Prey on Patmos

by Jeffery Siger

  Andreas placed his arm over Vladimir’s shoulder and locked eyes with him. “For the life of me Vladimir, I really want to help you out here, so if there is something on your mind just tell me directly, otherwise please stop with all this bullshit and let me catch my plane.”

  “If you don’t confirm, nothing will happen.”

  Andreas dropped his arm from Vladimir’s shoulder and shook his head. “I just bought the ticket, there is nothing to confirm.”

  Vladimir nodded. “Okay, have it your way. Your elaborate ruse of last night will have been a total waste of time.”

  Andreas patted him on the arm. “Obviously you’ve never slept with Barbara. Gotta run. Happy Easter.” He never looked back. Just walked into the terminal, through the metal detector and out to the plane. He had no idea if he’d handled this test correctly but he’d gone with his instincts. What happened next was out of his hands anyway. And certainly not in God’s.

  Chapter Twenty

  Vladimir and the other Russian sat in the back of the Hummer. It hadn’t moved from in front of the terminal.

  “What do you think?” Vladimir asked.

  “He demonstrated the inborn, aggressive traits of an animal under stress. It’s called the ‘fight or flight response.’”

  “Okay, Anatoly, I know you’re a psychologist, but I’m asking for your KGB instincts. You dealt with these sorts all the time. Do you think he’s for real, or is all this some sort of setup?”

  “Does he have a motive for setting you up?”

  “Who knows, a lot of people would like to see me fall. He could be working for any one of them.”

  “I know, even paranoids have enemies, Vladimir, but he reacted like someone who feared he’d told you something he shouldn’t have. And the guy’s a cop. He knew that the best way to deal with that sort of confrontation was with absolute, flat-out denials. Assuming of course there was no other way to prove he was lying. You get in trouble when you try building a story. An experienced examiner will tear you to shreds.”

  “Or he really didn’t know what we were talking about.”

  Anatoly nodded. “Yes, but do you believe that?”

  Vladimir shook his head no. “I heard him, I know what he said. I know what he planned on giving me.”

  “Then he’s frightened.”

  “Could it be just another part of the con, a way of reinforcing what he said last night?”

  “Anything’s possible, but he didn’t seek you out. He was trying to get on a plane and off the island. We stopped him.”

  Vladimir let out a breath. “This is all so risky. I’m tempted to just walk away. Did you mention Zacharias? That’s not something he told me last night. We figured it out from the documents.”

  “Yes, but he never reacted.”

  Vladimir shook his head. “Damn it, if he really was as drunk as he appeared he probably doesn’t remember what he told me. That would be consistent with your ‘fear’ scenario. Deny everything.”

  “Or he really doesn’t know who Zacharias might be.”

  Vladimir shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Perhaps I should ask some colleagues from the old days to check out this Zacharias monk, and if he turns out to be who we think he is, this could be a very serious matter indeed.”

  “Why do you think I had you flown here from Moscow?” Bringing in the former head of counterintelligence for the KGB’s First Chief Directorate foreign intelligence service was not a decision he’d made lightly. It brought with it all the risks of petting an attack dog trained by another.

  “The presumably dead man in the clippings was very clever, very ruthless, and very Machiavellian. His intrigues became Balkan legend. At the time of his death he was very angry with us. He claimed we weren’t supportive enough against the Americans. Even blamed us for his capture. I can assure you we did not regret his passing.”

  “So, like I said, what should I do with everything that cop dumped in my lap?”

  “Good question. You could ignore it, which is what I assume you’d prefer. If Zacharias is living out his days as a monk in some out of the way place, no one will care. Even if he is who I think he might be. But if he is the one behind these efforts to embarrass our country with the church, that is a very different story.”

  “A lot of people are trying to do the same thing to us with the whole world,” said Vladimir.

  “But no one like the man in the clippings. Few are as ruthless as he, thank God.”

  “Even if he’s Attila the Hun reborn, what can some low-level monk in a mountain wilderness in northern Greece do to seriously harm Mother Russia? What?” Vladimir’s frustration was showing.

  Anatoly smiled. “I think your current status has you forgetting how the meek still can bring down the mighty. But to answer your question, if somehow this ‘low-level monk’ succeeds, and word ever gets out that you knew and didn’t inform the proper authorities…” He shrugged. “The old ways are old, but not all forgotten.”

  Vladimir felt a shiver. He’d been thinking only in terms of how to turn this information to his advantage, use it to ingratiate himself to Russia’s ultimate power. He never thought of the downside. And having brought this man into his tent, if anything should go wrong, Anatoly wouldn’t hesitate to use it for the same ingratiating purpose or to blackmail him for the rest of his days. After all, you can take the man out of KGB, but you can’t take… “Is there any other choice?”

  “Prayer.”

  Vladimir unconsciously ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. “Let’s get everything we have to whoever you think should see it ASAP.”

  “It’s the right decision. I’ll transmit it as soon as I get to a computer.”

  Vladimir leaned forward, pressed a button and a laptop station descended from the back of the front seat. “So you don’t waste time.” And so Vladimir could verify the information actually was sent. The smart play for this guy was to compromise Vladimir by not sending it on, while allowing him to think that he had.

  “Great, but I don’t have the information with me.”

  Vladimir pulled a flash drive from his shirt pocket. “Everything’s been transferred to this. All you need to do is the cover letter. Please, it’s getting late, and I’m certain they’ll want to get started on this right away.”

  Vladimir made no effort to conceal that he was reading every word Anatoly typed. It was his not-so-subtle way of reminding him who had the real power in that car, and that there would be no role reversal coming out of this affair. Once that e-mail was sent, Vladimir’s hands were washed of this mess, and he was making damn sure there’d be no comebacks.

  Anatoly finished typing. “Is this okay?”

  Vladimir carefully read it, then smiled. “Perfect my friend, with one slight typo. The name in the e-mail address ends with an ‘n,’ not an ‘m.’”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem, but we wouldn’t want it going out like that, we might never know that it wasn’t received.” I certainly wouldn’t know, because it wasn’t my e-mail. Vladimir leaned over and made the correction, then reread the e-mail and verified that all the attachments were there.

  Vladimir sat back, turned toward Anatoly and smiled in a manner reminiscent of a shark about to strike. “That would be a terrible tragedy.” He stretched for the keyboard and hit SEND. “For everyone.”

  ***

  Just one more sunrise until the monastery opened its gates. Zacharias was prepared for another long night of prayer. The epitaphios service had begun at one in the morning, the procession at four, and more prayer ran on past dawn. Now they were in the midst of celebrating the resurrection as was done in ancient times, with a vigil that began that afternoon and would not end until mid-morning, with only a cup of blessed wine, some bread, and dried fruit to give them strength. This was a period of intense fasting. Some had e
aten nothing. It was as the abbot wished it to be, and so it was. It was a time to rejoice, he said.

  But until his three monks returned, Zacharias could not rejoice. It wasn’t that he cared for them, but they had arranged for the messenger, and the messenger was expecting to deliver the package to at least one of the three. It was not the sort of package one could just claim was being picked up on someone else’s behalf. And he must have it before tomorrow evening. That was when he would be dining with the Russian abbot.

  He shook his head. Another obstacle. He’d taken such care to isolate himself from this transaction, yet now he might have to step forward and not just claim but plead for the prize. But nothing in life was easy. He would do what must be done. This was too important. They had succeeded in obtaining the exact formulation of dioxin used on the Ukrainian. Even though there were far better and faster working poisons, nothing would change the world as quickly as this death by pure 2,3,7,8-TCDD.

  ***

  Evening church services in Athens on Holy Saturday generally started at ten. Andreas knew Lila would use his late flight back from Mykonos as the excuse to her parents and his mother for why they’d probably not be there on time. As long as they made it to the church by midnight. That was the high point of the service, when church bells rang out across Greece and even total strangers exchanged the traditional Christos Anesti and Alithos Anesti greetings that Christ had risen, kissed each other, and lit each other’s candles to share the light and joy of the occasion.

  Andreas was not feeling, nor in the mood for, joy. He’d been biting away at his lower lip since boarding the plane, a long-dormant nervous habit from childhood. He didn’t realize he was doing it until he saw his reflection in the plane’s window. He shook his head. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ruined everything? He stared out the window.

  Should I tell Lila? How can I tell her now? She’s about to give birth to our baby. The betrayal, and with her best friend, I can’t tell her, I just can’t. He tried to justify what happened, but instead kept coming back to what he did wrong. He got drunk, he agreed to follow Barbara into the bedroom after promising Lila he’d sleep on the couch. It was his fault. Even though he didn’t remember a thing and refused when she offered herself again that morning. He was ashamed, and for one of the few times in his life utterly confused.

  “Sir.” It was the flight attendant.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve landed, you must get off, you’re holding up the bus to the terminal.”

  Andreas mumbled, “I’m sorry,” and hurried off the plane. He couldn’t go home like this. Maybe he just shouldn’t show up. Run away. Stay with Kouros for a few days. He couldn’t bear to face Lila.

  The bus stopped at the intra-European Union arrivals entrance to the terminal. He sat down on a railing just inside the terminal door. A cop walked over and told him no one was allowed to linger in that area. He showed his ID and the cop walked away. He wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. He took out his phone and dialed.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  There was a long pause. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Andreas, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ve done a terrible thing to Lila.”

  There was an audible swallow on the other end of the line. “Is she okay? The baby?”

  “Yes, but she won’t be after I tell her. And I have to tell her.”

  “Andreas, please, first tell me what happened.”

  “I’m so ashamed. I can’t even say it.”

  The voice turned sharp. “Andreas, do not pull this Greek macho male bullshit on me. If you guys only had the balls to see psychiatrists you might actually be as perfect as you think you are.”

  He grinned. “Maggie, you are the best.”

  “Now, tell me!”

  Andreas spent the next twenty minutes reciting every tormenting detail without a single interruption from Maggie.

  “How can I face her?”

  “I know how you feel.” Maggie’s voice was trembling.

  “How could you?”

  “I was raped by a friend once, too.”

  For an instant Andreas couldn’t breathe.

  “He got me drunk and…” her voice trailed off. “I still can’t bring myself to talk about it. And it happened thirty years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, we’re kindred spirits. Rape is rape. The fact you would have enjoyed it under different circumstances doesn’t change things. That only makes you feel guiltier, giving you even more reason for blaming yourself. Believe me, you did nothing wrong. You were the victim. And, frankly, it may not seem politically correct advice, but I see no reason in the world to tell Lila any of this.

  “If you were a woman raped by your husband’s best friend, things would be different, especially if you thought he might try again. In your case, a repeat rape is out of the question. But you better confront the bitch and let her know in no uncertain terms the consequences if she even hints at what happened last night to anyone. Who knows what sort of fucked up thinking runs through the mind of a woman who’d rape her best friend’s man? And when her friend is about to give birth to their child!

  “Jealousy, competition, spite, maybe just some need to brag about her conquests—like men do endlessly—might cause her to say something to someone. She must be told that if she utters even a single word, it will be a decision she’ll regret for whatever remains of the rest of her miserable life.”

  Andreas had never heard such passionate anger from Maggie. He was stunned into silence.

  “Andreas, did you hear me?”

  He nodded into the phone. “How can I threaten her like that?”

  “You’re right. You can’t. I’ll do it for you.”

  “Maggie—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve done it before. Besides, it will be better coming from me—up close and personal.”

  Consciously, Andreas knew he should object, say no, not under any circumstances, but his gut said say nothing, let her do it her way, she knows best. He struggled with what to say next. “I can’t tell you how much better you’ve made me feel. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for. I’ll get to her as soon as she returns to Athens.”

  Andreas drew in and let out a deep breath. “I better head home.” He looked at his watch. “And let you get to church.”

  “Don’t worry about church. Helping friends in need is the true work of God.”

  “You’re an amazing person, literally godliness on earth.”

  “Let’s not get carried away here, but thank you.”

  “Do you mind if I ask?”

  “Ask what?”

  “What ever happened to the one who…uh—”

  “He didn’t take my advice.” Maggie’s tone was hard, the words said quickly.

  “And?”

  “He died. Suddenly, unexpectedly. As the random victim of a street mugging turned violent. Kalo Paska, bye.”

  The phone went dead before Andreas could speak. Perhaps because there was nothing left to say.

  ***

  The service was about to begin. For him, it was the holiest moment of the year, a time for personal rejoicing, embracing the very source of his faith. He needed the energy, the renewing power of this night, for difficult times were at hand. He prayed it was not the time; that his old friend was wrong. But he feared the worst. That was why he’d made the decision, the practical one now tormenting him. He saw it as the only path, but would God accept that what must be done in His name on earth could not always be as it is in Heaven? He only prayed no more innocents died at the hands of the evil one in their midst. He shut his eyes and bowed his head. “May you strike me down this very night if I have made a dreadful
mistake in your name.”

  It was as genuine a prayer as the Protos ever uttered.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The e-mail hit Yakov’s computer screen just as he was about to leave for home. His wife would give him holy hell if they were late for midnight services. But the message was from his ex-director back in the days when Yakov was new to the foreign intelligence game. Anatoly had plucked him from the crowd and made him chief espionage analyst for southern Europe and the Balkans, better known then as Section V. He at least must take a quick look at it, if only for old times’ sake.

  Yakov began quickly scrolling through the message. The pace of his reading slowed, then slowed even more. He picked up the phone, pressed a speed dial button, and waited until the man now in charge of his old Section V duties in Russia’s new foreign intelligence service answered. “Artur, come to my office immediately.”

  Yakov was reading the attachments when a man entered his office. “What is it, Director?”

  “Artur, do you remember about a decade or so ago, the man we called ‘the Balkan Butcher’?”

  “How could I forget him. But didn’t he die?”

  “So we thought. I’m not sure any more. This just came in.” Yakov pointed to the screen. “Read it.”

  Yakov kept talking as Artur read. “Even if this monk, Zacharias, is the Butcher, if all he’s doing is running around creating political angst for the Greek Church, I’m not sure his past matters anymore. After all, we do believe in redemption, do we not?” He smiled.

  Artur did not answer, just kept reading.

  Yakov didn’t mind, he was used to asking rhetorical questions and never expected them to be answered. “As for the symbolism of the photographs, I think it’s an intriguing intellectual exercise, but I’m not sure of what interest it is to us. One could argue from the placement of the carpet and the superimposed face of Satan in the photograph that it was the Protos the murdered monk was linking to Satan. But let us assume this Zacharias is Satan’s beast or even Satan himself, as I said before, does it matter? Yes, undoubtedly, the Butcher in his day qualified as the devil incarnate, but that was a long time ago. Now he’s someone else’s problem, and I see no reason to make him ours. And so what if this Zacharias is behind all of the bad publicity coming out of Greece? Would it not be better for us to bribe those same journalists to write retractions than risk being exposed as the eliminator of the source?”