“Honey, could you come in here and give us a hand,” yelled Sappho from inside the kitchen.
Andreas whispered, “There’s still time to reconsider resigning.”
Petro smiled, but left for the kitchen.
Yianni walked over to Andreas as Petro headed into the kitchen. “So, he told you, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I sensed he might leave from the night we spent in the medical center after the shooting. I still don’t know how you broke the news to Sappho about us taking bullets to the middle of our chests—”
“Very carefully.”
“Once she got there she didn’t leave his side for a minute. She kept rambling on that somehow she felt responsible for what happened because she’d said something to him about how she couldn’t wait for him to be shot. Then, as soon as she heard he was okay, all she did was yell at how she’d kill him if he ever let someone else try to kill him.”
“Makes sense,” smiled Andreas.
“I sure as hell wasn’t going to disagree with her. One near-death experience a night was enough for me.”
Andreas laughed.
“Did you hear the other news?”
“Don’t tell me you’re resigning too?”
“Nah, never, you’re stuck with me. I heard it on the radio on the way over. Our old buddy Prada was arrested earlier today and charged with treason.”
“On Saint Basil’s Day? That’s a little heartless,” said Andreas. “I wonder what prompted the Prime Minister to pull the trigger on that?”
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” said Yianni. “He won’t be finding the gold coin in his slice of the vasilopita”—the round sweet bread specially baked for Saint Basil’s Day promised sweetness for all and a year of good luck to the one whose piece held the buried gold coin.
“Maybe Sappho and Petro will find it?”
“Nah, that piece should go to you or Lila. After all, there’s a new baby due any day now.”
“The one who’ll need the luck is Tassaki, what with a little sister on the way.”
“Do you have a name for her yet?”
Andreas nodded. “It’s—”
“Mr. Kaldis.”
He turned around. “Yes, Marietta?”
“There’s a call for you.”
“Who is it?”
“All he’d say was ‘Penelope’s father.’”
Andreas looked at Yianni. “The Brigadier?”
“Maybe he’s calling to wish you xronia pola?”
“We all could use many years. Many good years.” Andreas headed to his study and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“It’s me.” The voice came across as clipped, but clearly the Brigadier’s.
“Xronia pola,” said Andreas.
“Same to you.”
“Are you okay?” said Andreas.
“I think so.” The voice gained strength. “It’s done.”
“What’s done?”
“An offer I couldn’t refuse.”
Andreas felt the butterflies rise in his stomach. “Where are you?”
“Skiing in the United States. My wife and I won’t be coming back. I just wanted to say thank you for caring about what happened to our daughter. You were the only one who did.”
Andreas held his breath, waiting for what would come next.
“I owed it to you to let you know before you read about it in the papers. You’re a good man. God bless, and goodbye.”
The phone went dead.
What the hell was that all about?
Andreas turned on his computer and clicked a link to world headlines. Nothing caught his eye. He punched in United States news and found a slew of political headlines. He added the word skiing, and BREAKING NEWS jumped onto the screen about a tragic accident involving three families on a ski holiday in the American West. He read the article literally holding his breath. The chairman and two high-ranking senior executives of an international consulting firm on holiday with their families died in a freak accident when the cable of the gondola carrying them to the top of a mountain snapped, sending the car crashing down the mountain. There were no survivors.
Andreas crossed himself. He wondered if any members of the plotters’ families perished with them. And if they had, did the Brigadier or the man who’d dispatched him as an avenging angel care?
He wondered if anyone cared.
Andreas did. He had to. Someone had to. Andreas bowed his head.
Xronia pola.
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