An Aegean Prophecy ak-3

by Jeffrey Siger

  ‘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 during 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 Patm
os 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.

  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.

  He rubbed her belly, and winked. ‘Too bad I can’t stop up for a visit.’

  Lila smacked his arm. ‘Don’t even joke about sex. Rent movies.’ She smiled.

  He kissed her belly again, and then her forehead. ‘See, I made it home before midnight.’

  She looked at the clock on her bedside table. ‘Wow, ten-thirty, you’re a man of your word! Do you want something to eat? I couldn’t wait for you.’

  ‘No problem, I didn’t expect you to. I’ll make something later in the kitchen.’

  Lila shook her head and picked up the intercom handset. ‘Marietta, would you please prepare a plate for Mr Kaldis and bring it into our bedroom. Thank you.’ She put it down and said, ‘When are you going to get used to having help around the house?’

  Andreas shrugged, kicked off his shoes, and flopped onto the bed beside her. ‘I feel more at home among the monks. Doing things for myself.’

  ‘Let’s not go there. I said no more talk about sex.’

  He laughed. ‘But I really admire someone who finds a life so rewarding and purposeful that he willingly gives up what so much of the rest of the world considers so damn important.’

  ‘Moderation, I’m afraid, is a thing of the past, even among churchmen. There are very few I know who have given up much of the material world in the pursuit of their faith.’

  ‘But there still are some who believe “nothing in excess” is the right way to live.’

  Lila turned and stared at him. He’d just quoted from one of her lectures. ‘That was carved in Delphi by Athenians 2,500 years ago. It’s Apollo’s Creed.’

  ‘And a favorite of a scholar I much admire.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘But I’m talking about monks, not all churchmen, and one monk in particular.’

  ‘The murdered one?’

  ‘Yes. He must have been a rare soul. Amazing how no one had a cross word to say about him.’ Andreas pushed up on his elbows and stared out the window at the Parthenon. ‘Imagine feeling so much a part of something, a part of something so much bigger than yourself that when your time has come you’re totally at peace.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘I guess it’s sort of how I feel at this moment.’

  Andreas stared at her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. ‘He died at peace… embracing his past… clutching his cross.’ He let the thought drift off.

  Lila spread her arms. ‘Come here with…’ she looked down at her belly ‘… us
.’

  Andreas smiled and lay down next to her. Lila rested her head against his chest. Neither said a word.

  Andreas drifted off into that state just before sleep when the senses recede and thoughts become meditative. He pictured the cross in the monk’s hand. The cross of his grandfather, the cross with which he might well have shared virtually every day of his life. Andreas’ eyes popped open. He felt as if a silent bomb had gone off in the room.

  ‘ His cross,’ Andreas cried out and jumped out of the bed, almost sending Lila tumbling off onto the floor. ‘It wasn’t his cross he was holding when he died. His cross, the one he treasured from his grandfather, was left dangling openly around his neck, free for anyone to take. The one he chose to grip, to guard when he knew he was dying, was a cheap, ten euro piece of junk he’d bought only hours before! How could it possibly have meant so much to him that his last act on earth was to protect it?’

  Andreas paced back and forth in front of the window. Lila said nothing, just watched him.

  ‘He didn’t die accepting the end of his life. He died sending a message. But what message?’ He turned to Lila, ‘I’ve got to get back to Patmos, right away.’

  ‘“Right away?”’

  He didn’t miss the disappointment in her voice. Andreas drew in and let out a breath. ‘“Right away,” as in “first thing tomorrow morning.”’ He sat next to her on the bed, took her hand, and kissed it. ‘Tonight I’m spending with my baby.’ He patted her belly. ‘Both my babies.’

  Tears started forming in Lila’s eyes. She dabbed at them with her fingertips. ‘Sorry, pregnant women get this way at times.’

  ‘No need to say more.’ A knock at the door signaled it was time for dinner with his family. ‘I belong here.’ He doubted any soul would disagree, certainly none like Vassilis.

  Patmos was a place of rich beauty, deep conviction, and pious tradition. It also was an island, and island people were different from mainland folk. Separated from the rest of the world, they grew up facing dangers without expecting help from the outside. Instead, they relied upon each other and learned to honor their neighbors’ families by attending their baptisms, weddings, and funerals. During Easter Week there would be no baptisms or weddings, but funerals were different. They were prohibited only on Good Friday.