Santorini Caesars

by Jeffrey Siger

  “Don’t worry, I still know how to finish.” She slid her hand down his belly to where he was showing a growing appreciation of her attention.

  “Just one thing,” said Lila, sliding down toward his waist.

  “What’s that?”

  “Turn off your damn phone.”

  ***

  Andreas sat at his desk drinking cafeteria coffee out of a paper cup. Maggie wasn’t in yet to make her special brew. He looked at his watch. Not yet nine. Petro had called him every half hour since their daybreak conversation. All appeared calm. The military guys seemed more interested in the view from the caldera than the villas.

  Our nation’s conscripted forces at work, thought Andreas.

  Depending upon the branch of service, all able-bodied Greek men were required to serve up to a year of military duty. The Air Force recently undertook to make their branch more career-oriented, but still, those with connections generally drew the best duty. Like serving their time on Santorini. Savvy career military types saw opportunities in befriending those in their charge who might be useful to them once civilians again, which made busting their balls on routine assignments a low priority.

  Andreas hoped whatever rigorous searching might be going on inside the hotel villas was confined to soldiers seeking to retrieve messages and picking out caldera photos to post on their smartphones. He’d take any break he could get, lucky or otherwise.

  He’d meant what he’d said to Lila that morning, though he’d made it sound like a joke. If this blew up, the minister and his Prada buddy would go after him in the media with charges of treason, or whatever else they could trump up, whether provable or not. Hard core leftists saw things in black and white. Their values were white, everyone else’s black. Unless, of course, green was involved. Then the color of money trumped all others.

  “Why am I doing this?” said Andreas aloud. If the dead girl’s father doesn’t care enough to push the envelope, why the hell am I?

  The door to his office swung open and Maggie walked in carrying a pot of coffee, followed by Yianni carrying two cups.

  “I see you’re in early. That’s not a good sign.” Maggie put the coffeepot on a pad of paper on Andreas’ desk.

  Yianni poured a cup of coffee and held it out for Andreas.

  Andreas waved him off. “You keep it. I prefer to suffer along with what I’m drinking. I’ll switch to Maggie’s when I’m done hearing bad news.”

  Yianni took a sip and looked at Maggie. “Well then, it looks like we’re not going to need this cup for him, after all.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I just told Yianni that your Prada friend is asking about you.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. It’s what guys like him do.”

  “But he’s asking GADA senior administrative staff, secretaries and the like, what they know or have heard about your political opinions.”

  “He’s doing that personally?”

  “Yes. Just this morning I’ve heard from a half-dozen different people he’s spoken to.”

  “But you just got in.”

  “That’s why I’m late. They called me at home. Apparently he’s been calling since seven.”

  Andreas leaned forward. “Why would he be in such a hurry to call so many so early in the morning? And why people who hardly know me?”

  “I can’t answer the first question,” said Maggie, “but maybe he knew it would get back to you that he was checking up on you, and did it just to let you know he hadn’t forgotten about your get-together in Babis’ office.”

  “Could be,” nodded Andreas.

  “Your second question’s easy to answer. We’re invisible. You just think we don’t know you. No one notices us, but we’re always there, always listening to whoever has dealings with our bosses, and the bitching by our bosses about those they deal with. It gives us a unique view of people and how they’re thought of by their peers.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” said Andreas. “But why are they talking to him?”

  “Because they’ve been ordered to by Babis.”

  Andreas shook his head. “They’re gunning for me even before Santorini blows up. Christ, I’ll be crucified.”

  “Nicely put,” said Yianni.

  “Damn.”

  “I like that better,” said Maggie.

  “I don’t know what he’s looking for, but the bottom line to my politics is simple. I believe all politicians should be required to earn a living, and not live off the earnings of those who elected them.”

  “In other words, you’re against them all,” said Yianni.

  Andreas smiled. “You could say that.”

  “Not sure where that puts you on the political spectrum,” said Maggie, “but it sure makes you loved by me and my friends.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to find any ammunition for going after you. He’s an arrogant narcissist. No one missed that. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone and can masquerade as a friend of the people. No one bit at his efforts to say something bad about you.”

  “That we know of,” said Andreas.

  Maggie nodded. “But I wouldn’t worry about any of this now.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve got the Santorini operation to worry about.”

  “Thanks for making me feel better.” Andreas looked at his watch. “Petro’s been calling in like clockwork. Now he’s nearly ten minutes late.”

  “Why don’t you call him?” said Maggie.

  “Uh, uh,” said Andreas. “I have to assume there’s a reason why he didn’t call. The last thing a man in the field needs when something’s going wrong is for his boss in the office to be nagging for updates. I’ll find out why he’s late when he calls in.”

  “I wish I had your patience,” said Yianni.

  “It’s not patience, it’s anxiety. And you’re more than welcome to it.” Andreas’ eyes jumped between his watch and the phone.

  “Come on, damn it.” Andreas smacked his hand on the desktop. “Call already.”

  Chapter Ten

  Petro sensed he’d been holding his breath forever, beginning with the first knock on the church’s front door.

  “Who the hell is that?” he’d whispered to Francesco.

  “No idea,” shrugged Francesco.

  “What’s happening?” said Dimos peeking around the iconostasis from the altar area.

  Petro waved at Dimos, “Get back to the window. And let us know if you see anyone else coming up the hill.”

  “No one’s come up the hill. Whoever it is must have come the other way.”

  “Hello, I know you’re in there. Open up. Please.”

  Francesco scrunched his eyebrows together. “He’s speaking English.” He walked to the door and opened it slightly.

  “Yes, my son. What can I do for you?”

  “My girlfriend and I wanted to know if it would be okay to stay here another day. We won’t be any trouble.”

  “I’m sure,” said Francesco, “but to be honest, if the bishop ever finds out that I’ve let people stay here without his permission, I will have eternal hell to pay.”

  “You mean the Greek Church would deny someone shelter?”

  Francesco smiled. “Nice try, but allowing two Aussies on their trek around the globe to shack up on church property doesn’t exactly fit the image you’re trying to conjure up here.”

  “Are you a priest?” said the boy.

  “Don’t be misled by how I’m dressed. I’m working here. That sign on the rope you stepped over to get up here mentioned that.”

  “Oh.” The boy bit at his lower lip.

  “I wish I could do more for you, son, but I can’t. But take your time gathering up your things.”

  The boy looked down a
t his feet and rubbed one beat-up sneaker against the other. “Would it change your mind, father, if I told you my girlfriend and I plan on getting married?”

  “Congratulations, but you’re not married yet, so there’s really nothing I can do for you.” Francesco shook his head. “Sorry.”

  The boy sighed. “Thanks, anyway,” and walked away.

  Francesco closed the door, turned around, and leaned back against it. “Whew.”

  “Well done,” said Petro looking at his watch. “Damn, I’m late calling the chief.” He reached into his pocket for his phone.

  “You better hold off on that,” yelled out Dimos. “We’ve got more company coming up the hill. And from their weapons I’d say they’re not tourists looking for a priest.”

  Petro ran to the window. Two men in military fatigues, H&K 7.62 assault rifles strapped over their right shoulders, trudged up the hill, about seventy-five meters away.

  “Maybe they’ll keep on going,” said Dimos

  Petro gestured no. “Their weapons look to be standard issue and from the way they’re moving, not likely well trained, but unless they’re brain dead, they’re going to check out this church.”

  “What if we just keep the door locked and windows covered until they leave?” asked Dimos.

  “That assumes they won’t break down the door,” said Petro stepping back from the window and heading into the front room. “Or find two Aussies in the bathroom who’ll promptly tell the soldier boys all about the priest inside the church.”

  “Damn,” said Francesco. He moved quickly to a cabinet in the altar area and rummaged inside before pulling out a neatly folded black garment. “Guys, hide everything behind the iconostasis and, Dimos, once they’re inside, act as if you’re a local churchgoer watching out for the place.”

  “Inside? You’re going to let them in?” said Petro.

  “Only as a last resort. But we have to be ready for that,” said Francesco.

  “What am I supposed to do?” said Petro.

  “You’ll never pass as a churchgoer. Stay hidden behind the iconostasis and don’t make a sound.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Feel free to pray.”

  “And precisely what will you be doing?” said Petro.

  “Trying my best to get us out of the mess I created. Lock the door behind me.”

  With that Francesco was gone.

  “Is he serious?” said Petro.

  “I sure hope so. Otherwise the odds are looking pretty good that we’ll end up spending the rest of our chummy weekend together as guests of military hospitality.”

  Petro picked up three sleeping bags in one hand and three backpacks in the other, and lugged them into the altar area. Dimos rearranged the benches and candle stands to make the space look more like a church than a dormitory.

  Petro had just gathered up water bottles and food containers from the front when a hard knock sounded on the door.

  “Open up,” barked a husky voice.

  Dimos grabbed anything else that didn’t look to belong in a church and stashed it in the altar area.

  Seconds later came three harder knocks, “I SAID OPEN UP.”

  “Now what?” said Petro.

  “It’s Francesco’s play. We’ll have to let him make the first move.”

  Six hard poundings on the door followed by, “OPEN UP OR WE’LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR.”

  “Screw this,” said Petro. “If they break down that door I’m breaking their heads.” He started toward the front door.

  Dimos put a hand on Petro’s chest and whispered, “Wait.”

  Over the sound of more pounding they heard another voice. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, is this any way to respect a house of God?”

  Dimos whispered to Petro, “It’s Francesco.”

  The husky voice said, “We have orders to search this church.”

  “And I have orders from a higher power to resist all those who seek to defile this place of sanctuary.”

  “Father, we aren’t trying to defile your church, just search it,” said a different, softer voice.

  “For what reason?”

  “I can’t say,” said the soft voice.

  “Ah, precisely the sort of reason that has haunted the innocent through the ages. I cannot allow it.”

  “You have no choice in this matter,” said husky voice.

  “Oh, my son, you are very misguided. I have a lot of choice in this matter. We are not a church lost in the hills of the Peloponnese where no one will know or possibly even care what you’ve done. We are a venerated church on the caldera of Santorini, known around the world, and I can assure you that your defilement of our hallowed place will by the end of this day resound across every television screen and newspaper in Greece, including those favored by your superiors.”

  Silence.

  Dimos gave Petro the thumbs-up sign.

  “But I appreciate your predicament, gentlemen. You are sheep in the military’s flock who must follow the orders of your shepherd or be punished. I do not want that on my hands. And so I will allow you into my church.”

  “Is he nuts?” muttered Petro.

  The soft voice said, “I heard someone inside.”

  Petro blanched.

  “Of course you did, it is my attendant, Dimos, readying the sanctuary.”

  “Readying it for what?” said the husky voice.

  “I’ll show you,” said Francesco. “In fact, you are welcome to participate. Dimos, open up.”

  “He’s definitely insane,” whispered Petro retreating to behind the iconostasis.

  Dimos opened the door slightly.

  “Are we ready?” said Francesco dressed in a black priest’s cassock.

  Dimos eyes jumped between the faces of the soldiers. “Yes, Father.”

  Francesco turned to his left and waved in the direction of the bathroom. “Come, my children, these soldiers mean you no harm,” he said in English. “They have come to share in your great joy.”

  The soldiers exchanged befuddled glances.

  Around the corner came the Australian boy and his girlfriend, holding hands and smiling.

  “This is so very nice of you, Father,” said the boy in English.

  “Yes, we’ll remember this moment for the rest of our lives,” said the girl in English.

  “As will I, my children, as will I.”

  The soldiers started to step into the church but Francesco grabbed them by the back of their flak jackets. “No, the bride and groom enter first.”

  The soldiers turned to allow the Aussies to pass. “You mean this is a wedding?”

  Francesco nodded as he passed between them. “Of course it is. What else did you think would be happening up here so early in the morning?”

  The soldiers followed Francesco into the church and looked around at what appeared to be a neat, traditional church, with everything in all the proper places. The soft speaking one headed toward the altar area.

  “Uh, uh,” said Francesco. “I see you are not aware of our ways. You are not allowed back there.”

  “Why?”

  “Only the soon-to-be wed and I are allowed back there to commune with the spirit blessing this occasion. We cannot allow it to be corrupted by another presence.”

  The husky-voiced soldier shook his head. “You Santorini locals sure have some weird superstitions.”

  “Weird is in the mind of its beholder, my son. Dimos, have you made preparations for the service?”

  “Uh, yes, Father. Everything you need is back by the altar.”

  Francesco nodded. “Good, I will now go and prepare.”

  “How long is this going to take?” said the soft voice.

  “Not more than a couple of hours.”

  “A couple of hours!” said the husky voice.
>
  Francesco shook his head. “Would you deny these young people the full measure of the blessing of the church?”

  “It’s another reason why I’ll never get married,” said the husky voice.

  “That and the unlikely chance of finding someone who’ll marry you,” said the soft voice.

  Husky looked about to punch his partner, but didn’t. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Soft Voice turned to the bride and groom and said in English, “I’m sure you don’t understand Greek but we wish you a life full of flowers, vion anthosparton.”

  Both soldiers nodded at Francesco and Dimos, then left.

  Francesco stared at the front door, not saying a word.

  “Father, is everything okay?” said the girl.

  “What? Oh, yes. I was just contemplating the moment.”

  “We all were,” said Dimos in Greek.

  “Are they gone?” said Francesco.

  Dimos stepped out onto the terrace and came back in. “They’re headed north, but they might come back.”

  “I doubt it. Not unless they’ve reconsidered attending the wedding service.”

  “Yeah,” said Dimos, “what was all that bullshit about a two-hour service, and the altar area being off-limits?”

  “Improvisation my friend, improvisation. Which reminds me. Hey, Petro, don’t say anything until the newlyweds are out of here.”

  “You’re not actually going to perform a wedding service, are you?” said Dimos.

  “It’s up to them.” Francesco switched to English. “My children, before we begin may I see your marriage license?”

  “Marriage license?” said the boy.

  “Yes, it’s required that you have one from our town hall.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, if you want the marriage to be legal, you must have a marriage license.”

  “Can we get one now?”

  “I’m afraid it takes a couple of days. So sorry.”

  Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. “I was so looking forward to this moment, taking our vows together on Santorini.”

  Francesco rubbed at his collar. “But there’s nothing I can do. Without the license you will not be legally married.”