Prey on Patmos

by Jeffery Siger

  As he walked, Zacharias thought of other possibilities. What if they were caught? What if there were police waiting for him in Ouranoupolis? No, the three would never talk. They’re afraid of the Lord and what would happen to their souls should they stray from the path they’d chosen to walk together with him—and to their families should they cross him. He had picked his men carefully, each with a past and a family to protect. Yes, they would never give him away.

  The bus wound its way through timeless green beauty. He stared out the window; there seemed no human presence, man non-existent. This now was his place. This was where he belonged. He would make it worthy of his work. The boat was there. As if ordained to wait for him. Yes, it was ordained. It was part of the Lord’s plan. The time was now.

  ***

  It was almost four in the afternoon, and the man had been sitting in the same taverna chair for almost five hours. His ass was killing him. But his orders were clear and direct: “Petro, do not move under any circumstances until contact is made, and that means any circumstances.” They were not instructions one could misinterpret. Especially considering their source. He’d been doing this sort of work for more years than he liked to remember, but this was the first time the director had given him his orders personally.

  The jet, the parachute, the underwater approach were right out of one of those James Bond movies, but considering the last minute timing involved with this operation, there was no other real choice. You couldn’t get even a donkey to move in Greece on Easter. Still, he was getting too old for this special ops craziness. He just hoped the boat was here to meet him. All he could do was wonder, because the plan didn’t allow him to leave this goddamned chair to check.

  Some plan. Once contact was made it was up to him to make the call: kill, grab, or walk away. The choices had been conveyed in their reverse order of preference. “We’d prefer no more dead Greek monks on public streets during Easter Week, and if he seems no threat, let him take the package and go—the dioxin is phony anyway,” were the director’s exact words.

  “Where the hell is that monk?” Petro muttered under his breath in Russian. The Little Saint Anna had docked twenty minutes ago.

  “May I have a light?” someone said in Greek. It was a man who looked to be in his late thirties, early forties, sitting at a nearby table. He could be older, but his full beard was black and neatly trimmed. He was wearing jeans, a plaid work shirt, a fisherman’s hat, and construction boots, drinking coffee, reading a Greek newspaper, and holding a cat on his lap.

  “Here you are.” Petro responded in Greek, handing him a lighter.

  “Thank you very much, that is very kind of you,” said the man with the cat. “So, where’s the package?” He now spoke Russian with a Serbian accent.

  “Package? What package?” Petro responded in Greek.

  The man with the cat continued in Russian. “Since you understood what I said, there is no reason for you to continue straining to speak in Greek. I’m very comfortable in your mother tongue.” He smiled in a way suggestive of twinkling eyes, but his remained dark and focused.

  “So I see,” Petro said, switching to Russian, “but I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  The man stroked the cat and spoke as if talking to himself. “Of course you don’t. And if I gave you 75,000 reasons you still wouldn’t know, would you?”

  That was the amount the director told him would be paid for the dioxin. “That’s a lot of reasons.”

  The cat man smiled, staring off toward the sea. “Yes, I know. And I also know that you were expecting someone else to give them to you.”

  Petro nodded. “Yes, one of two possible persons as a matter of fact, and you do not fit the descriptions they provided.”

  Cat man smiled again, still staring off to sea. “You mean three.”

  Petro nodded again. “Yes, three. So why isn’t one of them here?”

  “They had commitments elsewhere and asked me to come in their place.”

  “Highly unusual for this sort of transaction.”

  Cat man nodded. “I accept that.”

  “Well, I can’t.”

  The man dropped the cat to the street and looked directly at Petro. “I am not with the authorities, although I do not expect you to believe me. But I am the one who is providing the money.”

  “You’re right, I don’t believe you.”

  “How can I change your mind?” His tone was conciliatory, solicitous.

  Petro shrugged. “I have a job to do, to deliver whatever’s in that package to one of three people and pick up the payment. If I deliver it to the wrong party my ass is on the line.”

  Cat man shrugged. “It’s going to be a lot more on the line if you don’t show up with the money.”

  “Maybe, but then again, why take the risk? I get paid the same whether I deliver or I walk. But unless I get a specific ID confirmation on the party I’m supposed to meet, my instructions are to walk.”

  Cat man nodded. “Okay, now that we understand each other, what do I have to do to make you comfortable enough to take the risk? Shall I present you with the ‘ID’ you were to be given or descriptions of the three you were expecting to meet?”

  He shook his head. “No need to, I’m sure you know the three. I just don’t know you.”

  “Okay, then let me put it simply. How much?”

  Petro smiled. “Forty thousand.”

  “Ten.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “No.”

  “‘No?’ Why ‘no’?”

  “Fifteen thousand additional euros for no additional risk. Take it or leave it.”

  Petro hesitated. “Okay, but I want to see the money now.”

  Cat man looked around the taverna, leaned toward Petro, and opened his shirt to show a money belt strapped about his waist. It was more like a bellyband for a bad back, but with pockets filled with euros.

  “I see you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

  Cat man smiled. “A long, long time ago. So, where’s the package?”

  “It’s in a boat at the pier on the other end of the harbor.”

  “Go get it.”

  “Not a chance. For all I know your missing three guys are waiting out there to rip me off.”

  “We have a standoff.”

  “Not really. We go to the pier, you wait at the entrance, I go to the boat, and come back to you. We make the exchange there. Assuming you put the money in something other than your shirt.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” For the first time cat man seemed nervous, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “Okay, but you stay in front of me the entire way.”

  “We walk side-by-side until the pier.”

  Cat man paused, then nodded. “Okay, but give me a minute.” He walked over and said something to the waiter, then gave him ten euros and picked up a beat-up plastic fishing bucket next to the kitchen door. “Let’s go.”

  “What’s that for?” asked the man.

  “For your fucking money.”

  ***

  Zacharias wanted to say, “For the bait that hooked you.” But that would have given away his ruse, and besides, he enjoyed being able to swear in public for a change.

  He thought his idea of wearing workingman’s clothes was brilliant. No one would expect a monk to be dressed like that. Amazing how easy it was to convince that Little Saint Anna seaman to let him borrow some clothes so Zacharias the monk “could see what it was like to walk about this hard world in your shoes, my son.” Everyone believed him, it was his gift.

  Zacharias had picked up on the Russian within minutes of walking into the taverna, but it was as if he were invisible to the Russian. Zacharias smiled to himself. It was the stray cat touch that did it.

  H
e knew the Russian ultimately would turn over the package for money, probably his own mother if the price were right. He was paying a lot more than he thought necessary, but there was no time to play out the negotiation game longer. He had to get the package and be back on the boat before it left for Daphni. He also didn’t like leaving the busy end of the harbor, but then again, he understood the man’s point. Each had to be wary of the other. It was the way of the jungle in which they lived.

  The walk along the cobblestone road took less than ten minutes. No one seemed to be around. Of course not, it was Easter Sunday, everyone was home cooking and eating lamb. He stood where he could see anyone approach from any direction. “I’ll wait here,” said Zacharias.

  “No problem,” said the Russian, as he turned and slowly walked toward a military-style inflatable tied to the far end of the pier. Zacharias watched him jump into the boat, take something out from beneath the captain’s seat, and step back onto the pier. Zacharias didn’t see anyone else on the boat.

  Good, he thought. No tricks. Zacharias opened his shirt and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Nobody. He pulled off the money belt and carefully arranged it in the bucket.

  The Russian came back holding a canvas backpack. “It’s in here.” He unzipped the bag and pointed at a plastic canister.

  “Open it,” said Zacharias.

  “Here?”

  “Yes, here.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No, just careful. You see, my friend, too many times in the past I’ve done the same thing.”

  The Russian smirked. “Do you think I’d not deliver what was promised?”

  Zacharias smiled. “No, that’s not my concern. If you were foolish enough to defraud me, I’d hunt you down and every member of your family. And destroy you all.” He almost hissed the last words and his eyes seemed to glow. “But as I said, that’s not my concern, that is yours. My only fear is that when I open the canister, there will be another surprise. One that will end my life. So, my friend, you open the canister.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Zacharias held out the bucket. “Don’t you want this?”

  “Yeah, and I’m going to take it.”

  Zacharias reached inside as the Russian grabbed for the bucket. The Russian came away with the bucket and Zacharias with the small pistol he’d hidden under the money belt. “Now, open the canister.” Zacharias kept the gun trained on the center of the Russian’s chest.

  The Russian paused, then let go of the bucket, reached into the backpack, and pulled out the canister. “Fine, if you want the whole world to see, here.” He twisted off the cap. Nothing happened, and he held the canister out in front of him. “Well, do you want to look or should I ask some cop to take it out for you?”

  Zacharias kept his eye and the gun on the Russian, but leaned in to take a quick, sideways peek at what was in the canister. It was a package bearing all the markings of dioxin. Zacharias smiled. “Good, we have a deal.” At that moment, Zacharias heard a pop and his world suddenly went very dark and quiet.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “How much longer are you going to take? Your daddy and I have things to do. We can’t keep waiting on you to show up. Come on out and see the world already.” Lila was sitting in the passenger’s seat, talking to her belly.

  Andreas smiled and patted the object of Lila’s conversation with his right hand, never taking his eyes off the road or his left hand off the steering wheel. “I like spending this time together.”

  “Try strapping a bowling ball to your belly and lugging it around 24/7 and see how much you like it.”

  Andreas laughed. “Hey, the doctor just told us everything is perfect, the baby should be here by the weekend, and not to worry. Besides, I’m sticking to you like glue until it’s time.”

  Lila smiled. “I’m glad you are.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “So, do you want to go dancing? I mean, it’s only Thursday. We have at least a day or so.”

  He knew she was teasing. “Yeah, sure. But why don’t we start out with lunch in Kolonaki? After all, it’s the fashionable place to be in Athens, and who’s more fashionable than my baby’s mommy?”

  “Oh you sweet-talking guy, if you hadn’t already knocked me up I’d let you do it all over again.”

  “I think I still remember how.”

  “Glad one of us does.”

  He laughed. “Okay, where to?”

  “Our usual hangout.”

  “Home?”

  “Just not up for the social scene.”

  “No problem. I’ll drop you off in front and park the car in the garage.”

  “Thanks, I’m not up for the walk.”

  Andreas patted her hand. He knew she wouldn’t want to go out. They hadn’t been out since Easter Sunday and probably wouldn’t have gone out today if it weren’t for her doctor’s appointment. Lila described what they were doing as “nesting.” Whatever it was, he liked it. And home also was the safest possible place for them to be. Their street running past the Presidential Palace was filled with police and military types protecting the powerful in and out of government who lived there. Their building itself was a modern-day fortress with automatic shut downs and security devices designed to foil even the most aggressive kidnappers, today’s scourge of the wealthy.

  The K-garage was only a few blocks from the apartment. It was where you parked when you couldn’t find a place on the street. If Andreas were in a police car he’d park anywhere, but this was Lila’s car and she kept it safely parked in the garage in a reserved space. He pulled up in front of the apartment building. It was on the left side of a one-way street, so he had to park with the driver’s side at the curb. A black, American-made Chevrolet Suburban with deeply tinted windows was parked just beyond the building’s entrance on the same side of the street.

  “Wait until I come around before opening your door. Some idiot on a motorbike might run into it.” Andreas jumped out and walked around the front of the car. He glanced into the Suburban. The light coming though the windshield allowed him to make out three men inside, two in front, one in the back. The engine was running.

  Must be waiting for someone, he thought. Andreas smiled. Cop force of habit, stay alert, stay alive. Live in condition yellow. Green is in your mother’s womb, red is in the heat of an all-out battle, and yellow is every other moment of a cop’s life. He opened Lila’s door and walked her to the curb. He heard a buzz. It was the sound you heard when someone opened a vehicle door with the motor running.

  “I’ll say goodbye here. See you upstairs.” Andreas kissed her on the cheek, his peripheral vision on the Suburban.

  “Is everything okay?” Lila asked.

  “Perfect, I just want to put the car away and get back home to you. I don’t like leaving you and junior alone.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” She kissed him and walked toward the entrance.

  He stood angled by the driver’s door of the car so that he could see Lila and the Suburban. He waited until she was inside the building. Something wasn’t right about the Suburban. Its warning buzzer still was blaring yet no one had stepped out.

  Andreas got into the car, turned on the engine, and slowly pulled away from the curb. He inched up alongside the Suburban as if he were planning to stop beside the still partially open door. But just before reaching that door, Andreas floored the gas pedal and his car shot up the street toward the corner. In his rearview mirror he watched as the door yanked shut and the Suburban lurched away from the curb. Definitely not right. He reached for his phone and pressed the code for “officer needs assistance.” Thank God for GPS.

  The only question was, what to do until the cavalry arrived? Heading to the garage was a no-no. He’d be cornered there. Being stuck in traffic along the way wasn’t a much better alternative. Only one thing to do. “Lila, please forgive me.” He said
the words aloud, as if to give himself courage, then slammed on the brakes, threw the car into reverse and sped backwards straight at the Suburban. The Suburban jerked to a stop. Andreas didn’t. Thank God Lila’s car was built to take a rear-end collision.

  Andreas jumped out of the car with his gun drawn. The Suburban’s driver door opened and a man in shirt and tie started yelling in heavily accented Greek, “Stop! Stop! Are you crazy?”

  “Damn well fucking better believe I am. Face down, in the street now.”

  The driver hesitated and Andreas locked his elbows in the shooting position for a headshot. The man dropped to the pavement instantly. “You, in the passenger seat. Slide out this way, keep your hands where I can see them.”

  The man slid across the seat slowly, deliberately. Police cars were arriving from both directions, and military types from around the palace were racing toward them with M-16s at the ready. Andreas had pulled his police ID out of his shirt and was yelling loudly, “I’M A COP.” He did not want to go down in friendly fire. As the second man stepped onto the street, Andreas yelled at him to drop to the pavement.

  Andreas stared. He knew this man. “Sergey?” Andreas did not lower his gun.

  The rear door opened and out stepped a silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored Italian suit. “Need I drop to the pavement, too, my son?”

  “Not sure yet. What are you doing here?”

  By now, police were everywhere and the military was aiming at everyone.

  “I don’t think this is the appropriate environment for the conversation I’ve come to have with you.”

  Andreas realized he still had his gun pointed at the two on the ground. He said to one uniformed cop, “Search those two,” and to another, “Check the vehicle.” He gestured to one of the men with an M-16 to keep it locked on the two on the ground, then holstered his weapon.

  He stared at the Protos. “I have a place to talk, but just you and me, not your boys.”

  “Chief, this one is carrying.” The cop was pointing to Sergey.