Target: Tinos

by Jeffrey Siger

  Andreas smiled. “For the time being. So, how are offerings to the church holding up in these times of crisis?”

  “Not sure why that’s relevant, but I can tell you that in hard times many seek out the Megalochari who otherwise might not.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me numbers. After all, it doesn’t take a genius to count the people crowding daily into Panagia Evangelistria, multiply that by an estimated average value per offering, and conclude that there’s serious wealth passing to the church every day. And since much of what’s being offered is in the form of precious metals and gems, there has to be a place to store it all. Not every offering can stay draped around the Megalochari. The pile would reach the roof. And then there are all those offerings of oil and candles to contend with.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Remember that transient foreign thief you talked about who took a shot at stealing the icon?” Andreas tapped his right index finger on the table. “At this very moment you have an island filled with transient bad guys who I can assure you are lot worse than that first Megalochari thief ever was. And I can also promise you that whatever escape plan they have in mind won’t have them hanging around Tinos waiting to make a deal with local sailors.”

  “What do you want from me?” said Eleni.

  “I need to know what’s valuable enough in your church to get two human beings who claimed to know about a plan to rob Panagia Evangelistria murdered in a way that made a very public point.” Andreas decided not to mention the third dead brother. The woman was already alarmed enough.

  “What point?” said Eleni.

  “Wish I knew. Then I wouldn’t be bothering you as much as I am for help.”

  “The Megalochari is, of course, our most priceless treasure but it is also worthless to anyone trying to sell it.”

  “Not so,” said Tassos also gesturing no with his head. “There are mega-rich collectors out there holding priceless missing treasures in secret collections. They’d pay a fortune for the holy icon.”

  “Plus any number of rich nuts out there, religious and otherwise, who’d love to have the power of the Megalochari all to themselves,” said Andreas. “And let’s not forget ransom. Can you imagine what the Foundation would pay to get the holy icon back?”

  “I can assure you all of that has been considered and appropriate safeguards are in place.” Eleni sounded defensive.

  “And in case you’re wrong?” said Andreas.

  Eleni stared away. “There is also the Foundation’s art collection of icons, relics, paintings, sculpture…so many priceless things that I cannot possibly put a value on them.” She turned back to Andreas. “And, yes, places where the offerings and treasures are stored. Some are kept until they’re sold to help fund the Foundation’s purposes and others are saved for the true treasures they are.”

  “In other words,” said Andreas, “the Foundation has a lot to steal.”

  Eleni nodded.

  “Can you think of any other potential targets on the island?” said Tassos.

  “Many. There are some very wealthy families on Tinos.”

  “Let’s just stick to the churches,” said Andreas.

  “The Catholic Church’s presence here is more significant than almost anywhere else in Greece. Its Cathedral of Saint Nicholas sits down by the harbor, just below Panagia Evangelistria, and half of the more than one hundred-twenty formal churches on Tinos are Catholic, plus a third of the hundreds of others. There is also a Jesuit monastery.”

  “But I assume none of those other churches, Catholic or Orthodox, has anywhere near your church’s wealth,” said Andreas.

  Eleni nodded. “There are miracle-working icons in other churches, but none as sacred and revered as the Megalochari.”

  “Have you noticed anyone or anything unusual recently?” said Tassos.

  “Not that I can think of. But the island’s in the midst of preparing for the Feast of the Assumption of the Virgin on August 15th. It’s Tinos’ busiest day of the year by far, all in honor of the Megalochari. There’s so much happening around this time that even the unusual seems usual.”

  “Would that be a likely day for a robbery?” said Andreas.

  Eleni gestured no. “I can’t imagine a worse one. Tinos is a madhouse on August 15th. The population swells to such unmanageable levels that Tinians have virtually ceded that celebration to visitors and treat July 23rd, the anniversary of Saint Pelagia’s third vision of the icon, as their time to celebrate the Megalochari.”

  “What happens on the 15th?” said Andreas.

  “The holy icon is paraded from Panagia Evangelistria down Megalochari Avenue to a marble rotunda at the base of the hill where a service is conducted. Then it’s carried back up the hill to the church along the same route. It’s a procession filled with religious dignitaries, government officials, military, and police surrounding the holy icon. Frankly, if you’re looking for a festival on which to pull off a robbery, July 23rd would be a far better choice.” She smiled.

  “Why July 23rd?” said Andreas.

  “Both involve dignitaries and the same amount of police, but when the procession reaches the harbor on the 23rd it turns left and continues to the edge of town where the holy icon is transferred to nuns from Saint Pelagia’s convent. They take the Megalochari back to their convent in a taxi and keep it there until eight that evening when it’s walked back to Panagia Evangelistria in a two and a half hour procession.

  “There would be a lot more chances to pull off a robbery then, but that festival day has come and gone and the Megalochari is still here.” Eleni forced a smile and looked at her watch. “Oh my, I’ve got to run. I’m late for a meeting with my boss.” She stood up.

  Andreas stood and handed Eleni his card. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful and I hope we’ll have the chance to talk again.”

  As Tassos rose he said, “If you think of anything else, no matter how crazy or insignificant it may seem, please let me know.”

  “I will, uncle.” Eleni kissed Tassos on both cheeks. She reached out to shake Andreas’ hand. “And, Chief Inspector, good luck.”

  “Good luck? With what?”

  “Your wedding. Have you forgotten?” She laughed. “That’s not a very good sign.”

  Andreas shook Eleni’s hand. Ain’t that the truth.

  Chapter Ten

  It was far too early for lunch when Eleni left Tassos and Andreas sitting at the table, but her father and brother insisted they stay “a bit longer” and try what was “special on the menu for lunch,” amounting to enormous portions of sklavotyra—round cheese balls surrounded by fresh figs, sun dried tomatoes, and capers—deep fried meatball-shape keftedes made of tomatoes, and an omelet of local sausage and cheese.

  Tassos said it would be rude not to accept. Andreas said it would just be fattening.

  “So, what do you think of my niece?”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “I thought you were over that macho every-woman-can-be-mine Greek bullshit.”

  “I am. I’m just not over busting your balls.” Andreas smacked Tassos lightly on the side of his arm. “She’s very impressive. Smart, but a bit anxious. I wonder if she’ll tell her boss about our conversation?”

  Tassos gestured no. “Not a chance. She knows we’re trying to help. But I can’t blame her for being nervous. There’s a lot at risk. Just a few years ago the Foundation put sixteen million euros into renovations and a new museum addition. We’re talking big business here.”

  “How in the world did the Tinians manage to keep the Foundation and all that wealth out of the hands of the Greek Church?”

  “They’re very resourceful people. It’s the only island that successfully resisted Turkish rule. The Venetians were in charge during most of those Ottoman times, keeping Tinos a Christian oasis amid Turkish domination of the Aegean. When the Turks took over about a hundred years before our War of Independence it was in a negotiated way giving Tinians rare economic and religiou
s privileges. Turkish fleets had to stay twelve miles away, Tinians could wear traditional dress and build and run their own schools and churches. Four elected Tinians governed the island and the only permanent Turkish residents there were the governor and the judge. Tinos was the economic center of the Cyclades and had its largest population. It was called ‘Little Paris.’ Things only fell apart for Tinos at the end when political infighting and corruption allowed the Turks to assert themselves in the final decade or so before the revolution.”

  “And then came a nineteen-hundred year-old piece of wood to the rescue.” Andreas shook his head.

  “Back then it was only seventeen-hundred years old, but if we’re talking rescue, I’ll take whatever help is out there to save Greece today,” said Tassos.

  Andreas smiled. “Do you think the Megalochari is what they’re after?”

  “Hard to say. Like you said, the holy icon is portable, making it relatively easy to steal. But all that church’s gold, jewels, paintings…” Tassos rolled his hand off into the air, “would be a lot less difficult to sell than one of the world’s most revered religious treasures. And then there is all that valuable stuff in churches all over Tinos that would be far easier to rob than Panagia Evangelistria.”

  “Maybe the plan is to rob them all?” said Andreas.

  Tassos gestured no. “Pirates tried that for centuries. Tinians are quite accomplished at hiding their treasures.”

  “It just doesn’t makes sense to me why anyone would bring so many bad guys together on a relatively small island just to rob a single church, no matter how rich it is. There has to be more to it than that. And why is everything coming to a head so close to August 15th?”

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence? I have to agree with Eleni that it seems a lousy day to pick for a robbery.”

  “Yeah, it’s ‘lousy’ if you’re going after the Megalochari. But what if the target is something else? Say, like everything else. With everyone focused on the procession it might be the perfect day for heisting the rest of the church’s treasures.”

  Tassos shrugged. “I think perhaps we should take a different approach and stop trying to figure out what the bad guys could steal.”

  “A ‘different approach’ for you generally means head-busting,” said Andreas.

  “I don’t think we have to go that far, but I do think it’s time we pay a visit to some of Tinos’ more recent émigrés and try to find out what brought on their sudden attraction to life on this island.”

  “Like I said, head-busting.”

  ***

  Tassos and Andreas had been driving around for almost a half hour looking for a dovecote. When you mentioned Tinos to a native Greek the second most likely thing to come to mind were the island’s nearly one thousand intricately designed, two-story stone dovecotes. They were almost as famous as the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. Decorated in elaborate geometric patterns and natural shapes like cypresses and the sun, dovecotes were mainly built on slopes near water and cultivated areas in the eastern and central parts of the island where the wind offered easy takeoffs and landings to attract the doves. Venetian occupiers had introduced them to Tinos in the 18th Century to satisfy their taste for pigeon meat and provide a high quality source for fertilizer.

  But Tassos and Andreas weren’t sightseeing. They were looking for one dovecote in particular. Eleni’s father told them that a Tinian contractor specializing in restoring dovecotes had a lot of new metanastes working for him. He remembered seeing some that morning on a farm on the far side of a village “about twenty minutes from here if you know the way.”

  “That must be it.” Tassos pointed to an open field off to the left fenced in by centuries-old stonewalls. Beyond the field sat a traditional white Cycladic farmhouse and next to it on the left a freestanding, two-story white and natural stone dovecote. The bottom story was for storage and gathering bird droppings, the top for the doves. Three men in work pants and tee shirts stood smoking in front of the dovecote.

  “Must be break time,” said Andreas.

  Tassos looked at his watch. “More likely boss-is-away time.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can get their attention.” Andreas made a left onto the gravel and dirt path leading up to the farmhouse. He turned on the flashing roof lights as the cruiser approached the men.

  “What are you doing that for?” said Tassos.

  “To see how they react. And to let them know this is a formal visit. May as well start getting the word out that there’s a new sheriff in town.”

  “You and those damn American westerns.” Tassos opened the door before the car stopped and stepped out the instant it did, keeping the door between him and the men. “Okay, guys, over here.” He pointed to a spot in front of the car.

  The men looked at each other as if waiting for one of them to make the first move.

  “Like I said, ‘over here.’ And that means now.”

  One man started forward and the other two followed.

  Andreas stepped out and leaned against the driver’s side of the car. “You, in the green tee shirt. Drop the hammer.”

  The man kept coming and Andreas put his hand on his holster. A dark-skinned, wiry man in a white tee shirt turned to the one in green and said something in a language Andreas did not understand. The man dropped the hammer.

  “Those two don’t understand Greek,” said the man in the white tee shirt.

  “That could be dangerous,” said Andreas not taking his hand off his holster.

  “Papers please,” said Tassos.

  The man in white said something to the other two, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a passport and working permit. The other two men did the same.

  “Is there a problem officer?”

  “I’ll let you know,” said Tassos.

  “Call them in,” said Andreas. “Let’s see what we have on them.”

  Tassos reached into the car for the transmitter. Andreas slowly walked to the front of the car and leaned back against the hood. He was about six feet from where the men stopped. He stared at them for about a minute without saying a word.

  “Where are you from?” said Andreas.

  “They’re from Romania, I am from Pakistan.”

  “I meant in Greece.”

  “Athens.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since the end of June.”

  “And the other two?”

  “I don’t know, about three weeks I guess.”

  “Before those two tsigani were murdered?”

  The man shrugged.

  “How come you speak Romanian?”

  “I’m good with languages. It’s how I got this job. I do the translating and they do most of the work.” He smiled.

  “No outstanding warrants,” said Tassos. “But some very interesting arrest records. For all three.”

  “How’d you manage to get working papers?” said Andreas.

  The man didn’t respond.

  “Let me guess,” said Andreas. “No convictions and friends in very low places.”

  Andreas got off the hood and stepped to within a foot of the man’s face. He was a head shorter than Andreas. Andreas patted him on the shoulder. “You and GADA’s Chief of Special Crimes are about to become a 24/7 item.”

  “Why are you hassling me?”

  “Why are you on Tinos?” said Andreas

  “To work.”

  “Please don’t tell me you found religion,” said Tassos.

  “Sort of.”

  “Stop fucking with us,” shouted Andreas.

  The two Romanians looked at each other.

  “You better tell your buddies to relax.”

  The Pakistani said something to the others. “We came here because we heard we’d find work. And that if we kept out of trouble the pay would always be good.”

  “Who told you there was work?” said Tassos.

  “Someone I met in Athens.”

  “Got a name?” said Tassos. />
  The man gestured no. “He said he was a ‘priest.’”

  Andreas nodded. “A priest.” Andreas cleared is throat. “Was he dressed like a priest?”

  “No.”

  “Did you meet him in a church?”

  “No. I met him on Sophocleos Street, just off Pireos.”

  He’d just named perhaps the worst section of street in central Athens, a veritable no man’s land of 24/7 vice and crime. “He acted like one of those missionary types seeking converts but he wasn’t talking religion.”

  “Then how did you know he was a priest?” said Andreas.

  “I didn’t say I knew he was a priest, I said that’s what he called himself.”

  “And you left Athens to come here based on that?”

  “No, I checked with friends who were working here. They said it was legit.”

  “I’m sure you have names for your friends,” said Tassos.

  The man looked around, as if for a place to run.

  “You won’t make it,” said Andreas. “The names.” He knew they’d be phony.

  The man mumbled out four names. Tassos wrote them down.

  “And where can I find those friends of yours?” said Andreas.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Like I said, ‘stop fucking with us.’ Where do they hang out when they’re not working?”

  He looked at his feet, then up at Andreas. “Promise me you won’t tell them I told you.”

  Andreas smiled. “Why, of course.”

  He gave the name of a bar that he said was not far from the port. “We meet there after work.”

  “You mean at three in the afternoon?” said Tassos.

  “No, after they’re done at work. They don’t work construction. They work at hotels and tavernas in town. I meet them around eleven at night.”

  “And what do you do between now and then?” said Andreas.

  “Sleep, get something to eat.”

  “How can you afford to hangout in a bar every night?” said Tassos.