Petro quickly set a place for him next to the air marshal, taking great care to position the tablecloth clamp between the two men. He held the chair for the man to sit down, then hurried back to the kitchen, glancing skyward as he did. Thank you, Lord, thank you.
***
Within fifteen minutes after his arrival, every general officer had made a point of getting up from his seat to say a few words of respect to Guest. When one officer asked to have his picture taken with him, Guest turned to Air Marshal and whispered in his ear.
Air Marshal immediately announced to the table, “There will be no photographs this evening.” He then called out to Sappho, her father, and Petro. “That applies to you, too. No photos. In fact, turn off your phones.”
“Yes, sir,” said Petro. Nice idea but too late. Someone fidgeting with a smartphone these days was practically invisible. All it required was a bit of technique and a silent shutter setting so as not to tip off your subject. He’d long ago taken and sent along photos of everyone at the table, including more than a dozen of Guest.
For the next twenty minutes Guest and Air Marshal sat locked in hushed, eye to eye conversation. Air Marshal turned away from the conversation first.
He picked up his wineglass, leaned back in his chair, and took a long sip. He held the glass for several seconds before putting it down and clearing his throat. “Gentlemen, I need your attention.” His voice was firm and clear, but not loud.
Some voices immediately stopped; others continued as if they’d not heard him.
He repeated in the same tone, “Gentlemen, I need your attention.”
More voices stilled, and those that didn’t were nudged to silence by those who had.
Petro took Sappho by the arm, put his forefinger to his lips, and steered her into the kitchen. Her father had beaten them there.
“They don’t want us in there now,” said the father.
Petro nodded. “It’s best that we just sit here and listen for when they call us.”
Sappho opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead glanced out through the doorway at the table. “Yes, let’s just sit here in the kitchen and listen.” She nodded at two chairs. “Bring those in here and follow me.”
Sappho walked along the wall separating the kitchen from the dining room, and stopped under a vent. Pointing up she whispered, “We’ll sit here, right below the vent. But be quiet, because they can hear us the same as we can hear them.”
“This is crazy.”
She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “There’s another vent above their table. It’s our unofficial intercom with the dining room. When we’re really busy, we stand under it and shout out the orders.”
“Your customers must think you’re crazy.”
“I should hope so, what with all I do to make them think I am. But at least this gets the orders working faster.”
Petro put down the chairs. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”
She nodded and sat. “Aren’t you curious?”
Of course he was. But he knew the microphones would pick up everything, so there was no reason for him to risk someone from the table walking into the kitchen and catching him eavesdropping. The chief would skin him alive.
Sappho reached out and touched his hand. “Okay, if you’re not curious, just think of this as humoring me.” She sat focused on the vent, and tugged at Petro’s hand without moving her eyes. “Please, sit next to me.”
Petro shook his head, dropped onto the chair without letting go of her hand, and listened.
Air Marshal’s voice came roaring through the vent. “Gentlemen, it is our great privilege and honor to have with us this evening our Prime Minister’s most trusted and respected advisor. He has shown himself on countless occasions to be the man whose counsel our Prime Minister treasures most. We have known each other for many years, and though we have our differences, I respect him as a forceful, determined advocate who once committed to a cause will not rest until it succeeds.”
He paused. “Now if only we could convince him that a strong military remains Greece’s best hope for a secure future in these restless times.”
Over applause he introduced the guest by name to the others at the table.
“Thank you, Air Marshal. I, too, am deeply honored, for you have given me the opportunity of addressing our country’s finest, most dedicated military minds. You are Greece’s strong right arm, the modern day embodiment of our ancient warrior tradition carrying on with a proud history of valor that serves as inspiration to heroes everywhere.”
Applause.
Guest smiled. “Thank you for that. Applause is something we in government receive precious little of these days.”
A few men laughed.
“I’m particularly gratefully for your applause now,” he continued, “for once I’ve said what I’ve come to say, I dread I may hear no more.”
Nervous glances bounced around the table.
“I was asked to speak on the topic of domestic terrorism, but I have something far more important to share with you. I do not have to tell you, gentlemen, that every day our democracy is locked in battle with economic catastrophe. Not since the horrors of the World War II German occupation have so many of our countrymen faced suffering of such third-world proportions. Our efforts to reason with our creditors only intensify their demands for deeper carvings into social programs they see as unnecessary, wasteful, or simply too generous for our times. They do not grasp that what they ask saps the very marrow of what makes us Greeks.”
A couple of officers applauded but abruptly stopped when no one else joined in.
“Many have given up hope. Our brightest youth flee for studies and careers elsewhere. The poor are getting poorer, the rich have already moved their wealth to foreign shores, and the middle class fears being no more. Tax evaders are more blatant, criminals more forceful, and all feel prey to their neighbors’ envy. The very fabric of our nation is at risk.
“We cannot permit that to continue. And I am here tonight to tell you we shall not.”
Silence.
“Our Prime Minister has weathered many difficult times. He’s been forced to accept concessions he despised, dictated by foreign powers in order to keep our ship of state afloat. He is no stranger to hard choices, and I’m about to inform you of another he’s forced to make. I doubt you’ll agree with it, but as he’s convinced of its wisdom it shall come to pass. I am here merely to tell you to prepare.
“There is no country in Europe with a bigger military for its size than Greece. There is no country in NATO as militarized as Greece, and no country in the EU with a bigger proportion of its Gross Domestic Product dedicated to military spending than Greece. Until the financial crisis struck, we numbered among the world’s five biggest arms importers and even today have four times the number of German-made, top-of-the-line Leopard tanks as Germany’s own military.”
He shook his head. “Our Prime Minister does not see how he can justify spending of that magnitude in the face of the extraordinary amounts owed to our creditors and the crushing economic and social toll that burden takes from our people every day.
“He is convinced we need a new direction, one that rejects outdated thinking and wasteful ways. He asks, what are the concerns that fuel our military budget? Turkey? The Turks may rattle their sabers but would never dare invade our NATO country. FYROM? It may call itself Macedonia, but it too would never dare act upon its desire to run its southern border into the heart of northern Greece.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Our Prime Minister sees all of that as scary tales told to the Greek people by politicians of the old order for but a single purpose. To justify their ongoing corrupt dealings with our nation’s armorers. Their greed has cost our nation billions, and made them and their patrons very, very rich.
“I am here to tell you those days are over. We
shall embrace our NATO and European allies as our protectors and spend our precious resources on fulfilling our party’s promises to the people, not on buying foreign armaments. Gentlemen, embrace the new order. For it is here.”
Silence.
The air marshal coughed. “Thank you for sharing the Prime Minister’s views. I’m sure you realize many of us have very different opinions on how best to address our nation’s predicament.”
A chorus of agreement arose from around the table.
“But I see no reason to ask you to defend the Prime Minister’s thinking with us here tonight. We came for an evening of camaraderie and fun, not serious discussions. There will be time enough for that later.”
He held up his glass. “I propose a toast. Here’s to Greek valor. May no war require it, but may it ever be ready for every foe.”
In one loud voice the entire table responded, “Ya mas!”
Sappho looked at Petro. “That’s our cue to get back in there.”
“Especially the wine-pourer. My guess is after that little speech they’ll be doing a lot of drinking.”
She let go of his hand, stood, and headed toward the door. “I sure hope the budget cuts don’t kick in until after they pay our bill.”
“Spoken like a true Greek. Ask not what I can do for my country, but what can I get out of it.”
“What can I say? We’re incorrigible.”
“And look where that’s got us.”
She stopped to turn and look at him. “Perhaps I missed something back there, Mister Super Patriot, but it sure as hell sounded to me that a lot of big-time military brass just learned that their cushy lifestyle is now bye-bye. I don’t want to be the idiot left holding their empty money bag.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Make them pay before they leave. No more ‘send us a bill.’”
“Won’t that offend them?”
She turned and headed back toward the door. “Better they’re offended than we’re stiffed.”
***
Guest left the dinner cold sober within twenty minutes of finishing his speech, but the last of the decidedly-not-sober military did not leave the taverna until after sunrise. Another hour passed after that before Petro felt he’d helped clean up sufficiently to announce he had to leave.
Sappho hugged him. “I wish we could have spent more time together. But I know you’re tired. We both are. How about tonight?”
Petro laughed. “Let me get some sleep first.”
She looked up at him without loosening her hug. “You know I like you?”
“And I like you too.” He kissed her on the forehead and headed toward the front door.
Sappho’s father caught up with him at the door and pressed an envelope into his hand.
“What’s this?” said Petro.
“Your pay.”
“I don’t want this.” He pushed the envelope back toward the father.
“Absolutely not, you earned it. And I hope you realize that any time you want a job you have one here.”
“Thank you, but I didn’t come here to work for pay. I came to spend time with your daughter.”
“I insist. Besides, it’s mostly your share of a very big tip.”
Petro smiled. “In that case…” He took the envelope and put it in his pocket. The two men hugged and Petro left. He was outside less than thirty seconds when his phone rang.
He looked at the caller ID. “Yes, Chief.”
“Don’t take the job. We need you in the unit.”
“Glad to hear the clamp mikes work, even in my bag.”
“So you were able to switch them back out for the real ones.”
“While cleaning up.”
“Good. You must be exhausted.”
“I am.”
“You did some first-class work back there.”
“Thanks.”
“And as soon as you’re back at the church call me. We have a lot to talk about.”
***
Andreas and Yianni had spent the night in Andreas’ office, alternating shifts between listening to the live feed from the taverna and napping on the couch. But neither man slept during the gathering’s heated debate over the implications of the Prime Minister’s message that erupted the moment Guest left the taverna. Naptime only returned after the talk deteriorated into a bitching session about politicians in general, on its way toward the evergreen topics of fishing, sports, holidays, and women.
Now they sat wide-awake, staring at Petro’s photographs of Guest.
“What the hell was he doing there?” said Yianni.
“Somehow, I don’t think it was simply to deliver a message from the Prime Minister.”
“Hell of a message. More like a declaration of war against the military. I couldn’t think of more unifying hot-button issues for the military than Turkey, FYROM, and cutbacks.”
“Almost as if he were trying to provoke them,” said Andreas.
‘But why? The Prime Minister’s been pretty content up to now with not going after the military’s sacred cows.”
“Or rattling its very comfortable cages.”
“Like the air marshal’s in Larissa, a town known for having both the Air Force’s main base and more Porsche Cayennes per capita than any other place in Europe.”
Andreas shook his head. “Something’s not right about this. He just told a room full of military that the Prime Minister is planning a one-eighty reversal on the nation’s basic national security strategy without a single word of any of that having leaked into the press.”
“That’s just the sort of dynamite stuff someone turns over to the media in exchange for getting a big-time favor. Maybe the PM’s office has been extraordinarily careful to keep a lid on this?”
“Not likely if what we heard him privately tell the air marshal just before making his speech is true. He made a careful point of telling the air marshal he did not agree with the PM’s strategy and had vigorously but unsuccessfully argued against it. That’s the kind of high-level discord that fuels leaks.”
“And he had to know the air marshal would repeat that kind of juicy gossip,” said Yianni.
“Which is precisely what we heard him do with several people over the course of the night. By now everyone who was at that table knows or will know by morning that there’s a disagreement between the PM and his most trusted adviser.”
“It’s as if he wanted them to know of his differences with the Prime Minister.”
Andreas nodded. “As I said, something’s not right.”
“But we knew that about the guy from the first time we met him.”
Andreas looked closely at the photos. “I can’t tell if he’s wearing his jacket with the red striped collar.”
“With or without it, he’s still that asshole Prada.”
The phone rang on Andreas’ desk. Andreas hit the speaker button.
“Chief?”
“Yes, Petro, I’m here with Yianni.”
“Great work, kid,” said Yianni.
“Thanks.” A yawn came over the speaker.
“Yianni and I were just talking about your guest who came to dinner.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the head of State Security Police, whatever the hell that is. It seems to be where he’s parked himself for a paycheck and power base while he serves as an advisor to the Prime Minister. We met him at our meeting with the Brigadier in our minister’s office. Yianni calls him Prada. His real name is…” Andreas looked at a note on his desk and said the name.
“Never heard of him.”
“That’s apparently how he likes things. He and Babis organized most of the major violent demonstrations for the Prime Minister that helped bring their party to power. Prada served as the brains and Babis as the front man. Prad
a kept a low profile then too. Let others take the credit.”
“And shielded the Prime Minister from taking the blame,” said Yianni.
“Well, the military top brass certainly knew him,” said Petro.
“That surprised me,” said Andreas. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d be that close to the military.”
“Certainly not as a leftist revolutionary,” said Yianni.
“Any idea why he delivered a scary message to the military instead of what they expected him to talk about?” said Petro.
“We were just tossing that around,” said Andreas. “What’s your take on what you saw?”
“He certainly shook everyone up. Especially the young ones. I could tell from their faces. It was as if someone near and dear to them had just died in front of them.”
“Did they seem angry?” said Andreas.
“Hard to say. They drank a lot and that muddies your emotions. But for sure they’d come to Santorini expecting to be anointed the military’s next generation of leaders only to learn that their dreams had just crashed and burned, courtesy of the Prime Minister.”
Andreas picked up a pencil and began tapping it on his desktop. “What did they say about Prada?”
“Not much. They took him as the messenger.”
“Did they mention anything about his not agreeing with the Prime Minister’s strategy?”
“Not that I overheard. Is that true?”
Andreas filled Petro in on what they’d picked up from the microphones.
“Very interesting, but I never heard them talking about that.”
“Okay, try to get some sleep, because as soon as your big tippers wake up, I want you glued to those mikes.”
“The tips weren’t that big.”
“No matter, you earned them. But be alert. I’m sure what Prada said will now be their number-one agenda item. I want to know where this is headed so we can try to be out in front of it for once.”
“Any guesses?” said Petro.
“None that I want to make until after I hear what the men have to say when they’re sober.”
“I’ll call you as soon as they’re up and talking.”
Santorini Caesars Page 13
