For some, perhaps, that feeling came from the trappings of crystal chandeliers, fixtures of gold, silver, and precious gems, elaborate icons and banners, or perhaps the special offerings unique to the Archangel—rare military paraphernalia from reverent armed forces followers, or the metal shoes that tradition has Taxiarchis wearing when he appears as a vision—contributed by the prayerful in hope they’ll be worn by the Archangel when answering their prayers.
Others may have found it in the majestic architectural bones of the church, with its elaborate fluted pillars soaring up from inlaid marble floors, to flower into arching ribs of burgundy and cream, spanning across the basilica’s vaulted ceilings to frame a panoply of artistic masterpieces floating high above all else.
If Andreas had to guess what did it for Aleka and Ali, he’d pick the unmistakable power emanating from the icon itself. In a four-sided canopy of gilt and crimson sat the reason for all that surrounded it. Graced by a crown and wings of silver, the massive head of Taxiarchis stared at the world through austere yet benevolent, black eyes––set in a face far darker than Ali’s.
Andreas saw a message in that. At least for some.
A half-dozen tourists wandered in and out of the church, taking photos and reading about the displayed treasures. A tall, sturdy man in a dark sweater, dark pants, and running shoes stood against a far wall with his arms crossed and staring at the couple. All at once he uncrossed his arms and headed straight for them, his eyes glued on Ali.
“What are you doing here, mavro? This is a Christian country, not a place for Mousoulmanos. We don’t want your kind here stealing, raping, and murdering. Get out now, and take your Greek putana with you.” He pushed Aleka to the side and swung his body around to hit Ali at precisely the moment that the heel of Andreas’ right hand, in full upward thrust, met his jaw.
The man went down like a rock.
“Are you okay?” Andreas asked Aleka.
“Yes, it’s sort of an honor to be called a whore by a Chrysi Avyi Nazi skinhead.”
“And I’ve been called a lot worse than a black and a Muslim,” said Ali.
“Sorry about this, but that’s the trouble in a democracy: you’ve got all kinds to deal with.”
“I like the way you dealt with this one,” said Ali.
Andreas smiled. “Me too.”
The man started to come around, and Andreas yanked him to his feet. “Come along, sir, I have some friends I want you to meet.”
“Fucking Muslim-lover.”
“Oh, you’re really going to like them.”
The man tried to pull away. Andreas grabbed his hand and twisted it into a wristlock.
“Ow, that hurts.”
“Then just do as I say and don’t struggle.” Andreas looked at Aleka and Ali. “You two don’t move from here until I get back. Understand?”
Each nodded yes, and Andreas led the man out the main entrance of the church into the courtyard, headed toward the monastery’s main entrance. He waved over the first cop he saw.
“This man just assaulted your police commander’s daughter. Get whatever ID information you can from him, and put him somewhere safe where he can’t do any more harm. We’ll get him back to town after this is over.”
“Cocksucker,” screamed the man.
Andreas smiled, and looked at the cop. “Safe is the primary concern, comfortable a distant second.”
The cop nodded, cuffed the man with his hands behind his back, and led him away.
Andreas turned and headed back to the church. The tourists had left by the time he returned, and Ali and Aleka weren’t by the icon. He looked right. He looked left. He looked behind him. He walked up and down the aisles, and looked behind the iconostasis separating the priests’ area from the main sanctuary. No Ali or Aleka. He ran out the side door. Not there. He retraced their steps back out into the parking lot. Nothing.
He jogged back toward the monastery and stopped where they’d seen the old man with the flute. He’d left too.
Andreas bit at his lower lip. Had he just been played, or just been careless? How could he face the police commander? He thought of his own children and how he’d react to one who’d promised to keep them safe but failed.
He shut his eyes, shook his head, looked straight ahead, and ran off to find the skinhead who’d drawn him away from his promise to protect another man’s child. He prayed as he ran, but doubted he’d find anything to rid him of the sick feeling now occupying the pit of his stomach.
l l l l l
As the man saw it, the trick to being inconspicuous lay in knowing your audience, and being prepared for a quick change of appearance, be it by donning or discarding a coat, a wig, or face putty. Showing up at a monastery dressed like a monk was far too obvious, especially when police had likely alerted monastery personnel to point out any monk they did not recognize. That’s why he’d settled on portraying a long-coated, itinerant flute-playing beggar.
Sometimes, the best way to distract attention is by attracting it.
Chapter Twenty-three
At the main entrance to the monastery, Andreas caught up with the cop who’d taken the skinhead away. He pointed Andreas toward a building off to the right, beyond the mounted fighter jet.
“Your guy’s over there, on the far side of that building, locked in the back of a police van.” The cop reached in his pocket. “Here are the keys.”
Andreas took them and ran along the tree-lined stone path leading toward the jet, dodging people streaming into the monastery. He cut off the path at a tree break and headed across open ground straight for the building. He found the van and paused to catch his breath. Whether this guy worked for Aryan or simply was an asshole bigot, Andreas needed his cooperation.
He banged on the side of the van. “I’m coming in.” He unlocked the windowless sliding door and slid it back. The man sat on the far side of the second row of seats, his hands still cuffed behind his back.
“Is it your turn to have fun with me?” A plum-red bruise had taken hold over his left eye.
“You stumbled, I see,” said Andreas sliding in next to him on the seat.
“Fuck you. I’m going to get a lawyer as soon as I get my phone call.”
Andreas nodded. “A very wise decision for someone in your situation.”
The man snickered. “My situation? The most I did was insult a fucking Mousoulmanos. I’ll get a medal for that.”
“I’m sure your Chrysi Avyi colleagues will oblige you on that score, but if I were you I’d be more concerned for the bigger mess you’re in than in mouthing Golden Dawn bullshit.”
“What bigger mess?”
Andreas leaned forward. “Accessory to a double murder.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Andreas brought his finger close to the man’s face. “I promise you that when that couple you went after turns up dead here because you distracted me from protecting them, you’re going down for their murders.”
“They were alive when we left them, and I’ve been in police custody ever since. No way I could be involved in their murders.”
“I said accessory. Your job involved creating a diversion. It’s not going to be hard convincing a judge of that, what with your deep love of refugees. Especially since one of the victims is a local police commander’s daughter.”
The man’s eyes began twitching. “I had nothing to do with any of that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, someone in that church expected you to do precisely what you did. Who’s going to believe it a coincidence that you attacked the very couple I’m there to protect, and that while I’m turning you over to another cop, the couple disappears, only to later turn up murdered?” Andreas shook his head. “If I were you, I’d make sure my phone call is to the best damn criminal defense lawyer I can find.”
“
Fuck, fuck, fuck,” yelled the man as he bounced back and forth in his seat.
“If you’re done beating yourself up, do you care to take a shot at convincing me why you’re not involved in a double murder?”
The man leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes. “A buddy of mine works maintenance at the monastery. He sometimes gets me work when they need help. He called me in to do cleanup today after the crowd leaves. But they paid me to come in early to keep an eye on things inside the main church. Watch out for potential vandals or thieves. I’ve done that sort of thing for them before when they expect a lot of visitors.”
He swallowed. “I saw the two of them come in the church. I knew immediately who he was. That Muslim who’d killed the shipowner. Couldn’t believe he dared step inside the church. Their kind doesn’t belong here. They’re––”
“You’re not helping your case with that sort of talk, fella.”
The man sighed. “So, I watched the two of them come in. I saw you at the doorway making a phone call and looking at them, but I didn’t realize you were with them. I thought you were looking at them for the same reason I was. If I had to guess who was the cop I’d have picked the other guy.”
“What other guy?” said Andreas.
“While you were talking on the phone a guy came in another door walking behind two fat, gray-haired German lady tourists. He walked as if he was with them, but from the way the women talked to each other and ignored him I don’t think they knew him. He stood back in a corner on the far side of the church away from the Muslim and his girlfriend. He kept taking photographs of things most tourists aren’t interested in. It made no sense to me, but a lot of things tourists do make no sense to me. Besides, I was angry with the girl who’d brought the Muslim into the church.”
“Tell me about the tourist guy,” said Andreas.
The man shut his eyes. “He wore one of those cheap straw fedoras all the tourist shops sell. His was black. A dark blue, long trench coat, and dark pants.”
“What did he look like?”
“Hard to say, he stayed in the shadows and stood bent over, like some old men are. He had a partially grey beard and big nose. Not a Spartan nose, more like one of those Jewish noses.”
A Chrysi Avyi bastard to the core. “Anything else?”
“Just the big camera hanging around his neck.”
“What made you think he could be a cop?”
“Cops act interested in things normal people don’t care about, trying to distract you from what’s really on their mind. That’s how this guy was treating everything but the Muslim and his girlfriend––and they were the most obvious things in the place. Even the fat German ladies stared at them.”
Andreas leaned back. As much as he hated to admit it, this bigot’s frame of reference may have picked up on something. Andreas had left Aleka and Ali alone in the church while he spoke with Yianni, and this skinhead had gone after Ali just as Andreas walked inside. Andreas never had the chance to check out the others in the church.
The Fates had worked against him. He thought to damn them, but decided better of it. He needed them back on his side. And soon.
Andreas’ phone rang. It was Yianni. He looked at the man. “Thank you for your help.”
“Fuck you.”
Andreas shook his head. The depth and source of such unbridled hatred always amazed him. It spewed forth unbound by reason or even common sense. This man faced prison, yet he couldn’t restrain himself from lashing out not just at the objects of his hatred, but at anyone keeping him from his targets.
Andreas stepped out of the van onto the ground, slid the door closed, locked it, and answered his phone.
Time to share the bad news.
l l l l l
What a stroke of luck. That skinhead chose to show how much he hated Muslims just when Aryan wondered how he might separate that cop from his wards. He couldn’t have planned it better. He was certain he could convince the two to come with him if he had the chance, but their cop chaperone had complicated things.
Come to think of it, that skinhead turned out to be a lucky break for the cop, too. Aryan had begun to improvise a modification to his story line that accounted for a bloody ending to the policeman’s life. He’d kill him when he caught the three of them alone and make it appear but yet one more violent act perpetrated by refugee and killer Ali—using the same nodachi sword he’d taken to Volandes and retrieved from its hiding place.
But, on balance, that idiot skinhead wandering into the middle of his script made it neater and all the simpler.
He’d merely strolled over to the two of them, looking every bit the foreign tourist he’d worked so hard to master, and said matter-of-factly, “Come with me and no one gets hurt. Refuse, and you both die here.”
He had to admit that opening his coat to flash the sword scabbarded across his chest in a Kevlar and Velcro tear-open sheath, added the appropriate element of dramatic realism necessary to make them comply so effortlessly.
Now, on to the next act.
l l l l l
Andreas hurried through an explanation to Yianni of what just happened. “I really screwed up. Those two kids might be dead because of me.”
“Go easy on yourself, Chief. It sounds like Aryan spotted you and was waiting for the right moment to make his move. If that skinhead hadn’t come after Ali and forced your hand, no telling what Aryan might have done to get them away from you.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better by suggesting he might have tried taking me out, it’s not working. I promised to protect them.”
“I hate to sound like the adult in this relationship, but I think we better forget about whether or not you fucked up, and figure out how to find them if they’re still alive. Not to mention protecting Dana, who’s due here in about thirty minutes.”
Andreas nodded at his phone. “I get it, no more moping.” He drew in and let out a deep breath. “So, have you finished checking out the monastery?”
“The place is bigger than it looks, and filled with all sorts of potential hiding places. I’m into triage, going after the most obvious places, the ones with sight lines on approaches from the parking lot and into open areas inside the monastery walls.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. It sounds like Aryan’s way too many steps ahead of us. Probably has Ali and Aleka far from here by now.” Andreas kicked the ground. “If he hasn’t already killed them.”
“Maybe he intends on using them as hostages, to trade in exchange for Dana calling off the press conference?”
“That’s what I’d call big time wishful thinking. I can’t see him letting them live. I think we’re better off focusing on the why if we want to figure out the where.”
“I don’t follow,” said Yianni.
“If Aryan could have taken them anywhere, the question is why does he want them in the first place?”
“To frame Ali for the Volandes murder.”
“Yes, that’s the most likely scenario for hoping they’re still alive,” said Andreas. “But why Aleka?”
“No idea, but I’m sure it’s tied into some plan hatched in his warped dramatic mind.”
“No doubt set to kick off once Dana gets here, and before her press conference.”
“Maybe we should stop her?” said Yianni.
“We can try. But once she learns about the kidnapping, I doubt she’ll run off. That would mean certain death for Ali and Aleka. We both know Aryan won’t let them go now that they’ve seen him. If Dana’s a no-show, he’ll kill them and disappear. This is a guy who cuts off heads as a message.”
“So when do we tell Dana about her friends?” said Yianni.
“We’ll cross that bridge when she gets here. Which, as you said, now is less than thirty minutes away, and there’s still a hell of a lot of this place to check out before then.”
&n
bsp; “The two of us can’t do it.”
“Grab every cop you can find and assign them an area to search.”
“I thought they’re supposed to be scanning the crowds for Aryan.”
Andreas swallowed. “I think I’ve demonstrated that he’s better at hiding than we are at finding. Let’s get them searching the buildings and grounds. It’s a better use of their time.”
“What are you going to do?”
Andreas sighed. “Try to figure out Aryan’s next move.” He paused. “After speaking to Aleka’s father.”
l l l l l
In Andreas’ call to the commander, he spent more time and carefully chosen words explaining what had happened to the man’s daughter than he had in telling Yianni.
The commander did not interrupt, and when Andreas finished, he said nothing immediately.
Andreas waited in silence.
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
Andreas swallowed. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you think you’ll find her while she still is?” The commander’s voice came across as flat and professional.
“We’re trying our best.”
Pause.
“Then don’t let me keep you on the phone. I’m coming out there to be with Aleka when you rescue her. Bye.”
Andreas stared at the phone. The man had the class and experience to realize it made no sense to lose his temper or vent at the only person who could help him find his child. He also likely realized that nothing he said to Andreas could make him feel any worse than he already did.
Chapter Twenty-four
An Aegean April Page 27
