“But in the blink of an eye it all was gone. Leveled, destroyed, wiped off the face of the earth for having made an unwise political choice.
“As Mykonians, they live amid constant reminders of that precipitous past, for the marble and much of the carved stone that embellishes their homes and churches today comes from Delos’ razed civilization of two thousand years ago.
“So, I guess if there is a ‘Mykonian perspective’ to be applied to our times it’s that although their island has prospered and will likely survive our nation’s current crisis far better than anywhere else in Greece, ‘all fame is fleeting, all glory fades.’ In time, new occupiers will come to their island bringing new ideas and different methods. When that will occur and whether the transition will be glorious or not, who can say? But it will happen. Always has, always will.”
Kouros nodded. “That’s a bit heavy for this early in the morning. I could have used more coffee. But if you want my opinion on what drives this place it’s simple. The locals may bitch and moan about what’s happened to their island but they’ve let it happen for one very simple reason.”
“Which is?”
“Precisely what we were talking about before. They like the money. Period. End of story.”
Andreas looked back at the sea. “I see things somewhat differently. But you have a point. One that makes me think perhaps we’re going at Sergey the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re focused on finding the two guys who murdered Christos, but even if we do and they finger Sergey, it’s their word against his. It might screw up his plans for going into business here, because whether he’s guilty or not, once accused, the locals will drive him off the island, but it won’t put him away. To really hurt that bastard we have to reach the core of what’s driving him.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Follow the money. It can’t be Sergey’s. There must be somebody bankrolling him. If we find where the money’s coming from, we might have a better idea of where it’s headed.”
“We already know he’s buying the hotel.”
Andreas shook his head. “Not nearly enough of a return for all the shit he’s stirring up. It’s got to be something else. Something much bigger.”
“So, where do we start?”
“With another cup of coffee and more staring at the sea. Not quite sure yet how we’ll get there without access to the Europol resources I had as Chief.”
Kouros smiled. “We still have Tassos.”
“And Maggie.”
“Wonder what they’re up to?”
“Hopefully, something a lot more productive than we are,” said Andreas.
“Speak for yourself. I intend on spending the afternoon working on my tan.”
“Probably about as good a plan as any while we wait for the next round of shit to hit the fan.” Andreas put down his coffee cup. “I just wish I knew who the hell was going to throw it.”
***
Sergey sat eating breakfast in his room. He would liked to have had it in a taverna or cafenion along the port, but even with his poor Greek he could tell that the moment he walked into one he instantly became the topic of conversation. It was to be expected. Small towns and islands were like that, always looking for new subjects of interest for the gossip mill.
But he figured the less he showed his face around town the less talk his presence stimulated. They could talk as much as they wanted later, after he had his hands on those files.
He was pissed. The two men with Anna had done just as he’d told them to do: disappear off the face of the earth. No way to find them without Teacher’s help. But if he asked for her help she’d definitely ask, “Why?” Might even want to know when he expected to have Christos’ files.
He couldn’t risk that. He must have them before she asked. They were necessary for the next step, to do the magic that would make it all come together.
He shook his head. No way he dared do anything that might start Teacher thinking he was less than perfect.
Those two sons of bitches just better stay hidden until after he had the files. Once he did, Teacher probably would want to find the two herself, just to clear up loose ends.
He heard a knock on the door.
“Come in. It’s open.”
Wacki entered wearing fire engine red jeans, a different florescent yellow Hawaiian shirt, white Louis Vuitton beach sandals, and red-frame sunglasses.
“Is there any other man on the island who dresses like you?”
“There’s nobody, man or woman, who dresses like Wacki.”
Sergey suppressed a smile. “So, what has you up and about before noon?”
“The files you’re interested in. I’ve been asking around. About the fat cop. And whether anybody knew anything about him and some files. I told folks there was money in it.”
“And?”
“A Bulgarian cleaning lady who works at the airport called me this morning. Bitch woke me up.”
“Just get to the point.”
“Okay, okay. A few mornings ago she was cleaning up the baggage area to get it ready for the first flight of the day in from Athens when she heard someone forcing open the sliding doors leading into the baggage area from the terminal. It’s illegal to do that but sometimes locals who don’t want to wait outside for their friends do it anyway.
“It was a fat guy with a briefcase and she told him he shouldn’t be in there. He thanked her for being a ‘concerned citizen’ but said he was a cop on official business and continued walking toward the doors leading out to the runway.
“He stood by the doors until the plane landed, then went out onto the tarmac to meet two other men coming off the plane. She recognized the other two as cops who used to work on Mykonos.”
“Kaldis and Kouros?”
Wacki nodded. “Anyway, she stopped paying attention once she realized the fat man must have been a cop, too.”
“That’s it?”
“Not quite. An hour or so later she was working on the second floor when she saw the same three cops come out of the director of operation’s office. It surprised her, because she knew the director was out of the building.”
“And the briefcase?”
“Still with them.”
“When did all this happen?”
Wacki smiled. “The morning after Christos’ body was discovered and Tassos Stamatos conducted an investigation of the scene.”
And emptied the safe, thought Sergey. “I want to meet with that Syros cop right away. But let’s make it a surprise.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Syros lay forty-five minutes due west of Mykonos by fast boat, in the north central region of the Cyclades. The island’s architecture varied from town to town, but was heavily influenced by romantic classicism and differed substantially from traditional Cycladic forms, as did the muted, slight peach cast to its capital city of Ermoupoli.
The Zodiac entered Syros’ harbor at Ermoupoli from the east, aiming toward a long concrete dock running in front of the customs house and port authority headquarters on the right side. Off to the left loomed shipyards that once were the busiest in Greece, but that was long ago. So, too, were the island’s modern glory days.
Phoenicians were the first known inhabitants of Syros, naming the island from their word for “wealth,” and later occupiers, pirates, and Syriots seeking precisely that same prize brought boom and bust times to the millennia that followed. Syros’ last great aristocratic run, as Greece’s nineteenth century ship building and repair center, ended at the close of that century with the opening of the Corinth Canal and the harbor and shipyards at Athens’ port city of Piraeus.
Syros still had its stunning neo-classical buildings, streets paved with marble, and opera house––some said the first in Greece––but there was no question the glory h
ad faded. No more than four hundred of the island’s twenty-five thousand residents still worked in its shipyards and though known for agriculture, the island’s main role now was as the political center of the Cyclades.
Wacki pointed beyond the shipyards at the shell of a building all the way across the semicircular harbor. “That building is Lazaretta. It was built in the 1840s to quarantine anyone arriving by sea who might be carrying plague. Later it was used as a prison but hasn’t been in a hundred years. Maybe they’ll re-open it for Stamatos and his buddies. It’s probably the only prison in Greece with no one inside who wants a piece of them.” He laughed.
“Where does Stamatos live?” asked Sergey.
“On the sea on the other side of the island, about four miles outside of town. It’s a village called Kini. But he won’t be there. My people told me that if he’s not in his office at police headquarters up on that hill,” Wacki pointed at building on a bluff above and to the right of the customs house, “he’s usually in a taverna on a side street just off the harbor.”
They tied up in front of port authority headquarters and walked toward a line of cafe umbrellas, chairs, and tables perched off to the left along a narrow concrete apron between the sea and a two-lane harborfront road. Directly across the road were the tavernas, bars, and cafes servicing those who chose to sit outdoors by the sea. Waiters darted back and forth among the two-way traffic carrying trays filled with food, drink, and the remains of both.
They crossed at a small square, turned left and walked along the harbor road for a few blocks before turning right. Dead ahead and four blocks away was City Hall. It was by far the island’s most dominant building, a football field-size neoclassical beauty, sitting behind an even larger town square.
Wacki stopped at a seven-foot wide alley on the left. “Police headquarters used to be up by city hall until the government moved it onto that hill I pointed out from the harbor. But Stamatos still hangs out down here.”
They turned into the alley and walked about twenty yards before Wacki stopped. “That’s it. The next taverna on the left.”
It was a cozy looking place set off from the quiet, white and gray marble-paved street by a line of potted oleander and tamarind.
Sergey peeked through the leaves. Three old men sat drinking coffee at a table near the front watching two younger men at a table next to them play backgammon. Toward the rear, next to the kitchen, two men at a table were talking. One looked to be a cook. The other was Tassos.
Sergey took a deep breath. “Translate exactly what I say, word for word. And do precisely the same thing for whatever comes out of his cop mouth, no matter what it is, even a cough. Do you understand?”
Wacki nodded.
“I said, ‘Do you understand?’”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Just translate. Don’t think.”
Sergey reached behind his head, pulled out the elastic band holding his hair in a bun, and shook his head. He ran his fingers quickly through his hair and headed for the entrance to the taverna.
***
Tassos’ eyes were fixed on Sergey from the moment he came through the taverna door headed straight at him. When Tassos saw Wacki he said, “Ah, sorry there, Sergey, didn’t recognize you with your hair down.”
Sergey said in English. “I would like to speak to you.”
“I don’t speak English very well.”
“That’s why Wacki is here.”
“This should be fun. Okay, guys, sit down.” Tassos looked at the other man at his table. “Could you excuse us, Niko?”
Niko got up and went into the kitchen.
“So, what can I do for you?” said Tassos.
Sergey leaned in and fixed his stare on Tassos’ eyes. “You have something I want.”
Wacki translated.
“Good choice. The coffee’s terrific here. Shall I call a waiter?”
Wacki translated.
“Don’t play games with me, I may be the only friend you have left in Greece.”
“Thanks to you no doubt.”
“Don’t blame the messenger. You’re the one who took what did not belong to you. Is it my fault that your police colleagues are prepared to ruin you and your two friends over something they’re not even certain exists?”
“But you’re certain.”
“Let us say I have more faith in you than do your comrades. I do not think you would have allowed things to go this far if there wasn’t something important in that briefcase.”
Sergey studied Tassos’ face for any change of expression as Wacki translated ‘briefcase.’ There was none.
“What briefcase?”
Sergey smiled. “The one you brought out onto the runway to meet your friends, Kaldis and Kouros, the morning after you found what you carried in that case.”
Tassos shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The same briefcase you and your friends spent an hour together with alone in the airport director’s office.”
Tassos shrugged again. “Is there a point to all this? Or are you just trying to impress me with how interested you are in my luggage? I can give you the name of the store where I bought it. It’s right around the corner from here.”
“I don’t think you realize just how valuable an asset you possess.”
Tassos smiled. “My girlfriend tells me the same thing all the time.”
Sergey kept staring. “I have a serious business proposition. One that will make your girlfriend even happier. It is the kind of offer that will set you for life.”
Tassos shook his head. “I hate those kinds of offers. The deal usually includes a dramatically shortened life span. In my experience people who make those sorts of offers don’t like having extra partners around once they get what they want.”
“I am talking about a one-time, up front payment.”
“My, my, you must really want whatever you think I have. After all, I could say that I had it, take your money, and never deliver.”
“You would not be so foolish as to do anything like that if you knew whose money you would be taking.”
Tassos threw his hands up in front of his face. “Whoa, you mean it’s not your money?”
“Does it matter? Your country is in ruins. Everyone is taking from anyone who will give. You should know that by now. If not, you must learn.”
“And I bet you have the perfect teacher in mind.” said Tassos.
Wacki’s face turned white, and he hesitated.
“What’s the matter, Wacki, don’t you know the English word? It’s ‘teacher.’” Tassos said his emphasized word in English.
Sergey switched his stare to Wacki. “What is he saying? And why are you talking about Teacher?”
Wacki swallowed. “He said, ‘And I bet you have the perfect teacher in mind.’”
Sergey quickly refocused on Tassos. “You and your countrymen must learn to accommodate a new world order. Greece no longer has the unconditional support of the West. It must now look to the East for help. My purpose in coming here is to do great good for the people of Mykonos, to help them through difficult financial times such as they’ve not experienced in decades.”
“Save your speech for the mayor, Sergey. Even if I were interested, I don’t have what you want. And I have no idea where it is, assuming it even exists.”
“I am so sorry you feel that way. Things will only get worse. You do know that, don’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sergey looked away. “You and your friends are outcasts. You’re dirty cops. And once the media is done with you, no one will do you any favors. Even your friend here will make you pay for coffee. And when you come to me later begging to make a deal, the price will be much less.”
Tassos nodded and stared down at his coffee cup. “I li
ed before.”
Sergey refixed his stare on Tassos. “How so?”
“The coffee’s not that good. I won’t miss it.” He looked up and smiled at Sergey.
Sergey stood up from the table. “I swear on my mother that you will.” He turned and stormed toward the door.
“Hey!” Tassos yelled to Wacki as he hurried to catch up with Sergey. “Tell your boss I didn’t know he had a mother. But I’m sure she must be very proud.”
***
Sergey said not a word as he marched from the taverna toward the boat. Wacki kept trying to get him to speak.
“I don’t think he meant our Teacher. I was just startled when he used the word. I mean, how could he possibly know about Teacher? Who would have told him?”
Sergey glanced at Wacki. “For your sake, pray that you’re right.”
Wacki nodded, shut up, and concentrated on trying to keep in step with Sergey.
As they neared the boat Sergey said, “I want you to set up a meeting for me as soon as I get back to Mykonos. It has to be an out-of-the-way place where no one will see us.”
“Sure, who are we meeting?”
“We’re not meeting anyone. Just me and whoever heads the Albanian mob on Mykonos. I want a one-on-one, no witnesses meeting. Understand?”
Wacki swallowed hard. And prayed the meeting wouldn’t be about him.
***
“I hope you boys are enjoying your holiday,” said Tassos.
“I think Yianni is beginning to find life as a suntan lotion tester appealing.”
“Not a bad choice considering our current alternatives.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Syros. I just had a wonderful chat with Sergey and Wacki.”
“Where?”
“They paid me a surprise visit while I was having coffee at my friend Niko’s place.”
“What did they want?”
“To make me a very rich man.”
“Just you?”
“I’m sure he’d be willing to expand the crowd. Son of a bitch really wants those files. Someone must have spotted us at the airport with the briefcase and Sergey figured out what was inside. He even threatened me.”
Mykonos After Midnight Page 16
