An Aegean Prophecy: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery: Book 3

by Jeffrey Siger

  ‘Prayer.’

  Vladimir unconsciously ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. ‘Let’s get everything we have to whoever you think should see it ASAP.’

  ‘It’s the right decision. I’ll transmit it as soon as I get to a computer.’

  Vladimir leaned forward, pressed a button and a laptop station descended from the back of the front seat. ‘So you don’t waste time.’ And so Vladimir could verify the information actually was sent. The smart play for this guy was to compromise Vladimir by not sending it on, while allowing him to think that he had.

  ‘Great, but I don’t have the information with me.’

  Vladimir pulled a flash drive from his shirt pocket. ‘Everything’s been transferred to this. All you need to do is the cover letter. Please, it’s getting late, and I’m certain they’ll want to get started on this right away.’

  Vladimir made no effort to conceal that he was reading every word Anatoly typed. It was his not-so-subtle way of reminding him who had the real power in that car, and that there would be no role reversal coming out of this affair. Once that e-mail was sent, Vladimir’s hands were washed of this mess, and he was making damn sure there’d be no comebacks.

  Anatoly finished typing. ‘Is this okay?’

  Vladimir carefully read it, then smiled. ‘Perfect my friend, with one slight typo. The name in the e-mail address ends with an “n,” not an “m.”’

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘No problem, but we wouldn’t want it going out like that, we might never know that it wasn’t received.’ I certainly wouldn’t know, because it wasn’t my e-mail. Vladimir leaned over and made the correction, then reread the e-mail and verified that all the attachments were there.

  Vladimir sat back, turned toward Anatoly and smiled in a manner reminiscent of a shark about to strike. ‘That would be a terrible tragedy.’ He stretched for the keyboard and hit send. ‘For everyone.’

  Just one more sunrise until the monastery opened its gates. Zacharias was prepared for another long night of prayer. The epitaphios service had begun at one in the morning, the procession at four, and more prayer ran on past dawn. Now they were in the midst of celebrating the resurrection as was done in ancient times, with a vigil that began that afternoon and would not end until mid-morning, with only a cup of blessed wine, some bread, and dried fruit to give them strength. This was a period of intense fasting. Some had eaten nothing. It was as the abbot wished it to be, and so it was. It was a time to rejoice, he said.

  But until his three monks returned, Zacharias could not rejoice. It wasn’t that he cared for them, but they had arranged for the messenger, and the messenger was expecting to deliver the package to at least one of the three. It was not the sort of package one could just claim was being picked up on someone else’s behalf. And he must have it before tomorrow evening. That was when he would be dining with the Russian abbot.

  He shook his head. Another obstacle. He’d taken such care to isolate himself from this transaction, yet now he might have to step forward and not just claim but plead for the prize. But nothing in life was easy. He would do what must be done. This was too important. They had succeeded in obtaining the exact formulation of dioxin used on the Ukrainian. Even though there were far better and faster working poisons, nothing would change the world as quickly as this death by pure 2,3,7,8-TCDD.

  Evening church services in Athens on Holy Saturday generally started at ten. Andreas knew Lila would use his late flight back from Mykonos as the excuse to her parents and his mother for why they’d probably not be there on time. As long as they made it to the church by midnight. That was the high point of the service, when church bells rang out across Greece and even total strangers exchanged the traditional Christos Anesti and Alithos Anesti greetings that Christ had risen, kissed each other, and lit each other’s candles to share the light and joy of the occasion.

  Andreas was not feeling, nor in the mood for, joy. He’d been biting away at his lower lip since boarding the plane, a long-dormant nervous habit from childhood. He didn’t realize he was doing it until he saw his reflection in the plane’s window. He shook his head. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ruined everything? He stared out the window.

  Should I tell Lila? How can I tell her now? She’s about to give birth to our baby. The betrayal, and with her best friend, I can’t tell her, I just can’t. He tried to justify what happened, but instead kept coming back to what he did wrong. He got drunk, he agreed to follow Barbara into the bedroom after promising Lila he’d sleep on the couch. It was his fault. Even though he didn’t remember a thing and refused when she offered herself again that morning. He was ashamed, and for one of the few times in his life utterly confused.

  ‘Sir.’ It was the flight attendant.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ve landed, you must get off, you’re holding up the bus to the terminal.’

  Andreas mumbled, ‘I’m sorry,’ and hurried off the plane. He couldn’t go home like this. Maybe he just shouldn’t show up. Run away. Stay with Kouros for a few days. He couldn’t bear to face Lila.

  The bus stopped at the intra-European Union arrivals entrance to the terminal. He sat down on a railing just inside the terminal door. A cop walked over and told him no one was allowed to linger in that area. He showed his ID and the cop walked away. He wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. He took out his phone and dialed.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi.’

  There was a long pause. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t know who else to call.’

  ‘Andreas, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve done a terrible thing to Lila.’

  There was an audible swallow on the other end of the line. ‘Is she okay? The baby?’

  ‘Yes, but she won’t be after I tell her. And I have to tell her.’

  ‘Andreas, please, first tell me what happened.’

  ‘I’m so ashamed. I can’t even say it.’

  The voice turned sharp. ‘Andreas, do not pull this Greek macho male bullshit on me. If you guys only had the balls to see psychiatrists you might actually be as perfect as you think you are.’

  He grinned. ‘Maggie, you are the best.’

  ‘Now, tell me!’

  Andreas spent the next twenty minutes reciting every tormenting detail without a single interruption from Maggie.

  ‘How can I face her?’

  ‘I know how you feel.’ Maggie’s voice was trembling.

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘I was raped by a friend once, too.’

  For an instant Andreas couldn’t breathe.

  ‘He got me drunk and …’ her voice trailed off. ‘I still can’t bring myself to talk about it. And it happened thirty years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, we’re kindred spirits. Rape is rape. The fact you would have enjoyed it under different circumstances doesn’t change things. That only makes you feel guiltier, giving you even more reason for blaming yourself. Believe me, you did nothing wrong. You were the victim. And, frankly, it may not seem politically correct advice, but I see no reason in the world to tell Lila any of this.

  ‘If you were a woman raped by your husband’s best friend, things would be different, especially if you thought he might try again. In your case, a repeat rape is out of the question. But you better confront the bitch and let her know in no uncertain terms the consequences if she even hints at what happened last night to anyone. Who knows what sort of fucked-up thinking runs through the mind of a woman who’d rape her best friend’s man? And when her friend is about to give birth to their child!

  ‘Jealousy, competition, spite, maybe just some need to brag about her conquests – like men do endlessly – might cause her to say something to someone. She must be told that if she utters even a single word, it will be a decision she’ll regret for whatever remains of the rest of her miserable life.’

  Andreas had never heard such
passionate anger from Maggie. He was stunned into silence.

  ‘Andreas, did you hear me?’

  He nodded into the phone. ‘How can I threaten her like that?’

  ‘You’re right. You can’t. I’ll do it for you.’

  ‘Maggie—’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve done it before. Besides, it will be better coming from me – up close and personal.’

  Consciously, Andreas knew he should object, say no, not under any circumstances, but his gut said say nothing, let her do it her way, she knows best. He struggled with what to say next. ‘I can’t tell you how much better you’ve made me feel. Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for. I’ll get to her as soon as she returns to Athens.’

  Andreas drew in and let out a deep breath. ‘I better head home.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And let you get to church.’

  ‘Don’t worry about church. Helping friends in need is the true work of God.’

  ‘You’re an amazing person, literally godliness on earth.’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away here, but thank you.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask?’

  ‘Ask what?’

  ‘What ever happened to the one who … uh—’

  ‘He didn’t take my advice.’ Maggie’s tone was hard, the words said quickly.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He died. Suddenly, unexpectedly. As the random victim of a street mugging turned violent. Kalo Paska, bye.’

  The phone went dead before Andreas could speak. Perhaps because there was nothing left to say.

  The service was about to begin. For him, it was the holiest moment of the year, a time for personal rejoicing, embracing the very source of his faith. He needed the energy, the renewing power of this night, for difficult times were at hand. He prayed it was not the time; that his old friend was wrong. But he feared the worst. That was why he’d made the decision, the practical one now tormenting him. He saw it as the only path, but would God accept that what must be done in His name on earth could not always be as it is in Heaven? He only prayed no more innocents died at the hands of the evil one in their midst. He shut his eyes and bowed his head. ‘May you strike me down this very night if I have made a dreadful mistake in your name.’

  It was as genuine a prayer as the Protos ever uttered.

  21

  The e-mail hit Yakov’s computer screen just as he was about to leave for home. His wife would give him holy hell if they were late for midnight services. But the message was from his ex-director back in the days when Yakov was new to the foreign intelligence game. Anatoly had plucked him from the crowd and made him chief espionage analyst for southern Europe and the Balkans, better known then as Section V. He at least must take a quick look at it, if only for old times’ sake.

  Yakov began quickly scrolling through the message. The pace of his reading slowed, then slowed even more. He picked up the phone, pressed a speed dial button, and waited until the man now in charge of his old Section V duties in Russia’s new foreign intelligence service answered. ‘Artur, come to my office immediately.’

  Yakov was reading the attachments when a man entered his office. ‘What is it, Director?’

  ‘Artur, do you remember about a decade or so ago, the man we called “the Balkan Butcher”?’

  ‘How could I forget him. But didn’t he die?’

  ‘So we thought. I’m not sure anymore. This just came in.’ Yakov pointed to the screen. ‘Read it.’

  Yakov kept talking as Artur read. ‘Even if this monk, Zacharias, is the Butcher, if all he’s doing is running around creating political angst for the Greek Church, I’m not sure his past matters anymore. After all, we do believe in redemption, do we not?’ He smiled.

  Artur did not answer, just kept reading.

  Yakov didn’t mind, he was used to asking rhetorical questions and never expected them to be answered. ‘As for the symbolism of the photographs, I think it’s an intriguing intellectual exercise, but I’m not sure of what interest it is to us. One could argue from the placement of the carpet and the superimposed face of Satan in the photograph that it was the Protos the murdered monk was linking to Satan. But let us assume this Zacharias is Satan’s beast or even Satan himself, as I said before, does it matter? Yes, undoubtedly, the Butcher in his day qualified as the devil incarnate, but that was a long time ago. Now he’s someone else’s problem, and I see no reason to make him ours. And so what if this Zacharias is behind all of the bad publicity coming out of Greece? Would it not be better for us to bribe those same journalists to write retractions than risk being exposed as the eliminator of the source?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that, Director.’

  An actual answer to one of his questions caught Yakov off guard. ‘“Not so sure” of what?’

  Artur kept reading through the attachments as he spoke. ‘We’ve received reports of someone attempting to locate the source of the dioxin used on the Ukrainian. At first we thought it was a journalist trying to wring yet another story out of the incident. Maybe even Yushchenko himself trying to find some way to revive his political fortunes with more emotional tales from the past.

  ‘But then we learned that someone actually was trying to buy dioxin from that same source, and not just any dioxin, but the exact formulation found in Yushchenko. At that point we inserted our operatives into the transaction. We wanted to know who was so interested.’ Artur turned to face Yakov.

  ‘We do not know who the buyers are. There have been no face-to-face communications, but we do know two things. One,’ he raised his right hand and popped out his index finger. ‘The language used by the buyers was Serbian, and two,’ out came the middle finger. ‘Delivery is to take place in Greece. In Ouranoupolis.’

  Yakov’s pulse was racing but his voice was flat. ‘The gateway to Mount Athos. This changes everything.’ He drummed his forehead with the fingers of his left hand. ‘Forget about looking for signs of the devil. This intrigue is a sign of the Butcher. Calculating, ruthless, deadly. Any idea of the target?’

  Artur shook his head. ‘None.’

  ‘If Zacharias is the Butcher, whatever is planned will strike directly at our heart. We cannot permit that. When is delivery to take place?’

  ‘There’s no exact time, a messenger with the package is to wait by a taverna in the port for contact to be made.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Between twelve and eighteen hours from now.’

  Yakov picked up the phone and dialed his wife. He and a lot of other people would be missing church tonight.

  It was almost midnight. Saint Dionysios on Skoufa Street in Kolinaki was packed. Andreas hadn’t been to this church before, or for that matter, to any church, in a very long time. He’d gone with Lila to a wedding in a small church on Stisichorou Street behind her apartment, and managed to miss a couple of baptisms there, but this was the first time he’d been to her parents’ church. They had insisted the ‘entire family’ be together tonight, and that included Andreas’ mother and his sister’s family.

  Andreas wondered if they could tell if his sin showed. He was lucky they weren’t the kind to talk in church. He feared he might confess despite Maggie’s warning. He was holding Lila’s hand and looking at his mother sitting next to him on his left. She was beaming. He knew what she was thinking: my family, all together in church, and my son happy at last with the right woman, his … his friend. Yes, that was what she insisted on calling Lila. Andreas had told his mother she could call Lila his wife, that Lila wouldn’t mind. ‘But I would,’ was his mother’s response. Not until they were married in church would she call Lila her son’s wife, no matter how much she wished it were so.

  Andreas felt Lila squeeze his hand and he turned to face her.

  She was smiling at him and patting her belly. ‘Baby’s happy, too.’

  If he confessed, he’d destroy the lives of the two people he loved most in the world. He could never do that. He’d have to live with what he’d done, accept it, and try to b
ecome better for it. He felt no guilt at his decision. Quite the contrary: for the first time in a very long time Andreas was at peace.

  The chanting and prayer had hit its peak, bells were ringing, rejoice, Christos Anesti.

  But Zacharias saw no joy about him, only mindless, rote prayer without purpose. He needed to escape this. Next year would be different. He would move on. It was not unheard of to switch monasteries. He needed a more civilized base for his plans, somewhere he could flourish and never be incommunicado again. There was too much at stake, too many in need of his guidance. His flock was prey to wolves without its shepherd. No, this year he would move on. There were many monasteries here that would accept him with joy. All he needed was the consent of his abbot. No problem, if the old tyrant were fool enough to refuse, it would be he who moved on.

  Yes, the time to emerge from these depths was at hand. He was certain of it.

  Now was the fun part of Easter in Greece, at least for those skipping out of church at midnight, carrying candles lit by fire from the Holy Flame of Christ’s nativity cave in Jerusalem into their homes or favorite restaurants. Andreas and the family chose the latter, a fairytale place in the National Gardens next to the breathtaking nineteenth century Zappeion Megaron, the first building constructed specifically for the purpose of reviving the Modern Olympic Games.

  They had challenged each other with the customary smacking of dyed-red eggs for good luck to the winner, devoured the traditional mayiritsa soup to break the fast, left very little of the salads, and very little of the wine, leaving Lila the only fully sober one at the table, and not by choice.

  ‘The baby’s on the wagon,’ was Lila’s excuse to every wellwisher passing by their table and offering a toast.