Prey on Patmos

by Jeffery Siger

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  Ilias jerked forward as if anticipating another congratulatory whack.

  Andreas laughed and high-fived him as they bent to the screen.

  “Wait a minute,” said Andreas. “What’s that over there?” He pointed to a photograph next to the one of the monk’s cell.

  “It’s of the library in the same monastery,” said Ilias.

  “Can you make this part bigger?” Andreas pointed to an area of the floor, and watched the photograph grow.

  “My God,” said Ilias. “It’s the carpet.”

  Andreas gave no back slaps, no high-fives, no shouts; he just stared at the screen in silence. When he spoke, he first cleared his throat. “Thanks, Ilias, good job. Please print out copies of everything. I sincerely appreciate your help.”

  Ilias nodded and left with the computer. Maggie was right behind him. “Maggie, please stay.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Andreas didn’t speak immediately. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

  “Trust who?”

  “Ilias.”

  Maggie smiled. “I’m sure. His mother used to work here and always complained to me about her ‘ungrateful son’ who knew ‘all these secret things’ but never gave her any gossip.”

  Andreas nodded. “So, we have a list of corruptible journalists accusing the Russians of nastiness around Mount Athos, old newspaper stories about a war criminal apparently incinerated in Switzerland—where Zacharias’ passport was issued—a photograph of a monk in a cell in Zacharias’ monastery, and the mysterious Satan-bearing carpet from the doctored photograph on Vassilis’ flash drive turning up in the same monastery. What do you think Vassilis was trying to tell us?”

  She shrugged.

  “Like, ‘Hello, if you want to know where to find Satan, take a look at this.’”

  “That’s somewhat flippant, don’t you think?”

  “Frankly, I think the proper way to describe it is ‘goddamn frightening.’”

  She sighed. “Should I call Yianni?”

  “No reason to, at least not yet. Let me speak to the Protos first. I want to hear what he has to say about all this.”

  “He may be hard to reach. After all, it’s Holy Thursday.”

  “Even to learn the whereabouts of Satan?”

  Maggie’s face was serious. “Especially so.” She picked up and waved Dimitri’s note. “Sometimes, not knowing is better.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  For a little less than three more days Zacharias must remain a faceless monk, locked away among more of the same, droning on in endless prayer within the walls of an undistinguished monastery. It would seem the perfect place to lurk unnoticed by the world. But this wasn’t Zacharias’ style. He hated being one of a flock. His preferred form of anonymity involved standing in the shadows of power, silently appreciated by everyone who mattered for his behind-the-scenes contributions to their successes.

  How far things had come. Some would say it was luck, but he knew better. It was ordained. Nothing else could explain his escape from that prison camp, safe passage to Switzerland, and good fortune at finding a new identity easily matched by modest plastic surgery. It was ordained, even if his new features did require the death of the original bearer. But the man got to die in a splash of publicity, albeit anonymously: “Escaped war criminal dies in fiery crash.”

  Now, all of that was old news, lost as a footnote to history and of no interest to anyone. No one knew of his true past, not even the three collaborators he’d dispatched to Patmos who shared a similar history. His mind wandered from the three men to thoughts of what might have happened on that Holy Island.

  Zacharias kept reassuring himself that even if something went wrong, he was covered. Everyone who counted owed him, and not just those living on this Holy Mountain, because all men seeking higher position in the church at one time or another passed through Mount Athos. Powerful men, like that fast-rising abbot on Patmos who called him “my true friend.” Still, that wasn’t what kept him safe. Owed favors only went so far. Indeed, today was the day for remembering the ultimate betrayal.

  No, he had a far greater hold on all those he’d helped. They’d bought into him, vouched for him, called him brother and meant it. And they knew enough about his past that if the full truth ever came to light they’d never convince a soul they hadn’t known it all from the beginning. It would bring every one of them down with him, and a crippling scandal to Mount Athos and the church. Yes, they would protect him. They will protect him, because they must protect themselves.

  ***

  Andreas left two messages for the Protos. The first was, “Please call me as soon as you can.” Thirty minutes later he placed a second call saying, “It’s urgent.” He was about to call again when Maggie came into his office.

  “I think you’re going to be interested in this.”

  Andreas looked up.

  “I did the follow-up you suggested on that war criminal. Swiss authorities took no dental or DNA records, and what was left of the body was cremated at the request of family.”

  “How convenient. So much for a simple way of proving someone else fried in that car. By the way, what’s the part that’s going to interest me?”

  “We’re not the only one asking questions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A few weeks ago, someone else wanted to know if there was some way to identify the body ‘for certain.’”

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “The caller said it was an inquiry ‘in connection with a church matter.’”

  “Did they tell him?”

  “They saw no reason not to, but called him back just to make sure he was on the level.”

  “Please tell me they kept the number.”

  Maggie smiled. “Their file note read, ‘Monastery of Saint John the Divine, ask for Kalogeros Vassilis.’” She emphasized his name with her fingers.

  “Yes!” Andreas pumped his fist in the air. “I just love Swiss efficiency.”

  “Yeah, but it takes a Greek to improvise.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If you can’t find a dead body, find a live one.”

  “And do what with it?”

  Maggie stuck out her tongue. “Wiseass, if Zacharias is the war criminal, then whose identity did he assume in conning the abbot into admitting him into the monastery? I found the full name and details Zacharias used when obtaining his Greek citizenship papers and ran that past the Swiss. Their records have a man with that name leaving Switzerland for parts unknown.”

  “Let me guess, right after the war criminal died.”

  Maggie nodded.

  “Any family?”

  “No record of any.”

  “Damn, another dead end.”

  “But, guess what, once more we’re the second one making the same inquiry.”

  “Vassilis?”

  “Yes, and less than a week before he died.”

  “Sounds like he’d connected the dots.”

  “But how could he prove anything? All roads lead to dead ends.”

  Andreas leaned his elbows on his desk and held his head in his hands. “Did the war criminal leave family?”

  “Yes, according to the translations I had done—we Greeks also can be efficient—he had several brothers and sisters.”

  “Then there’s a superhighway leading to an answer. If we can get a sample of Zacharias’ DNA and match it against his blood relatives…” Andreas spread his arms wide. “We’ve got the bastard,” and slammed his hands together in a loud clap.

  “But how can we get him to cooperate? Mount Athos is an independent state.”

  Andreas nodded. “Probably the same way Vassilis intended to do it, by telling the Protos what he knew and getting hi
m to force Zacharias to cooperate. I’d bet my badge that was the real reason Vassilis insisted on the Protos coming to Patmos. To confront his old friend with the evidence and urge him to expose Zacharias for who he really is.”

  “But why wasn’t that proof on the USB drive in the cross Vassilis was bringing to his meeting with the Protos?”

  “My guess is…caution. Sort of the same reason for keeping the component parts of an explosive chemical reaction far away from each other, to avoid a bomb going off—in this case at the heart of the church. The flash drive only held clues to a silent coup d’état underway on Mount Athos. Without the information on Vassilis’ computer, there was no way to determine who was behind it. The photographs on the USB were no more than a list of names. The catalyst that would make everything go Boom was what Vassilis had come up with on Zacharias, and there was no reason to put that on the drive. Once Vassilis told the Protos his suspicions, everything could be verified from newspaper articles and public records.”

  Andreas paused, then shook his head. “Or maybe Vassilis didn’t completely trust the Protos.”

  “You don’t really think that, do you?” said Maggie.

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.” He shook his head again. “If only the poor man hadn’t been carrying copies of the photographs. The killers recognized the faces in the doctored photograph and took that to mean Vassilis knew of Zacharias’ plan. They killed him to protect the plan—not the man. They may not even know about Zacharias’ past.”

  Andreas picked up Vassilis’ list of monks from Zacharias’ monastery. “The reason Zacharias’ name doesn’t appear on this list is because Zacharias is not his real name. Here is his real name.” Andreas pointed at the name of a war criminal supposed to have died long ago in a car crash in Switzerland. “Buried in the middle of a list of monks!”

  Andreas smacked his desk. “I think it’s time to call the Protos again, and this time he’d better take my call.”

  He dialed and waited for the answering machine to pick up.

  “Hello, office of the protos.”

  Andreas was surprised to hear a live voice. “Hello, is the Protos available? It’s Chief Inspector Kaldis.”

  “Chief Inspector, as I’m sure you understand, the Protos is terribly busy this week. I’ve put you at the top of his list and I’m certain he will call you back as soon as he has time. And I can assure you that your repeated calls insisting he call you back immediately will not get you a faster reply. Kalo Paska. Goodbye.”

  Andreas held a dead phone up to Maggie. “He didn’t even wait for me to say goodbye. Just gave me Easter wishes and hung up. Arrogant son of a bitch.”

  “You should be used to that by now. Everybody’s available to you when they need you and don’t want to know you once you’ve fixed their problem. You remind them of what went wrong.”

  “Well, if he thought that was a problem, wait until he sees this.” Andreas wrote something out in longhand across Vassilis’ list of monks. “Here, fax this to the Protos. And mark it personal so that everyone who touches it reads it.” If the Protos wanted to dodge Andreas’ phone calls that was his privilege, but to Andreas’ way of thinking the Protos did so at his peril. There was no danger posed by the Russians; they weren’t involved in these intrigues. The Protos’ problems were in his own backyard, so if he wouldn’t take Andreas’ calls he damn well better pray no Judas had access to his fax machine.

  Maggie took the paper from Andreas and read it out loud. “‘Your Holiness, I obtained this list from our mutual friend. It’s supposed to name all the monks serving in one of your monasteries. Please check the list to make sure no one is missing and call me. Thank you. Respectfully, Andreas Kaldis.’”

  Maggie looked at Andreas. “I like it. Simple, courteous, innocuous, just the sort of friendly note you’d expect if someone were trying to tell you, ‘Do you happen to know that a notorious, long-thought-dead war criminal is living in your midst?’”

  Andreas smiled. “Let’s see what this gets us.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later Maggie buzzed Andreas on the intercom. “It’s the minister.”

  “Hello, Kaldis here.”

  “Andreas! How are you?” The voice was all joy and light.

  “Fine, Minister, and you?”

  “Great, really great. I’ve been meaning to call you, to thank you for your assistance on that Patmos monk thing.”

  Andreas wondered how this guy could so easily believe his own PR. “Glad to have been of help.”

  “I really can’t thank you enough for closing this case so quickly.”

  Something’s coming. “No need to thank me, Minister, it’s my job. Besides, it’s not closed. There’s a major new development.”

  “Yes, it is closed!” The tone was that of a mercurial temper tantrum by an insecure bureaucrat.

  Andreas was used to that. He also was used to pushing back. “Sorry, Minister, it’s not over.”

  There was a decided pause on the other end of the line. Andreas assumed it was so the minister could give thought to all the threats he wanted to make but knew better than to voice. The bottom line was he needed Andreas more than Andreas needed him. And both men knew it.

  “Andreas, let’s be reasonable. You caught the killers. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is overjoyed at your triumph. You’re even getting a raise. The prime minister himself just called to tell me how much he appreciated your work. There is no reason to go on.”

  “Did he tell you about the fax?”

  Pause. “Andreas, sometimes you can be a real pain in the ass.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yes, he did. Look, no one is going to help you on this. Absolutely no one. You will get no help from the ministry, the press, the church—certainly none from the church. You are shut down on this, officially and unofficially.” He paused. “The church will deal with this problem in its own way. This cannot come out. It benefits no one and destroys many good people who were deceived by this…well, you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes, I do.” Andreas was fuming; he’d heard this sort of honey-coated cover-up crap many times before. “Let’s cut to the chase, Spiro. Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

  “I’m sorry, Andreas, no. It’s really out of our hands. Let us just accept it. Consider it the internal problem of another country, and none of our concern.”

  “But it’s our church.”

  “And we must protect it.”

  “From whom?”

  “Andreas, this is going nowhere. We both know it.”

  Andreas let out a deep breath. “Get some balls” was what he wanted to say. The minister wasn’t really a bad guy, just an ass-kisser forever afraid of losing status in the eyes of his social crowd. In other words, he did as he was told to keep his job. But, to be fair, in this instance it was pretty clear to Andreas that it wouldn’t matter if a huge pair of steel arhidia magically appeared. Someone above him would cut them off for sure. Andreas said goodbye and hung up.

  “It’s out of our hands.” That was the phrase the minister used. Poor bastard doesn’t even realize the irony of what he’d said. It’s not “out of our hands.” It is, as Vassilis wrote in the two-line note he carried to his death: Prepare, for the time is in their hands.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Greece’s Cycladic Aegean island of Mykonos was only twenty-five minutes by plane from Athens. About one and one half times the size of Manhattan, Mykonos had more than three times the population of Patmos and the reputation for an in-season, 24/7 party lifestyle unmatched in the world. In other words, Mykonos was about the last place you’d go to find a monk. Which was exactly why Kouros chose to spend his unexpected Easter holiday there. He still had buddies on the island from his rookie cop days, and that meant places to stay for free.

  In winter Mykonos was a sleepy isla
nd village with virtually no tourists, no business, few open bars, fewer restaurants, and no clubs. But come Easter Week everything changed. The old town came to life, like the red and yellow springtime poppies bursting out all over Mykonos hillsides. It seemed that every world-class partier in the know and every Greek who could find a place to stay was on Mykonos from Thursday through Monday of Easter Week. But this taste of the coming mid-summer craziness was short lived. If you didn’t catch the action that weekend come back in June, because the island was back in hibernation come Tuesday.

  It was a particularly warm weekend for April and that meant time on the beach; maybe not in the water quite yet, but definitely on the beach. Kouros was face down on a towel, thinking of nothing but the naked bodies lying not too far away when he heard his phone.

  “Let me guess, it’s my dream come true.”

  “I sure as hell hope not for your sake.”

  “What’s up, Chief?”

  “Honestly, nothing. I mean nothing we can do anything about. I’m just calling because you’re the only one I can bitch to.”

  “I guess that means Maggie won’t listen.”

  “Her exact words were, ‘I told you so.’”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Let me share with you my most recent example of why police work is so fulfilling.”

  “Uh, Chief, are you sure you want to do this over a cell phone?”

  “I think the appropriate line is found in a famous American movie. ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’”

  “Thank you too, dear, but still, don’t you think—”

  “Yianni, unless we’re going back to the days of runners carrying messages from lips to ears—and that Marathon sucker Pheidippides died anyway—we’ll just have to risk it at times. Besides, if what I’m about to tell you gets out, it won’t matter anyway. I’ve been told no one will pursue it.”