by Nick Vellis
“My friend and I are leaving. We’re paid up through the end of the week, but no refund will be necessary.
The manager smiled, realizing he could rent the room again, keeping the new rent for himself.
“I want you to act as if I am still here. Call it an additional service of the hotel,” AJ said, smiling brightly. “You’ll have to take my word it’s nothing illegal.”
The manager sat silently, and didn’t ask any of the dozen or so questions he had.
“I’m registered here under my own name, but those who may look for me know me as Mr. Jones. I know I can count on you to be discreet, can’t I?”
“This hotel is renowned for its discretion sir. Kings, heads of state, celebrities have…”
“That’s OK. I believe you,” AJ said, holding up his hand to stop the effusive manager. “If anyone comes looking for Mr. Jones, you’ll say he is out,” AJ continued. “You won’t mention he has a companion. If anyone calls for Mr. Jones, you’ll take a message, and hold it until I come to pick it up or call. Can you do that?” AJ said, looking earnestly at the manager and then at the cash in his hand. “Finally, you’ll not reveal Mr. Jones’ real name.
Gently taking the bills from AJ’s hand, the manager said, “We’re here to serve our guests, Mr. Jones. I believe I’ll need a little more for the desk staff, however. There are so many of them, five in all,” he said, rubbing the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand together, “say an additional two thousand Euros?”
“Let’s say two thousand for you, and you take care of the desk staff with that,” AJ responded, pointing to the five bills already in the man’s hand. He was surprised how easily he had slipped into successful bribery.
AJ wasn’t sure how long the 2,500 Euros would hold the manager. Cash had easily influenced him, and AJ was sure he could be influenced that way again. The manager nodded and said, “That’s satisfactory. Thank you for staying with us Mr. Jones.”
By the time Ceres and AJ met back in their room, and had filled each other in, it was 7:45 p.m. They packed their minimal belongings, and left the room. They had to stay out of sight until nine.
The two men took the service elevator to the basement and left through the deserted loading dock. They climbed a steeply inclined driveway enclosed by high walls. AJ wondered if they had gotten away without being seen.
“I’m impressed you thought to have your friend pick us up at the cathedral,” AJ said once the hotel was behind them.
“I thought it wise to escape the hotel sooner than later. Our pursuers could be watching. The cathedral’s a big place, but first let’s see what happens at the hotel,” Ceres replied as he headed for a café across the street.
“You think we’re being pursued?” AJ asked.
“Let’s see,” Ceres replied.
AJ and Ceres went into the café and took the only seats available, which fortunately were in full view of the window. Tantalizing aromas of coffee and fresh baked goods filled the small narrow, storefront. The two men sipped frappés, the Greek summer drink of choice. The froth-topped iced coffee made from instant was very strong. Nearly everyone in the place had a tall, cold glass of coffee in front of them, along with a game of backgammon.
After nearly an hour, AJ asked “How long should we wait?” He looked at his watch for the hundredth time. The caffeine he was sipping didn’t help his nerves.
“I don’t know. It only takes a few minutes to walk to the cathedral. I’m sure it’s closed to visitors in the evening anyway,” Ceres replied. “Let’s have something to eat.”
Ceres caught the eye of a white-aproned waiter and called out his order. “Two baklava and two more coffees, please,” Ceres said.
Ceres had nearly finished his baklava and his second frappe when he noticed a dark four-door Mercedes approaching the hotel. He nudged AJ and nodded toward the window. Despite its dark color the highly polished car shone bright under the strong lights of the hotel’s entrance.
Nudging AJ again, Ceres said, “That could be the car I saw earlier.”
While the two men watched from the café, across the street, three men got out of the car. The last one was Spiros Dranias.
“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” AJ said, sliding out of his chair back.
“I believe we should find the cathedral now,” Ceres said, picking up his bag. Ceres and AJ left the café through a back door and quickly covered the three blocks to the cathedral.
They entered the outer courtyard through the cathedral’s three distinctive arches off Mitopoleas Avenue. A sign in Greek said the last tour of the day began at five o’clock, and they found the door locked. Ceres saw a man at the far end of the courtyard and waved to him. As the man approached, Ceres spoke to him in Greek. The man at first shook his head no, but soon nodded, smiled, clasped Ceres on the shoulder, and after unlocking the door, ushered him into the church. Ceres turned to AJ with a smile and waved for him to come on in too.
“How did you do that?” AJ asked as they made their way into the cavernous sanctuary. “What you did say to him?”
“Nothing much. He was sympathetic to a countryman’s desire to light a candle and say a prayer. He’s the night watchman, and he said we could look around on our own.”
“How did you get him to do that?” AJ asked. “I thought the place was closed.”
“I told him the truth. I said I was a Greek returned to my country after many years away,” Ceres replied.
“I guess the truth works sometimes,” AJ replied. “I’m glad to be inside someplace.”
“No better place than a church to seek protection,” Ceres replied.
Memories flooded Ceres’ mind. The frescoed ceilings, the aromas of sweet incense, and bee’s wax candles reminded him of home and his youth. AJ, who was more focused on staying out of sight, looked furtively about the huge space. The narthex glowed with the light of a hundred candles, their fragrance nearly overpowering but soothing too. Ceres put ten Euros in a collection box, took three honey-colored candles from a rack, and one by one lit them and placed them in a sand table with the other candles.
Ceres stood, head bowed, for a moment and then opened his eyes and made the sign of the cross three times touching, his forehead, chest, and each shoulder.
“What’s that for?” AJ asked.
“I was lighting a candle in remembrance of my family and yours.
“Oh. Thank you,” AJ said, unsure how to react.
“Come, Ajax, let’s look around,” he said.
As the minutes passed, AJ breathed more easily and began to see the beauty around him.
Ceres scanned a sign, then translated for AJ, “The cathedral’s official name is The Metropolitan Cathedral of the Annunciation. King Otto I dedicated it on May 21, 1862. It’s a three-aisled, domed basilica, and inside is the tomb of Saint Philothei.”
AJ could care less about the church or the displays, but he wanted to humor Ceres, so he went along with the tour guide routine. He’d been surprised by the man’s resourcefulness, though. He needed to rethink his plans.
Ceres led the way toward a huge glass case.
“These are the remains of the Saint Philothei,” Ceres said, and then he translated the signs next to the cases. “Saint Philothei built a convent but was martyred in 1559. I guess that means she was killed,” Ceres said.
“How do you know she was a she?” AJ asked.
“Greek feminine names end in “i,” Ceres replied, “and the next line of the sign says ‘her’ bones are still visible in this silver reliquary.” Both men peered into the case and could see what could have been bones.” The sign says she’s honored for ransoming Greek women enslaved in the Ottoman Empire's harems.”
“Okey … dokey. That’s depressing,” AJ said slowly.
“Greece has always been a place plagued by violence. It’s as big a part of Greece’s history as the classics, politics, or art,” Ceres said looking at his watch. “It is time to meet Tinos. Let’s go.”
>
A Mercedes pulled into the Hotel Metro’s reception court just before 8:30 p. m. Three men quickly got out. The eldest, dressed in an expensive black suit, turned his weathered face up to look at the building. He admired the climbing bougainvillea. Its fragrance filled the night air. He put his black fedora on just as a young man, also in a suit, joined him. Spiros Dranias brought up the rear as the men headed toward the hotel entrance.
The stocky younger man’s suit didn’t fit quite as well as his companion’s. Stubble that matched his scruffy facial hair covered his round head. A long bulbous nose separated a pair of close-set steel eyes with lids permanently at half-mast. A bulge under his left arm hinted at a large caliber weapon in a shoulder holster. The left coat pocket sagged and pulled, apparently from poor tailoring, but the actual cause was the 20-gram sap sitting loosely in the pocket. His right front pocket also bulged, this flaw the result of a slender stiletto in the pocket resting comfortably against the man’s thigh.
Dranias, his head slowly moving from side, followed the first two inside and stood by the door. The older man went to the reception desk and said in Greek, “Mr. Jones’ room please.”
“Mr. Jones is out. May I take a message?” the desk clerk responded.
“When do you expect him?”
“I don’t know, sir. He left some time ago.”
“I’ll leave a message then.”
“Certainly, sir,” the clerk said, handing the man a pad.
The man in the dark suit wrote a message, folded it in half, and handed it to the clerk.
“Thank you,” he said and walked to the payphone at the end of the lobby.
The man picked up the telephone but turned toward the desk. He watched as the clerk placed his message in the cubby for room 716. He smiled, replaced the phone in its cradle, and strode confidently out the door, a crooked smile on his face.
“Petru, you saw?” the older man said.
“Yes, 716,” Petru said. “I’ll go up the service stairs. Is there anything you want to know from him?”
“No. Get the damn book and take care of him,” the older man replied. “You can’t fail this time. Remember Boston.”
“Go with him,” the older man ordered Dranias.
Dranias and his companion went to the service entrance. From there they raced up the back stairs, unseen and found room 716. No light showed beneath the dark raised panel door. The younger man listened carefully. No sound. Taking a case from his back pocket, he selected a lock pick and rake. He opened the lock in less time than it would take with a key.
He stowed the pick and rake in his pocket and replaced those tools with his favorite toy, his onyx handled stiletto. The knife firm in his right hand clicked open as he entered the room. He motioned for Dranias to follow then closed the door behind him. He quickly checked the darkened room, finding nothing. He went to the balcony, again nothing. Certain the room was unoccupied, the young man turned on a light. He checked the closet and dressers. Nothing. His target was gone, and so was the book, if it had ever been here.
Holding a finger to his lips for silence, the young man motioned for Dranias to check the bathroom. Dranias entered, looked around and finding nothing, turned to report his findings but found his companion was right behind him. The stiletto’s narrow blade plunged into the detective’s chest. Sharp pain accompanied his last ragged breath. Dranias was dead before his killer dropped him to the floor.
“Good night, scum,” the assassin said as he turned to leave.
He waited at the door, and listened for a full two minutes. When he was certain no one was in the corridor, he left the way the way he came. He had been in the room less than six minutes.
He didn’t see the hotel manager coming out of a linen closet. The frightened man stood stock still when he saw room 716’s door slowly open. He slipped back into the closet, unnoticed.
Once his companion was back in the Mercedes, the older man said to the chauffeur, “Back to the hotel, please.”
Without acknowledgement, the chauffeur took off.
The younger man turned to his handler and said, “He’s gone, room’s cleaned out. I left the scum up there.”
“Damn, Dranias must have tipped off our target. This Mr. Jones is clever,” the older man smiled. “He had the hotel staff cover for him. Maybe he knows we’re looking for him. It’ll make it more difficult,” he said. “The body in his room might complicate things for him, though. Good work.”
“When we find Jones, I can take care of him no matter how smart he is.”
“I know you can, and you will. It’s not your fault Dranias failed,” the older man said, absently fondling his fedora in his rough hands.
Opening his cell phone, the older man punched a speed dial number. The phone the other end rang three times.
“This is Dobos,” the Romanian said to his employer.
“Report,” a strong voice at the other end of the call said impatiently.
“He’s left the hotel. The staff is unaware or covering for him, most likely bribed. I didn’t probe that possibility,” the Romanian said. “I have dealt with the other problem.”
“I want that book and the man eliminated. You failed in Boston, and now you have let it slip through your fingers again. One more failure and I’ll have a team coming after you. Am I understood?” The client was worried, but he expressed that feeling with threats and bluster. It always worked when you had the muscle to back it up.
The Romanian had worked for the man for years and knew his threats were real. Alexandru, the former Romanian Securitate agent, now worked exclusively for Solaris. He’d done many jobs for the man over the years and knew he demanded perfection and fast results.
“We’ll pick up his trail again soon and close the contract. You have my word on that,” the Romanian said.
“Your word is meaningless to me. You have an assignment. I expect you to complete it No more mistakes, do I make myself clear. Make it quick and report back to me,” the voice said tersely, and the call ended. The Romanian took a deep breath and stowed the phone in pocket.
Tinos arrived at the cathedral promptly at nine and quickly drove AJ and Ceres to his own working class neighborhood. Because his wife had died, Tinos lived alone. He spent most of his free time and took his meals at his Uncle Diogenes’ restaurant, Little Athens. It had a reputation for good music and even better food.
“Anything you want, my friends. We have a tradition of being away from home for a long time, don’t we? It is good to see Greeks come home again. You must be hungry. Eat,” Diogenes insisted after Tinos had introduced his new friends.
The aromas of mint, nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves wafted from the kitchen to welcome Ceres home and entice AJ.
Once the food was on the table, Ceres leaned over to Tinos to speak into his ear. “Tinos, I feel you deserve to know what you are getting into with Ajax and me,” Ceres said in Greek.
“Never mind that tonight,” Tinos said, sitting back. “Besides, your son doesn’t speak Greek. Let me practice my English. So, no worries, tonight we eat, celebrate, and drink a little. Oppa!” he shouted, as he raised his glass, and everyone in the small, restaurant raised their glasses and shouted Oppa, too.
“Tinos, Ceres isn’t my father,” AJ said. We are helping each other.”
“Apologies,” Tinos said. “I hope I’m forgiven.”
“Of course,” AJ said as Ceres nodded his agreement. “But please call me AJ. Only my parents called me Ajax.” Tinos smiled and they all turned to watch and listen to the bouzouki band.
A waiter brought huge platters of Greek salad, pastitsio and chicken and lamb souvlaki to the table. AJ took a heaping serving of everything, much to Diogenes’ delight. Ceres watched and thought he saw a small change coming over AJ as he laughed and sang with strangers who treated him as one of their own. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. He smiled and laughed. Ceres had never seen this side of AJ. He prayed it was the change he’d hoped for.
“Ajax … Do you k
now what that name means, my friend? Who Ajax was?” Diogenes asked, as he sat down at their little table, a bottle of ouzo in his hand. He filled each tumbler on the table, while looking at AJ. He picked up his glass and held it up and said, “stinygaisu – to your health my friends!”
“Náse kalá! To your health!” Ceres said in reply as he raised his glass and drained it.
“Well no, I guess I don’t,” AJ replied sheepishly as the ouzo burned all the way down his throat. “I know there’s a cleaner, a cleanser I think, called Ajax in America.”
“What do they teach in your country?” Diogenes roared, raising his hands to the heavens. “Mr. Savas, you have not taught this young one?”
Ceres shrugged.
“Ceres isn’t my father,” AJ said.
“No matter, it’s good to have you here, home in Greece,” Diogenes said. “But I must tell you about your namesake. Ajax was hero of the Trojan War. He fought bravely. We remember him because he recovered the body of Achilles from the battlefield. Ajax cleaned and prepared him for the funeral pyre.
King Agamemnon awarded the Achilles armor to Odysseus. Ajax thought he deserved the armor and killed himself out of greed and jealousy. It’s a very tragic and heroic name my friend.”
“It is,” AJ said looking at Ceres. “I’ve got a lot to live up to.” What kind of hero could unravel the mystery of his family’s past? AJ wondered if he was up to the task ahead for him.
CHAPTER 10 OCCUPIED GREECE 24 OCTOBER 1944
The combat team easily captured and disarmed the Greek Security Battalion’s renegades and the German soldiers. When they searched the train, they found dozens of cars tightly packed with heavy wooden crates and nearly a hundred men, women, and children, all Jewish hostages. The Americans and the Andartes went from car to car distributing what food, water, and blankets they had, as well as what they had liberated from the Germans. The Jews had been locked in the cars for days, and were in rough shape, but they appreciated the little they were given.
After about thirty minutes, Sergeant Zabt located Pantheras with three of the train’s former prisoners in tow. “L-T,” he said, getting his lieutenant’s attention. John turned to see George approaching with two men and a little girl.
