He dropped his forehead into his hands. Andreas could just hear the screaming priests and families. This was going to be one giant public-relations nightmare. Time to get His Honor the mayor back in the fun. Andreas enjoyed watching the slight twitching at the outside corner of the mayor's right eye expand across his eyebrow as Andreas explained what he intended to do. 'With any luck we'll find her before dark,' he said trying to sound enthusiastic.
The mayor spoke in a measured tone. 'Don't you think your plan is a bit too aggressive? Watching churches is one thing, but opening tombs is…' He searched for the words. 'Quite a different matter.'
Andreas took the formality of the phrase to mean 'insane.' 'We don't have a choice. We can't take the chance he's already buried her alive in one of them.'
'But how do we know? She could be anywhere.' His voice cracked.
'Could be, but the churches are our best guess, and if she's in one and we don't check…' He paused. 'I don't have to tell you what that means.'
The mayor stared at him. 'No, you don't have to remind me.' He got up from behind his desk, walked to the window, and stared out.
He has a view of the sea, Andreas thought.
Still staring out the window, the mayor said, 'There's no way he could bury her in a busy church during preparations for a panegyri. There are too many people around.' He turned to face Andreas. 'Why not do a thorough examination of the busy ones for anything unusual and save your digging for the less public ones? After all, isn't that where he's likely to take her?'
The mayor was doing his political thing — looking for compromise — and his approach would attract a lot less attention and aggravation, but Andreas nodded no. 'I understand where you're coming from — I had the same thought — but we can't risk it. This killer's smart enough to have figured some way of getting her into any church he wants, no matter how many people are around. We can't forget that he's probably been studying our churches for years with just this sort of thing in mind.'
'That's my churches, Chief.' His fangs were showing. 'I'm the one who has to live here after you've desecrated who knows how many final resting places of our citizens' ancestors.'
Andreas let him vent. He knew the mayor had no choice but to go along with him. This was nothing more than Andreas giving him the chance to put his best political spin on the search.
The mayor let out a breath and walked back to his desk. 'Let me speak to the archbishop. I think I can get him to cooperate as long as it's clear there's only going to be a quick look under floor slabs and no one's planning on knocking down any walls looking for her in a wall crypt.'
'Unless there's a sign of fresh cement on a wall, I can go along with that,' said Andreas. It was a minor compromise, one to let Mihali save face.
'Fine, just don't start digging before I speak to him. Give me an hour.'
Andreas looked at his watch. It was almost noon. Time to meet Tassos. 'Okay, one hour.'
That seemed to satisfy the mayor's deal-making nature. 'By the way, I got a call from a friend of Ilias' who wondered if I knew where he was. He said Ilias borrowed his boat a couple days ago and hasn't returned it. I guess that means he could be anywhere.'
Yeah, him and everyone else, thought Andreas. It was a small yellow motorbike. One of thousands that seemed to sprout everywhere during the tourist season and contributed greatly to the orthopedic practices of the island's doctors. Tourists who rented them seemed to share hallucinogenic visions of invulnerability to injury and drove more wildly than they would ever think of doing at home. He'd found this one about a quarter of a mile from the mine entrance, not far from where his own motorbike was hidden in the brush. The key was still in it. He listened for sounds but heard none. He scanned the hills above and below the road for movement. Again, there was none. Whoever left it wasn't nearby — or was being very quiet. He listened longer. Still no sound.
He turned the key to unlock the front wheel and slowly pushed the bike forward along the road without starting the engine. He pushed faster and faster until he was running beside it. When he stopped he was breathing heavily but not as much as you'd expect for a man of his age.
He turned the front wheel and carefully pushed the bike toward the downhill side of the road. Slowly, he eased it over the edge. The bike started to get away from him but he used his strength to hold it back. It was a tough fifty yards down the hill to the mine entrance. You couldn't see it from the road. He was halfway there when the weight of the bike and the angle of the hillside combined with the sandy, dry dirt to overcome his strength. His feet slid out from under him. He struggled to keep his balance but couldn't. He was sliding out of control toward the boulders below, still holding the bike. He wrenched it onto its side and fell behind it, trying desperately to stop their slide. Both stopped about thirty yards on when the bike hung up on a huge wild rosemary bush — and he slid knee first into the motor housing. He cursed.
He was fifteen yards below and to the side of the mine entrance. He steadied and lifted the bike, angled it toward the entrance and dragged it. Limping because of his hurt knee, he cursed again.
By the time he reached the entrance, almost forty-five minutes had passed since he'd left her. He stood catching his breath and looked down at his pants. They were torn by the rocks when he fell and there was an ugly gash along the side of his thigh. His knee was throbbing. He looked like a tourist who'd been in a bike accident. Perhaps this wasn't such a brilliant plan after all. Dumping her at sea was beginning to look better all the time. Catia's plane to Athens arrived right on time, leaving her a bit more than an hour to catch her connection to Mykonos. Plenty of time for a call to her brother and a coffee. He wasn't in his office. She left word that she was at the Athens airport and would call him when she got to Mykonos. She bought a coffee, walked to the gate, and sat in one of the plastic and metal chairs anchored in rows to the floor. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was after one. She'd be there by two-thirty — the time Annika most liked being on the beach.
She covered her eyes with her right hand and tried to keep from crying. As usual, things didn't go as planned. It was almost one-thirty before Tassos and his men arrived in Ano Mera; but the delay did give the mayor enough time to obtain a letter from the archbishop 'blessing' a search of the churches. Though built and cared for by local families, churches were holy properties under the control of the archbishop. The letter was all the legal authority Andreas needed. He didn't want to think about what the mayor must have promised to get that letter; he was just happy at the result. The last thing he needed at this moment was a battle with the Church; he'd worry later over what part the mayor undoubtedly had him playing in their deal.
Within an hour, sixty plainclothesmen working in teams of three and carrying a copy of the archbishop's letter, a photograph of Annika Vanden Haag, and descriptions of the possible suspects were on rented motorbikes heading to every known church in the countryside named for Saint Kiriake. Teams with more than one church to cover were assigned churches as close as possible to each other, with at least one team member stationed at each one. Team members were ordered to remain in open radio contact with one another at all times until relieved. Five uniformed two-man teams, in marked cars, were assigned specific areas of the island to serve as backup, just in case. All were told to be polite but firm and, if asked the reason for the search, to state only that they were acting with the permission of the archbishop and to show the letter.
Seventy cops were now dispersed throughout the Mykonos countryside. Another dozen were walking beats among the churches in town. Tassos said it might have been the biggest show of force on Mykonos since World War II. It couldn't help but attract attention from the locals. Still, it was the best plan they could come up with under the circumstances — at least that's what Andreas hoped. He limped all the way down the tunnel, wheeling the bike. When he reached the cell he leaned it against the wall and opened the door. The tribute lay exactly where he'd left her. Still breathing, too. As he went insid
e, he stooped to pick up a water bottle on the floor. He walked over to her, dropped his pants to his ankles, and sat next to her. The floor was cold. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if in prayer, then at her as he poured water on his thigh and rubbed at the blood and dirt in his wound. He poured on more water but his eyes were back on the ceiling, as if he was waiting for a sign.
It was the pinging that caught his attention. Very high-pitched, like metal striking metal. It wasn't a natural sound in a mine. He leaped up and pulled on his pants. Sweeping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a doll, he carried Annika out of the cell. The sound was getting closer. He lifted her onto the bike so that her legs straddled the frame and her chest leaned forward over the handlebars. Looking down the pitch-black tunnel, he determined that the sound was coming from there. Behind him was the entrance he'd just used, which led into daylight at the middle of the island.
There was no other way to go but toward the sound. In that direction two tunnels branched off to the right. The one he wanted was the second, less than three hundred yards from where he stood. The other was only a hundred yards away, and the sound seemed to be coming from that one. He pushed the bike ahead into the darkness. There was no time to get his night-vision goggles or anything else. It didn't matter. He knew his way from here in the dark and that he'd better hurry.
He was almost to the first tunnel when he saw a faint flicker on the wall ahead of him to the left. Someone was coming down the tunnel. He heard the noise again, then voices. He had to get past the opening or they'd find him for sure. He pushed the bike faster, and at the change in momentum, her body unexpectedly slumped away from him. The bike began to tip. He grabbed for her with one hand and steadied the bike with the other. He was almost at the first tunnel. He held his breath and listened. He saw more flickers, brighter but still random as if no one was paying attention to what was up ahead. Again, he held his breath, seemed to immerse himself in deep prayer, and pushed the bike and the girl across the opening. The three men had been walking in the dark since eight in the morning, stumbling over, under, and around boulders, timbers, and all sorts of debris without finding a sign of anything but snakes and feral dogs. As far as they were concerned, they were on a dusty wild-goose chase into a dilapidated and dangerous hole. No one in his right mind would walk around in here — least of all a young tourist woman.
For the first few hours they'd been careful to be quiet. They weren't trying to surprise anyone; they just didn't want someone to hear them coming and set up an ambush. After a near miss from a surprised — and striking — viper, they decided a little noise was a better risk than startled dogs and snakes. None of them had any plans of becoming a hero or doing any more than was required to keep the mayor happy and themselves on the municipal payroll.
The oldest of the three had worked in the mines thirty years ago and the other two — both in their twenties — had to put up with his stories of the 'good old days' of six-day work weeks, sleeping next to the mines in five-man tents and living off the food he'd carried back from town on his one day off. At first they listened to kill the boredom, but when he started talking about ghosts haunting the mines, they told him to 'shut the hell up.' He didn't. Instead, he began pinging away with the butt end of his sheath knife at the miner's tool he carried. 'To ward off the spirits,' he said. It also kept his weapon handy. Something they all did — just in case.
They'd gone in through an entrance on a hillside above the priest's beach and walked west for two hours before turning southwest into a connecting tunnel. That was several hours ago. Now they were coming up on a T. If they turned right at that spot and walked two hundred yards they'd be at the beginning of a mile-and-a-half-long tunnel running north to the sea. If they went left, they'd end up outside about a quarter-mile away, just below an old mining road. The oldest searcher said that heading left was very dangerous — the tunnel was almost impassable — and they should take the tunnel to the right to get out.
'Bullshit,' said the youngest, who was out in front. 'I'm not walking another couple miles in this shit if I can get out in a quarter-mile. Have some other assholes check out that tunnel over there.' He swung his head to the right to indicate where he meant, and the light on his miner's helmet turned with it.
'Hey, keep your light pointed where you're headed,' said the oldest. 'I don't want to have to carry you out of here because you trip over something.' He kept his own eyes on the fifteen feet in front of him, regularly glancing farther ahead to see what to prepare for next. 'That's how you get through dangerous places like this.' He'd told them that over and over.
'Yeah, yeah,' said the youngest. 'Hey, I see the T, there it is.' He pointed and started walking faster.
The oldest shook his head. 'Take it easy, and remember, take the right. We're going back the safe way.'
As the youngest reached the merge he looked back over his left shoulder, threw an open palm at the oldest — the Greek equivalent of the middle-finger salute — and turned left. He froze in midstep. 'Jesus. Look at that.' He was pointing straight ahead.
The others ran up to him. A hundred yards straight ahead, light was streaming into the tunnel. There appeared to be an open door. They looked at one another, checked their weapons, and crossed themselves. They seemed like frightened rabbits about to confront a hound. Cautiously, as if in prayer, they headed toward the light, their eyes fastened to it, their ears perked for sounds ahead, beyond the crunch of their own boots on the earth.
By the time they reached the door the man holding his breath in the dark — ten feet to the right of where they'd turned left — had finished his own prayers and slid deeper into the darkness. Only the faintly perceptible sound of wheels under weight turning slowly in the dirt could be heard — if someone were listening for the sound in that direction. But no one was, so no one ever heard him or saw him — or her.
19
The first report in to Andreas was 'they found her.' He was so relieved at the words that he hugged Tassos. On their way to the mine entrance closest to where she'd been 'found,' he'd learned the truth. The plunge from great joy to deep despair took only the time it took to hear a single missing word: what they'd found was 'her hair.'
Andreas stood at the edge of the road, staring down the hill toward three of his men waiting by the mine entrance. His face looked bloodless. He wondered if this was how his father felt when facing the end of his career. No, Andreas knew it must have been a lot worse for his dad. He'd been betrayed by someone he trusted. Andreas would never do that — trust someone — or so he kept telling himself.
'Pretty deserted out here. Guess that's why he picked it.' Tassos sounded like a cheerleader. 'We're just over the hill from Panos' farm and less than a mile from the artist's place.'
'And this tunnel ties in to an entrance above the priest's beach.' Andreas kicked a rock down the hill. 'Pick one.'
Tassos shrugged and watched the rock tumble until it disappeared. 'Any news on the suspects?'
Andreas nodded no. 'A few people saw Father Paul having lunch on Paradise Beach two days ago with some woman from California, but we can't find him — or any of the others.'
They started down the hill. Now neither seemed very enthusiastic.
'Hey, look at this.' Tassos pointed at gouges in the dirt. 'Something big slid through here recently.'
They followed the marks.
'Looks like another motorbike accident,' said Andreas. He pointed to a few bits of bloodstained fabric near the end of the slide and moved toward a large wild rosemary bush. 'The bike and driver ended up here.' He looked around. 'I don't see anything, do you?'
Tassos nodded no. 'The driver must have dragged the bike back up to the road. Guess it wasn't serious. Damn lucky. Could have been a lot worse.' He started toward the mine entrance.
Andreas grabbed his arm to stop him. 'Wait a minute.' He drew a line in the air running from their feet to his men at the entrance. 'Those are tire tracks. That's where the bike is.'
Andreas yelled to his men. 'Is there a motorbike in there?'
'A what?' a man yelled back.
'A motorbike,' Andreas barked.
The men looked at one another then back at their chief. 'No, sir.'
Andreas and Tassos followed the tracks up to the mine. The entrance was crisscrossed with boards warning of danger in three languages and signs depicting stick figures falling off a cliff. The tire tracks went inside. They maneuvered themselves through the maze of boards by following the tracks and, with flashlights blazing, found the reason for the warnings. About fifty feet inside the entrance, an ugly, jagged gash in the floor opened into an abyss. The tracks ended there. Andreas pointed his flashlight into the hole. 'My God, do you think the driver and bike are in there? I can't see the bottom.'
Tassos angled his beam across to the other side of the gash, then onto the ceiling and back along the walls behind him. Andreas sensed he wanted to say something. 'What is it?'
Tassos seemed reluctant to speak. 'I don't think so. Take a look at the ground on the other side.'
The tire tracks picked up again, about two feet from the edge.
Andreas was amazed. 'It's at least fifteen feet to the other side of this! How the hell did he get over there?'
Once more Tassos paused before speaking. 'He had some ancient help.' He directed his light on the floor at their feet. 'Our guy knows his island history.'
'What are you talking about?' Andreas was getting impatient.
'I'll bet our killer is the one with the bike.' He pointed into the light at their feet. 'The tracks end about two feet from this edge and resume about two feet from the far edge. And there's a three-foot-wide impression in the dirt between the tire tracks and the edges on both sides.'
Andreas wanted him to get to the point. 'Great, this hole to hell keeps the curious away from his hiding place, but how'd he get across?'
'That's where he turned to the ancients.'
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