The Last Red Death (A Matt Wells Thriller)

by Johnston, Paul

  Mavros squeezed her forearm, fearful of the response her words might provoke.

  Milroy raised his shoulders. ‘They were making a hell of a noise.’ He returned her stare. ‘Anyway, what are you complaining about, Grace? We killed the man who slaughtered your father like an animal.’ He nodded at her. ‘You wanted to do it yourself, I saw the look on your face. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘You also killed the businessmen to make it seem like Iraklis had returned to the scene,’ Mavros said, nudging Grace away. ‘Your superiors are hardly going to raise a cheer for that.’

  Jaeger looked unconcerned. ‘Who’ll believe that, whatever Iraklis said at the Palaiologos house? We’ll produce all the evidence anyone needs to prove that he was the perpetrator.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Grace said, raising her hand. ‘What exactly was your smartass plan at the Palaiologos house? You said that this piece of slime here lost his grip. So what were you expecting to happen?’

  Mavros turned to her. ‘Christ, that’s right.’ He looked back at Jaeger. ‘You were hoping that Iraklis would shoot Veta, weren’t you?’

  ‘That was the general idea,’ the American confirmed.

  ‘But what about the effect that would have had on this country?’ Mavros said.

  Jaeger glanced over towards Jane Forster, who was now on her knees in the undergrowth, her head averted. ‘The effect?’ he said, his tone hardening. ‘Nothing but good. The socialist buffoons in government would have been terminally discredited by the assassination of such a major opposition figure on their watch. It wouldn’t have been long till the other side won power in elections.’ He shook his head at Mavros. ‘The Left is a spent force, my friend. You should know that better than most.’

  ‘That may be true,’ Mavros said, his fists clenched. ‘My father struggled for years and Greeks still chose the free market, but that doesn’t give you the right to meddle in other countries’ affairs. That doesn’t give you the right to play God.’

  Milroy’s face flushed. ‘And what about the innocent victims like Trent Helmer?’ he yelled. ‘What about Laura, her life ruined? There’s a twenty-year statute of limitations in this fucking country. Even if Iraklis had been caught, he wouldn’t have stood trial for that killing.’ His eyes were locked on Grace. ‘Don’t you get it? I did this for your parents.’

  She looked back at him without flinching. ‘Go to hell. You can’t treat people like you do. You can’t use my parents to justify the murders you’ve committed.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  The female voice made them all turn towards the cave. Jane Forster was striding to them, both arms raised, an automatic in each hand. They were pointed at Jaeger and Milroy.

  ‘Ms Forster,’ Jaeger began, his eyes wide.

  ‘Drop your weapon,’ his subordinate shouted. ‘You too, Finn.’ She stopped, her arms straight and her eyes flicking from target to target. ‘You’ve got five seconds to comply.’

  The CIA men looked at each other.

  ‘Ms Forster,’ Jaeger said, his tone soft, ‘don’t do—’

  ‘The five seconds are up,’ Jane Forster said. She changed the angles of her arms and loosed off two shots in quick succession. Milroy’s automatic flew from his grip, his fingers suddenly wreathed in red, while Jaeger’s dropped to the ground when the round entered his forearm.

  ‘Jesus!’ the station chief gasped. ‘You shot me.’

  ‘And I’ll shoot you again—you, too, Finn—if either of you makes another move.’ Forster smiled. ‘You’ve probably forgotten, but I passed out top of my marksmanship class.’ She turned her gaze on Mavros and Grace. ‘You might want to pick up their weapons, though I reckon they’re too gutless to try anything now.’

  Mavros complied, while Grace stepped up to Milroy.

  ‘You choose,’ she said, glancing at the two wounded men. ‘The benefit of my agency unarmed-combat training or the course we did in field first aid.’

  They chose the latter.

  ‘Thanks,’ Mavros said to the woman who had saved them. ‘I take it you were kept in the dark about a lot of this scam.’

  Jane Forster nodded, the automatics still trained on her colleagues. ‘But not enough to save my ass.’

  Mavros grinned. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll put in several good words for you.’

  On the horizon another ship was bisecting the space between the low headlands. In the east the sun had broken through the grey cloud cover. A solitary seagull was soaring on the updraughts above the narrow inlet, looking down on the red shirt of the terrorist: Iraklis was lying on the stony ground by the temple foundations where ancient blood crimes were expiated, beside the cave where his mythical counterpart had entered the realm of the dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MAVROS walked out on to the narrow balcony and pulled the French windows to, looking up the street to the tree-covered hill of Strefi beyond. The noise of traffic from the lattice of roads between the raised ground and the central avenues of Athens was jarring, motorbikes revving and horns blasting every few seconds. The sun was bright and, though the air was chill, the snowstorms of the previous days were a distant memory. Then the stark beauty of the southern Peloponnese came back to him in a rush—the wind whipping off the rocks of the Tigani peninsula, the grey sea running gently up the bay at Tainaron. He caught his breath as he heard again the shots that had despatched Iraklis and stepped rapidly back into the hotel room.

  Grace was sitting on the bed, towelling her hair. ‘Jesus, Alex, close the door. It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He sat down on the opposite side from her and glanced at his watch. ‘They’ll be wanting you in a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘I know.’ She dropped the towel on the floor. ‘Are you coming to the airport?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It isn’t part of the deal.’ The Greek authorities had decided to ignore Mavros’s failure to pass on information about the terrorist, provided that the American embassy spirited Grace out of the country, and provided that the two of them had no further contact.

  ‘Screw the deal,’ Grace said, her eyes wide. ‘After all those bastards have done…’ She let the words trail away, stood up and undid her robe.

  Mavros looked outside again: the balcony on the apartment across the street was covered in plant-pots strung with Christmas decorations. It was ironic that the hotel they’d been put into by the embassy was in Neapolis, the area of Athens where he had grown up and where the assassin had lived when he was involved with Grace’s mother. The Fat Man was still a local resident.

  ‘What is it?’ Grace asked, pulling up the zip of her jeans.

  Mavros stood up, keeping his eyes off her. ‘I was just thinking. Everything seems to come back to these streets around here. All that’s missing is any trace of my brother.’

  She came over to him. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. Maybe…maybe there are some things that can never be found.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘It could be that it’s better that way.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ he muttered. ‘Even though you sound worryingly like my mother.’ Dorothy and the rest of his family had been brought back to Athens from the Palaiologos house by a squad of plain-clothes police, Nikos Kriaras directing operations. The Fiat Mavros had hired from the dubious operator in Corinth had even been returned on his behalf. The government was involved behind the scenes and it had become apparent that a major cover-up operation was under way. The cabinet members who’d been involved in the anti-dictatorship student resistance had no interest in the press digging into that period. Peter Jaeger and Lance Milroy had been sent back to the U.S. under armed escort, their existence denied. The conservative opposition was also keen to keep the issue under wraps on Veta Palaiologou’s recommendation—neither she nor her fellow leaders wanted the Right’s historic links with the Americans excavated. The general feeling was that the old battles were over and should not be allowed to resurface. What the families of the entrepreneurs murdered in Jaeger’s conspiracy would have
thought of that, Mavros tried to put from his mind.

  Grace zipped up her bag and turned to him. ‘Your sister,’ she said, catching his eye, ‘won’t she want to write an exclusive about all this?’

  ‘It’s been made clear to her that this is a matter of state security, both Greek and American,’ he replied. ‘They aren’t messing around. And remember, she has kids.’

  ‘Shit,’ Grace said. ‘Can they get away with that? What about Geoffrey Dearfield? Won’t he talk? He’s written a book, for God’s sake.’

  ‘His typescript’s been confiscated.’ Mavros shrugged. ‘Anyway, who would believe him? Since his wife died—the story that’s been put about is that it was a heart attack—he’s been a wreck.’

  ‘And Jane Forster? I wanted to see her again to thank her properly.’

  ‘She’ll be all right. But it’s obviously in the interests of her career to stay away from us and to keep her mouth shut.’

  Grace caught his eye. ‘Why do you think she did it? Why did she save us?’

  Mavros smiled. ‘Not all your former colleagues in the agency are crazy conspirators. I guess she finally realised how far out on a limb Jaeger and Milroy had gone.’

  ‘And that stone killer Milroy supposedly loved my mother.’

  ‘Even stone killers have feelings,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘Iraklis died thinking of Laura, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘But what good does a love like that do?’ Her voice shook. ‘He kept on assassinating people after my father. He never stopped believing in the cause.’

  Mavros breathed in her scent. ‘I think you’re wrong, Grace. Despite what he said, I think he realised that your mother meant more to him than the struggle. That’s why he went to the States—to be near her even after she was dead. He came back here for the family honour and because of the hold Flora had on him.’

  She looked unconvinced. ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  Grace stepped away and pulled on her denim jacket. ‘Alex, I owe you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘I had a personal interest in the case.’

  ‘I don’t just mean the money,’ she said. ‘I’ll send that to you. If you don’t want it, give it to the old woman Stamatina.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Only don’t tell her it came from me. She wouldn’t accept it.’ She touched his hand. ‘Won’t she talk to the press? Won’t she wonder what happened to her son?’

  ‘She would have known he was leaving the country. I think they’d have said their farewells. Besides, an old Communist like her would be easy enough for them to discredit.’

  Grace’s expression was grim. ‘This place is a fucking police state, Alex.’

  ‘Your people showed them the way after the war.’ Then he relented, opening his hands. ‘Now, maybe, we can begin to get beyond that.’

  There was a knock on the door. ‘Two minutes, Ms Helmer.’ The voice was male and American.

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Grace said, moving close to him and putting her hands on his shoulders. ‘Screw this deal. Now we’re no longer bound by your strict client code, you could come with me, Alex.’

  ‘What, to the jungle?’

  ‘Actually, I’m going to the western Sahara.’

  ‘There’s someone waiting for you, isn’t there?’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re a quick one, aren’t you?’ She put her mouth to his ear. ‘Yes, there is. He’s been on my case for over a year, calling me when we’re apart, insisting that I call him when he’s off-duty. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t fall for you. In different circumstances, we—’

  ‘It’s all right, Grace,’ Mavros interrupted. ‘There was too much going on for us to find each other properly.’ He pushed her away gently. ‘You know, I was suspicious of you right up to the end. I was never sure that you didn’t just want revenge on the man who killed your father.’

  ‘You were right to have suspicions, Alex,’ she said, looking into his eyes. ‘I did want revenge. But—but at the last, I couldn’t do it. What I heard from Iraklis hasn’t made it any easier to understand what happened when I was a kid, though. Getting some insight into why people resort to violence doesn’t do anything to reduce the pain.’ She blinked back tears. ‘The genealogy of terrorism, you called it when we were in the car with Iraklis. Nice phrase, my friend, but it’s written on air. The pain doesn’t ever stop.’

  ‘But at least we stand more chance of averting the same in the future if we understand why people are driven to kill. Don’t forget, Iraklis was in pain too.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s why I couldn’t pull the trigger. Even though the bastard deserved it.’

  There was another, heavier knock. ‘Time, Ms Helmer.’

  ‘Grace,’ he said, as she pulled away, ‘don’t talk to anyone about this. People’s lives are at stake. My family…’

  She picked up her bag. ‘I won’t, Alex. Make sure you keep that smart mouth of yours shut too.’ She headed for the door.

  Mavros watched her go, then went back out on to the balcony. Grace appeared on the street, dark-suited minders in front of and behind her. She got into the unmarked car without looking up. As it moved away, Mavros heard music peal out from an open window across the road. The song was instantly recognisable. It was ‘The Voyage of the Argo’—the creation of Kostas Laskaris and Dhimitris Randos, both recently departed to the kingdom of the shades.

  Looking through the dusty windows of the café, Mavros could see that there was only one person inside. He pushed open the door and stepped in before the figure behind the chill cabinet could raise his head.

  ‘No customers as usual.’

  ‘Alex!’ For a few seconds the Fat Man looked like he was going to burst into tears. ‘You’re alive, you wanker,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Good morning to you, too,’ Mavros said, going up to the café owner and putting his arms round him. ‘Are you all right, my friend?’

  The Fat Man shoved him away. ‘Yes, I’m all right,’ he said with a glare. ‘No thanks to you. I was sure that madman had caught up with you. What happened?’

  Mavros took a couple of paces back. ‘Any chance of a coffee? I haven’t had anything all morning.’

  ‘No way,’ Yiorgos Pandazopoulos said, his expression malevolent. ‘Not until you tell me everything that’s been going on. Christ and the Holy Mother, I almost got myself killed by that bastard you were after.’ He shook his head. ‘It would have been better if I had. My mother’s been gnawing my guts ever since I got back to the village.’

  ‘I thought you were going to spend Christmas there,’ Mavros said, sitting down at his usual table.

  ‘That’s been the only good thing that came out of all this,’ the Fat Man said with a rueful smile. ‘The old woman decided she wanted to come back to the big city. Apparently the villagers made some poisonous comments about my politics. Amazingly enough, she actually took exception on my behalf.’

  Mavros had spoken to Kyra Fedhra after the assassin’s death and had been told that her son had reappeared. Her voice was more scathing than he could remember, but he could tell beneath the bluster that she was relieved. ‘Look, here’s the deal. Make me a coffee and I’ll tell you what happened.’ He caught his friend’s eye. ‘But you have to promise to keep your mouth firmly shut about the whole story.’

  ‘Who am I going to tell?’ the café owner asked ironically. When he saw the look on Mavros’s face he raised his hands in surrender. ‘All right, all right, I won’t say a word to the comrades or to anyone else. I’ve learned my lesson.’

  ‘I don’t want any galaktoboureko, though,’ Mavros said. He flinched as the terrorist’s body filled his eyes again. ‘I haven’t felt up to eating the last couple of days.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Yiorgos said with a sardonic smile. ‘I had the last piece five minutes ago.’ His expression grew more sombre. ‘You heard about Kostas Laskaris?’

  ‘When I saw him in the towe
r, I knew he was close to the end.’ He looked up. ‘That wreck of a Lada was yours, wasn’t it? What the hell were you doing down there? It seems to me that you’ve got some explaining to do, too.’

  The Fat Man brought his customer’s coffee, locked the door and sat down opposite him. Then they started to talk.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Mavros said, looking up from the sheaf of paper covered in spidery handwriting. ‘“The Fire Shirt”. I saw him writing it when we were at the tower.’ He caught Yiorgos’s eye. ‘What gave you the right to take it?’

  The Fat Man snorted. ‘I wasn’t going to leave it for that peasant Savvas and his mother. It’s a significant historical document. I was going to give it to the comrades.’

  ‘The same comrades who sent you to keep an eye on one of their own?’ Mavros said sharply. ‘The comrades who were shitting themselves that Iraklis might do something that would rebound on them? Screw the Party, Yiorgo.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘Besides, I told you. The authorities aren’t messing about. This is the cover-up of the decade and people’s lives are at risk.’

  The café owner’s face gradually slackened. ‘All right,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You’d better take the poem, Alex. I couldn’t make much sense of it anyway. It’s all about the Second World War and the sufferings of an ELAS group. There’s even a character in it called Vladhimiros. That was my old man’s name.’ His heavy chin jutted forward. ‘Maybe it’s him. He never told me what he did during the occupation.’

  ‘Perhaps it can be published some time in the future,’ Mavros said. ‘When the war and the horrors that followed it finally lose their power over people.’ He reckoned he’d give it to his mother. She’d been keen enough to publish Laskaris’s other work, though if this one contained the background to Iraklis, as he suspected it did, she’d have to be careful.