It was a Charge of the Light Brigade decision for Andreas. The copter now hovered about thirty meters over the roof. With so many towers so close by, the landing would be tricky. It would take a talented pilot exercising serious concentration, which was precisely why Andreas began shooting at the cockpit.
He could tell he’d got the pilot’s attention when the copter suddenly lurched back and pulled away. He’d also drawn the cameraman’s attention. Bullets started flying from the rooftop, all sailing over his head because he’d left the shooter no angle on him from above.
With the rat now trapped, the next move depended on whether the pilot had the balls to try again for the roof.
That’s when virtually every cop on Santorini, plus MPs from the Air Force base, arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing, sending a clear message to the pilot that his welcome would be anything but warm and fuzzy. The helicopter hovered for a few seconds, then angled off into the night.
More brains than balls.
Andreas liked the pilot’s thinking. Now he had to make sure the charging cavalry didn’t mistake Andreas for one of the bad guys. So he hunkered down and waited.
Within five minutes every official gun and light on the mountain pointed at that rooftop, covering it from all angles. The cameraman had no place to go. The question was, what would he do now? The answer came moments later. A rifle and two handguns flew from the roof and clattered to the ground near Andreas, followed by the English words, “I surrender.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The interrogation of the cameraman yielded precisely what Andreas thought. Nothing. After eight straight hours of hearing nothing more than, “I want a lawyer,” he was transferred to Athens’ Korydallos maximum security prison. Europol identified him as a Greek-speaking Scottish citizen dishonorably discharged from British SAS, but they had no relevant information beyond that. His dead partner shared a similar resumé but with the U.S.’s Navy Seals. Andreas held the faint hope that he might soften up and talk once the prosecutor made clear that he faced a life sentence, but probably not, because in Greece every sentence was negotiable if you had the right contacts.
The pilot proved to be a different story. He wouldn’t stop talking. He’d never made it off the island. A Greek F-16 Fighting Falcon scrambled out of Souda Air Force Base on Crete had only to buzz the helicopter once for the pilot to set the chopper down. He landed in the Santorini Airport and identified himself as a captain in the Hellenic Coast Guard who moonlighted for a private charter service flying military-style helicopters. All he knew about tonight’s flight was that a news film crew with Ministry of Defense authorization to use the radar station’s helipad had requested an active-duty military pilot to take them from there to Athens. The owner of the charter service confirmed the pilot’s story and showed a letter on official Ministry of Defense stationery authorizing the “news crew’s” request.
The telecom company had a similar story. Someone possessing great technical expertise and identifying himself as from the Ministry of Defense had scheduled a repair of chronic communications problems at the radar site—a repair that would require a temporary but complete shutdown of all systems. The supposed Ministry of Defense expert had told the telecom that the shutdown presented no problem and the radar installation would be expecting it. When Andreas asked if that seemed unusual, the telcom representative said the only unusual aspect was the military agreeing to pay up front in exchange for expedited service.
More nails in the military’s intended coffin.
But not a hint of Mayroon’s or Prada’s involvement.
***
The next morning, Prada received a personal telephone call from the Prime Minister asking that he join him for coffee at his office in the Maximos Mansion. Prada arrived early, but he did not have to wait. The Prime Minister’s secretary showed him straight into her boss’ conference room. The Prime Minister sat waiting at the far end of a rectangular conference table surrounded by paneled walls, built-in bookcases, heavily draped windows, and Kaldis on one side of him, the Brigadier on the other.
“Ah, my friend, welcome,” said the Prime Minister. “Please sit. Or if you want a coffee, please help yourself.” He pointed to a credenza by the door.
“No, thank you.” Prada sat at the end of the table farthest away from the others, his eyes darting from one face to another.
The Prime Minister nodded. “I believe you know my other guests.”
“Yes, but why are they here?”
“Ah, good question. Let’s have the Chief Inspector answer that.”
Andreas leaned forward. “Good morning. Sleep well?”
Prada gave him a dismissive look.
“No matter, none of us did. In fact, I haven’t been to sleep yet. Spent the whole night talking to witnesses. Trying to catch those responsible for attempting to assassinate the leader of our nation is tiring work.”
“Get to the point, Kaldis,” growled Prada. “If you have a point.”
“Relax. There’s plenty of time. The Prime Minister graciously cleared his calendar for this meeting. Do you have someplace more important to be?”
Prada glared, but said nothing.
“Good. Oh, by the way, I should tell you not to worry about us recording any of this. It’s all off the record. Though I must say I did appreciate the opportunity we had to listen to those hours of recordings you and our distinguished public order minister made in his office. Very informative.”
“I know of no such recordings.”
Andreas laughed. “You’re showing fear. Look, we all know you’re lying.” He held up a digital player for Prada to see. “So, let’s cut to the chase. Yesterday two highly-trained, ex-military commandos attempted to assassinate our Prime Minister in an elaborate plan involving Greek military installations, personnel, and assets. The hired assassins carefully avoided doing anything that might cause harm to anyone other than our Prime Minister. Crowds were scattered by shots in the air, police attempting to intervene were purposely immobilized with shots to their ballistic vests rather than killed by shots to the head, all to create the impression of a carefully executed Greek military operation.”
“Thank God you were there to protect our Prime Minister.” Prada’s voice showed no sign of strain at making the words sound sincere.
Andreas smiled. “That’s very kind of you to say, but for that I really have to thank you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, it was your little speech some days back at your dinner on Santorini with the Caesars that got me on the road to figuring it all out.”
“Figuring what out?”
“Do you want to listen to the recordings?” said Andreas.
The Prime Minister leaned forward. “I found them very interesting.”
Prada’s left eye began to twitch.
“What really put us on track was how quickly your invitation to the dinner led to such a sudden, intense interest in Santorini by some of your longtime friends.”
The Prime Minister nodded. “Mayroon.”
Prada visibly blanched.
“Yes,” said Andreas. “The very next day Mayroon started running around, gathering info on Santorini. On day five, the Brigadier’s daughter died. On day eight you met the Caesars for dinner on Santorini. And on day eleven you’re heard saying ‘gotcha’ after a recorded meeting between you and three military personnel from that Santorini dinner.” Andreas held up the player. “Would you like to hear it?”
Not a word from Prada.
“I didn’t think you would.” Andreas put down the player. “Nice plan. Arrange to have all the bread crumbs lead straight back to the military and the minister of defense, and make your toady buddy the minister of public order a national hero in the process by having him ride in on a white horse, the hero who’d uncovered the military perpetrators of a great treason.”
Andr
eas leaned forward. “Did I say ‘nice’ plan? I meant ‘brilliant,’ because the only ones involved in executing the plan knowing anything about its real purpose were the foreign assassins, and I’d bet even they didn’t have a clue of who stood behind it.” Andreas shook his head. “Nope, there’s only one person on earth who knows that.”
Andreas let the thought linger.
“That one person must be feeling mighty anxious this morning. With one assassin dead, the other in prison, and both identified as foreigners, that pretty much gets the Greek military off the hook. So the plan failed.”
Andreas looked over at the Prime Minister. “I forget who said, ‘If you’re going to shoot the king, don’t miss,’” and turned his attention back on Prada. “But that’s the problem. The killers missed. Now everyone having anything to do with the plot is racing around covering tracks and eliminating loose ends.”
Prada blinked.
“Which should make you very, very uncomfortable.”
“You’re crazy, Kaldis. I had nothing to do with this. The Prime Minister is my closest friend and has had my unqualified support his entire political life.”
“It’s the end-of-life part that has us here today. Notably yours,” said Andreas.
“I don’t understand,” said Prada.
“Sure you do.” Andreas leaned back in his chair. “Something I’ve never been able to figure out is how the death of the Brigadier’s daughter tied into all of this. Even today, he remains convinced you had absolutely nothing to do with her assassination.”
Prada’s eyes met the Brigadier’s.
“I always thought of her murder as some sort of a message to the Brigadier. But I was wrong. I missed the obvious. Why don’t you tell us why she died? You owe the Brigadier and his wife at least that much.”
Prada stared down at the tabletop. He cleared his throat, but didn’t look up. “They knew Penelope was my goddaughter. I used to talk about her with pride. When I told them of the opportunity for putting their business plan back on track—”
“Replacing me with the minister of public order?” said the Prime Minister.
Prada nodded but still didn’t look up. “They told me that they were tired of ‘Greek promises’ and needed guarantees. I said I could give no guarantees.” He drew in and let out a breath. “That’s when they murdered Penelope and told me to take it as their guarantee of what would happen to me should I fail to deliver on my promises.”
“You miserable bastard.” The Brigadier sprang out of his chair but caught himself a pace toward Prada. He paused, straightened his jacket, and returned to his seat next to the Prime Minister.
“There is nothing I’m more ashamed of in my entire life.” Prada looked up. “But there’s also nothing more I can do about it.”
“Yes, there is,” said Andreas. “You can give us the people at Mayroon who are to blame.”
“They’ll kill me.”
Andreas shook his head. “You’re an intelligent man. Are you going to make me state the obvious?”
Prada gestured no. “I’m dead anyway.”
“Yep, you’re loose end number one,” said Andreas. “But if you give me the names, we might be able to get to them first.”
“You’ll never be able to prove a thing.”
“Let us worry about that,” said the Prime Minister
“Then what happens?”
“I wouldn’t worry about then, I’d worry about you and now,” said Andreas.
“That’s what I meant.”
Andreas started to speak but the Prime Minister put out his hand to stop him, and leaned forward. “It’s simple. I’ll let you live. They will not be as generous. The decision is yours. But if you don’t cooperate, I may change my mind.”
Andreas blinked. So did the Brigadier.
Prada stuttered, “But, but—”
“No buts, only a decision. Give us the names,” the Prime Minister slammed his hand on the tabletop, “now!”
And he did.
***
The three names Prada gave up had the Prime Minister biting at his lower lip. He’d been betrayed by his closest confidents at the highest level of Mayroon. He didn’t say a word for about a minute after Prada finished, then simply told him to leave. No one seemed more surprised than Prada, but he left immediately.
No one spoke for another minute.
The Prime Minister sighed. “I know you’re wondering why I did what I just did.”
“I expected to be arresting him.”
“He will be. But if we arrest him now, before I’ve decided on how best to proceed, it will alert Mayroon. And I doubt Prada will tell them on his own.”
“Won’t he flee?” asked the Brigadier.
“To where? From whom? No, for now he can walk around free as a bird. But carefully observed. And without power. He is stripped of all authority as of this moment, and I’ve accepted the immediate resignation of the minister of public order, for failing to discover a terrorist plot against me.”
“What terrorists?” asked Andreas.
He smiled. “I don’t know, I’ll make some up. But it will be announced as the same terrorists who murdered your daughter, Brigadier. Let us hope that puts an end to these painful demonstrations.” He shook his head. “They must be extraordinarily difficult for you and your wife to watch, so brutally exploiting your daughter’s memory for selfish political purposes.”
Wow, he’s smooth, thought Andreas. Precisely the sort of tactic on which he rose to power.
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” said the Brigadier.
“Did Babis actually resign?” said Andreas.
“He had no choice. All my ministers signed an undated letter of resignation when I appointed them. That way they can’t resist me if I want to dismiss them. All I have to do is date it.”
“What about the actual killers of my daughter?” said the Brigadier.
“I think the two who went after the Prime Minister are the ones who pulled the trigger,” said Andreas, “but there’s no way of knowing for sure unless the assassin we captured admits to it, which is unlikely.”
“Brigadier, I’d like to talk to you a bit more about your concerns, but could you please excuse us for a few moments? I want to discuss something else with the Chief Inspector.”
The Brigadier nodded and left.
The Prime Minister swung his chair around to face Andreas. “I’ve not yet had the chance to thank you for saving my life.”
Andreas nodded. “What else could I do? And it wasn’t just me.”
“I know, I plan on honoring you and your men.”
“Thank you. And there’s a young woman who deserves to be honored as well.”
He nodded. “We work pretty well as a team.”
Andreas wondered where this was headed.
“I particularly like the part where you bluffed about the recordings.”
“I guessed he’d said a lot of incriminating things in the minister’s office and wasn’t sure what Babis might have recorded.”
“Ah, yes, trust among political friends, a wonderful thing to behold. Which brings me to the point of my wanting to talk to you privately. I never should have replaced you as minister of public order. I want you back there.”
Andreas’ face tightened. “That’s a great honor, sir. But my wife would kill me if I took the post.”
“Why?”
“She says I get all moody and anxious around politicians.”
The Prime Minister laughed. “I can imagine.”
“Besides, we’re expecting a baby and I’d rather spend my free time at home, which I’ll never have if I join your cabinet.”
“Fair enough, but the offer’s open anytime you change your mind.”
“Thank you.”
Both men stood and Andreas extended his hand
. The Prime Minister took it and then hugged him. “Thanks again.”
Andreas nodded and headed to the door.
“Uh, would you ask the Brigadier to come back in? I have an offer for him too. Hopefully one he can’t refuse.” The Prime Minister smiled at his Godfather reference.
Which made Andreas think of another quote, one he’d seen on full display today. Don’t fuck with ultimate power.
***
True peace seemed to have come to pass over the following weeks, or at least in Andreas’ life. Christmas Day came and went with Maggie and Tassos joining them for the holiday, and everyone, including Yianni, Sappho, and Petro, had agreed to come to their home for a true Saint Basil’s Day feast on New Year’s Day.
Petro and Sappho arrived early, and Lila immediately dragged her into the kitchen to put her professional skills to good use. Petro took the opportunity to speak privately to his boss.
“I’m not sure I’m fully myself yet, Chief.”
“If you mean from the shooting, I understand.”
“I mean…I looked the man square in the eye. I saw nothing but death. I was…dead. It was a real kick in the ass about the meaning of life.”
Andreas nodded. “Scary.”
“More than scary. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Andreas bit at his lip. “Yep, the pay’s certainly not worth it.”
“That’s not why I do it.”
“I know.” He patted Petro on the shoulder.
“So what’s your plan?”
“I’m thinking of helping Sappho set up and run her new restaurant on Perissa Beach.”
Andreas’ face brightened into a smile. “That’s terrific news!” He patted Petro’s cheek. “I’m so happy for you two.”
“Thanks, Chief. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”
“You know I’ll miss you. We’ll all miss you. And your job’s always open, but if you have a shot at a better life, go for it.”
“Hey, what are you two doing over there?” came a rumbling voice from across the room.
“I guess Detective Kouros is here,” said Andreas.
“Who else?”
Santorini Caesars Page 29
