Assassins of Athens ak-2

by Jeffrey Siger

  'Absolutely. Promise. Good night. And thanks again, Lila.'

  'Good night. Kisses. And good night, officer Kouros.'

  'Good night, Mrs Vardi.' The line went dead. 'Sounds like a nice lady.' Kouros actually sounded sincere.

  'She is; very nice.' He let out a deep breath. 'What the hell do we have going on here? I feel like mice being run through a labyrinth.'

  'At least there's no Minotaur chasing us.'

  'But wait, there's still time.' Andreas fluttered his lips. 'That guy was blinded intentionally. If they'd wanted to kill him in such a confined space it would have been easy. The tricky part was just blinding him. These people knew what they were doing.'

  'You think it's the same ones who killed the Kostopoulos kid?'

  'Not sure, but I'd bet my left nut Demosthenes was behind that church bombing. Revenge on a betraying surrogate father for all the harm done to his mother. Can't say I don't see why the kid might have wanted to kill the bastard, if the uncle's anything like he sounds, but this is… is-'

  'Sick?'

  Andreas nodded. 'Yeah, as in sicko-genius. Instead of just killing his uncle and watching all that money pass on to his cousins, our guy figured out a way to torture the man for life and still get him to take care of the sister he despised.'

  'Think he's behind the whole thing?'

  'Seems too young to me for that, but who knows. One thing's for sure, he has the right connections and is our only link to them, whoever they are. I want 24/7 surveillance on this guy ASAP. But nothing that might let him know we're on to him. He's too smart and runs with too dangerous a crowd.'

  'I'll get it up and running first thing tomorrow.'

  'And be careful, I don't want him recognizing you from that coffee shop, even though he was studying me, not you.'

  'Don't worry. I'll get Maggie to lend me her invisibility cloak, the one she uses to find out everything going on in this building.'

  Andreas leaned forward and pointed a finger at Kouros. 'You know, that would explain a lot.'

  Kouros smiled and stretched. 'Looks like we finally have something to grab onto, Chief.'

  Andreas leaned back in his chair and yawned. 'Yeah, let's just hope it's not that Minotaur's balls.' His routine was simple: he had none. He lived by that rule. Never could tell where he'd be. Certainly never when he said, unless he was ordered and then always early. How early depended on what he felt the situation required. Routine to him was a weakness, the Achilles' heel of the strong. The only time he was precisely where he was supposed to be was when the habits of a target required split-second timing, and that exception proved his rule: targets died because of their routines.

  Demon was a very angry young man those first few years at university. Bitter at the world in general and at his uncle in particular, he didn't realize just how easily one could be manipulated: ponderous thoughts subtly argued out to logical extremes by gifted talkers, patiently reinforcing each point with references to classic literature, ancient history, and modern events were exactly what young, rebellious minds found important when trying to validate their new independence from family and home. That was what made them so vulnerable to those seeking to focus their outrage at the world in general on 'Greece's class system' in particular, and channel undirected anger into violence. For most, their seductions required not much more than that, carried out amid drinks, drugs, supportive friends, and willing lovers applauding their every argument and thesis.

  But for Demon it was different. Yes, he enjoyed and participated in the Exarchia revolutionary scene, but his reach was far greater than the bounds of any single group or philosophy. He was a creature born of the unique us-against-the-Man rapprochement achieved in that community among the ideologues of revolution and the city's unholy criminal underbelly, and he moved effortlessly through those different worlds.

  In that environment, it felt natural for him to talk among his like-minded comrades of how revenge might be had on his capitalist pig of an uncle; but never did he expect things to go so far that his words would become actions. He wasn't even there when it happened; but they told him how his description of the house, the church, and his uncle's routine gave them what they needed, and his words the inspiration to come together to make his plan work. He threw up for days, agonizing over how he'd possibly become part of this, made it all happen. Then he was told his moment was here: there was a message only he could deliver. To his uncle, in person, and at once.

  In a heavily guarded hospital room, in the presence of his aunt and cousins, a dutiful, concerned nephew calmly whispered into his uncle's ear, 'Take care of my mother or your children and wife are next,' then kissed him on the forehead and smiled. Not a word was returned, not a gesture made; only a nurse moved, looking for what triggered the heart monitor alarm.

  Demon stayed in the room for another five minutes; quietly off to the side feeling no stress, no anxiety, no fear, no remorse. He was perfectly calm and at peace with himself as his eyes drifted over each member of the family, his family, that he'd just threatened to cripple or kill. None of this bothered him at all, and at that moment he realized he had a great gift: he was free of conscience. Never again did he question any method that might achieve a goal. Unless it failed.

  But in the years that followed, failure rarely occurred when Demon was involved. No one seemed able to resist his charms and, for the same reason, he served the Exarchia shadow world as its primary liaison to the other world. Not to the planet at large, just to those parts of it necessary for achieving one group or another's seemingly far-fetched goal. He possessed an uncanny instinct for finding the perfect flattery, bribe, appeasement, or threat required, and an equivalently eerie facility at maneuvering past the maniacal egos, outrageous demands, and polar opposite political views of those he sought to persuade.

  His skills grew almost as much as his view of himself, and he hungered for greater influence than the banner-painters, bomb-tossers, and political outsiders he served could ever hope to achieve. When a chance meeting with old-line acquaintances of his grandfather led to musings on the fate of their country, Demon saw an opportunity to broker violence for those with real power and jumped at it. But that was years ago, and he believed by now he'd more than proven his value to them — certainly with his Kostopoulos masterpiece.

  Demon never wanted to play a visible part in the Kostopoulos operation, but there was no one else he could trust to do it. He'd brokered the arrangements privately, as he always did, among disparate groups who would never work together openly. Only he knew each one's role, and he dared not chance involving another in coordinating the operation. That was how he ended up in the Ramrod.

  'Demon, please, be careful how you hold him.' He was holding the baby out in front of him, under his arms, as if looking for a place to dump him.

  He'd thought of tidying up the only loose end linking him to the murder, but the death of the mother of his child might bring him more attention than letting her live. Besides, Anna had no idea he was the one who set her up, even if the cops should find her. Still…

  He smiled. 'Sorry, I'm not used to babies.'

  Anna was glaring at him. 'So, why this surprise visit at three in the morning?'

  Why is she so angry? 'I felt badly, I haven't seen you or the baby in days.'

  She took the baby from him. 'Weeks, and he has a name. If you remember it.'

  Ahh, that explains it, he thought, no attention. 'I'm sorry. It's all my fault.' He leaned over to kiss her.

  She pulled back. 'I know.'

  'Can you use some money?'

  She hesitated.

  His face didn't show what he was thinking: same old Anna, when money comes up, bye-bye principles. He found that reassuring. It's what kept him interested, her predictability.

  'Sure, we could use it.' The fire was gone from her voice.

  'Good, put the baby down and come over here. I've missed you.' He put two hundred euros on the table and gestured toward the couch.

  Anna
hugged the baby as she carried him to the crib, then kissed him, carefully tucked him in, and walked over to the couch. Her face was blank. He touched her breasts, then squeezed them and slid his hand under her nightgown. 'That's my girl.' She just stood there, letting him do as he chose. He pushed her down onto the couch, and within a minute was on her, burying his face in her neck. 'That's my girl, that's my girl.'

  He never saw the tears running down her cheek. He was too busy proving to himself how much she still needed him.

  14

  Lila couldn't sleep. She had an idea how to find where the Kostopoulos family might be. It came to her several hours ago. She kept peeking at her bedside clock hoping for the hands to move to where she'd feel comfortable making her call.

  'Hello, Christos?'

  'Huh, who's this?' The voice was not a happy one.

  'It's Lila. Lila Vardi.' She tried sounding perky.

  'Lila… it's five fucking o'clock in the morning.' No apology was offered for the language.

  'Sorry, hon, but it's really important.'

  'Great. You'll have to wait another minute. Since you woke me up, now I have to pee.'

  He was the frankest man she'd ever known, perhaps because he was gay. She stared at the drapes beyond the foot of her bed. They masked the steel gates that rolled down every night, over virtually every window, in virtually every home, in every wealthy Athenian neighborhood.

  'So, what's so important, kukla?' He called all of his customers by the Greek word for doll.

  She started off saying what everyone in Athens but Christos knew wasn't true. 'I know you can keep a secret-'

  'Of course, absolutely.' His tone suggested indignation that the statement even had to be made.

  'Hon, I have a slight indiscretion to share with you.' She knew that would have him holding his breath for a juicy bit of gossip. 'I don't know who else to turn to for help.' She held back from sobbing. No need to gild the lily.

  'Kukla, kukla, your Christos is always here for you. How can I help?'

  She let out a long breath. 'Someone asked if I could arrange for them to borrow a rare piece from the museum. They were putting on a very private, ambassador-level dinner party and wanted to use it as the centerpiece. I knew the museum would never agree, but they promised a huge contribution and, well… being who they were… it wasn't as if they were going to run off with it.'

  'Of course not.' His voice sounded thoroughly supportive. 'So, I made some private arrangements.' Her emphasis was meant to mean she took the piece without asking permission.

  'Yes, yes, I understand. Of course you did. What choice did you have?'

  Now she sobbed. 'I don't know what to do. I'm in such trouble.'

  'What happened? What can I do to help my kukla?'

  She sniffled. 'Ahh, such a mess, and I really can't even blame the people. They have so much going on in their lives right now that I'm sure they've completely forgotten about returning it.'

  'Of course, I'm sure. Such people would never betray your trust.'

  She could tell he was dying to hear the name.

  'I know, but I can't find them.'

  'What?'

  'I can't find them, they're gone. They moved away in the middle of the night!'

  'I can't believe it. But there must be someone you can speak to. A maid or a lawyer, someone?'

  'Yes, of course, but how can I ever tell any of them of my… uhh… indiscretion. How?'

  He paused. 'I see. But how can I help you find them?'

  'Darling, you underestimate yourself. You are a legend.'

  His voice showed that he agreed. 'Well, thank you, kukla, but still, how can I help?'

  'You are the finest hair colorist in Athens. There is no woman alive who would leave her colorist without at least trying to get her formula to take with her.'

  'Many have tried.'

  She guessed he was smirking. 'So, I'm praying that the wife is your client, or you know who she sees and somehow can find her for me.'

  Silence.

  'Christos, is something wrong?'

  'No, not at all. I'm just waiting for you to tell me her name.'

  She laughed. 'You can tell how distraught I am. How silly, it's Ginny Kostopoulos.'

  'Ouch.'

  'Why "ouch"?'

  'She's not my client. And she uses the biggest dickhead in Athens. We don't speak.'

  Lila knew whom he meant. Christos was right; he'd never cooperate with her either. 'Oh.' Her voice was down.

  'But don't worry, kukla. All's not lost.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'There's still Zanni. He's been my client for years.'

  She perked back up again. 'No wonder he looks so good.'

  'I wouldn't go that far, except of course for his hair.' They both laughed.

  'Do you think you could find out where his family is?' She held her breath.

  'I don't know. He doesn't seem in the mood to talk about his family and I certainly didn't ask.'

  'You spoke to him? I mean since his son's death?'

  'Kukla, I'm his hairstylist. Of course we talk; I call him all the time. He says I'm the only one who still makes him laugh.'

  Lila laughed. 'I can imagine.'

  'Where are they?' She held her breath.

  'I don't know where they are, just Zanni. He's alone in his summerhouse. On Mykonos. I'll be more than happy to call him about the piece.'

  She was about to say what piece when she realized her cover story had come home to roost. 'Oh, god, no. Please don't do that. There's already enough trouble in that family. I really should speak just to Ginny. I don't think her husband knows of our arrangement and I don't want to start another problem. If you could find out where she is that would be the best way to approach it.' She spoke so quickly she wasn't sure he heard it all.

  He didn't seem surprised. 'Okay, if that's how you want it. As long as I was able to help my kukla. Anything else, or may I go back to sleep now?' He sounded amused, not angry.

  As flighty as he might seem to some, Christos was as skilled as any high-society psychiatrist at feigning concern over the most trivial, insignificant matters that his clients chose to elevate to levels of earth-shattering import. She hoped he'd lump this call into that category and not regard it as worthy of repeating.

  They said good night, she hung up the phone, and fell back on her pillow. She turned and looked at the clock. Too early to call Andreas. She stared at the ceiling. What the hell is Zanni Kostopoulos doing alone in Mykonos? Andreas found a pile of new gossip magazines on his desk. The cover note read, 'Just in case you're interested. Maggie.' She'd earmarked specific pages and each had one thing in common: a photograph of Lila Vardi. From what he could tell, there wasn't a significant social event in Athens she missed. He stared at the photographs.

  The phone rang. 'Andreas Kaldis here.'

  'Hi, it's Lila.'

  'My god, I was just looking at your photograph in Hello.' He wished he hadn't said that.

  'Flock, touch red.'

  He hadn't heard that superstitious playground phrase since childhood. 'Yes, flock.' He smiled and touched a red miniature soccer ball on his desk.

  'I hoped you were in early. I've been up for hours dying to tell you what I found out.'

  Andreas looked through the magazines at pictures of Lila as she explained how she came up with the idea of calling Christos, and started through them again when she began her word-for-word recounting of their conversation. There she was, sounding like an excited schoolgirl, once more. But she didn't look much like a schoolgirl in the photographs. He stopped looking and interrupted her when she got to the part about where to find Zanni Kostopoulos.

  'Where is he?'

  'Mykonos.'

  'Mykonos?' He couldn't believe it. It made no sense. Why flee Athens to Mykonos? There's no place to hide there. Well, almost none. 'Why would he go there?'

  'I've been asking myself the same question all night. As soon as the press gets a whiff of his presence, i
t will be all over the news. Guaranteed. Christos says he's hiding out in his house, but if Christos knows… Kostopoulos can't be planning on keeping it quiet for very long.'

  Andreas drummed his fingers on the table. 'Maybe he intends to bury the boy there?'

  'Without the mother? I don't think so.' She paused. 'Maybe he had a fight with his wife and wants to be alone?'

  He shook his head at the phone. 'If we're right about the banishment thing, Greece is the last place in the world for him to come to nurse his wounds. A lot can happen if the wrong people learn where he is.'

  'What are you saying?'

  'People could get killed. I think I'll fly over and pay him a visit. Surprise him. Nothing to lose.'

  'Good, when do we leave?'

  His heart skipped a beat. 'What do you mean "we"?'

  'Andreas, I'm the reason you know where he is, and if he does agree to see you and starts talking about Athens society, you won't know who he's talking about. But I will. Consider me your interpreter.'

  That wasn't a very good argument. But… he looked at one of her photographs. 'How's tomorrow? We can fly over in the morning and be back by late afternoon.'

  'Perfect, just let me know when and where to meet you.'

  'Will do. And Lila… thanks. You did some great work.'

  The schoolgirl excitement was back. 'I'm so happy you feel that way!'

  'But do me a favor. Please don't try chasing down any other families until after we speak to Kostopoulos.' He didn't want her curiosity getting back to the bad guys.

  'Okay. This time I'll listen to you. Bye. Can't wait until tomorrow.'

  He couldn't either. The old man sat at his desk toying with an elaborate silver letter opener. Every so often his gold and lapis cufflinks clicked against the desktop. Kostopoulos was soft, a poseur who'd lost his stomach for real blood and fought now only through lawyers and publicists. At least that's what the old man had thought, what they'd all relied upon. Where did he find this Spartan heart?

  No matter, the killing was necessary. Kostopoulos had brought it on himself. He chose to ignore the judgment of banishment and continued to wage war upon a family that had turned to the old man for help. Such arrogance left no choice; it was a harsh lesson, but one the old man had been certain must be taught. To Kostopoulos and any others who might think to question their authority.