Prey on Patmos

by Jeffery Siger

  “Why there?”

  “Can’t risk word leaking out that we might have caught Vassilis’ killers. The media would be all over us. No way the press will find us where the coast guard is taking them. The only ones living over there are isolated families subsidized by the Greek government to stay put, so that the Turks can’t claim the islands are abandoned.” Andreas opened the back door of the police car and put some of the bags inside.

  “How do you plan on getting them to talk?”

  Andreas lifted the rest of the bags. “Something will come to me, but if not, I’m sure you’ll come up with suitable ideas.”

  Kouros burst into a broad smile and nodded in a way reminding him of Tassos.

  “Yianni, remember, innocent until proven guilty.” He said that as much to remind himself. But no cop really believed it. Not if they wanted to stay alive among scum like those three murdering bastards.

  ***

  Evening prayers during Easter Week always exerted particular strain on Zacharias. The sound of the mallet striking the long wooden cymbal-like symantron signaled another long night alone in his cell wondering what was going on outside the monastery walls. Tonight he simply couldn’t concentrate until, in a glance from the abbot, he sensed that his disinterest might be showing. Instantly, his demeanor changed, and once more Kalogeros Zacharias was among the holiest and most dedicated of the prayerful. A fact he actually believed was true.

  The rapes, the murders, the genocide had not been committed by him but by some nonexistent being out of a past cleansed pure by his dedicated piety, rejection of the corruptions and temptations of the temporal world, and single-minded commitment to spreading those same values throughout his church. But that required an army of brave men, thirsting for change, inspired by a goal. Those were not of the sort to be found among the powerful, for their zeal ran only to protecting their privileges. No, he knew where to find his warriors; the same places as he had in the past: on the fringes of life, men who felt powerless, waiting for a message to unite them in common cause.

  And with the “we must find a savior” message he’d fashioned from Revelation, he found his men among each monastery’s neglected and overlooked and unified them around a passionate, shared priority: Mount Athos must become home to the Ecumenical Patriarch, and the vast riches of the church made to pass through the largesse of a lens of moral piety, not bartered away in marketplace corruptions.

  He knew their goal faced serious obstacles, but he saw only two: rivals in the church, and the Russians. The first was proving not as insurmountable as he once thought. Jealousies among the monasteries and disillusionment of their monks primed many for change, and the endless scandals rocking all of Greece provided a roaring catalyst. The country no longer trusted its leaders, and many prayed for a strong, decisive deliverer. The growing influence of his flock in virtually every monastery amazed even Zacharias. A united front was building, one difficult for other rivals in Greece, and indeed, elsewhere in the Orthodox world, to oppose.

  The Russians presented a more difficult problem. They did not play by the same rules of morality. So be it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The place the coast guard picked was among a cluster of barely inhabited, rock-strewn, hilly islands about ten miles north of Patmos. Though small, it still was big enough so that whatever went on in a cove to the northwest wouldn’t disturb the family of goat herders living at the southern end.

  One of the Zodiacs from the operation, minus mounted machine gun, met Andreas and Kouros at the port in Skala and had them on the island twenty minutes later. Only a bit of daylight was left by the time they started up the beach toward a tiny, all-white structure. It had a round roof and sat nestled on a ledge about twenty yards above the shore.

  “You’d think they could have found a better place to do this,” said Kouros.

  Andreas smiled. “I don’t know, I think it might be fate.”

  Light was coming from inside the building through the only window they could see. There were no windows on the front side, only a blue door facing west—in the tradition of all Greek churches, even those in the most remote of places. A man in his early twenties, about Andreas’ size, was standing next to the door watching them approach. Andreas waved as he walked up to him, then patted him on the shoulder. “Great job, sailor.”

  The man nodded. “Thank you, sir. The captain is inside with the prisoners.” He pushed open the door.

  The space inside the church was cramped, but neat and clean, as if tended to every day. A military issue, battery-powered lantern stood on a small table next to the door. The required icons were in their proper places, but there was no candle stand. As if reading Andreas’ mind, the captain said, “We took it out. No reason to give our friends here anything to swing at us in case they decide to get frisky.” He smiled. “Again.”

  The three prisoners sat in a row at the captain’s feet, legs tied together straight out in front of them, and tied again to each other’s. Their hands appeared tied behind their backs. On either side of the row stood a sailor, each armed with a twelve-gauge short-barrel semiautomatic shotgun. They were the best for close work and gave an unmistakable message to the three on the floor: the end is near and here if you want it. From the way the three looked, Andreas doubted they were anxious to test that possibility.

  Andreas pointed to the man in the middle. “Looks like his face ran into a door a half dozen times.” The others didn’t look much better.

  The captain laughed. “They’re big boys, and I guess they thought my little guys couldn’t handle them. They took a run at these two,” he pointed to the sailors holding the shotguns, “when we brought them on board the cutter from the caïque. They were wrong.” The captain smiled again, then kicked the one closest to him on the bottom of one foot. “Assholes.”

  “Captain, thank you very much. We’ll take it from here,” said Andreas.

  “You want us to leave you alone with them?” He sounded worried.

  “Don’t worry, we can handle it. Just leave a shotgun with my buddy here. He once was one of you.” Andreas nodded toward Kouros.

  The captain smiled. “Another sea-sucking lokazides?”

  Kouros grinned and gave the captain and the two other sailors some archaic hand-slap that must have meant something to the shared DYK special ops brotherhood of Greece’s equivalent of U.S. Navy Seals.

  Andreas had insisted to the minister that the operation use only coast guard vessels so as not to attract unusual attention, and that the men involved must be able to handle trained military types willing and capable of killing without hesitation. So the minister sent in the big boys.

  “We’ll be right outside. If you need anything, just holler.” The captain glared at the three on the floor and followed his two men out the door.

  Kouros took up a position looking straight down the line of prisoners, leaving no doubt what would happen if they tried anything with the new guy holding the shotgun.

  Andreas smiled. “You guys have had quite a day. First a stroll in the country, then a boat ride, now a bit of prayer and meditation. But, oh yes, I forgot you’re used to that. So, do you miss the monastery?”

  No answer.

  “Okay, I understand, these are not the best circumstances for us to get to know each other, but it’s all the time we have.”

  Silence.

  “Now, now, you’re not going to tell me you’ve taken a vow of silence are you?”

  Not a word.

  This was going nowhere, thought Andreas. Time to take another risk. “I don’t understand, Kalogeros Zacharias wouldn’t have sent you if you had.”

  It was as if someone had touched the three with an electric cattle prod. The prisoner in the middle said something in Serbian to the others.

  Andreas shook his head. “Fellas, the party is over. We know where you came from, and you know where you’r
e going. The only question is whether it’s prison for the rest of your lives—for war crimes.” He guessed that at least one of them had that worry, possibly all of them.

  Kouros shrugged and tightened his grip on the shotgun.

  “No matter. Besides I’m sure you boys know more about that than I do.”

  “Fuck you.” It was the prisoner in the middle.

  Must have guessed right. “Nice to meet you, too. The name’s Andreas.”

  “We have nothing to say.”

  Andreas nodded, and walked over to a bag he’d brought with him. Carefully he lifted it from the floor and stood holding it in front of the three men. He shook his head. “Would you like to see what I have in here for you?”

  The middle one spoke again. “Fuck you, we’re not afraid. We’ve been tortured before.”

  Andreas looked surprised. “Torture, who’s talking torture?” He reached into the bag, pulled out and pointed a cylinder in the man’s face. “Here, bite this.”

  The man jerked his head back and away from the thing, studied it, leaned forward, and sniffed at it. Then he took a bite.

  “Good, huh?” Andreas gave the others the same choice, and each accepted. Then he went up and down the line until the sausage was finished. “I know it’s a little awkward doing things this way, but I’m sure you understand why I can’t untie your hands.” He reached into the bag, pulled out some bread, and repeated the process.

  “Cheese?”

  The three nodded. One even said, “Thank you.”

  After another round of sausage, Andreas opened a bottle of wine. “Hope you don’t mind sharing.” Carefully, he held the bottle up to each prisoner’s lips, allowing each man to comfortably drink as much as the man wanted. Andreas kept this up until the bottle was empty. Then gave them more sausages, another bottle of wine, more cheese, another bottle of wine, more cheese, and more wine. It took about a half-hour for the feast to finish.

  “I hope you liked it. The farmer you worked for gave it to us.”

  “Yeah, it was good.” It was the prisoner who’d said thanks.

  “They were good people,” said the one in the middle. “Sorry we had to do that to them. I hope they’re okay.”

  Andreas was always amazed when professional killers of innocents showed such seeming genuine concern for their prey; as if murder were just a job to them, unrelated to their feelings for those whose lives they ended. “Sure, no problem,” said Andreas. “How did you end up there anyway?”

  The prisoner who’d been quiet looked at the others. “It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.” The two others shrugged. “We found the place the first day we got there. Just in case we needed to leave the monastery.”

  “Smart,” said Andreas.

  The thankful one said, “And when we heard you wanted to talk to us, we decided it was time to move on.”

  “And, of course, you couldn’t go home to your monastery until Sunday.”

  He nodded. “Yes. The farm seemed as safe as any place.”

  “We were going to leave by boat next Saturday morning,” said the quiet one.

  “That’s how you got to Patmos in the first place, by boat.”

  The middle one nodded.

  “So, who wants to tell me?” said Andreas.

  “Tell you what?” said the middle one.

  “Why did you have to kill him?”

  No one answered; their faces like carved stone.

  “Okay, guys, I know the rules, no confessions, ever. But here we have a special situation.” Andreas looked at Kouros. “Tell them.”

  Kouros looked each of them in the eye before speaking. “If you stick with the good soldier’s ‘name, rank, and serial number’ routine, you’ll be prosecuted as international war criminals and spend the rest of your lives in prison. No tribunal would even consider a lighter sentence, not after what you did to a priest. You’re all as good as dead.”

  Andreas raised a finger. “However, there is an option. If you cooperate I can promise that instead you’ll be tried in a Greek court for murder.”

  “Some promise,” said the middle one.

  “It’s a better deal than you think. First of all, Greece has no death penalty. Secondly, with the right lawyer and the right amount of money, in time you’ll probably get out.” Regrettably, thought Andreas, all that was true.

  “I want a better deal,” said the quiet one.

  “I hoped you’d say that,” said Kouros. “It will give me great joy to deliver you personally to a war crimes prosecutor.”

  “We didn’t plan on killing him, honest.” It was the middle one.

  Thank God it worked, thought Andreas. “What happened?”

  “We were just supposed to watch him. See what he was up to.”

  Andreas nodded. “All that stuff he was saying had attracted a lot of attention.”

  “It was all over Mount Athos,” said the quiet one.

  “We only were supposed to watch him,” the middle one repeated.

  Andreas grinned. “Must have been pretty boring watching an old man do his thing.”

  “Yeah, pretty routine,” said the thankful one.

  The middle one looked down. “Then he went out that night.”

  The quiet one said, “It all happened so quickly. He just up and left the monastery at two-thirty in the morning, carrying an envelope. We didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t reach—”

  “Out to God for an answer,” the middle one finished the sentence.

  The quiet one seemed startled, then nodded. “Yes, to God.”

  “Fellows, God wouldn’t tell you to cut his throat.” Andreas said the line flatly.

  “We know,” said the quiet one, glaring at the middle one.

  The middle one glared back.

  Guess now we know who wielded the knife, thought Andreas.

  The quiet one continued. “We ran out behind him, and when we saw him take the high road past the taverna toward the town square we took the path down to the bus stop and ran back up again into the square.”

  “We didn’t intend to kill him. The was a man of God.”

  That was becoming the middle one’s mantra, thought Andreas.

  The quiet one said, “When he came into the square, we grabbed him and took the envelope. Then we saw what was inside. He didn’t struggle, just stood there, clutching his cross as we held him.”

  “We had no instructions, and no way of receiving any,” said the thankful one.

  “Communication was forbidden by then,” said Andreas.

  The middle one nodded. “We’d been told, ‘Use your judgment.’”

  Andreas nodded and decided to take another chance. “The photographs must have surprised you.”

  “Yes,” said the middle one. “If what he knew ever got out, it would mean the end of God’s mission on earth. It was God’s will for us to protect that mission with our lives if necessary. It would be a humble sacrifice.”

  The thankful one bowed his head. “After it was done, we decided to make it look like a mugging.” He looked up at the middle one. “But I wouldn’t let them take his crosses.”

  “His death was a necessary sacrifice to the Lord,” said the middle one. “He knew it too, he immersed himself in prayer, accepting his fate.”

  Andreas heard the shotgun safety click twice. He took it as Kouros’ suggestion that they consider ending this interrogation with an attempted escape.

  Andreas went on. “That’s when you tossed his room?”

  The quiet one nodded. “Yes, I did that. The others watched to make sure no one saw me.”

  “Where’s his stuff?” Andreas asked the quiet one.

  The thankful one answered for him. “We threw it in the sea when we fled to the farm.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t kno
w, some place between here and there. It all looked alike to me.”

  “Anything on it surprise you?”

  “Never had a chance to look at it.”

  Andreas didn’t believe any of that, but the subject was going nowhere. “So, fellas, how about you telling me again just how you came to follow Kalogeros Vassilis.”

  Andreas drove them through their story six more times, twice in reverse. It all came out about the same. They were sent by one they would not name to keep an eye on a monk they’d been told posed a threat to God’s mission on earth, one which they must be prepared to die to protect, and if anything unanticipated occurred, to “use your judgment.” In other words, the power to decide life or death was delegated to men best trained in ways to kill. Whoever sent them was clever: give ambiguous advice to men who saw only black and white, and thus gain absolute deniability for yourself.

  There was no way the person giving those instructions could be held accountable for this murder, even if the three named their dispatcher. But they didn’t have to. Andreas was certain it was Zacharias.

  As far as Andreas was concerned this investigation was over. The fate of the three killers was out of his hands. They’d been caught and their confessions were on tape. Time to get back home to Lila. The rest was a mess for the church to sort out, not him. His job was done.

  At least that’s what he kept telling himself on the helicopter back to Athens.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At four a.m., all would gather by candlelight for morning prayers. For Zacharias it meant an end to a restless night filled with thoughts of what was happening on the outside. The world might be in the midst of all-out war and this place wouldn’t know about it until missiles started landing in the monastery’s courtyard—assuming the abbot allowed them in before Sunday morning. Consciously, he knew there was nothing to worry about; all his bases were covered, no matter what. But in that falling-off-to-sleep time, when the subconscious started playing with the conscious, concerns leaked out.

  What if that Patmos monk actually did know his plans? But how could he know? He’d only be guessing. Still, the others respected the old monk, and a good guess would present problems, raise suspicions, put him on everyone’s radar. Anything that made him visible was unacceptable. He could not allow one monk to destroy it all. That’s why he sent the three: to watch the monk, to learn what he knew, and, if necessary, to resolve an unacceptable situation.