Pandora: A Harvey Nolan Thriller, Book 2 (Harvey Nolan Mystery Thriller Series)

by S. C. Abbey

  “Sir,” greeted the security guard at the door as he tipped his cap.

  Panayiotis acknowledged the man by sheer reflex but in actual fact, he wasn’t even paying attention at all. He walked past the man with just a nod, heading straight toward the stairway that led millions of visitors in and out of the Acropolis museum every single year since its inception.

  His Acropolis museum. To say it was his was not exactly a far-fetched idea at all. If you took the fact that he didn’t actually own the museum, it was absolutely, by all definitions, his. His baby. The two blue flags on the tall flag poles to his right swayed in the breeze like blades of wheat dancing in the fields.

  I did it for our cause.

  Panayiotis played with the ring on his finger—a serpent devouring its own tail. How could he have screwed up such a straightforward transaction? The instructions were clear—collect the timber box and the diamonds, and deliver the box to Agent Contos. Except, nobody thought to let him know what Contos was supposed to look like.

  It was a simple transportation deal, and I handed the package to the wrong person. What a genius I am—

  “How was I supposed to know who to give it to? He sounded so convincing,” whispered the director to himself as he rubbed the sweat dripping down the side of his face with the back of his hand.

  And why target me? He was almost starting to feel a little enraged. Why did you fool me?

  Panayiotis was positively regretting the whole thing now. But what could he have done? Nobody said no to the Organization. Nobody said no to him.

  The Organization called themselves OUBO. They dealt with firearms, weapons, defense systems, drugs—nobody knew exactly what they specialized in because they had their hands in everything. They were neither a terrorist organization nor pledged allegiance to any flag. In their own words, they were an enterprise. They were enablers—with a fee, they could make your wildest dreams come true.

  Panayiotis looked up at the street shops he was approaching. He was nearing his destination.

  It’s all right. I’ll right this. I’ll get the job done—I will find the timber box and hand it to the right person this time. No more mistakes, I swear. God, please help me. I did it for the interest of the Organization anyway, and my country… Or could I have rejected Blake instead? I shouldn’t have played with fire.

  There were three tables at the al fresco area of the café. Two were occupied, leaving the middle one left for Panayiotis to settle into. Panayiotis glanced nervously around him, studying his surroundings.

  He isn’t here yet.

  He wondered who he was supposed to meet—this man, sent to clear his mess. He had heard of his name before, Maksim Trzebuchowska, one of Blake’s men. The man he usually sends to kill, Panayiotis swallowed at the thought but shook it away. No. Blake had promised him everything would be fine. Just a stumble, nothing more. Panayiotis had always been loyal to the OUBO anyway.

  Perhaps I should have brought the diamonds. He felt a cold shiver travel up the back of his spine, despite the warm weather. And then, as the fear passed momentarily, he sighed in resignation. He couldn’t tell what the man was going to do to him, but if OUBO wanted to look for him, he might as well face his demons head-on—hiding from them wouldn’t be much use.

  The man sitting at the adjacent table sneezed. He dabbed his nose with a paper napkin he had in his right hand before again diving back into the novel he had in his left. He muttered a soft apology to no one. The table on the right was occupied by a young woman who spoke rather animatedly into her cell phone. She sounded like she was really enjoying the conversation, her hands waving in the air as she explained the art of Italian cuisine to her cell phone, or something like that—Panayiotis couldn’t be bothered.

  He looked at his watch again. One minute. Time wasn’t passing as fast as he hoped. His wife would be waiting for him at home, with his dinner. Oh, Carmen.

  They had spent a good part of the last forty years together—Panayiotis could hardly imagine life without her. Though she never did manage to bear him a child—that resentment was long buried and forgotten. As one got older, one simply learned to let go. What else could one wish for more than a life companion? Someone who knew all your quirks and idiosyncrasies, habits and disinclinations. He dreaded the day she would have to leave him, as all mortal relations end. In a sudden, selfish thought, Panayiotis hoped he would be the first between them to pass.

  A scream ripped through the crowd patronizing the street shops surrounding the café. Panayiotis extended the reach of his pudgy neck to see what was going on. Oddly, he realized everybody was staring in the direction of the café he was in. The sheer pause of silence was deafening. The woman on his right wasn’t speaking anymore. He slowly turned his neck in her direction. He felt the bile traveling up the back of his throat as he stared at her.

  To be exact, what remained of her. The woman lay slumped back in her chair, with half her head still attached to the body, and the other half of it splattered behind her on the floor.

  Panayiotis felt the same fear that had left him earlier creep back up. He turned to the man on his left, who was reading a novel, and the man looked back at him, mouth wide-open—his expression a reflection of Panayiotis’s. And before Panayiotis could take in the look on the man’s face, it ended up just like the woman on his right. The man slumped back in his chair, his novel falling uncontrollably from his fingers.

  Panayiotis jumped from his seat to a standing position. People around the café were in full-fledged rampage mode as they pushed themselves further from the bloodied scene. He looked at the faces of those who were still staring at him, as if to say, ‘save me.’ They looked back at him, as if they held him responsible for the deaths, telling him, ‘you’re already dead.’ Maybe he was, he thought. He sat back down in his chair, his shoulders slumped. He contemplated giving Carmen a call, but he knew the moment he touched his cell phone, it would all be over before he could dial the first digit.

  Panayiotis thought about the morning, before he left the house, how he had so quickly snapped at Carmen for burning the toast. His last response to her had been a grunt before he closed the door. Tears welled up in his eyes. Why didn’t he hug her? And tell her that he loved her when he had the chance?

  It was too late now.

  He closed his eyes. He could see Carmen smiling at him. He grinned in return, the lopsided one he always gave her when she tried to make him laugh. The smile never reached his eyes.

  Chapter 27

  MAKSIM TRZEBUCHOWSKA LEANED his dominant eye against the scope of the 0.5-caliber sniper rifle, taking one last look at his target to make sure he was dead.

  Greek bastard.

  He leaned back and exhaled. The shot didn’t seem to have lessened his fury on the matter, even though the man no longer breathed. He’d always enjoyed taunting his targets before he killed them, like a lion stalking its prey—when he was in the mood. Maksim appreciated the look on their faces, the look of dejection when they lost all hope of keeping their lives before dealing the fatal blow. The face of regret was his favorite expression.

  It’s all your fault I’m still in Athens when I should be home with my daughter. My sick, dying daughter.

  Maksim looked through the scope again. He took aim at Panayiotis’s chest and squeezed the trigger a few more times. Miles away, the crowds continued to scream as more bullets hit the paunchy-looking corpse. Maksim then took aim at the surrounding crowds of people. He looked for the densest bunch through his scope. When he was satisfied with one, he squeezed his trigger again. Non-stop this time, as he carelessly directed the muzzle in a horizontal motion, without taking aim at anybody in particular. Miles away, some of the people who were screaming at the top of their lungs earlier no longer did—because they no longer could. And that created a stampede positively trying to get the hell out of the area. He kept at it until he could smell the overpowering gunpowder and feel the weapon heat up. He took his eye away from the
scope. He then dug into his jacket pocket and came up with a contraption that looked like a TV remote control, except it only had an on/off switch at the edge and a round, red button in the middle. He flicked the switch on and pressed hard on the button without any hesitation.

  BOOM—

  The terrifying sound of the homemade C-4 exploding three hundred feet away from the dead museum director, at the other end of the street market, reached his ears in a matter of seconds.

  Everything seems to be as planned. Good.

  Maksim slipped the remote back in his jacket and started to dismantle the sniper rifle. He really liked this gun, he thought. The large caliber meant that even if the bullet missed its target by a quarter-inch or less, the target would still suffer from lateral damage from the path of the shot—a huge gash would be unavoidable. Not that he ever missed. He unzipped the rifle bag, disguised in the shape of a guitar bag, and neatly placed the now-dismantled parts of the sniper rifle. When he was done, he zipped the case and stood, swinging the bag around his right shoulder as he stepped away from the ledge of the roof. He chuckled as he realized he had been on a lot of roofs lately. But now, it was time to hit the ground.

  Maksim kicked the door open. He descended the stairs leading from the roof and soon reached the elevator lobby of the highest floor, where he pressed the button for the elevator. The elevator soon arrived and he stepped into the car. The door shut and the elevator began descending. It was an old building. It took a while before it reached the third floor where the elevator door opened and in came an old woman who had a green scarf wrapped around her neck. She smiled warmly at him, which he reciprocated. She reminded him of an aunt—the one who would bring him sweets every time she visited when he was younger. A lifetime ago. In a life long forgotten. After another agonizing minute or two, the elevator finally hit the ground floor. Maksim held his hand against the door.

  “Efharisto,” she thanked him as she stepped out. Maksim didn’t respond.

  He waited for the slow-moving old lady to completely get out before strolling out of the elevator, toward the back entrance of the building where he had parked his bike. He exited the building and turned right. The bike was exactly where he had left it. He flung the rifle case onto the back of the vehicle and tightly secured it before mounting the bike. The bike’s engine roared into life.

  “Now, where does that fat, dead bastard stay?”

  Chapter 28

  “DID YOU JUST say Damalitis Panayiotis is dead?” said Agent Elias Michel in a louder-than-normal voice, his eyes staring wildly at his partner.

  Agent Linard closed his eyes, feeling extremely tired from the roller-coaster day he had. Things just kept piling on all the shit they were already juggling. He massaged his temple with his thumb. “You heard me.”

  Agent Michel turned his face back toward the road. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “That man’s a national hero!”

  Agent Linard opened his eyes again. “That’s why they called. Said the country’s probably going to give him a state funeral for his contributions. We’ll probably have to stand by as security.”

  “Damn right we should,” said Michel. “I met him once when I was just a boy. My father told me he was a great man. Big heart.”

  Linard didn’t really feel the same level of attachment to the man. Sure, most of the country probably knew who Panayiotis was, the things he did. But to Linard, he was just another man. Linard kept his sentiments to himself.

  “How did he die?” asked Michel.

  Linard took a deep breath. “The authorities are holding a press conference in an hour, they’re planning to call it a terrorist attack. It was a crowded street market. Bullets and explosives. The death toll totaled one hundred and sixteen. Men and women, old and young—none were spared.”

  Michel snorted as if it was an everyday affair. “How did he really die?”

  “No idea,” Linard admitted. “Sanna seems to know something, but he’s keeping mum about things. You know how he is.”

  “Paranoid as f—”

  A speeding car suddenly cut into his lane, causing Michel to make an abrupt swerve to the left and back. “Son of a bitch—how do people pass their driving exams these days?”

  The near-accident made Linard realize he didn’t have his seatbelt on. He didn’t wait to be reminded again. “He wants us there—Panayiotis’s house. Told me to check in on his family, stick around the premises, just to make sure they’re safe. And most importantly, break the news to his wife.”

  “Shouldn’t that be a job for the police?” Michel asked. Linard shrugged.

  “What about Pachis and Iordanou? Any news from them regarding Nolan?” Michel continued.

  “I haven’t heard from them since I last spoke to Pachis,” Linard said, feeling a little odd about it now that Michel mentioned it.

  “They better be doing their jobs,” said Michel.

  Linard tried to dial for Pachis on his cell phone. “The call isn’t getting through.”

  Michel’s eyes narrowed. He then drove his foot down on the clutch, shifted the gear, and stepped hard on the accelerator. “C’mon, let’s take care of this babysitting business first.”

  Chapter 29

  CLINK!

  MAKSIM TRZEBUCHOWSKA flicked the switch on the tableside lamp with his glove-covered finger. The warm, orange light filled the room, and the entire span of the lavishly decorated bedroom appeared before his eyes. Although it was rather inadequate in lighting up every corner of the room, it was more than he needed.

  Now, where is it?

  A huge king-size bed appeared curiously small in the middle of the large, parquet-floored room. Maksim stood by a bedside table—one of the pair on each side of the bed frame with a pink cushioned headboard. On the opposite side, he could see two floor-to-ceiling wardrobes that covered that wall and the wall perpendicular to it on the left—commissioned dark-brown, solid teak wardrobes with hand-carved ornaments. A similarly patterned dressing table stood by the wall on Maksim’s right, coupled with a cream chaise lounge chair that looked like no one had ever sat on it. A shimmer caught Maksim’s eye—it was the mini crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the middle of it all.

  Disgusting.

  He thought about Sophie. How she would never get to experience a life like this just because she was born as his daughter, in his poor-as-rat’s-ass family. How sweet a girl she constantly was, despite being diagnosed with leukemia, and would probably never see the light of the day she would turn eighteen. How unfair life was to a soul so pure like her—a smart, young, and kind girl—who deserved to live more than Panayiotis, more than all the people he had killed, and definitely more than himself. And it made him angry. It made him terribly outraged.

  I shouldn’t be here. I should be home with her. Yet, for her, I have to be here.

  Maksim approached the wardrobe on the opposite side of the bed. He started with the two doors on the right, which he unhesitatingly pulled open. He grabbed the clothes within by the handful and started tossing them out of the closet. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was not the right wardrobe.

  These are women’s clothes.

  He repeated the act with the doors on the left and it was the same—female clothes. Maksim carried on to the third pair of doors and impatiently opened them.

  Suits and trousers.

  Looks like he was finally on the right side. Maksim carelessly grabbed the hooks and hangers, piling the garments on the floor. He didn’t really care to be delicate about it—he would be long gone before anyone arrived. When most of the hangers were off the hooks and on the floor, he eventually spotted what he had been looking for—a small, black safe. He snorted.

  What sort of idiot leaves five million dollars’ worth of diamonds in a safe like that? Anyone could have easily pried it out of the wall and walked away with it.

  He took out a handheld LED flashlight and focused the beam on the fifteen-by-ten-inch safe
mounted to the back of the wardrobe.

  Electronic mechanism, four-digit passcode. He tapped on the surface of the safe with his knuckles. A low, hollow sound rang. Two-inch-thick steel walls. Three, maybe two horizontal live-door iron bolts. This should be easy.

  Maksim took a step back and switched off the flashlight. He backtracked to the entrance of the room where he had left his duffel bag and carried it back to the front of the safe. He unzipped his bag and reached in, messing the contents within with his gloved hands before settling his grip on what seemed like the thick butt of a gun. He pulled out the Borsch battery-operated handheld drill. He flicked the switch on and squeezed the trigger. The drill came alive.

  Sweet.

  Maksim switched on the flashlight and clenched it between his jaws. He stepped toward the wardrobe and positioned the tip of the drill bit at exactly the point between the electronic screen and the keypad, on the far left of the circular panel that held them. He squeezed the trigger, and the drill began to slowly inch forward into the metal safe. He repeated the process on the other side of the panel, and a spot right under the bottom of the keypad. When the last hole was drilled, the screen started to flash an error message.

  Easy peasy. Maksim cast an ugly smirk that looked more like a tortured expression.

  “Honey—is that you?”

  He froze, but quickly recovered and stood. He hadn’t anticipated that. He caught the falling flashlight as it fell toward the ground with his left hand.

  She doesn’t yet know her husband’s dead—

  “Are you back early today? Where are you—?”