‘Hands up!’
The muzzle of a semi-automatic pistol pointed at the Fat Man through the gap.
THIRTEEN
Brigadier Kriaras looked at the officers in the room. Some were in uniform but most wore plain clothes. All were armed.
‘Gentlemen.’ He paused and looked at the two women, both in their late twenties. ‘And ladies. I’ve just received approval for tonight’s operation, helpfully named Hoopoe by the computer. Dim the lights, please.’ He pressed keys on his laptop and a building layout appeared on the screen on the far wall. ‘Lieutenant Haralambidhi?’
‘Yes, sir. This is the nightclub called Paradiso Bianco on Piraeus Street.’ He glanced around. ‘Anyone been there?’
One of the women raised a hand.
‘Identify yourself,’ Kriaras ordered.
‘Latsou, Elisavet, sergeant, narcotics division.’ She had her highlighted hair pulled back in a knot, emphasising an aquiline nose. ‘I went undercover as a regular with one of my colleagues a year ago. We hoped to nail the people who were supplying dealers, but we couldn’t get access to the rear of the premises. We picked up a couple of dealers after they left, but both were too scared to talk.’
The databank had already been checked. Dinos Gatsos had no record.
‘Very well, sergeant,’ he said. ‘This is a recent plan. Does it look familiar?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She stood up and took the pointer from Haralambidhis. ‘This internal door is guarded by a couple of gorillas.’
‘Other security?’
‘On the entrance, obviously, and several big men patrolling the car park, all with earpieces.’
‘Outline the plan,’ Kriaras said to his sidekick.
‘Yes, sir. Groups of three will be in position here, here and here. You’ll get your printed dispositions shortly. One group plus the command team will go in the main entrance at approximately 04.00, after the last customers have left. Gunfire is to be kept to a minimum, but defend yourselves if you have to.’
‘What about the men on the door?’ Sergeant Latsou asked.
‘You and Haralambidhis will deal with them,’ Kriaras said, looking up from his laptop. ‘I see you’re a judo and karate expert.’
The female cop smiled. ‘Sir.’
‘Uniformed personnel will form a ring round the outer perimeter and block all potential escape points. We want the Gogol brothers, not dealers.’ Kriaras hit the keys and pictures of both came up. ‘Memorise these faces. They may have facial hair now. Neither has been seen in public for several weeks.’
‘Not even a priest’s beard will make them look holy,’ Elisavet Latsou said.
Igor had a scar running from the corner of his left eye to his chin, while Lavrenti had a bullet entrance wound on his right cheek and exit wound on his left.
‘Lucky for Lavrenti it was a small calibre weapon,’ Haralambidhis said. ‘It took part of his tongue though, so he can’t speak properly.’
‘His actions speak for him,’ Kriaras put in. ‘The Albanian who tried to kill him was found in a dumpster, genitalia in his mouth. He’d died very slowly. So be careful. Most of you will be wearing balaclavas. I won’t, but nobody’s yet tried to take me out of the game.’
Sergeant Latsou wondered why. The brigadier had achieved some major coups, but she’d heard rumours that he wasn’t to be trusted. She didn’t care. Catching drug dealers was all that mattered.
Another pair of faces appeared on the wall.
‘Alex Mavros and Yiorgos Pandazopoulos, a.k.a. the Fat Man,’ said Kriaras. ‘They’re private operators who might show up. Ensure they’re not harmed but equally do not allow them any contact with the Gogol brothers.’
Interesting, the sergeant thought. An unshaven middle-aged man with shoulder-length hair and a slack-skinned pensioner with a bald patch you could skate across. What could their interest in the case be?
‘Whoah!’ Mavros said, putting himself in the line of fire. He could see a thin woman through the gap. She was holding the pistol unsteadily. ‘Mrs Amelia Svolou? We’re here on official business.’
‘What business?’ the woman slurred. ‘I told your scumbag boss, I don’t have the money.’
‘We don’t want money,’ Mavros said, hands still raised. ‘We just want to talk to your daughter.’
‘Nadia? What’s she done?’
‘Nothing. We need some information from her, that’s all.’
‘You’re nothing to do with the Serbs?’
‘May I?’ Mavros waited for her nod before taking out his wallet and passing her a business card.
‘Alex Mavros? Never heard of you.’
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘Can we put our hands down?’
‘I suppose so. Nadia! Two guys to see you.’ Amelia Svolou closed the door and undid the chain. ‘Come in, then.’
She was wearing a tatty dressing gown and her bare feet slapped across the tiles of what had once been an impressive entrance hall. They followed her into a saloni that was large but contained little furniture. There were patches on the walls that had once been covered by picture frames.
‘Drink?’ the woman asked, pouring herself a tumblerful of vodka – supermarket own brand, Mavros noticed.
He and the Fat Man declined and sat on a sofa whose cover had been shredded by cat claws. A tabby came in and miaowed plaintively. It was followed by a tall young woman in a thigh-length T-shirt. She was almost as thin as her mother, her black hair streaked with blond stripes. A cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth.
‘Who’re you?’ she asked, giving them no more than a glance.
Mavros introduced himself and Yiorgos, calling him his associate. He watched as the older woman tossed the card to Nadia. Late in the day, he realised that Dinos might have told her about the Fat Man’s visit. Then again, she looked like she’d only recently woken up, her eyes sticky and ringed in black. ‘What can you tell me about Dinos Gatsos?’
‘Dinos? He’s my friend. We were at school together and …’ She broke off. ‘Why do you want to know?’
Mavros looked across to her mother. She was sprawled in a worn armchair but seemed to be following the conversation.
‘There’s been a suggestion that Dinos helped the kidnappers of his grandfather.’ He hoped that angle would provoke a response despite its shakiness.
It provoked two.
Nadia: ‘What? Don’t be fucking stupid? Dinos hated his … oh …’
Amelia: ‘Is there any money in this for us?’
‘Mama, that’s horrible!’
‘Do you want new clothes next month? Help these characters out.’
Mavros had cash on him, though he hadn’t expected that he’d need to bribe a shipowning family. Still, it would go on expenses and what he heard might be worthwhile.
Meli turned on her daughter, her words definitely not honeyed. ‘I told you Dinos was no good but did you listen? The Gatsos family is rotten to the core. How could you befriend someone whose bastard grandfather drove your own Pappous to an early grave?’
Nadia glared at her. ‘What do you care who I go with? You’re permanently pissed.’
‘And in charge of your trust fund till you’re twenty-one. So talk!’
‘What do you want to know?’ Nadia asked, in a low voice.
Mavros leaned towards her. ‘Did you ever hear Dinos making threats against Kostas Gatsos?’
‘All … all the time. I mean, not to his face. I never met the old fucker. But D was forever complaining about how he’d been cut off by the family because of his grandfather.’
‘If he’d been cut off, how did he live?’
Nadia examined her knees. ‘His parents helped.’
‘Not so cut off then. I’ve heard he’s a dope dealer.’
She stared at him. ‘I … no …’
‘That doesn’t matter to me. All I’m interested in is if he carried through on any of his threats.’
‘You mean did he kidnap the old man? Of course not.’
; Mavros smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m concerned he may have been used by people who took advantage of him. Can you think of anyone like that?’
It was obvious Nadia could. Her face grew even paler and she started to bite already well chewed nails.
‘Please help us,’ Mavros said. ‘It’s worth 500 euros.’
‘A thousand,’ said Amelia.
They settled on 700.
‘There are these Russian guys, they’re called Gogol – like the writer.’
At least her years at private school hadn’t been a complete waste, Mavros thought.
‘They came to our table at the Paradiso once. I think they own it.’ Nadia paused, scratching her calf hard. ‘They frightened me. They’ve got scars, horrible marks on their faces … they talked to D … I couldn’t hear all of it, but they definitely mentioned his grandfather.’
Mavros raised a hand. ‘How did they refer to him?’
‘“Your grandfather” at first … then “the old bastard” … and other terms of abuse.’
‘What did Dinos say?’
‘He was laughing, going along with it, even though I know he was scared of them. Then … they asked him about the house in Lesvos. How many people worked there, the rooms, the windows … Oh, and about the dock.’
Mavros wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told the police, but he had another priority.
‘And this was before the kidnap?’
‘Early summer. Before our parea went to Mykonos.’
Mavros considered that. Would Dinos have told the Fat Man about the Gogols if he was part of the conspiracy?
The bell at the front gate rang.
Amelia Svolou stood up and grabbed her gun.
‘No, Mama!’ Nadia screamed.
‘I’ll go,’ Mavros said, easing the weapon from her mother’s skeletal hand and going into the hall. He looked out of the narrow window by the door. A young man was standing beyond the gate, his head down.
‘Well, well,’ said Yiorgos from behind, making him jump. ‘Just the idiot we’re looking for.’
‘Dinos.’
‘Bingo.’
Mavros put the gun down on the tiles and went out quickly. ‘OK,’ he called back to the Fat Man when he got to the gate. It opened and Dinos finally raised his head.
‘Jesus,’ Mavros said, grabbing his arm. ‘What happened to you?’ There was a bandage over the young man’s nose and tape across his cheeks.
‘Remember that scene in Chinatown?’
‘Christ,’ said Yiorgos.
Dinos jerked back. ‘No, not you again!’
Mavros raised an eyebrow at his friend.
‘I never touched him. Well, not much.’
‘Who did this?’ Mavros asked.
‘I … I was mugged.’
‘Let’s take a ride,’ Mavros said, deciding he’d got all he was likely to get from Nadia Svolou. He opened the back door of the taxi and bundled Dinos in. The Fat Man got in next to Marianthi.
‘Mother of God!’ she said, looking in the mirror. ‘What happened to you, my boy?’
‘Cut myself tidying up my nose hairs,’ Dinos mumbled.
Mavros bit his tongue.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
‘Where are your friends Agam, Kirki and Jimmy?’ Mavros asked Dinos.
‘Piss off,’ came the reply.
‘All right. Let’s go and see the family lawyer, Mr Siatkas.’
‘No …’
‘Yes.’
As they drove off, Mavros saw Nadia standing in the open door, one arm across her chest. She looked like a child lost and devoid of hope, but there was one thing he was sure of – neither she nor her alcohol-addled mother had anything to do with the kidnapping of Kostas Gatsos.
Dinos was another kettle of mullet entirely.
Kostas was woken by the guard slamming open the door. Bread and a large bottle of water were deposited on the floor, he could see in the light from the corridor. It was a trial day. He was given time to eat and use the bucket, then tossed a clean but ragged boiler suit.
‘What’s wrong with you people?’ Kostas screamed, as his hands were cuffed. ‘Am I an animal?’
The guard grunted but didn’t speak.
‘It’s you who’s the animal, you and your idiot friends in their pathetic masks.’ The old man looked up at the hooded figure. ‘Can you even understand what I’m saying, you cretinous gorilla?’
No reaction. He was led into the large room.
‘Fuck you!’ Kostas yelled. ‘Fuck you and your children!’
The figure in the centre nodded and the guard slapped the prisoner hard on the cheek. ‘Your coarseness does you no credit.’ He glanced at the person wearing the oversized human skull. ‘Though it is a major feature of your character.’
Kostas sat glaring at the judges as he was pushed on to the chair and secured to the floor.
The figure wearing the skull started to speak, a reedy male voice emanating from the gap between the uneven teeth.
‘My brother worked for the Gatsos group as an ordinary seaman.’
Kostas glanced at the guard. ‘Good for him. He was one of many.’
‘To you, no doubt. For me he was my only sibling. He served for nine years on the KEG Dolphin. You remember the vessel?’
‘Of course. 5,400 tonne tanker that sailed in the Mediterranean and Black Sea.’
‘Until she was lost with all hands between Crete and Egypt in July 1983.’
‘A tragedy.’
‘It certainly was for me. Even though my brother didn’t die then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know very well. You received a letter posted from Mersin in Turkey, documenting the violent regime of Captain Aristeidhis Maniadhakis and the appalling conditions on board.’
‘I have no recollection of that.’
The man in the skull held up a piece of paper. ‘This is a copy of the page in the mail register dated February 3rd 1983, showing that the letter was received and forwarded to you. It was assigned the serial number 17859/83/KG.’
‘Many documents pass my desk every day.’ Kostas smiled. ‘You don’t have the original letter, do you?’
‘No.’
‘So what’s this farce about?’
‘My brother sent a copy to one of his closest friends. Unfortunately he’d suffered a severe stroke some months earlier and was no longer able to open his mail. The letter was in the effects passed to his son after his death ten years ago. Only recently did he open it.’ Skull looked at the man in the centre. ‘Fortunately for us he was amenable to passing it on.’
‘No doubt money changed hands.’
‘As a matter of fact, it didn’t. The individual concerned was so disgusted by the contents that he wanted you to be brought to account.’
Kostas twitched his head. ‘You’re making this up.’
‘Give him this copy of the letter.’
The guard went forward and came back with stapled sheets.
‘We have redacted the names as people are currently preparing law suits against the Gatsos group. Page 1: Seaman A beaten unconscious by the captain after knocking against him on the bridge in storm conditions. Further down: seaman B sodomised by captain and locked in cabin for 48 hours without food. Page 2: cook accused of pilfering food and set to scrubbing decks in temperatures between 2 and 5 degrees Celsius. Further down, seaman C forced to paint stern during high winds after complaining of victimisation.’ Skull looked up. ‘And so the list continues. Do you remember the letter now?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t hear what you said.’
‘No!’
‘You’re lying. Captain Maniadhakis went on leave a week before the Dolphin was lost. Here is a photograph of you with him in the Poseidon’s Trident restaurant in Mikrolimani, Piraeus. The date on the newspaper between you is clearly visible. Do you remember that lunch?’
‘No. I must have eaten a thousand times at the Trident.’
‘Wher
eas Captain Maniadhakis ate there only rarely. It was too expensive even for a man on his salary and bonuses.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We have a signed affidavit from him.’
Kostas Gatsos felt the blood drain from his face. ‘He drank himself to death.’
‘You may think that, but he talked to me and my lawyer. And before you say the captain is an unreliable witness, here is another affidavit, this one from the doctor who treated him for the last five years of his life. He states that Captain Maniadhakis did not drink alcohol after he was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver – which happened two years before his death. He was completely lucid.’
‘So what?’ Kostas said, unable to disguise that the fight had gone out of him.
‘He said you approved of his methods and often told him so. You were particularly impressed by his tight control of shipboard expenses.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Apart from the fact that he colluded with tame surveyors to hide the true condition of the Dolphin’s hull?’
‘I had nothing to do with that.’
‘On the contrary. The captain stated that you personally told him to handle the matter and paid him to do so. There are syndicates in Lloyd’s of London that will be very interested in this information.’
Kostas shrugged.
‘You don’t care that fifteen men were drowned when the defective vessel went down? You feel no responsibility?’
‘I bear no responsibility.’
The man in the skull turned to the other judges before continuing.
‘The evidence proves that you do. The same applies to the death of my brother, Savvas Yiannopolous. I see you know the name.’
‘I do not.’
‘Let me refresh your memory. Savvas was reported missing when he failed to appear for the morning watch on February 17th 1983. The Dolphin had sailed for the Bosphorus from Sukhumi in what is now Georgia at 7 p.m. on February 15th. According to Captain Maniadhakis, you gave him specific orders by telephone when the ship was in Sukhumi that my brother was to be knocked unconscious, bound in enough anchor chain to weigh him down and thrown overboard when the vessel was in waters nearly 2000 metres deep. This was done with the help of two willing seaman, who were paid for their troubles but subsequently drowned when the ship sank.’ Skull looked at Kostas. ‘You are a murderer.’
The White Sea Page 13
