Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery

by Jeffrey Siger

Tank crossed his arms over his chest. “I really don’t know what you mean by that. Why would I know? How would I know?”

  “My brothers and I spent the night praying for the soul of your departed sister, killed by a bullet to her forehead, and you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

  “I swear to—”

  “Stop! You have lied to me at least three times since you sat in that chair, and invoked our Lord’s name twice in your subterfuge. Do not do it again.”

  “I don’t have to sit here and take these accusations.”

  The abbot nodded. “Brother Ilias,” he said to a monk by the door, “bring us his things.”

  “You have no right to go through my property.”

  The abbot waved for the monk to go. “I have no intention of going through your things. That is the sort of thing police do.”

  “I have nothing to say to the police. I was in prayer when those men were killed.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Though I dread ever learning the object of your prayers.”

  The abbot pushed back from his desk and rose up from his chair. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall. “Before finding my way to the Lord, men such as you sent me off to fight their battles. I swore I would never do service for their like again, only the Lord’s. And yet here I am, tricked into doing your and your father’s bidding, while you sat cowering in a corner by the tomb of our beloved Hosios Loukas, even as the two who now stand beside you came for you.”

  The abbot came around the desk and stood directly in front of Tank. “You brought murder into the house of the Lord and for that you shall be punished.”

  Tank tried to stand but the monks next to him held him down.

  “Have no fear of us,” said the abbot. “We shall not judge or punish you. Yours and your father’s punishment awaits you outside our walls.”

  Brother Ilias returned with a bag and held it out to the abbot.

  “Thank you, Brother,” said the abbot, taking the bag and turning to Tank.

  “Here is your property. Now leave.”

  “What? I don’t want to leave.”

  “But you are, and now.” He pushed the bag into Tank’s arms.

  “My father paid you a lot of money.”

  “And we said a lot of prayers.”

  Tank looked from the abbot to the others, then back again. “I require sanctuary. I’ll be killed out there!”

  The abbot placed hands the size of hams on Tank’s shoulders.

  “And I shall pray for your soul. Now leave.”

  ***

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” muttered Tank to himself as he stumbled in the dark along the path toward the service area parking lot outside the north wall. “How could they have blown it? And so fucking badly. I’m a dead man.”

  The explosion had scared him shitless. Nothing like that was supposed to happen. He knew it had to be Teacher’s man, the one who’d killed his sister in cold blood. And when he heard the pounding on the door of the crypt he’d tried to hide, certain he was about to die.

  Maybe Teacher’s man was out there waiting for him? He spun around looking, but even though his eyes had adjusted to the dark, with only a sliver of moon in the sky and sunrise still hours away, he could barely see ten yards in front of his face.

  No, he’s long gone by now. Tank’s mind kept looping through alternatives as he moved toward the gravel parking area. No way Teacher’s guy would be hanging around waiting for the police to show up. Besides, he’d want to make a big show of taking out the son and the father at the same time. Messages like that were Teacher’s trademark. Dramatic bitch.

  He wished he could get a message to his father about what had happened, but that would have to wait until he reached his SUV. The damn monks wouldn’t let him bring his mobile phone into the monastery. It had been a real pain in the ass coming up with excuses to get back to the SUV every time he wanted to use the phone. And they’d searched him for it each time he came back. Bastards.

  Tank saw his black Range Rover off to the right.

  “Finally, civilization.” He’d almost yelled the words.

  Tank held the keys in his right hand and squeezed the unlock button on the remote. He heard a chirp and saw the interior lights go on inside. He paused. The lights would make him an easy target anywhere within ten yards of the vehicle.

  He waited for the lights to go off before creeping toward the vehicle, scanning all around him as he did. He saw nothing. He heard nothing. He put down the bag he’d held in his left hand, gripped the driver side front door handle in that hand, yanked open the door, and leaped inside to turn off the interior lights just as they went on.

  Once all was dark again, he leaned out to pick up the bag, tossed it on the floor in front of the dashboard on the passenger side, closed the door, started the engine, and sped away.

  Tank’s mind raced as fast as the engine, but scattered, unfocused. Maybe the third mercenary hired by his father had actually killed Teacher’s man, and the reason the monks never found his body was because the mercenary had disposed of the body before they could find it. After all, that was the mission, and ex-military types were trained to put the mission ahead of everything else. At least that’s what he knew from the movies. He’d better call his father. He’d know.

  Tank reached down and felt around in the compartment between the front seats for his phone. It wasn’t there. He glanced away from the road to look in the compartment and on the passenger seat. Nothing.

  With his eyes still on the road, he leaned over to open the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat, in the process unintentionally turning the steering wheel clockwise enough for the right front wheel to strike a soccer ball size boulder at the edge of the road. The impact sent the car careening toward a steep hillside drop-off on the left. Tank struggled to maintain control, swerving the car back and forth until finally coming to a stop inches before tumbling off the road.

  “Whew,” said Tank to himself aloud. He rested his right elbow on the steering wheel, and put his head in his hand.

  “To spare us any more of that, is this what you’re looking for?” A hand holding Tank’s phone reached out to him from the backseat.

  Instinctively, Tank drove his right elbow back in the direction of the voice. But the top of his arm hit the headrest before the elbow could find its mark, and when Tank swung around to carry the fight on into the backseat he faced a nine-millimeter pistol pointed at the middle of his forehead.

  Tank froze, and stared into the eyes of his sister’s killer.

  “You do know that I have absolutely no compunction about pulling this trigger. Though I must admit I’m not looking forward to the pain to my eardrums that comes with doing so in such a confined space. But, of course, you’ll never get to feel that pain.”

  “Are you going to kill me like you did my sister?”

  “If you make me.”

  “I’ll pay you the money we were going to pay the three others.”

  “If you mean the two I killed and one who ran away, I don’t think that could possibly be enough to cover all the trouble you’ve caused.”

  “Give me the phone to call my father. He’ll make it worth your while.”

  Kharon nodded. “You know, you just might be right about that.”

  “Good, give me the phone.” Tank reached out his hand.

  “No, no, no. I think this is the sort of discussion we must have face-to-face.”

  “My father’s not anywhere around here.”

  “So start driving.”

  “I don’t know where he is. I need to call him to find out. Give me the phone.”

  Kharon smiled. “If that’s the case, I suggest you pick up where you left off in the monastery.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Praying, but in these prayers, ask for guidance on findi
ng your way to your father here on earth, because if he isn’t where you’re taking me….” Kharon shrugged. “I’m sure that with all the time you recently spent in a monastery praying to your Lord in heaven, there’s no need for me to finish my thought.”

  Kharon slid over on the backseat to just behind the driver seat. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be chauffeured around in one of these.”

  Tank didn’t move, just kept staring at the barrel of the gun in Kharon’s hand.

  Kharon leaned forward and pressed the gun barrel to Tank’s temple with his right hand. With his left hand he slid an ear plug into his own left ear, put his left forefinger into his right ear, and said, “Drive or die. Five seconds to decide…four…three…”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  He dreamed of flowers, streams, and hillside walks with his father. Of his sister tagging along far enough behind to slow them down continually with running descriptions of every plant and bug along the way. Of his mother smiling at their five-year-old unofficial tour guide in golden braids and her impatient, seven-year-old brother pressing his sister to hurry on to wherever their hike might take them. One year later, the father was gone. No more walks, no more smiles from Mother, no more chattering sister. Poof. In an instant, all gone.

  He tried to drive his dream to a different place. One where the little boy and little girl continued on together in happiness. He saw his son but no little girl yet among the flowers, though he could hear the faint buzz of the bees. The children best be careful of their stings. The buzzing wouldn’t end. He charged forward, waving them away, protecting the children, chasing—

  “Andreas! Wake up, you’re swatting at me.”

  “What? Huh?” Andreas sat up in bed and looked at Lila. In the light from the clock on her nightstand he saw his wife clutching a pillow in front of her. “I was what?”

  “Waving, pushing something away.”

  “Sorry about that. My dream was so real.” He shook his head, blinking away the remnants of the dream-turned-nightmare. “I could hear the bees buzzing around our children.”

  “Our children? Any vision of the new one’s gender?”

  “As a matter of fact I saw a—”

  BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ.

  “There it goes again. It’s my phone. I had it on vibrate.” He looked at the clock. “It’s five in the morning.”

  “Middle of the night telephone calls are starting to become a habit around here.”

  “Tell me about it.” He swung off the bed and picked up his mobile phone from his nightstand. “It’s Spiros. I’ll take it in the other room.”

  “Don’t you dare. Since you batted me awake I want to hear the good stuff firsthand. Turn up the volume so I can hear what he says.”

  Andreas smiled, sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed TALK. “Hi, Spiros. Sorry I missed you before, but my phone was on vib—”

  “There’ve been two murders in Hosios Loukas Monastery outside of Arachova.”

  Andreas felt a chill run down his spine. “Of monks?” He crossed himself as he said the words.

  Lila sat up in bed and turned on the light.

  “No, thank God. Two men dressed as combat soldiers. No ID on them yet.”

  “What the hell were they doing in a monastery?”

  “Precisely what I asked the local police chief when he called me.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “No idea, but I think we might.”

  Andreas detected a tone of relief in Spiros’ voice. “What are you saying?”

  “The police chief spoke with the abbot. I understand the abbot’s quite a character. Highly distinguished military career until he decided he preferred saving souls to dispatching them. Anyway, he told the police chief they’d had a guest staying in the monastery who might be able to answer those questions for him.”

  “The guest being?”

  “Tank.”

  “So that’s where he’s been hiding.”

  “Yep.”

  “Have the police spoken to him yet?”

  “He’s not there,” said Spiros. “The abbot told Tank to leave and threw him out in the middle of the night.”

  “Why’d he do that? He should have held him until the police got there.”

  “That’s what the police chief told him. The abbot replied that they’re monks not cops, and besides, the police shouldn’t have any trouble finding him, since no other monastery will likely take him in after word of this gets around. Those were the abbot’s words.”

  “Sounds like he wanted Tank out of there before the monastery’s publicity nightmare got fully underway.”

  “I see you’re getting the hang of this political game. Tying Tank’s name into this would turn the monastery into the center ring attraction of a major media circus.”

  “It’s still going to be hard to avoid that, if Tank was the target.”

  “I don’t think he was.”

  “Why’s that?” said Andreas.

  “The abbot said there was an explosion, likely some sort of grenade, and right after that some monks came across a man in the middle of the mess, shaking like a leaf. He said he was a pilgrim looking for a place to stay for the night and had been awakened by the explosion. In the confusion after finding the bodies he slipped away. The police found remains of a grenade on a path just beyond where the monks found the bodies and the pilgrim. The path led up to the gate where some of the monks heard a motorcycle drive off less than a minute after the explosion.”

  “The pilgrim could be our boy Kharon,” said Andreas.

  “Especially since the two dead weren’t carrying grenades and each died from a bullet to the head.”

  “Sounds like a Tank family setup to take out Kharon that went very wrong for someone. Make that two someones.”

  “Yeah, ain’t that a shame,” said Spiros.

  “We ought to get a photo of Kharon up there for the local police to show the monks.”

  “Not sure that will help much. The local chief told me it was so dark and the monks so rattled they’ve already given him three very different descriptions of the same guy.”

  “Damn.” Andreas shook his head. “I hate to say this, but don’t you think we should warn Tank’s father?”

  “You just said it sounded like an ambush for Kharon set up by Tank’s family. Don’t you think the father will know by now what happened?”

  “I’d like to think his son would have told him, but that’s not the point. The man’s life’s in danger and, as big an asshole as he is, we’re cops and have a duty to warn him. It’s what separates us from the bad guys.”

  “Sometimes I can’t figure you out, Andreas. Okay, I’ll call him right after breakfast. It’s not the sort of conversation I can have on an empty stomach.”

  “Thanks for the update.”

  “You’re welcome and…ah…thanks for counseling me to hang in there. Good night, and apologies to Lila for waking her up.”

  “It’s okay,” said Lila from her side of the bed.

  Andreas shot her a glance as she covered her mouth with her hands.

  “What was that?”

  “Lila, she talks in her sleep.”

  Lila flashed him the thumbs-up sign.

  “And snores.”

  The thumbs-up morphed into a middle finger.

  “I never would have thought that. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  “Kaldis, you are in such trouble,” said Lila.

  Andreas rolled over and slid his hand up under the covers to rest on her bare breasts. “Not as much as I plan to be in momentarily.”

  ***

  At this time of the morning, the drive from the monastery to Tank’s father’s home in Chalkidiki should take a little over six hours. That would get them there around breakfast tim
e, Kharon thought, unless Tank tried something foolish.

  He studied Tank’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They darted left and right just as you’d expect from a man desperate for a way to escape.

  “Please don’t try ramming the car into a tree or something silly like that. Your air bag won’t save you. That only works in movies. You’ll be dead from a bullet before you hit the tree. Besides, I’m snug in the backseat of this behemoth SUV wearing a seat belt and watching every move you make.” Kharon grinned as Tank bit at his lip.

  “How much will it take for you to let us go?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll talk about all that with Teacher.”

  “She’s meeting us there?”

  “Like I said, we’ll talk about it.”

  Kharon had called Teacher shortly after he’d fled the monastery. She wasn’t surprised about the assassins and congratulated him on his resourcefulness. He told her he’d found Tank’s Range Rover in the parking lot and about his idea of reuniting Tank with his father. Teacher liked it. She told him to text her once he’d collected Tank and they were on their way to Chalkidiki.

  Kharon almost asked her if she saw his night spent under the stars as some sort of test or trial, but he decided it was probably best not to let her know he’d picked up on some of her ways. Instead he added it to the list of things he’d decided to keep from her.

  Like his conversation with Jacobi.

  A high anxiety Jacobi had called him yesterday afternoon to say that a cop had pressed him for information on a hit put out “on someone in Greece close enough to Teacher to get her attention.” From what the cop said, Jacobi worried Kharon might be the target.

  When Kharon asked why the cop came to Jacobi, he said, “I asked the cop the same question and he told me to go fuck myself. I have no idea how he knew, but he did.”

  Kharon knew. The cops probably picked something up off a phone tap or microphone planted in Jacobi’s place. Telling Jacobi to be careful about running off at the mouth was like telling the sun to stop rising. Who knew what the cops had found out about Teacher from Jacobi? Or about me.

  That’s when Kharon decided to check the BMW and found the tracking device. The question was, who put it there? And when? Based on his conversation with Jacobi, police were the likely suspects. But he couldn’t rule out Tank and his father. Whoever it was, he didn’t want them to know when he moved again. So he left the device in a rosemary bush near where he parked the bike by his home in Delphi.