying.

  Her mother handed her a handkerchief. “If you weren’t somewhat afraid it wouldn’t be nat
ural. You’re close to the most intimate moment of a woman’s life, giving birth to a being you will love more deeply than yourself for the rest of your life.” She reached over and stroked Lila’s hair. “It is a moment for great joy. And great fear. But you are blessed. Andreas is a wonderful man and will be a terrific father.”

  Lila threw the handkerchief on the table. “But he won’t marry me. He won’t even talk about it.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  From her mother’s tone Lila could tell she had asked the question with a pretty good idea of the answer. It was her style of parenting: don’t tell, lead and elicit. “He’s afraid, too.”

  Her mother nodded.

  “But why? He must know that I love him.”

  “Of course he does. He’s just not sure that’s enough for you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You come from different backgrounds. He fears you later may regret your decision, that your feelings for him now are tied into having a baby together.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you think the same way?” There was angry tone in Lila’s voice.

  Her mother smiled. “One of the things I like most about Andreas is how he’s learned to deal with this confrontational streak of yours. No, I don’t think that way. Besides, it’s not my life that will be affected by second thoughts and ‘what ifs.’”

  “I have no such issues.”

  “Good, then don’t push things.”

  “But it’s difficult to act as if I don’t care whether or not he marries me.”

  “I know, but trust me, he’ll come around. After all, how could he resist the best person in the world?” She stood up and kissed Lila on the forehead. “And the mother of his baby.” She patted Lila’s belly. “Got to run.”

  Lila smiled and took her mother’s hand. “Thanks, I love you.”

  She’s right, Lila thought. I shouldn’t push. Instead, maybe I should try hitting him over the head with a frying pan until he proposes? No chance, he’d never feel it. She chuckled despite herself.

  ***

  The abbot was not pleased at the surprise visit. Even less so when Andreas insisted that the procession of monks entering his office, dropping to their knees before him, crossing themselves, and kissing his hand must end, and those already seated in his office told to leave.

  “We are reviewing the plans for tomorrow morning’s Holy Thursday Ceremony of the Basin. We have very important things to discuss.”

  “So do we, but unless you want to risk washing dirty laundry in front of everyone here today, I suggest you excuse them for now.”

  Andreas could see the abbot was angry, but he told his monks to leave.

  “This better be important.”

  Andreas was in no mood to be politic with anyone. “If I were you, I’d hope it isn’t.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Do you remember telling me that the three monks we wanted to interview had left Patmos before you had the chance to speak to them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that they’d left by boat late Sunday night?”

  The abbot hesitated slightly. “Yes.”

  “And that the reason they left was so that they could ‘be back in their monasteries in time for Easter observances’?” Andreas emphasized the last words with quotation marks from his fingers.

  The abbot glared in a way Andreas figured he reserved for withering a most out-of-favor monk. Andreas looked at his watch, crossed his legs, and smiled.

  The abbot blinked and let out a breath. “Okay, so you learned they couldn’t have returned home in time to celebrate Easter Week within their monasteries.”

  “That’s monastery. They all came from the same one,” said Andreas.

  The abbot bristled. “They are men who have found salvation and repentance in God and whatever they may have done in the past has nothing to do with Vassilis.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Interesting, a monk who lived in your monastery for forty years gets his throat cut and you take it upon yourself to protect strangers who might be able to help us find his killer. I admire your sense of loyalty.” Andreas watched the abbot struggle to retain control.

  “The three, they are from the Balkan conflict. They came to Mount Athos and earned the right to a new life. That is nothing new. For centuries Byzantine and Serbian rulers have sought and received refuge there. But police may not agree, and I saw no reason to involve them in this.”

  “Or perhaps embarrass whoever gave them sanctuary?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  The abbot’s back was up and he seemed ready for a fight. Andreas stared straight into his eyes. “I think you’re way out of line on this, and in way over your head. I don’t know what you’re thinking or who you’re afraid of, but one thing is for sure, you’re going to end up on the wrong side of things if you don’t tell me what you know, and I mean tell me now.” It was a wing and a prayer bluff, but one aimed at most politicians’ knee-jerk propensity for protecting self-interest over all else.

  The abbot’s face looked as if he’d missed that possibility, and for the first time he sounded unsure. “I cannot tell you a name, but I’m not refusing out of fear. It would betray a deep confidence of a true friend. I never will reveal his name. He put those three men onto the true path of the Lord, and I trust his judgment completely. I’m sure Vassilis would have agreed.”

  “Did Vassilis know him, whoever ‘he’ may be?”

  “Vassilis knew of him and of my regard for him, but we never talked about him.” He paused. “Although I think he knew Vassilis.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the three you seek sought out Vassilis. I assume to convey his regards.”

  Andreas struggled to hold back what he was dying to say.

  “He is a spiritual gift to our life. I would never betray him,” said the abbot.

  Andreas bit his tongue. “I admire loyalty, but blind loyalty can lead you into the abyss. Now, where are the three men?”

  The abbot stared out the window. “Honestly, I have no idea. All I know is they are gone from here.”

  “From Patmos?”

  He paused. “From here.”

  Andreas took that to mean he was finished with protecting them, but also with cooperating. Time to let him get back to preparing for tomorrow’s ceremony. Andreas wondered who got to play Judas.

  ***

  What Zacharias missed most was his cell phone. The abbot forbade them in the monastery, and they didn’t work inside anyway. He’d tried, many times. If only he could convince the abbot that modern communication was not a thing of the devil. He’d tried that, too, many times, but the abbot was firm. As long as any telephone number contained the combination 666, the abbot considered all phones linked to Revelation’s Beast of Satan.

  With so much in play on the outside at the moment, being incommunicado for more than a week was taking its toll on Zacharias’ good nature. He had to work extra hard at showing he was easygoing and stress-free.

  Just take it one day at a time, he was thinking as he chanted prayers with his brethren. Stay under the radar, do not draw attention to yourself. It was a mantra he’d picked up many years before during another period of confinement, surrounded by lines of razor wire and watched over closely by men with guns.

  That worked for him then; it’s what made him invisible and allowed him to escape. And it’s what was working for him now; it enabled him to remain in the shadows, quietly amassing a group that shared his vision or, to be more precise, a message he knew would sell. In his other life Zacharias had learned another important truth: it wasn’t the message that mattered, it was whether people were willing to buy it. All he needed was a malleable ally in each monastery, one he could promote to the other monks, and the message would carry itself. So f
ar, so good—three tries, three new abbots.

  And his vision was so very simple, only a slight variation on the message of Revelation to the seven churches: Let us find someone who will resolve our monasteries’ problems, lead us back to our first love of God, address the heresy that has infiltrated us, set our priorities back on the right path, and help us to reach out to save our fellow man.

  It was a message that gave Zacharias a lot of flexibility. Yes, he definitely knew how to go with what sold.

  ***

  “‘Into the abyss.’ You actually said that?” Kouros was shaking his head. They were standing in the piazza outside the monastery.

  “I don’t know, the place is spiritual, the words just came to me.” Andreas grinned. “At least I didn’t ask if the name of his mysterious best friend was ‘Zacharias.’”

  “I admired your discipline.”

  “Yeah, the moment of satisfaction wasn’t worth it. I can guarantee you that bringing up Zacharias’ name to the abbot would get back to him. And with all the powerful friends he seems to have, the last thing we need is Zacharias thinking we’re interested in him. We know he’s covering up a past and probably has a lot of favors he can call in to help keep it that way.”

  “On Sunday.”

  “In these days of text messages and cell phones, who knows? Better to play dumb and see what we can learn elsewhere.”

  “Where do you suggest we start looking?”

  “Hungry?”

  Kouros smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  They started walking. “So, what did you find out about our new favorite taverna owner?”

  Kouros answered, “He’s what he said. A former spook everyone knows about.”

  “For whom?”

  “Not for us. He didn’t work here, he worked in Eastern Europe, speaks four of their languages. The story is that he worked for the highest bidder.”

  “Figures.”

  “But like he said, not field stuff, just analysis.”

  “In other words, he was one of those guys who decided whether it was worth the risk of someone else getting his nuts shot off,” said Andreas.

  “You could put it that way.”