Prey on Patmos

by Jeffery Siger

  Kouros turned his head away from the naked. He concentrated on the rocky hills, bright blue sky, and his chief’s anger. By the time Andreas finished, Kouros was sitting up, shaking his fist, and yelling, “Miserable bastards, I’d like to show them what I’d do to that cocksucker Zacharias if he were in my hands.”

  Kouros watched a nearby couple grab their clothes and hurry away from him. “I understand why you’re angry, Chief, but what can we do about it?”

  “Wish I knew. Well, think about it, and if anything comes to you let me know.”

  “Why don’t you run it past our friend?” Kouros paused. “Mr. T.”

  “Mr. T?”

  Kouros heard a laugh.

  “I get it. I see we’re back to Marathon-style communication. Okay, will do. Enjoy the rest of your holiday. Bye.”

  Kouros let out a deep breath and looked around. The sun was almost down. He’d better get back to the apartment and take a nap. Tonight would be a late one. He intended to get plastered. Miserable bureaucrats, they’re everywhere.

  ***

  “You just missed your mother.” Lila was sitting next to the window in her study looking out toward the Acropolis.

  Andreas stood in the doorway, staring at her: a Madonna at the window, framed in an illuminated Parthenon against a jet-black sky. “How is she?” Andreas blew her a kiss.

  She did not turn. “Still as lovely a person as I’ve ever known.”

  “She feels the same about you.”

  “I know.” She looked at him. “She’s all excited about the baby.”

  He nodded. “How’s the little bugger doing?”

  Lila stroked her belly. “Fine.” She looked back out the window.

  Andreas grabbed a chair, pulled it up next to her, and sat down. He reached for her hand. She let him take it. “Everything okay?”

  “Perfect. Just perfect.”

  In Andreas’ experience with women, that generally meant just the opposite. “Are you nervous?”

  “No.”

  “Sad?”

  Lila gestured no.

  “Then what is it, kukla? I know something is bothering you.”

  She turned her eyes toward him; tears were welling up. “Disappointed.”

  He felt the knife.

  “Why don’t you love me enough to want to marry me?” Her lower lip was quivering.

  He felt the twist. He shook his head. “Not now, please. This isn’t the time. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “I’m not thinking clearly? Andreas Kaldis, even your mother knows how fucked-up your thinking is on this.”

  That was not the sort of language he was used to hearing from Lila. And to have his mother brought into this—

  “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “Maybe I’m just too hung up on this Patmos monk’s murder.”

  Lila shook her head violently. “No, no, no. There will always be something, some reason, some excuse to fall back on. You, my love, are afraid. Purely and simply afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “You tell me.”

  Andreas paused. “Okay.” He paused again. “We’ve too little in common. You know that. It could never work out. You’d be miserable if you had to live your life with me as your husband.”

  Lila smiled. “Great, you finally said it.”

  “That makes you happy?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Yes, because until you are willing to talk about it, we can’t work it out.”

  “We can’t ‘work it out.’ It is what it is.”

  “No, this is the only thing that ‘is what it is.’” Lila pointed to her belly. “The rest is illusion.”

  “Be realistic. Our backgrounds, everything about us is different. What kind of a life could we have together? It would frustrate you to no end.”

  Lila smiled again. “Owning things, attending gala events, receiving honors, or solving big cases is not life. Those are just landmarks along the way. A life is made up of everyday, simple moments. Like making love in the morning in a bed filled with crumbs from your sloppy toast-eating habits, laughing together at the pigeons in the park who pounced on your souvlaki after you put it down to tie my shoelace when I couldn’t bend over.” She paused. “Your being there when I needed you most, night after night, holding my hand, not knowing if I’d ever come out of my coma.” She squeezed his hand and placed it on her belly. “And sharing moments like this. That’s what a life is. The hard part is finding someone to share those moments with who loves and cares for you as much as I do you.”

  He turned away.

  “Andreas. It’s okay to cry.”

  “Haven’t in years.”

  “I know, your mother told me.” She paused. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to talk about this now. I just wanted you to know how I felt.”

  Andreas swallowed. Amazing, and I thought she’d be the one who couldn’t handle this conversation now. I guess imminent motherhood toughens you. I have a lot to learn.

  Lila stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “You have a lot to learn, my love.”

  ***

  Kouros ate dinner at his favorite place on Mykonos, a little taverna on Megali Ammos beach within walking distance of the old town. Great people, great food, a terrific view, and perhaps the best prices on Mykonos—a particularly important consideration for a cop treating his buddy to dinner for letting him crash at his apartment.

  Now it was many hours and what seemed a thousand bars later. His buddy had gone home, leaving Kouros alone at what he called the “hottest” spot on Mykonos. The place was around the corner from Mykonos’ town hall, thirty feet from the edge of the sea, and faced the nearby island of Tinos. Kouros was on a barstool a few feet away from a pair of open French doors, relying on a breeze off the sea to keep him from falling asleep on the spot. The bartender was a nice guy. Kept pouring him water every time he asked for vodka. It wasn’t a ripoff, because he knew Kouros was a cop and wouldn’t take his money anyway. It was an act of kindness that preserved Kouros’ macho image at the same time as it protected his liver.

  The guy next to him started to talk. “This place stays open in the winter, gets a mostly Mykonian crowd. Now it’s mixed, part Mykonian, part tourist. Later in the season it’s mixed in a different way. Gays and straights, mainly gays in August.”

  Why is he telling me all this? Kouros took another sip of his drink and swung around on his stool to look across the bay toward Tinos.

  “Delos is beautiful, isn’t it? So spiritual. You can catch a boat for it over there.” He pointed off to the right. “In the morning.”

  Obviously, the guy had no idea who Kouros was or that the Holy Island of Delos wasn’t where he was looking. Kouros gave the guy a “please stop bothering me” stare. He was afraid if he said something it would be “Fuck off.” No reason to start something.

  The guy didn’t take the hint. “You know, I come to Mykonos to get away from all the pressures of my life as a Greek living high in London.” He launched into a story about his business, his corrupt partners, what he’d done for revenge, and a host of other things he probably wouldn’t even think of telling his pillow. But now he was drunk at four-thirty in the morning in a bar on Mykonos. If Kouros were interested, he probably could get the guy to confess his deepest, most secret fears. That’s just the way it was here; everything seemed so unreal that people talked as if their words held no consequences.

  But Kouros wasn’t interested, so he tuned the guy out, stared off into the distance, and tried to concentrate on how to nail Zacharias.

  “So, what do you do my friend?” The guy smiled and put his hand on Kouros’ thigh. In the not-too-distant past, that move would have resulted in a certain loss of fingers.

  Kouros returned the smile, reached into his shirt for his ID, stuck it in the man’s face, and said, “I
’m a cop charged with investigating special crimes that come to my attention.”

  The guy’s eyes turned to headlights and he was off the stool and out the door before Kouros could say another word.

  Kouros shook his head and grinned. The chief would be proud of me, he thought. Damn, I’m starting to sober up. Guess it’s time to head home. He thanked the bartender and swung off the stool—right into a stunningly well-built blonde trying to slide onto the barstool next to his.

  “Easy there, big fella.” There was a dazzling smile behind the words. “What’s your hurry? I’m just getting off work. The evening’s still young.”

  Kouros slid back onto his barstool thinking, I just love it here.

  ***

  It’s an unstated law on Mykonos that no one disturbs a partier before two in the afternoon. When the banging began on Kouros’ door it was just before one.

  “Jesus, Mario, how could you forget your key?” Kouros stumbled out of bed and kept yelling to his buddy, “Mario, cool it already, I’m coming.” He yanked open the door. It wasn’t Mario.

  “Morning, Yianni. Nice shorts.”

  “Tassos? What are you doing here?”

  Tassos stepped inside without asking permission. “Andreas told me you were here for the weekend. I didn’t want you being alone for Easter. My cousin’s family lives here and you’re invited to everything, just like one of the family.”

  “Thanks, Tassos, but—”

  “Honey, who is it?” The voice came from the bedroom.

  “Just an old friend.”

  “Thank God it’s not a wife. They make such scenes.”

  Kouros looked at his feet.

  Tassos smiled. “I think I should come back later.”

  A flash of blond raced into the room headed toward the front door. “No need to, old friend. I have to get to work. Kisses.” Another dazzling quick smile, a single blown kiss, and gone.

  “What was that?”

  “Four-thirty in the morning on Mykonos.”

  “I think I arrived just in time.” Tassos laughed again.

  Kouros yawned and walked into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Sure. Tough break about the minister shutting you down.”

  Kouros shrugged. “I’m past that. With all the juice involved in this case, we’re lucky they let us catch the bastards who cut the monk’s throat. No chance of getting to Zacharias; he’s too wired into the right people.”

  “Christ, Yianni, you’re too young to be as cynical as I am.”

  Kouros shrugged. “So prove me wrong.”

  “Wish I could. As I said to Andreas, ‘The only ones I see likely wanting to hang his ass are the Russians.’”

  “Have any Russian friends we can talk to?”

  “None who’d believe us. We’re just cops, claiming everybody but us is involved in a coverup. No way the Russians are going to take our word for it without checking everything out first. And that means whatever we say gets back to someone involved in keeping things quiet, and bye-bye pension for me.”

  “And a career change for me. Directing traffic if I’m lucky.”

  “In the middle of the National Highway.”

  “So, like I said, ‘Prove me wrong.’”

  Tassos shrugged. “I’m sure the Russians know all about the bad press they’re getting here, and the rumors that they’re behind everything that’s gone wrong on Mount Athos. But Russians are a naturally suspicious sort, born and bred on intrigue. So, for working-level Greek cops to appear on their doorstep out of nowhere with a story about some war criminal Mount Athos monk being behind it all smells just too much of setup. They know damn well how much the Greek Church would love to link them to a church politics plot involving Mount Athos. It would make every smoke and mirrors press story and rumor instantly fact.”

  Kouros picked up two cups of coffee, handed one to Tassos, and started drinking from the other.

  “Thanks, Yianni, but there’s no way the Russians will believe us. People just don’t confide such serious stuff to total strangers out of the blue without a motive. Unless, of course, they’re insane.”

  Kouros paused in mid-sip. “I have an idea. Let’s call Andreas.” He put down the coffee, picked up the landline phone, and dialed.

  “What kind of idea?”

  “A good one, I hope.” He waited for someone to answer.

  “Hello, Vardi residence.”

  “Chief Kaldis please, it’s Yianni Kouros.”

  “One moment please.”

  Kouros looked at Tassos. “I think this has a speaker on it.” He pressed a button on the handset and a few seconds later both men heard, “Yianni, what’s up?”

  “Chief, I’m here with Tassos and he filled me in on your conversation about the Russians.”

  “You’re on holiday, Yianni, forget about it. It’s dead and buried.”

  “I have an idea. What if we get the Russians to think they figured out on their own who Zacharias was and what he was up to? And that it was something we didn’t want them to know.”

  Andreas did not sound impressed. “I think you’re forgetting something. We’re the good guys. Not vigilantes. Nor are we supposed to be helping foreign powers.”

  Kouros sounded offended. “Who’s talking about helping a foreign power? We’re talking about a known war criminal behind the assassination of a Greek monk. His interest in screwing the Russians is incidental, but it’s a convenient hook to use to hang the bastard.”

  Tassos said, “Look, I’m not a big fan of the Russians, but I see Yianni’s point, and if he has an idea that works, it might be our only hook.”

  They could hear Andreas letting out a breath. “So what’s your idea?”

  “You remember Mario. He’s now a sergeant here. I’m staying with him, and he told me that there are a hell of a lot of private jets in for the weekend, including a huge beauty belonging to one of the richest men in Russia.”

  “I know him,” said Tassos. “He has a house on Mykonos, and a friend of mine takes care of things for him here.”

  “Well, he has a reputation as a pretty wild partier, always with an English-speaking entourage, and if we somehow can break into his crowd for a few hours, there just might be someone in there we could tempt with the story.”

  There was a noticeable pause on Andreas’ end of the line. “Yianni, what sort of shit have you been taking?”

  “No, listen, Chief, if we can get the right guy interested—”

  Andreas cut him off. “Why on God’s earth would one of the richest men in the world give a rat’s ass about what a monk in Greece is doing to embarrass the Russian Church?”

  Tassos answered. “As a matter of fact, that might be the only part of what sounds like a wild-ass plan that’s a sure thing. If the rich guy bites, I’m sure it will get back to the right person.”

  “Are you two sharing the same bong?”

  Tassos laughed. “No, asshole, listen. After the fall of the Soviet Union, some young Russians made a lot of money in highly questionable ways and left Russia to live big capitalist lives elsewhere. A lot of old, ex-socialist types who remained in power back home were jealous of what they called the ‘oligarchs’ and came up with a plan. They offered those newly rich a choice. Share your wealth with us, or Mother Russia will bring you home to stand trial over how you stole from her to make your fortunes. A few examples were made through all-expenses-paid, long-term vacations to the gulag life, and voilà, the others started paying. But the oligarchs still are deeply resented, and there’s always someone else wanting a piece of them.

  “Exposing such a serious assault on the Russian Orthodox Church could buy our Mykonian oligarch a hell of a lot of good will. Remember, many of Russia’s current leaders are deeply religious and no strangers to the Russian monastery on Mount Athos. They know what’s at stake there.”r />
  “Damn you both,” said Andreas. “I’m supposed to be at Lila’s parents’ this evening.”

  Kouros spoke. “Look, Chief, maybe you’re right and we should forget about it. It’s really just a farfetched idea, anyway. Not even a plan. We’d have to get you some sort of introduction to the oligarch, find some way to get him to want to hang out with you, and then—”

  “Whoa, what’s with all this ‘you’ crap?” said Andreas.

  “You’re in charge of the investigation. You’re the only one with enough credibility to be believed. You both speak English, and you’re also the only one of us who fits in with the look of his crowd.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Tassos with a smile.

  “What else were you going to say?” said Andreas. He sounded testy.

  “You have to convince him you’re drunk enough to be honestly confiding secrets to a total stranger at five in the morning in a Mykonos party bar.”

  “Damn, damn, damn. And I bet the plan has to start today.”

  “Don’t see a choice,” said Kouros. “He’s probably here only for one night, then off to wherever for Easter.”

  “Ah, Eastertime on Mykonos,” said Tassos. “A perfect example of spiritual and temporal coexistence. All of the island’s Good Friday church rituals strictly observed during the day, followed by its nearly as hallowed party traditions through the night.”

  “What time would I have to be there?”

  “Not before two,” said Yianni.

  “It’s almost two now.”

  “I mean in the morning. These guys don’t come out until two at the earliest.”

  “Great, I can’t wait to tell Lila I’ll be spending Good Friday and Saturday on Mykonos hanging out in bars, getting drunk with wildly partying Russians. Let me talk to her first. Not sure I want to wreck my life here anymore than I already have over what sounds about as crazy a plan as any I’ve ever heard.”

  “Thank you,” said Kouros.

  “I’ll see what I can do about arranging an introduction through my mutual friend,” said Tassos.

  “Not yet, I have to speak to Lila.”