An Aegean Prophecy

by Jeffrey Siger

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘Please, just tell me what you do know.’

  ‘How much history do you want?’

  ‘All of it.’ Andreas sat down on the edge of the bed across from him and listened. An hour later, he wondered if he’d said the right thing to an old man who’d just lost a very dear friend. Nothing he’d told Andreas seemed relevant to the case. The ancient intrigues of the church were of interest only to scholars, reminiscences of his days shared with Vassilis in the seminary were almost fifty years old, and their shared views on modern theological problems of the church raised not even a hint of a motive for murder.

  Thank God I’m wearing a wire, Andreas thought. If I’d been taking notes I’d have lost patience long ago. He sneaked a peek at his watch. At this pace, a late dinner with Lila was out of the question; breakfast might even be iffy. He had to find some way to move this along onto something relevant.

  ‘Excuse me, Your Holiness, would you like some water?’

  The man seemed surprised at hearing another’s voice. ‘Uh, why yes, thank you, my son.’ He paused. ‘I hope what I’m telling you is helpful.’

  Andreas went to the minibar and took out two bottles of water. ‘Yes, very.’ He walked back to the man and held out the bottles. ‘Gas or no gas?’

  The man took the flat water. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Why did you ask that I be assigned to this case?’

  The man took a sip of water. ‘I was just about to tell you.’

  Andreas hoped that meant within the next hour. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and opened the other bottle of water.

  ‘Vassilis was a scholar and patient observer. He saw things others missed. A debate with him was an exploration of thought.’ He shook his head. ‘He never should have left his theoretical world. I told him to stay out of it.’

  Andreas leaned forward. ‘Out of what?’

  ‘This Russian thing.’

  A chill ran down Andreas’ back. ‘Go on, please.’

  ‘I’m certain that by now you are well aware of Russian interest in relocating the Ecumenical Patriarch.’

  Andreas nodded.

  ‘And of Vassilis’ obsession with how the scandal at Mount Athos might affect that issue.’

  Andreas nodded again.

  ‘If the Russians could be shown to have played any part in creating that scandal, it would destroy the credibility of their attacks on Mount Athos’ fitness to serve as the new home for the next leader of the church. In fact, if Russians were involved, the moral value of our claim is strengthened. It would make us the innocent victim of vicious intrigues by a former superpower.’

  From his use of ‘our’ and ‘us’ in describing Mount Athos, Andreas presumed that was where he called home. It also fit with Andreas’ guess about sanctuary for Sergey, because anyone accepted into monastic life on Mount Athos acquired Greek citizenship without further formalities.

  ‘I told him to let it be, that there was nothing he could do, but he would not relent in his quest for proof.’ The man paused. ‘I assume you know all that, too.’

  Andreas nodded as if he did.

  ‘There’s one thing I’m certain you do not know.’ He paused and took a sip of water. ‘Vassilis was coming to meet me when he was murdered.’

  The man took another sip, then crossed his legs and sat quietly watching Andreas, as if waiting to measure his reaction.

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  The man nodded. ‘He called me on the morning of the day before he was killed. He said he had proof things were not as they seemed.’

  The same state of mind Dimitri had used to describe Vassilis, Andreas thought.

  ‘He was excited, but also frightened.’

  Probably something like the feeling Andreas now had.

  ‘He said I “must” see what he’d found “immediately.” I tried calming him down, but he wouldn’t listen. He invoked Revelation, saying I must see it now, “for the time is at hand.” He was quoting from the opening lines of Revelation, the part some say first warns of the coming Apocalypse.’ The man drew in and let out a breath. ‘I told him to e-mail me whatever it was. He said he knew my assistant screened my e-mails and he couldn’t risk anyone other than us knowing what he’d found. “Too dangerous,” he said. I never dreamed it might cost him his life.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Did you tell your assistant about your conversation with Vassilis?’

  ‘No, I told no one. You’re the first person to whom I’ve mentioned any of this.’

  ‘Who else knew what Vassilis was looking for?’

  ‘A better question is, “Who didn’t?” As I said, Vassilis was obsessed, as if he’d been called upon to be a savior of the church. He contacted anyone he thought could possibly help get him an answer. Frankly, I was worried some might stop taking him seriously, begin indulging him as if he were an old man who’d lost it.’

  ‘Had he?’

  ‘No, not a bit.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘He insisted he must see me in person, but could not possibly come to me without being observed and that “would be dangerous for us both.” He told me I must come to him and made a joke about his friends being only “poor fishermen with brightly colored, slow moving boats,” while mine were more from the “stealthy, fast, silver helicopter” crowd.’

  The man rubbed at his eyes with his right hand. ‘So we agreed to meet at three the next morning in the house of a friend of his, off behind the Patmos town hall. The friend was away and we’d be alone. The only people who knew I was on the island were the American pilot who flew the helicopter, the taxi driver who brought me to Chora, and of course, Vassilis. The pilot had no idea who I was, and the taxi driver thought I was some old monk with “a relative in the military” important enough to get me “a lift to Patmos for Easter Week.” Even my secretary didn’t know where I was going.

  ‘I was in the house by two-thirty, waiting for Vassilis to show up. He was late and that wasn’t like him. Then I heard someone shouting, and when I realized what he was saying … “Kalogeros Vassilis was murdered in the square” … I didn’t know what to do.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I’m ashamed to say it, but I was afraid.’

  Andreas leaned over and touched the man’s knee. ‘No need to explain, you were right to be afraid.’

  The man nodded. ‘I called my secretary and told him what happened. He said to stay where I was and he would arrange for “someone” to accompany me back home.’

  ‘Sergey?’

  ‘Yes, and through the help of another friend with another helicopter, Sergey met me at the house, disguised me, and got me out of Patmos before the sun came up.’

  Damn sight more efficient than the Patmos police, thought Andreas.

  ‘He is very concerned that anyone even remotely suspected of knowing whatever led to Vassilis’ murder is in grave danger.’

  Thank you for inviting me to the party, thought Andreas.

  ‘May I have some more water?’

  Andreas got up, went to the minibar, and brought the man another bottle.

  ‘Thank you. I still have no idea what Vassilis planned on showing me.’ He twisted off the cap and took a sip. ‘I can assure you that sitting afraid and alone in that house, not knowing what might happen before help arrived, I tried thinking of anything he conceivably might have found explosive enough to get him murdered.’ He shook his head. ‘I came up with nothing. But I reached a decision. No matter what it took, I swore I’d see those who killed him brought to justice.’ He crossed himself, perhaps as an apology for the show of anger.

  ‘That’s how you got involved. I called my friend - I assume you know the former prime minister?’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘Not really.’

  The man shrugged back. ‘No matter. I told him there was no more heinous and pressing a crime to solve in all of Greece than that morning’s murder of a revered holy man in the middle of the town square of the Holy Island of Patmos duri
ng Easter Week. He agreed and promised to use “all of his influence” to get the country’s “best investigator” assigned immediately. I told him whoever was chosen must be incorruptible and not afraid of treading on political toes.’

  Andreas laughed. ‘Should I be flattered that he picked me?’

  The man smiled. ‘I’m not sure. If police are like churchmen, you’re probably in the minority.’

  Andreas laughed again. ‘Of all the people in the world, you’re the one Vassilis chose to confide in. Why do you think he did that?’

  ‘We were simpatico. We thought the same way about a lot of things.’

  ‘So, what’s your gut instinct on why he was murdered?’

  ‘I wish I had one. All I have are thoughts. Just random, unsupportable thoughts.’ He stood for the first time since Andreas had entered the room. He was as tall as Andreas, but very slim. He turned and stared out the window.

  ‘So much of life is illusion, driven by masters of manipulation who incite passions, instill mortal fears, justify actions. They’ve always existed, always will. But those to fear, to guard against - and yes, to pray against - are illusionists who act without conscience, without values, without any moral compass.’

  Time to bring him back to the here and now, thought Andreas. ‘What are you trying to say, Your Holiness?’

  ‘I don’t know, I sincerely don’t know.’ He turned from the window and looked into Andreas’ eyes. ‘Whoever killed my dear friend does not fear God … or, worse, might see his murder as serving God in some way.’

  This is getting freakier by the minute. ‘Any names come to mind?’

  He gestured no. ‘The Russians certainly qualify - in both categories - but it could be a lunatic, a zealot, the antichrist.’

  Andreas believed in flesh and blood bad guys, but thought if the Russians were behind this he might stand a better chance against the spirit world. ‘It had to be someone who felt threatened enough by Vassilis to kill him.’ Andreas paused. ‘And no doubt would kill again if threatened.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I keep Sergey closeby.’

  ‘A wise decision.’ Andreas looked at his watch. Time to make another wise decision. He stood and handed the man his card. ‘If you get any more thoughts or ideas you think might help, please give me a call. And do you have a card so I may reach you with what I’m sure will be more questions?’

  ‘You have my phone number, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s the best one to use, calls to that number come directly to me.’

  ‘Fine, and thank you for your time.’

  ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.’ He walked Andreas to the door. ‘I will call my friend to thank him for getting you assigned to the case. You’re definitely the right man for the job.’ He patted Andreas on the back and opened the door.

  Andreas stepped out, and turned to acknowledge the compliment.

  ‘And, of course, to thank him for setting up this meeting.’ His Holiness shut the door.

  Oops.

  ‘Do you really think he’ll ream out a former prime minister?’ Kouros was driving them back from the airport, and Andreas had just finished filling him in on the meeting.

  ‘Don’t know what their relationship is like. Don’t even know who the guy is, but for Tassos’ sake, I sure as hell hope not. I think he just was letting me know I wasn’t fooling him.’

  ‘What’s your take on him?’

  ‘He’s definitely smart and didn’t get where he is in the church making bad political decisions. He doesn’t come across as a potential bad guy, but he’s certainly no country bumpkin priest either. He’s a politician, a church politician at that. I want you to find everything you can about him, but I also want you to dig up what you can on that giant Sergey. I’m betting he’s here on asylum and we’ll get a better measure of the boss when we see what sort of “loyal follower of the faith” he’s protecting.’

  ‘Why do you think the boss didn’t want to identify himself? He must know we’ll find out.’

  ‘I think it was just a case of nerves. He has real reason to be afraid, and if not telling me his name gave him comfort, so be it. The real question is, how did the bad guys know Vassilis was on his way to meet him?’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t know?’

  ‘Then how did they know Vassilis was carrying something worth killing him for?’

  ‘Like I said, maybe they didn’t know, just decided to take him out as a precaution.’

  Andreas shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Even an idiot would realize murdering a monk on Patmos during Easter Week would unleash the kind of political pressure we’re getting to find the killers. A “precautionary murder,”’ he flashed his fingers at Kouros, ‘is a drug-induced heart attack or a tragic automobile accident. This is what you do in desperation, when there’s absolutely no other alternative.’

  ‘So we’re back to “How did the bad guys find out?”’

  ‘If we figure that out, it might give us who they are. I wish we knew what they’re so damn afraid of.’ He stared out the window. ‘Have Maggie start in on transcribing the tape first thing in the morning. No one but Maggie.’

  ‘She’ll just love you for that.’

  Andreas smiled. ‘I’m sure, but we can’t afford gossip in the typing pool about Russians or the antichrist running around killing monks.’

  Kouros cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, it’s beginning to sound like one of those books by that American guy, Dan Brown.’

  Andreas turned and stared at him. ‘How long have you been sitting there, waiting for an opportunity to say that?’

  ‘It was spontaneous, came to me in a “Revelation.”’

  Andreas shook his head and looked out the window. ‘And Lila thinks my sense of humor is twisted.’

  ‘I’ve always admired her instincts.’

  Andreas shot a quick left jab at Kouros’ right shoulder, not hard enough for him to lose control, but enough to make him smile; and realize how much his boss appreciated him.

  Andreas then decided to express his appreciation in words. ‘Drop me off at home, asshole.’

  The original plan was to return home tonight, but he was tired. All the talk about Vassilis had left him sad. They’d known each other since they were children. Now he was the only one left. He decided to go straight to bed and leave early tomorrow morning. No one but the policeman knew he was in the hotel, and Sergey was in the adjoining room, just in case. As he lay in bed, he wondered if perhaps he’d come down too hard on the policeman. Obviously, Kaldis had done something to get the former prime minister to betray a confidence. But what good would it do confronting the minister, except fire him up for retribution against whomever he could blame but himself for the embarrassment?

  Besides, he thought, I’m the one who insisted the minister find someone capable of getting to the bottom of things, no matter what it took. Can’t have it both ways; at least not all the time.

  And there was another reason for keeping the minister’s indiscretion to himself. A confrontation was likely to make the minister indignant and less likely to help the next time; but, if properly stroked, the minister’s guilty conscience over this incident might yield even greater favors in the future. He decided to leave things be, turned off the light, and shut his eyes.

  Not all manipulation is bad, he thought, as he prayed for sleep to come quickly.

  7

  Lila Vardi’s home was next to the Presidential Palace, the entire, sixth-floor penthouse in one of downtown Athens’ rare old residential buildings. It was perhaps Athens’ most exclusive and breathtaking address, offering unobstructed views of both the Acropolis and its majestic sister hill, Lykavittos.

  When Andreas first moved in with Lila he imagined every doorman, elevator operator, and porter thinking, ‘So you’re the superstud cop who knocked up one of Greece’s most sought-after women and now lives the high life.’ The thought kept gnawing at him, and one night he shared it with her.

&nbs
p; Five minutes later, after Lila stopped laughing, she said, ‘If that’s what they’re thinking, it’s only because they’re jealous as hell. So don’t worry about it, my “superstud cop.” Just keep earning your title.’ Then she laughed some more.

  That’s when he stopped worrying about what others thought. The truth was, as far as Andreas could tell, he was always treated with the same respect as every other resident in the building, and indeed, the staff referred to Lila as his ‘wife’ and him as her ‘husband.’ The press took to doing the same. Lila still was among the most photographed women in Greece, but in deference to his position in the police and potential threats to his safety, rarely did a photo of him appear; when one did, he was identified only as ‘her husband, Andreas.’

  It was as if they were married in everyone’s eyes but their own.

  ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ Andreas said in the sing-song comic way everyone seems to use at one time or another.

  A voice answered from another room. ‘She’s in the bedroom, Mr Kaldis.’ It was the maid, rather, one of the maids. He still wasn’t used to that part of his new life: someone always there ready to do whatever he needed done. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that.

  ‘Thank you, Marietta.’

  He walked through rooms filled with antiques and paintings, none of which he noticed anymore. They’d become part of his surroundings, like people you see every day and stop noticing because you expect them to be there. Andreas wondered if that’s why no one noticed anything unusual at the monastery: everyone expected to see monks in a monastery, and that made anyone dressed as a monk virtually invisible. What did Vassilis see that the others did not? What spooked him into believing “the time is at hand?” First thing tomorrow Kouros had better chase down those unaccounted-for monks.

  He peeked into the bedroom. The drapes were open to a view of a brightly lit Acropolis, and Lila was sitting up in bed. ‘Guess who?’

  ‘Daddy’s home.’ She patted her belly.

  Andreas walked to the bed, leaned over, and kissed her; then kissed her belly.

  ‘Daddy’s going to take you out to play soon,’ she said.