Codename Xenophon

by Leo Kanaris

  ‘I’ve told you, I don’t know who fired the gun.’

  ‘You know damn well, and so do I. And if Abbas hasn’t guessed by now he’s not the man I took him for.’

  Tasakos seemed fired by a sudden resolution. ‘Look, we can keep this to ourselves. Zafiris is a businessman, I’ll make it worth his while. And we also made a vow, Abbas, to defend each other. Have you forgotten that?’

  Abbas shook his head. ‘Count me out, Manos.’

  ‘What? You’d go to the police?’

  ‘I’d go to the police if it was my own brother. I don’t want to get shot when I’m watering my garden, or wake up one night and find my house on fire.’

  ‘That won’t happen. I’ve talked to him.’

  ‘He’s not well, Manos!’ said Kotsis.

  ‘He understands!’

  ‘He has no idea! If he’s capable of doing it once, he’s capable of doing it again. Especially if he gets away with it!’

  ‘He won’t. He’s promised.’

  ‘He will, Manos. It’s a certainty.’

  ‘Why don’t you help me, Leo, instead of persecuting me?’

  Kotsis returned his brother-in-law’s gaze with tormented sympathy.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Tasakos. ‘Are you in or not?’

  ‘I’ve told you what to do, Manos.’

  ‘So you’re out! My own family!’

  ‘Even if you convinced them, you wouldn’t convince me,’ said George.

  ‘I’ll make it worth your while… What do you want? Half a million?’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Seven fifty! You can retire on that!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘Abbas said it. There’s no point repeating it.’

  ‘I’m offering you three quarters of a million euros!’

  ‘I heard you.’

  Tasakos leaned forward aggressively, eyes blazing. ‘Any bank account, anywhere in the world!’

  George had no desire to humiliate the man – loathsome, desperate as he was.

  ‘If you have that kind of money,’ he said, ‘you should spend it on getting the best possible treatment for your wife and son.’

  Tasakos exploded. ‘What the hell do you know about my wife and son? Have you come here to insult my family?’

  ‘Leave him alone, Manos!’ said Kotsis. ‘He’s right. We’re all agreed.’

  ‘And you’re a fucking traitor!’

  ‘If you don’t go to the police with us right now, we’re going without you.’

  ‘Traitor!’

  ‘Decide.’

  ‘Traitor!’

  Kotsis stood up. ‘Gentlemen, let’s go.’

  They walked to the police station through streets glowing with crimson light, a strange dreamlike tension in the air, as if a storm was hovering. As they entered the Officers’ Room, the desk sergeant saw Kotsis and stood up at once, with an eagerness that George would not have thought him capable of.

  ‘Good evening, Inspector!’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Taso. Everything all right?’

  ‘Fine, thank you! What brings you here, sir?’

  ‘I need to see Bagatzounis. Is he still here?’

  ‘He’s in his office. Shall I tell him?’

  ‘No need.’

  Kotsis knocked at the station commander’s door. An irritable croak came through in reply, and Kotsis turned the handle. Bagatzounis welcomed him with an enthusiastic smile, which faded rapidly when he saw who was with him.

  ‘Serious business, Themis, I’ll get straight to the point. We’ve just come from my brother-in-law’s house.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Bagatzounis. His face assumed a sympathetic, toadying look. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Worse than you can imagine.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘His son shot that professor.’

  ‘Stelios?’

  Kotsis nodded.

  ‘My God,’ said Bagatzounis. ‘After all they’ve been through.’

  ‘I know. It’s cruel.’

  ‘Is he going to come in?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s in shock.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘No question. Manos owned the weapon, his son used it.’

  ‘Can we go back a stage? How do you know about the gun?’

  ‘It was mine! I gave it to Manos.’

  ‘No! I mean how do you know that was the weapon used to kill?’

  ‘It’s in the forensic report,’ said George.

  ‘Really?’ said Bagatzounis. ‘And how do we know about that?’

  ‘I have my sources. Feel free to check the accuracy of what I’m saying.’

  ‘I have to say I find this utterly improper.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Kotsis, ‘Zafiris is right. He traced the HK to me, and through me to Manos. There’s no mistake. Manos has more or less admitted everything.’

  ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘Go and see him. Take a statement.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. Now for heaven’s sake!’

  Bagatzounis seemed lost. ‘This is a serious case,’ he said, half to himself. ‘It’ll be taken over by Piraeus, the Violent Crimes Unit… I have no influence at all up there.’

  ‘Just tell them the background. Ask them to treat these people decently.’

  Bagatzounis glanced at George. ‘What about this gentleman here?’

  ‘Ask him!’ said Kotsis.

  Bagatzounis pursed his lips, and brought the finger tips of both hands together. ‘Mr Zafiris,’ he said, ‘I believe I made it clear from the start that the police are in no position to pay a reward for any information…’

  ‘All you made clear, Captain, was that you were unwilling to help or be helped.’

  ‘Precisely! Police business is police business.’

  ‘I’m being paid privately.’

  ‘This must not go to the press.’

  ‘What do you take me for?’

  ‘I must point out the delicate nature…’

  ‘Don’t worry, Captain. I understand.’

  ‘This is a family, a good family, that has suffered untold difficulties!’

  ‘You can rely on my discretion.’

  Bagatzounis seemed relieved.

  George continued: ‘But if this case gets bogged down in bureaucratic procedures, and I hear that Stelios is still at liberty, I’ll take this to a higher authority.’

  Bagatzounis held up his hand. ‘There will be no need for that.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Kotsis. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  In company with Bagatzounis, they walked back through the town to the Tasakos house.

  ‘I hoped you wouldn’t come,’ said Manos.

  ‘I wish we didn’t have to,’ said Bagatzounis mournfully. ‘Is your son at home?’

  ‘He’s in his room.’

  ‘Will you call him down?’

  They waited at the open doorway, unsettled by the rubbish-strewn hall and its wafts of damp, stale air.

  Tasakos returned with his son, a tall, bearded, overweight young man who could be anything from seventeen to thirty years old. Pale and expressionless, his eyes flickered from face to face without recognition.

  ‘Hello, young man,’ said Kotsis with an effort at brightness.

  ‘Hello, uncle.’

  ‘This is Captain Bagatzounis. He took over from me as chief of police. He needs to ask you some questions.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Not here in the street,’ said Bagatzounis.

  ‘Where then?’ asked Stelios.

  ‘It has to be done properly, with a voice recorder and a witness. And you have the right to be represented by a lawyer.’

  ‘A lawyer? What’s this about?’

  ‘A shooting which took place on March 25th.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true.’

  ‘It is true!’

  ‘Come wi
th me to the police station.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘You have to make a statement.’

  ‘I’ve told you it’s not true.’

  ‘That’s not enough. I need to question you properly according to the law. For that you must come to the station.’

  ‘Colonel Varzalis did it.’

  ‘Oh God, not you too!’ said Abbas.

  ‘Let’s stop wasting time,’ said Kotsis. ‘Go with the captain, just go.’

  The young man’s eyes became agitated. ‘I don’t have to,’ he said.

  ‘You have no choice.’

  ‘Let me get my laptop.’

  ‘No. You don’t need your laptop to answer a few questions.’

  ‘I need it for other things.’

  ‘Other things must wait.’

  ‘They’re urgent!’

  ‘Only one thing’s urgent now…’

  Bagatzounis stepped forward. Nervously, his hands shaking, he forced a pair of handcuffs onto the young man’s wrists.

  32

  On the deck of the Aghios Nektarios, cutting its pale furrow through the dark sea, George felt strangely dissatisfied. He had found the killer, but there was no sense of fulfilment in the work. Justice had not been done – only a series of injustices. The young man that killed John Petrakis seemed disconnected from his act. He showed no awareness, no responsibility, no regret. Did he even know what he was doing when he pulled the trigger? That a mechanism was released, a spring-loaded pin struck the centre of a cartridge, an explosion occurred in that tiny brass chamber and a cone of lead began spinning through the air, crossing the space between two buildings in a tenth of a second, flying straight and true until it found an obstacle in the skull of the professor? Broke through the skin and bone, ploughed on through his brain, driving a bow wave of splinters and shredded tissues before it, dragging a vortex of blood and pulped grey matter behind? Did he sense any of that? That a life was ended at that moment, a brilliant life, while his own existence continued, gaining nothing, feeling nothing, learning nothing?

  The waste upset him most. Petrakis had been an apostle of freedom. Stelios was a slave of forces he would never understand. Behind that tragedy lay other tragedies – his mother’s blasted existence, the father’s ruined hopes, untold miseries in previous generations. What hope could there be for any of them?

  He thought of contacting Constantine Petrakis. He wanted to hear the man’s reaction when he told him who had killed his brother. But he’d had enough for one day.

  The ship sailed into the harbour at Piraeus. A glittering web of electric light drew them in. Dirty pink and yellow, like an unwashed wound. He walked off the ramp into the chaos of cars and foot passengers, crossed the street and headed towards the railway station, thinking of home, a glass of wine, food and bed.

  As he stepped onto the train his phone rang.

  It was Pezas, in a high state of excitement.

  ‘Where are you, George?’

  ‘Piraeus. Just getting on the train home.’

  ‘Don’t go home. Stay on the train up to Kifissia.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s something going on at the Kakridis house.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘The Georgians are there.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’re giving him a hard time.’

  ‘He probably deserves it.’

  ‘His wife wants us to go over.’

  ‘That’s not a good idea. She should call the police.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to do that.’

  ‘He’s a government minister! Where’s his security?’

  ‘I don’t know. He must have sent them away.’

  ‘He’s an idiot. A total bloody idiot… Listen, George, where’s his wife?’

  ‘At the house.’

  ‘Tell her to leave.’

  ‘I’ve tried that. She won’t.’

  ‘Don’t go there yourself.’

  ‘We can’t just abandon her!’

  ‘If she won’t follow instructions, we can.’

  ‘She’s employing us, George!’

  ‘Not as bodyguards. Call the police!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I will.’

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘We haven’t had this conversation. I’m calling them.’

  ‘Don’t, George!’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘It’ll destroy her husband’s career.’

  ‘And about time!’

  ‘George, please don’t do it. Not yet. Just get yourself over here.’

  In the chaos of thoughts that invaded his mind was a sudden suspicion. ‘You’re not seeing her, are you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Involved with her?’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In Kefalari.’

  ‘Promise me you won’t go into the house.’

  ‘It’s OK, I’m in the street.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  George hung up, thinking he should take a taxi instead of the train. Pezas needed help quickly. He stood up, heard the buzzer for the closing doors, and hurried off the train.

  He found a cab on Akti Miaouli and gave the address in Kefalari. He hoped the driver would keep quiet. It was a distant hope, but sometimes you were lucky. He closed his eyes and tried to rest.

  They were approaching Syntagma Square when his phone rang. It was Pezas again, speaking softly, his voice tense.

  ‘We’ve been listening in, using his phone. The Georgians are getting heavy now, saying pay or else.’

  ‘So what’s new?’

  ‘He says he can’t pay till after the summer.’

  ‘What do they say?’

  ‘They won’t wait. They want valuables. Paintings, jewellery, antiques. Kakridis is saying don’t be stupid, you’ll only get a quarter of their value if you sell them. You know what the Georgian guy said? Thanks for the tip. We’ll take four times as much.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Kakridis didn’t like that, but he’s – oh no… hold on!’

  The phone was silent for a few moments. Then Pezas was back. ‘They’ve started taking paintings off the walls. Mrs K is going crazy. She wants to go in and stop them.’

  ‘Tell her not to.’

  ‘She wants me to go with her.’

  ‘Don’t, Hector, it’s too risky.’

  ‘I know. She won’t listen.’

  ‘Then let her go!’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Stay where you are, Hector! You’ve seen these guys in action. They don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Oh hell, she’s off!’

  ‘Let her go.’

  The phone went dead.

  George swore. Pezas was being a fool, but he suspected that in his place he would have done the same.

  They were on Leoforos Kifissias now, about twenty minutes away, but the traffic was moving slowly. As they came to Faros, Pezas rang again.

  ‘We’re inside the gate now, watching the house. It’s all quite calm. No one’s talking. I guess the Georgians are helping themselves…’

  ‘Where’s Mrs Kakridis?’

  ‘She’s with me.’

  ‘Can you ask her something for me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who was her husband with this morning, when he was asking for money? You remember, you relayed the conversation to me?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘No. Tell me now!’

  ‘Hang on, I can see the front door opening now. There’s a man coming out, carrying paintings…’

  ‘Who was he talking to? ‘

  There was no reply from Pezas. George heard Mrs Kakridis say, ‘I’m going to talk to him,’ and Pezas say ‘Don’t!’ Then, ‘Oh Jesus, she’s going.’

  ‘She’s crazy,’ said George.

  ‘She’s shouting at the Georgian. He’s stopped… No, he’s going towards the Mercedes
. Now he’s resting the paintings on the ground, he’s opening the boot of the car. But she’s come up and grabbed the paintings. He’s seen her and called someone else… She’s walking into the house with the two pictures. A man’s come out, a big man blocking the doorway. She’s telling him to get out of the way. He’s not budging. She’s shouting at him and trying to get past him. He’s raised his… oh no, he’s hit her! She’s down! He’s picked up the paintings and he’s taking them back to the car. But she’s up and after him. I don’t like this, George! He’s turned to face her – he’s dropped the paintings – she’s shouting at him, they’ve grabbed her arms, they’ve got her up against the car… Jesus, man this is bad, I’ve got to stop it!’

  ‘Hector, don’t!’

  ‘I’m going to put a bullet up their asses!’

  The phone went dead.

  George called the police. Never mind what Mrs Kakridis had said, the situation was out of control. He told a duty officer to send an emergency team over to the minister’s house as fast as possible.

  George asked the taxi driver how long to go.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ he said.

  It was probably nine and a half minutes too long.

  *

  For once the police had moved quickly. There were two squad cars parked in the street, two up at the house, red and blue lights flashing along the white stucco of the wall. A young policeman stood on guard at the gate.

  George paid off the taxi and asked to be let through.

  ‘You can’t go in, sir.’

  ‘I’m a friend of Mrs Kakridis.’

  ‘No public are allowed in, sir.’

  ‘She called me to come and help.’

  ‘You can’t go in.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, she called me! My friend Hector Pezas is in there too. We’re private detectives, working for her, trying to protect her.’

  ‘It’s too late for that.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘She’s been shot.’

  ‘What about Pezas?’

  ‘There are four bodies.’

  ‘Four?’

  He suddenly felt sick.

  ‘We’re just trying to establish who’s who,’ said the policeman.

  ‘Maybe I can help?’ said George.

  ‘If you know them…’

  ‘What about Kakridis?’

  ‘Minister Kakridis is safe.’

  Of course he is, the bastard, thought George.