The Black Life

by Paul Johnston

‘Courtesy of the Phoenix Rises.’

  ‘The brutes. Are you all right? Sorry for the delay, I was in the bathroom. Sit down. What can I do for you?’

  Mavros glanced around. All the doors were open and it seemed they were alone.

  ‘I need the truth,’ he said, staying on his feet.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes were on his. ‘I’ve given you everything I know about Aron Samuel.’

  ‘I doubt that, but you’ve certainly been leading us on. You and Shimon Raphael.’

  ‘Shimon?’

  ‘You know he’s gone to Israel?’

  ‘What? No, I didn’t know that. I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Alex. I don’t work with Shimon.’

  ‘Who do you work with, then, Allegra? Or rather, who do you work for?’

  The tip of her tongue appeared between her lips. ‘I …’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’

  Mavros turned to see a tall, heavily built young man a few metres behind him. He was wearing jeans and a matching jacket, and his hair was dark.

  ‘Do you always creep up on people?’ Mavros demanded, relieved that the other man wasn’t carrying a weapon, though he looked like he could break bones without much effort.

  ‘Only when they’re annoying my aunt. Didn’t you hear her? Sit down.’

  ‘It’s all right, Raul,’ Allegra said. ‘Alex isn’t dangerous.’

  ‘I saw him on TV, putting himself about in the Phoenix Rises rally.’ The young man grinned. ‘Not as much as the woman.’

  Mavros’s phone rang before he could reply.

  ‘Alex!’ came Rachel’s voice. ‘Are you at Allegra Harari’s?’

  He thought about denying it, then decided it would interesting to see them all together.

  ‘Stay there!’ she said, her voice even although she was breathing deeply. ‘Give me a few minutes.’

  Allegra raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Rachel Samuel,’ he said. ‘She’s on her way.’ He glanced at Raul, who had sat down next to him on the sofa. ‘So, how many of you and your extended family work for Mossad?’

  There was a pin-drop silence. Allegra’s usually cheerful expression had curdled, while her nephew’s fingernails were digging into the seams of his jeans.

  ‘All of you?’ hazarded Mavros.

  ‘We don’t joke about that agency,’ Allegra said.

  ‘I dare say. Do you report to it, though?’

  ‘Aunt,’ Raul warned.

  Mavros shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. Rachel will clear everything up.’ He risked a lie. ‘She’s already told me she’s an agent.’

  ‘What?’ Allegra said, shocked. ‘She couldn’t.’

  ‘Couldn’t be an agent or couldn’t tell me.’

  ‘Both,’ Raul said. ‘They never come clean.’

  ‘They? So you’re not one.’

  The young man shook his head.

  ‘But you’ve had dealings with them.’

  ‘Raul.’ This time it was Allegra doing the cautioning.

  Mavros turned his gaze on her. ‘What about you? All the research you’ve done over the years – don’t tell me some of it hasn’t been passed to them.’

  She stared at him, then looked down. ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  Mavros glanced at his watch. Over five minutes had passed since Rachel’s call. He went to one of the windows that faced the main street.

  ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come on, Raul!’

  They raced to the door, and then – the lift being elsewhere – down the stairs.

  Rachel had sprinted down the narrow street, slowing her pace as she reached Egnatias Street. She was about three hundred metres from Allegra’s. Walking as quickly as she could through the crowd of people, she raised her phone.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked her contact.

  ‘Shouldn’t be long. Three minutes at most.’

  She rang off. The pavement suddenly cleared and she started to run. She moved her head from side to side, as she’d been trained. As she approached the building, she saw an old man selling lottery tickets and a younger one handing a bread-ring to a customer. Then she heard heavy steps behind her. Reaching into her bag, she gripped the pistol but it was too late. Heavy hands seized hers and another squeezed the back of her neck hard. Then she was propelled into the back of a van. Two men flattened her and she heard the doors close, then the engine roar.

  ‘Jew cunt,’ one of her captors said, in poorly accented English.

  ‘Better, Jew asshole,’ said another, laughing harshly.

  Rachel’s bag was pulled away, then ropes were tied round her wrists and ankles. Fingers delved into her pockets and her wallet and phone were taken. The latter rang, but wasn’t answered. She inhaled calmly, as she had been taught. At least the fascists hadn’t put her hands behind her back. She could work with that. ‘Concentrate on the details,’ her lead trainer had said. ‘Concentrate on what you’re going to do to them when you get free.’

  She took a hard slap to the cheek and her head bounced on the floor of the cargo compartment.

  ‘You smile, bitch? Soon you cry.’

  Rachel got herself into the zone. Preserve your energy. Observe. Prepare.

  Mavros and Raul ran down the street after the white van.

  ‘Get the number!’ he said.

  ‘I have it,’ the young man said, slowing to a halt and taking out his phone.

  Mavros stopped, put his hands above his knees and tried to get his breathing under control. He heard Raul give the number. Did he have a contact in the police? By the time he was upright again, the call was over.

  ‘No good. The van was reported stolen this morning.’

  ‘Fuck it. They were wearing caps so I couldn’t see their heads. The boots and combat jackets make it clear they were Phoenix Rises.’

  ‘Who else? I’d better get back to my aunt.’ Raul turned away.

  Mavros followed him. Just before he reached the building, a black 4x4 pulled up and a man in a black polo-neck and jeans came out and strode quickly towards him. His arm was grabbed in a steel grip.

  ‘Where is she?’ the man demanded, in English.

  ‘The Phoenix Rises got her. White van heading east, but you won’t catch it now.’ He grimaced. ‘Can I have my arm back?’

  The man stared at him, then let go.

  ‘Maybe you should come upstairs,’ Mavros said. ‘We’ve been exchanging confidences.’

  ‘I hope for your sake that’s a bluff.’

  His arm was clutched again, not quite so tightly, and he was walked inside. They took the lift.

  The man spoke words Mavros didn’t understand after he rang Allegra’s door. It opened swiftly.

  More words were exchanged, presumably in Hebrew. Allegra and Raul both shook the man’s hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mavros said, in English. ‘They were too quick, even for her.’

  Allegra nodded. ‘That’s in the past. What we have to decide now is how we proceed.’

  Mavros gave her a dubious look. ‘We? Who exactly are we? I know who I am, but you three …’

  More words in what he presumed was Hebrew were exchanged and the tall man went to Allegra’s computer.

  ‘So?’ Mavros asked. ‘Cards on the table time?’

  ‘We have to wait. Dan’s advising his controller.’

  ‘So Dan’s Mossad.’

  She held his gaze. ‘You could make that assumption.’

  ‘What about you and Raul?’

  Allegra sat down, signalling to him to do the same. ‘No. But you must understand that our community has ties to the Israeli state – ties at all sorts of levels. For example, as you suggested, I provide my fellow researchers and historians with the fruits of my labours. Sometimes the secret agencies are interested.’

  Mavros was about to ask her if she and Raul had been involved in the assassination of Tareq Momani, but decided that wasn’t a good idea. Dan looked like he was capable of anything.

  ‘What about
Aron Samuel?’

  ‘I didn’t lead you on. What I gave you is what I know.’

  ‘And Shimon?’

  ‘We haven’t even spoken recently.’

  Her tone, smooth and warm, was persuasive, but he didn’t buy it – the best she was getting was the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘So you don’t know if Aron’s in the city.’

  ‘No. He could be. You know the evidence, such as it is.’

  ‘Let’s assume he is. Why would he come back after all these years?’

  Allegra watched as Dan got up from the computer. ‘Maybe it’s nothing more complicated than that he wants to die where he was born.’

  Mavros shrugged. Anything seemed possible.

  ‘Right,’ said Dan, standing by the sofa. ‘I’ll speak English for the benefit of our … Scottish Greek.’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t know if I want to hear it.’

  Dan squatted down beside him. ‘You’re right to be cautious. But I’m going to appeal to your professionalism.’

  Mavros sighed, thinking of Niki and the Fat Man. He should already have been on a plane. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘We need a missing-persons expert with your experience in this country.’ Dan shook his head. ‘I was against Rachel employing you from the start, but she had her reasons. Now things have changed. Not only must you find Aron Samuel, but you must help us find Rachel.’

  ‘Must is a word I don’t respond well to.’

  Dan smiled, revealing white teeth and unusually pointed incisors. ‘Forgive me, English is my sixth language. Please help us find Rachel and Aron Samuel.’

  ‘Why are you so interested in the old man?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  Mavros laughed. ‘As I was saying to Allegra, cards on the table. You know everything about me, but I know very little about you.’

  ‘I will give you the information you need, but first you must agree to complete the case you took on. Your client has been lost on your watch.’

  ‘My client’s daughter.’

  ‘Even worse. Surely your personal code of honour – what is it called in Greek?’

  ‘“Philotimo”,’ said Allegra.

  ‘As well as your professional standing, require you to get her back.’

  Mavros was cornered. He wasn’t sure whether they’d studied his past or divined his character from his recent actions, but he did feel at least partly responsible for Rachel, despite the fact that she hadn’t been fully honest with him. And walking away from unclosed cases was something he never did.

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  ‘A good decision,’ said Dan. ‘There will be a substantial bonus if you succeed.’

  ‘Never mind that. Answer my questions.’ He caught the agent’s eye. ‘Truthfully.’

  The Israeli shrugged. ‘I’m bound by my rules of service. If I am not allowed to answer, you must … you will have to accept that.’

  ‘I’ll judge each question on its own merit.’

  ‘Shall I bring coffee?’ Allegra asked.

  Mavros brushed away the offer.

  ‘Why do you want Aron Samuel?’ he asked Dan.

  ‘I don’t. He’s Rachel’s baby, so to speak. But it’s felt that he should be found for his own good and for the good of the state.’

  ‘OK.’ Mavros gave him a grave look. ‘Did you kill Tareq Momani?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Did Rachel?’

  Dan shook his head. ‘She is not an assassin.’

  ‘Do you know who killed him?’

  The agent kept silent.

  Mavros thought about that. People like Dan were trained to lie. He himself had learned how to tell when he was being told untruths. There was something not right about the Israeli’s answers and his failure to answer. Then a thought struck him.

  ‘Did Aron Samuel kill Momani?’

  Another silence.

  ‘Does Aron Samuel have people working for him?’

  ‘Possibly. We know his sons have helped him in the past.’

  Mavros turned to Raul, thinking of the man in the fish taverna with Baruh Natzari and the other one who had picked them up. ‘Do they look like him?’

  ‘They’re not dissimilar, though more solidly built.’

  Had Rachel known about them, Mavros wondered. And why would Aron’s sons have met Baruh? Had they driven him to commit suicide? Or made his death look like suicide?

  ‘Did you dispose of the fascists who tried to get in here?’

  ‘That was me,’ Raul volunteered.

  ‘You’ve been well trained. Are you Mossad?’

  ‘We use local contractors from time to time,’ Dan said. ‘Now, we must move. Rachel’s in great danger.’

  Mavros nodded and let the rest of his questions go for the time being. The truth was, he wanted to save her from the neo-Nazis and he wanted to find her great-uncle.

  ‘You’re the expert,’ he said. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Where would they have taken her?’

  ‘Makis Kalogirou will be smarting after what we did to him this morning. He’s a moron when it comes to history and ideology, but he’s cunning. I doubt he’s got her in any of his properties, personal or business, or known Phoenix Rises premises. Anyway, we haven’t got time to check.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you took any photos of her abduction,’ Dan said.

  Mavros shook his head, then looked at Raul.

  ‘Afraid not,’ said the young man. ‘No time.’

  ‘Without evidence, diplomatic moves will be difficult.’

  ‘Rachel’s French,’ Mavros pointed out.

  ‘Among other things,’ Dan said. ‘It’s too slow anyway. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mavros took out his phone and called Nikos Kriaras.

  Rachel was on her front on a narrow table. When the van had stopped, she’d been taken inside quickly, a hand over her eyes. Her hands and ankles had been untied, but she was held down with such force by the men whose faces were covered by black balaclavas that she couldn’t make a move. She was spreadeagled, her wrists and ankles bound to the table legs. At least she was still wearing her clothes.

  ‘Some ass,’ said one of her captors, laughing lewdly.

  There was a burst of Greek and he shut up.

  Rachel took in her surroundings to the front. She was in a basement, she thought, the concrete walls unplastered. There was a shovel and a garden fork in the corner by the unpainted door. The floor was roughly finished. She inhaled damp and mustiness, and something else – was it liquid fuel?

  Then the door opened. Two masked men came in, both wearing high boots and combat gear. They were followed by Makis Kalogirou, whose face was uncovered. Rachel’s stomach clenched. If he was showing himself, that meant he didn’t care that she could identify him. Did the piece of shit have the nerve to kill her?

  ‘Mademoiselle Samuel,’ he said, in oddly accented French. ‘I suppose you thought locking me in with a bomb was very funny.’

  ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’

  He punched her on the side of her head.

  ‘Yes, Jewish bitch, I am here. As are my men. I don’t imagine you have experience of gang rape.’

  She inhaled deeply.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re civilised. No good National Socialist would soil himself with a Jewish orifice.’

  Rachel knew she had to play for time. ‘I suppose you learned that, along with your execrable French, from Le Pen.’

  She was hit again and heard a command in Greek. Sharp blades were applied to her clothes until she was naked.

  Kalogirou lowered his head to the level of hers. ‘We won’t taint ourselves with you, Jew.’ He grinned. ‘Instead we’ll use wooden stakes and iron rods like these.’ He brandished the instruments of torture. ‘Of course, if you give me the information I want, you’ll escape the worst.’

  Rachel resisted the temptation to spit in his face. She had to use her tongue in another way.

  �
�What is it you want to know?’ she said, with a sob.

  Kalogirou smiled, as if he’d expected her to break so easily.

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  She paused and then told him.

  The leader of the Phoenix Rises looked like he was about to faint.

  THIRTY-SIX

  My Gavriella died in March. No, it was a mercy. The cancer had been eating her for years and she was ready to go. The boys cried at her bedside when she was finally still – they have retained their humanity, as I hoped. I do not cry, have not since I joined the Sonderkommando. In fact, I smiled because I knew my darling was free of her pain and that of the world. She lost family members to the Nazis, though they were distant and she had never met them. I am proud that I protected her from the worst that men – and women – can do. She suspected I was doing terrible things – as she would have seen them – every summer, but she respected me enough not to ask. I never told her about the SK, confining myself to the loss of those close to me at Auschwitz.

  But, for all my happiness, her death changed everything. My sons are married, have children and now live in different states. But I’m not talking about day-to-day changes. I have lived inside myself since before the Lager and I can’t say that I missed my wife’s presence. She had been through such a trial of strength in the last months. No, what changed was my ambition. I was no longer tied to our home for most of the year. My health was – and is – still good. I wanted to move on from shrivelled old Nazis and dry-hearted collaborators. I needed to make a statement that all the world would see and understand. And I will make that statement in the city of my birth.

  What’s that? Why was I on the sidewalk opposite the synagogue? Because my old comrade Zvi’s grandson was getting married and I wanted to show my face, even briefly. Ah, Ester Broudo saw me. So that’s how you got on to me. No, I won’t tell you my plans yet. But you can be sure what I will do is related to the story I have told you. I want your agreement to participate. That does not imply your approval, simply your acknowledgement of the struggle against the evil in humankind. Do not speak. I will leave you to sleep for a few hours. I’m sorry I can’t untie your bonds. Close your eyes now.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘I don’t know all Makis Kalogirou’s properties,’ Nikos Kriaras said impatiently. ‘Besides, he could have taken the woman to some follower’s place.’