The Facts Of Death

by Raymond Benson

  “What can you tell me about Charles Hutchinson?”

  “He’s disappeared. We put a tail on him when he arrived in Athens two days ago. He rented a car and drove south to Cape Sounion. He successfully lost our man there. I suspect he got on a boat or aircraft and went to one of the islands. The rental car was found yesterday in a parking lot near the pier.”

  “What can you tell me about a man named Konstantine Romanos?”

  She laughed. “Great minds think alike. We’ve had our eye on Mr. Romanos for a little while, actually. He has a very mysterious past.”

  Niki went through the details that Bond already knew—that Romanos was a lecturer at Athens University, was a noted author, and was considered one of the most brilliant mathematicians in the Western world.

  “Where does he get his money?”

  “He’s extremely wealthy. That’s one reason why he’s been under suspicion for a few years. He spends a lot of time at the casino on Mount Parnitha. Wins big, loses big, wins it back. He’s also the leader of a spiritual and philosophical organization called the New Pythagorean Society. They’re a collection of mathematicians who follow the teachings of Pythagoras. It’s all legitimate. There is one funny thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They’re based in Cape Sounion. And Romanos lives there in a big house when he’s not in Athens.”

  “Well well. Mr. Romanos has suddenly become more interesting to me. What do you know about his background?”

  “We know he’s a, how do you say, a ‘self-made’ man. He was a refugee from northern Cyprus in 1974, one of the many Greek Cypriots who fled the Turkish invasion. In Cyprus he had been a noted lecturer and mathematician as well. He had a good life in Nicosia. When he came to Athens he had very little money and was homeless. He had lost his wife and children in a fire caused by the Turks. He was given government housing and a job. Then there was a period of his life that is unaccounted for in our records. Between 1977 and 1982, no one knows where he went or what he did. In late 1982, he reappeared on the scene, with more money than a dozen people make in a lifetime. The tax boys investigated him and he claimed he got the money in the Middle East during those years by investing in and selling real estate. Since that time, he formed the New Pythagorean Society, secured his various teaching and lecturing affairs, bought and sold companies, and he now owns a big yacht called the Persephone that sails all over the Aegean.”

  “A real success story,” Bond said.

  “A year ago he acquired a pharmaceutical company in Athens called BioLinks Limited. The president is a fairly well-respected scientist named Melina Papas.”

  Bond smiled. “Great minds do think alike. BioLinks owned the clinic in the United States where Charles Hutchinson worked. It’s also where he delivered some rather tainted sperm samples.”

  She nodded and said, “I just read the report. That is amazing. Our joint investigation is paying off, isn’t it? We’ve already gone in with a court order to seize their entire sperm and blood supply until this is sorted out. No one’s got sick yet, thank God. We can go over there whenever you’d like and take a look around. I can’t imagine that our case is related to those epidemics in America and Japan, though. Do you think it is?”

  “If the Americans match the bug I found in Texas with the one in L.A., then I would say it is. Unfortunately, that takes time. Why would Romanos want to own a pharmaceutical company?”

  “Who knows. The company was in the red before he got hold of it. This year it looks as if it may turn a profit. They are in the research-and-development area of prescription drugs. We’ve looked into the company and it’s all quite legitimate, but we have a good surveillance team watching them closely.”

  Bond shook his head, pondering the details. “What does maths have to do with pharmaceuticals?”

  “If you ask me, the guy is nuts,” she said. “I’ve seen him on television. I don’t understand a thing he says. Then again, maths was my worst subject.”

  Bond laughed again. “Mine too. What do the New Pythagoreans do?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. They pretend to hold philosophy symposiums. They offer courses, both in mathematics and philosophy. It’s something of a religion with those people. They’re also heavily into numbers … numerology, and that might mean something.”

  “I want to meet Mr. Romanos. What about this casino you mentioned?”

  “It’s pretty cool, you’ll like it,” she said, unconsciously dropping her businesslike persona. “It’s up on a mountain, and you have to take a cable car to get to it. He usually plays on Friday nights.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place.”

  “So what would you like to do first? Where do you want to begin?”

  “I believe we should pick up the Jaguar and take a drive down to Cape Sounion. I’d like to take a look at this New Pythagorean Society and see where Romanos lives. Tomorrow we’ll go to BioLinks.”

  “Fine. Are you armed?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then let’s get going.”

  The blue Jaguar XK8 sped smoothly into Attica, the tip of the Greek peninsula jutting out southeast from Athens. The coast road was perfect for Bond to try out the new car. It was a winding, twisting four-lane highway that eventually narrowed to two lanes with mountains on one side and the sea on the other. They passed resorts with deluxe beaches and hotels, such as Glyfada and Voula. Traffic wasn’t very heavy, so Bond took the car at a safe but slightly accelerated speed all the way. He loved the grip of the wheel and felt the engine’s power in his hands. He longed for a stretch of road where he could push the Jaguar to its limit.

  Niki sat silently in the passenger seat, looking out at the sea. Her reverie was interrupted by the cellular phone in her handbag. She answered it, spoke in Greek, and hung up. “We need to go straight to the Temple of Poseidon when we reach Cape Sounion. Something’s happened there. Do you know the story of Aegeas and the Temple of Poseidon?”

  “Please enlighten me.”

  “There was an ancient king named Aegeas. His son went out on a long expedition. Aegeas told his son that when he returned, he should put white sails on his ship so that the king would know that the expedition was a success. However, even though the mission was a success, the son forgot to change the sails and approached the cape with black ones. The king thought his son was dead and threw himself into the sea. The sea was thereafter called the Aegean Sea, and the Temple of Poseidon was built there in his memory.”

  “I’ve seen it,” said Bond. “It’s a magnificent set of ruins.”

  The temple was built on a craggy spur that plunged sixty-five meters to the sea. It was erected in 444 B.C., around the same time as the Parthenon, and was constructed of Doric marble columns. Only sixteen of the columns remain.

  “It is widely believed that the temple was built by Ictinus, the same architect who built the Temple of Hephaestus in the Ancient Agora,” Niki said.

  “That’s where Whitten’s body was dumped?”

  “Right.”

  They reached Cape Sounion in just under two hours. They could see the monument from the road, gleaming white in the late-afternoon sun. As they approached the site, though, they were met by police vehicles and were prevented from going farther.

  Niki spoke to the officer and then showed him some identification. Reluctantly, he let the car through and radioed his superiors at the ruins that Bond and Niki were on their way up the hill.

  The popular tourist attraction was closed for the day, and several official vehicles were parked in the gravel lot. A group of people were up at the base of the temple, looking at something covered by a sheet. Bond parked the car and they walked up the hill to join the police. A sergeant spoke to Niki, then led them through the crowd to the white sheet.

  The first thing they saw was the number “7” scrawled in red on a sign reading “Deposit Litter Here” in English and Greek. Under the sheet was a dead body. The policeman said something else in Greek, then p
ulled the sheet down so that they could see the victim.

  Although the body was badly battered, Bond recognized him. It was Charles Hutchinson.

  FOURTEEN

  THE NEW PYTHAGOREANS

  BOND AND NIKI SPENT TWO HOURS AT THE CRIME SCENE SPEAKING WITH Greek police inspectors and gathering what information they could. Before leaving the Temple of Poseidon, Bond stood at the edge of the cliff and looked out to sea. A wave of melancholy hit him inexplicably. He looked out at the horizon toward the west. The sun was on its way down, casting its orange glow over the water. Although the scenery was quite different, the view reminded him of Jamaica and his beloved Shamelady. He longed to be there. Niki came up behind him and watched with him for a moment before speaking.

  “I feel a great sadness in you,” she said finally. “What is it?”

  Bond sighed. “Nothing. Come on, there’s not much more daylight. We had better go and see Romanos’s house.”

  Niki looked at him sideways, then let it go. “Look there, to the north.”

  She pointed toward the hills away from the temple.

  “Do you see that building there? That’s the Hotel Aegaeon. Now, just beyond that, do you see the mansion with red windows and beige walls?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s where Romanos lives. Let’s go. I’ll tell you in the car what the inspector told me.”

  They got into the Jaguar and drove away from the site.

  Niki said, “They have to perform a postmortem examination, but the medical examiner at the scene thought that Charles Hutchinson had been dead about three days. He obviously wasn’t killed here, but his body was moved here overnight. It was discovered by tourists this morning.”

  Bond said, “The number ‘seven’—if Charles was killed three days ago, that’s around the same time as the two incidents in northern Cyprus. They were numbers ‘five’ and ‘six.’ ”

  “Yes, they were all done the same day.”

  “The first series of attacks didn’t occur on the same day. And there were four of them.”

  “Yes, but they were committed very close together in time,” she said. “I think the significance is in the numbers, not in the time frame.”

  “What else did you find out?”

  “We’ll get the full autopsy report, but from the looks of it, Charles Hutchinson was killed in a fall of some kind. His body was badly battered—not from a beating or torture, but from an impact. He also had an old Greek coin in his mouth.”

  “Just like Whitten. Payment for Charon the boatman to take him across the River Styx.”

  “I’m trying to figure out why the body was dumped at the Temple of Poseidon.”

  “Poseidon was one of the statuettes found at Episkopi.”

  They pondered the mystery in silence as the car pulled up to the gate of the large mansion they had seen from the temple. A stone fence surrounded the property, and an intercom screened visitors before the automatic gate would open. The two-story house was built in the 1920s. Some lights were on in a few of the windows, but the only other sign of activity was that a man dressed in black was washing a black Ferrari F355 GTS on the drive. He looked up and saw them peering through the gate, but kept on washing the car.

  “We’ve just been spotted. Where is the headquarters for the New Pythagoreans?” Bond asked.

  “Just down the road. Let’s see if the office is still open.”

  They drove away from the mansion and got on the main road. She directed him to a large white building of stone and plaster. It was a modest structure that might have been a restaurant or a shop. A sign outside the building read in both Greek and English, “The New Pythagorean Society.” There were three cars parked in front, and the front door was propped open.

  They got out of the Jaguar and went inside. The entry way was lit by candles. Literature was piled on a table by the door. Bond examined the pamphlets which outlined the organization’s tenets and provided membership applications.

  “May I help you?” came a voice, speaking Greek.

  They turned to see a man of about forty wearing a white robe. He had come in through an archway that led to the rest of the building. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes.

  Niki answered him in Greek, and then he spoke English. “You are welcome. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  “I’m very interested in your organization,” Bond said. “I’m from England and am writing a book about the ties between philosophy and religions. I’d be grateful if you could tell us a little about the New Pythagoreans. If I end up using the material in the book, you’ll get some publicity out of it.”

  The man smiled broadly. “I’d be delighted to help you. I am Miltiades. I run the facility here at Cape Sounion. And you are … ?”

  “I’m John Bryce, and this is …”

  “Cassandra Talon,” Niki said. “I’m serving as Mr. Bryce’s guide in Greece.”

  “I see. Well, do you know much about Pythagoras?”

  “Just a little,” Bond said.

  “He was a great mathematician who founded his own group of philosophers. It was called the Pythagorean Society, and they based everything in life on numbers. They believed that everything in the universe could be explained or defined with numerology. It’s not something I can make you understand in ten minutes, mind you.”

  “That’s all right. What does your group do?”

  “We follow the teachings of Pythagoras, which often went beyond mathematics. He was one of the first philosophers to link spirituality with the challenges of everyday life. For example, he believed that one’s diet was important in achieving a soul that was at peace with the body. We believe that animals and man are on the same journey, and that man is a little farther along than his animal brethren. Knowing this, we are expected to refrain from the eating of flesh. Our members are noted mathematicians and philosophers, mostly Greek, but we have members all over the world. We publish a quarterly magazine that is read in universities. Some of the greater minds in the Western world write for us. We donate a sizable amount of our income to various charities. We also provide a scholarship in mathematics at Athens University for qualified students.”

  “I’ve heard of your leader, Mr. Romanos. Is he here?”

  “No, I’m afraid Mr. Romanos is away. He rarely shows his face here these days, he’s such a busy man. He leaves me in charge, which was quite a leap of faith on his part, I must say!” He chuckled to himself.

  “He lives nearby, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he does. You may have seen the mansion with the red roof on the way here. That’s where he lives. Mr. Romanos is a man who enjoys his privacy. He has become very famous over the last few years.”

  “Can we see the rest of the building?”

  “Certainly. Follow me.”

  Miltiades led them through the archway and into a large room that resembled a sanctuary. Pews covered the floor, facing a podium at the front of the room. Bond’s heart skipped a beat when he saw what was printed on a tapestry hanging on the wall behind the podium.

  It was an equilateral triangle of ten points, just like the one that he saw at Romanos’s house in Austin, Texas.

  “What is the significance of the triangle?” Bond asked.

  “Ah, that is the symbol of the New Pythagorean Society. It is our logo, I suppose you can say. You see, Pythagoras and his followers believed that the number ten was sacred. This triangle consists of ten points. Notice that if you turn the triangle, it will always rest on a base of four points. The next level has three points, then two, and the tenth point is at the top of the triangle. It represents perfection.”

  Miltiades then led the couple out of the sanctuary and into a sitting room and library. The place was lined with full bookshelves. There were tables and chairs for studying, some occupied by young men and women.

  “This is our library, where we keep over five thousand works on mathematics and philosophy. Students are allowed to use the library for a small fee. The
y come from all over Europe to use our resources.” Miltiades had a kind of patronizing attitude that rubbed Bond the wrong way.

  Niki and Bond stepped over to a wall to study some framed photographs. There was one of the board of directors, all dressed in white robes. Several photos featured Konstantine Romanos at various public functions. In one he was accepting an award from the prime minister of Greece. In another he was shaking hands with Melina Mercouri.

  Still another photo featured Romanos sitting at a dinner table with several other men dressed in tuxedos. Next to Romanos was none other than Alfred Hutchinson. The photo was dated “1983.”

  “Do you know where this photo was taken?” Bond asked Miltiades.

  Miltiades peered at it and shook his head. “Alas, no, I’m not sure. I think it might have been some kind of banquet for the university.”

  Bond and Niki exchanged glances. Here was proof that Alfred Hutchinson knew Konstantine Romanos. Bond feared what the news might mean to M. Had she been “sleeping with the enemy”?

  The rest of the tour was unremarkable. Bond politely asked for some of the organization’s literature and took Miltiades’s card. They thanked him and left the building.

  Back in the Jaguar, he said, “That triangle was the same as the one I saw in Texas. I think I’m beginning to understand the pattern of numbers. They’re following that triangle. The first four attacks occurred around the same time: Whitten’s murder, the two attacks on the Cyprus bases, and Alfred Hutchinson’s assassination. There were only three in the next group—the next line up in the triangle: the two attacks in northern Cyprus and Charles Hutchinson’s murder. I would wager that the next group of attacks will consist of only two, and they will be big ones. They’re leading up to the coup de grâce, the tenth and biggest one yet.”