by Jerry Cole
“Two million people means potentially over a million vehicles,” said Greg. “Each of them belching pollution into the atmosphere. Horns honking all through the night. If we can bring a streamlined, electrical metro line that reaches from one side of the city to the other, we could at the very least halve the number of cars that sit inside the city every day, in lines that stretch for miles. People can come out of their apartments, head to a metro station and get on a subway car that arrives once every five minutes, maybe less. They can zip underneath the city and within fifteen minutes they’re at their desk. Can you imagine the time that would save?”
“Yes, that would save time,” Alex conceded. “But do you know what it will not save?”
“I’m guessing you’re going to say all the stuff that’s buried underneath the earth?”
“Exactly.” Alex put his elbow on the table and rested his face in the palm of his hand.
“When do you need to be back at the site?” he asked, and surprised by the sudden change in subject, Greg looked at his watch.
“I guess I have about an hour,” he said, “and then I want to go down and see that Dimitriou has put everything in place that I’ve asked for. Then I need a meeting with my guys here so that everything can start again tomorrow, only properly this time.”
“I would like you to do something for me,” said Alex, and Greg realized that as they had been talking, the large plate of fish stew had all but disappeared. They had demolished it all as they talked, and Alex reached forward for the last slice of bread, which he split in two, handing Greg one piece. Then he wiped around the plate with the bread, soaking up the rich tomato sauce. Greg did the same, and once he had chewed and swallowed, looked at Alex.
“What?” he asked. “What is it you’d like me to do for you?”
“I’d like you to come for a walk around the city with me this evening,” he said. “So I can show you the most beautiful places Thessaloniki has to offer. Not all of them, of course, because there are so many, but perhaps you will think twice about pushing your machine for miles without a care.”
“Alex, even if I stay here for the next month, it’s not going to change the fact that I have come here to do a job, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Alex replied. “But I would like a chance to explain why I feel it was necessary to cause you this trouble.”
“Leave me your number,” said Greg, “and if I’m free later I’ll give you a call.”
“No,” Alex replied. “It is not good enough. I need for you to agree to meet me this evening.”
Greg sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I have work to do at the site, like I said, and I have to make sure everything is good for tomorrow. But I’ll meet you this evening. I am staying at the Hotel Electra.”
“Fisica,” said Alex.
“What does that mean?” Greg enquired. “Is it not a good hotel?”
“It is the best in Thessaloniki,” said Alex. “But fisica means ‘naturally.’ Naturally you would be staying in the very best hotel in the north of Greece.”
“Well, actually, my assistant booked it for me,” Greg replied, aware as soon as the words left his mouth that he was doing nothing to improve the impression he must have made on the enthusiastic archaeologist.
“Of course,” said Alex. “Well, I have a class to teach this evening at seven, and I will meet you at eight-thirty, if you like?”
“Sure,” said Greg. “That sounds fine.”
“And now we get the bill,” said Alex, and he called over to Flora with a flourish of his hand in the air, for the international sign of a customer wishing to pay for their meal. Flora scribbled a figure on a piece of paper and pushed it to Greg.
“Forty euros,” he said, peering at the paper. “Is that what it says?”
Alex checked.
“Yes,” he said. “The fish was very fresh. You did not enjoy it?”
“Of course,” said Greg. “It was delicious. Only that has to be the most expensive beer I’ve ever had.”
Alex laughed, utterly unashamed.
“It should be fifty euros,” he said, “only they are willing to accept forty.”
“Fine,” said Greg, reaching for his wallet. “I guess that’s because they know you, right?”
“Kind of,” said Alex.
Greg handed over forty euros and Alex chipped in with some coins for a tip.
“Can you ask her for a receipt?” Greg asked. “I need it for my business expenses for when I get back to the States.”
“Not really,” said Alex, and he smiled at Greg’s bewildered face. “You see, we have paid forty euros on the understanding there will be no receipt.”
“Ah, I see,” said Greg. “No trace of this transaction when the IRS comes calling, right?”
“Kind of,” grinned Alex, and he sat back in his chair and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Greg, who declined with a wave of his hand. Alex lit the cigarette, took a deep breath and laughed at Greg’s worried expression.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You are in my country now. Everything will be fine. Trust me.”
And Greg didn’t know why he trusted Alex, but he did.
Chapter Twelve
Greg was impressed. Not only with Alex’s swift zig-zagging through the city which left him back at his hotel within just a few minutes, but also with the sight that greeted him once he had once again walked up the main road from the square to Egnatia. From one hundred yards away, he could see two security guards outside the boards where he had originally had a conversation with the first police officer. Once he approached and flashed his identity, they waved him through and he was greeted by two more guards at the mouth of the main tunnel. They did not speak much English but from what he could understand, they were serious about their orders.
“No problem here,” said one of them, indicating with a wave of his arm that there was no longer to be any trouble on the site. “Important work. Very important for the people in this city.”
“Thank you,” said Greg. With gestures, simple words and some play-acting, he demonstrated that the following morning his crew would be back on site, ready to resume the work that up until that day had been severely hampered. By five that afternoon, Greg returned to the hotel after having tracked down Eddie. His crew manager had had a welcome weekend off and was skeptical about returning to the site.
“Greg, I’m not too sure that it’s all going to work out as great as you think,” he said. “These guys will look the other way if you’re willing to grease their palm with a bit of cash. Hey, they don’t call this place Greece for nothing.”
Eddie sniggered at his own joke but Greg was not amused. After all the work it had taken to get the project back on track, he would have appreciated a little more enthusiasm from the foreman. Eddie noted that, and shrugged.
“Look, my guys are here and they’re ready to get Betty going,” he said, appeasing his boss. “Come down tomorrow and we’ll get you underground and you can see how the old girl’s doing, okay?”
“Great,” said Greg. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
He left Eddie’s hotel as the evening rush of traffic once again battled its way through the streets. This time it left the city like a huge crawling centipede with thousands of segments. Eddie was looking very sunburned, he noticed, and Greg was sure that the last three days had been spent either on a local beach or by one of the pools in the hotel. One thing was for sure, though, Eddie was a good worker once he got going and one of the very few men that Greg trusted to look after Betty.
Back at his own hotel, Greg took a nap. He understood why so many people enjoyed a siesta in the afternoons. The heat was thick and oppressive even in the month of May, and though he was used to hot weather in California, for some reason it made him nowhere near as sleepy as the heat in Greece. He made sure to set his alarm for eight. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and it felt like barely thirty minutes before his cell pho
ne buzzed with urgency to rouse him. He showered, and while he shaved, he called Henry.
“Hey, we wondered where the hell you were!” his best friend called down the telephone. “So how did it go? How’s Betty?”
“She’s great,” Greg replied. “I’ve still not had the chance to see her yet, but Eddie and the guys tell me everything’s in working order. I’ve had a meeting with the secretary general this morning, and we’ve come to an arrangement, although an expensive one.” He went into great detail about his meeting with Costas Dimitriou, but for some reason he left out of the story that as well as the two of them in the boardroom, there had been an extra guest at the meeting. Greg was not sure why he left Alex out of the conversation, but something told him that he would not very easily explain how it was that he met the very antagonist whose antics had brought him to Europe, or even how they had lunch together, and were also going out for a personal tour of the city. He didn’t want to talk about how he’d enjoyed such a wonderful lunch, and how he found himself looking forward to whatever it was that Alex had planned for the evening. Henry asked him what he was up to.
“Oh, you know, just hanging around the hotel,” said Greg. “It’s not like I’m here socially. There are some pretty nice bars around, though, and the sea is about a hundred feet away, so I might take some time to walk along the front.”
“That sounds pretty damn boring,” said Henry. “Quit talking about pretty walks and bars. Tell me about the women, for God’s sake!”
Greg laughed. Henry had inadvertently moved the two of them onto a subject that Greg had no problem talking about. As he drew the razor over his chin and jaw, he described the beautiful flight attendant who had greeted him in the first-class lounge at the airport. He could hear Henry practically drooling on the other end of the telephone and could imagine his best friend sat at his desk in California, thinking dreamily about hot flight attendants in uniforms whose job it was to be at his beck and call.
“Hey, stop daydreaming,” said Greg, snapping Henry back to attention. “I didn’t call you to talk about women. I wanted to see what I’ve been missing while I’ve been away.”
“Greg, it’s only just ten,” Henry protested. “I’ve been here about an hour. From what I can see everything’s fine. The Japanese have been given the designs for the new project and they’re looking at whether they can make us a new machine, but they’re concerned about a couple of the measurements. Something to do with the hydraulics. If we make a machine bigger than Betty by just one foot, we have to double a lot of the extra parts so she can take the weight.”
“I don’t see why,” countered Greg. “We didn’t have to double anything from when we upgraded from Mary, and Betty’s twenty-five percent bigger.”
“Look, I’m just repeating what I’ve read in an email this morning,” said Henry. “I’d send it over to you but it sounds like you have enough going on right now. How long do you think you’ll be over there?”
“Hard to say,” said Greg, splashing water on his face to get rid of the last streaks of shaving cream, then patting it dry with a soft white towel. “Tomorrow is the first day Betty’s being taken out for a proper push in the last week. I want to make sure we make up some ground first, without anybody giving us any crap in the meantime.”
“Have they managed to get rid of those goddamned hippies causing all the shit?” Henry asked, and Greg chose his words carefully.
“We have great security in place now, from what I can see,” he said. “It’s early days but if these guys can go a week without any incidents, then I guess the hippies will have gotten the message.”
“Sounds great,” said Henry, and there was the sound of chewing down the line. Greg wondered if Henry had gone to Bertha’s on the way into the office for another one of her epic bacon sandwiches. “By the way, I got off yesterday afternoon for a quick little eighteen. Boy, was that ever a treat.”
“Henry, with you there’s no such thing as a quick eighteen,” said Greg, balancing the cell phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he passed his arms through a white shirt. “I’ve never known anyone take so long over a putt as you, my friend. How did you even manage to get away?”
“Gaby’s got it into her head that we’re going to make one last try to have a boy,” said Henry. “And while I’m not exactly saying no, I’m telling her how much of a bad idea it is, and so she’s trying to butter me up by letting me out of the house to play golf. So for as long as she’s being so sweet, I’m not going to pass it up.”
“Yes, but doesn’t that mean you have to make another baby?” Greg asked.
“Well, last night, after the kids had gone to bed, she started to get a little amorous, you know?” Henry went on. “And I reached for a condom, and she told me to put it down. And then she told me that she’s thinking of booking me that golfing cruise you and I were talking about. Remember? The one in September where you get to drive balls off the ship and meet all the legends and then end up playing with them when the ship gets to Florida?”
“Yes,” said Greg. “I remember. Please don’t tell me she talked you into having another baby with her on the promise of a golfing vacation, Henry.”
“Look, I’m eating a lot of bananas and taking zinc supplements,” Henry replied.
“Why?” Greg asked. “Is that going to help make you infertile?”
“No,” snorted Henry. “I should be so lucky. It’s going to mean I have a higher chance of giving her a boy.”
“And if it’s not a boy?”
“Don’t jinx me, Marsh,” said Henry.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time he made his way down to the lobby of the hotel, Alex was already waiting for him. While Greg had showered, shaved and changed into clean clothes, Alex was still there in his black jeans and blue linen shirt. He was reading a complimentary magazine taken from on the coffee table and he even seemed to smile while he did that. Greg nudged his arm on approach and Alex looked up, and his smile became a wide grin.
“Hey there,” Alex said. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure,” said Greg. “Where is it we’re going?”
“Ah, all will be revealed, my friend,” said Alex mysteriously. They left the hotel and although the sun was well on its way to setting, there was no let-up in the heat and Greg had no need for a jacket.
Outside the hotel was parked an old motorcycle, one Greg recognized from years of interest in cars and bikes. He laughed as Alex approached the bike and lifted up the seat, from where he pulled out a helmet which he offered to Greg.
“You’re not seriously suggesting I’m getting on that thing?” Greg asked. “There’s a reason they don’t make a Vastari 400 anymore.”
“While I am very impressed with your knowledge of motorbikes,” said Alex, “you do not realize that you are about to sit on the best bike in the whole of Greece.”
“It’s probably the only one of its kind left in the whole world,” Greg sniggered. “I imagine the Italians do not consider this invention one of their finest.”
“Just get on,” sighed Alex. “You will be safe.”
The bike looked like it needed a good cleaning; it was covered with a thick layer of dust and sand. Greg positioned himself toward the rear of the bike and Alex sat at the front. Through his helmet, Greg asked the rider with a muffled voice as to whether he had a helmet for himself.
“No,” Alex called back over his shoulder. “You have the only one, my friend. That is how sure I am that this will be a safe journey. As you can see, I have not even protected my own head.”
Greg considered this and decided that it was indeed the preferable option. He gripped the sides of the bike and Alex gave the rusty machinery a swift kick. It didn’t start. Alex threw back his head and laughed.
“I am joking!” he called. “You know I did that on purpose, right?”
“Sure!” garbled Greg. “I believe you!”
With a second kick of the pedal, the bike spluttered into life and chugged with
such strong vibrations that they made Greg’s teeth chatter. Alex revved the engine and pedestrians crossing the small street leaped out of the way. And then they were off. The bike was noisy and smoke drifted up from the exhaust. Greg was relieved to be wearing a helmet for the fumes alone. Despite his reservations, though, Alex was a competent driver. He weaved in and out of traffic as they zipped across the city. At one point, he took a corner so sharply that Greg lost his grip on the handle by his thigh and instinctively gripped Alex’s waist.
“Sorry!” he shouted. “I nearly fell off!”
“No problem!” called back Alex, and he revved the engine again. Greg lifted up his visor to take in the sights of the city. There were thousands of white apartment blocks, narrow streets that Alex seemed to know like the back of his hand, but that Greg was sure would take him a lifetime to learn. All over, children were playing on the balconies of their apartments and women were either bringing in laundry that had been drying outside or were hanging out a new batch. For Greg, it was strange to see so many people living in the center of the city. He was used to neat suburbs and gated communities being the places couples would raise their families. The city was a place for young professionals or students. The parents in Thessaloniki did not seem to bat an eye at their children scooting along balconies ten stories high or dangling their little legs through the cast-iron spindles.
More than once, Alex swerved to dodge a stray dog that had no intention of moving out of the way of the bike, knowing from experience that the vehicle coming toward it would always be the one to move first. Some of the dogs still wore collars and it saddened Greg, a man who adored dogs, to know that these animals were once loved and looked after by families, who after the financial crisis and subsequent years of hardship had had to say goodbye to a beloved pet, when it had become another mouth they could not afford to feed.
After ten minutes on the bike, a windswept Alex pulled over to one side. They were in a quieter part of the city, and there was a large vacant area and a basketball court with a rusty basket, without its net, at one end. A group of five children, tanned and lithe, tousled over a ball which they would occasionally lift toward the hoop. They shouted and laughed at each other in Greek, and when they saw Alex, they called over to him. He waved and shouted something back.
