An Aegean April

by Jeffrey Siger

  Andreas placed his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to say.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything. This is my problem, not yours.” He removed his hand. Dana shut her eyes.

  “What are Aleka’s and Ali’s chances if I don’t go through with it?”

  Yianni looked at Andreas.

  “Zero,” said Andreas.

  Dana opened her eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

  She paused. “Even refugees in a leaking boat have better odds than that. I’ve spent much of my life wrapped in NGO good intentions trying to better the odds for refugees facing death for reasons not of their making. Never, though, have I actually been in one of those boats. Given my friends’ situation, I guess it’s finally time for me to jump into one.”

  She turned to Andreas, “Just promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll nail the bastard no matter what happens to me.”

  Andreas nodded firmly. “Promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  At the conclusion of the service, the Bishop’s aide announced that a press conference would be held in the courtyard north of the west entrance to the church. Andreas and Yianni waited inside with Dana until the church emptied out. They then took the south door and, rather than heading west directly into the courtyard, turned east and made their way around the church to its north side.

  A long line stood gathered there waiting to use the toilets by the northeast end of the monastery wall. Andreas pushed through the line, taking care to keep Dana between him and Yianni.

  An old woman dressed in black screeched, “Wait your turn.”

  Andreas smiled. “Sorry, yiayia, but we’re not in need.” He pointed west. “We’re headed over there.”

  “Can you believe that with all the people here there’s only one working toilet?” she grumbled.

  Andreas shook his head. “Cutbacks. They’re everywhere these days.”

  A few paces on, Andreas led them up a set of stone steps onto a patio potted in greenery, and then up a few more steps onto the open first-floor porch of a two-floor structure running the length of the north monastery wall, housing what Andreas assumed had been the monks’ cells when it functioned as a monastery. They’d made it about halfway to where the conference would take place when a blond female reporter saw them and climbed onto the patio and up on the porch.

  Andreas held up his hands, “Please, stay back.”

  The reporter shouted a question at Dana.

  “Ms. McLaughlin will answer all your questions, but please stay back so she can get to where she’ll be able to do so.”

  The reporter tried pushing her way past Andreas to Dana, still shouting her question. By now other reporters had followed her onto the patio.

  Andreas took the reporter by her upper arms, lifted her off the porch floor, and gently deposited her back on the patio. “As I said, everyone stay away. Please.”

  The reporter yelled at Andreas, “That’s police brutality.”

  Andreas smiled. “Not yet.”

  Yianni quickly ushered Dana behind Andreas and up a set of stairs to the second-floor balcony.

  Andreas waited until the reporters had retreated from the patio back into the courtyard before heading up the stairs.

  The commander stood waiting for him at the top. “I hope you don’t mind my telling Dana where to stand.”

  She stood to the right of what appeared to be a large window in a polished wood frame raised off the floor on stones. It towered over her, and intersected the balcony railing at a forty-five-degree angle running away to her left.

  “What is that?” said Andreas.

  “My idea,” said the commander.

  “It’s a window,” said Yianni.

  “And it was a bitch of a time hauling it up here. The sucker’s heavy.”

  “But it’s just a window?” said Yianni. “How’s that going to protect her?”

  “I’m feeling ill,” said Dana.

  Andreas’ mind quickly retraced in his mind their steps from the church to here. No one had touched her. “What do you mean by ill?”

  “I’m scared. I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “It’s normal to feel that way,” said Andreas.

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “But we’re ready to start the press conference.”

  “I really need a bathroom.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Andreas looked at the commander. “Is there a toilet nearby?”

  He pointed east. “They’re down there, at the end of this wall.”

  Andreas gestured no. “Only one’s working and there’s a long line of very unhappy people between us and the first available toilet.”

  “What do you mean they’re not working?” said the commander. “I used one fifteen minutes ago and men and women were going in and out without any problem or complaint.”

  Andreas felt the hair rising on the back of his neck. He stared down the monastery wall into a window for the toilet area, and lunged for Dana. “He’s in the toilets.”

  He heard the shot hit the window, heard Dana scream, and felt her fall just as he reached her. He heard a second shot as he covered her body with his own. He looked up and saw Yianni and the commander taking aim back toward the toilets from behind the unshattered window. He looked at Dana. No blood. She must have fainted. He heard the screams and shouts of people fleeing in panic from the courtyard below.

  Andreas jumped up and pulled his gun. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He stopped firing after the second round,” said Yianni. “We didn’t return fire. Too risky with all the people around the toilets.”

  “Be careful,” said Andreas. “He could be waiting for us to come out from behind whatever the hell this glass is.”

  “It’s what protects the full-size icon of the Archangel at the entrance to the monastery,” said the commander. “It’s bulletproof.”

  “Thank God for that,” said Yianni.

  “But we can’t just hide here,” said the commander.” We’ve got to go after him and catch him alive. That’s the only chance my daughter has.”

  Andreas looked up. He thought of his own children. “I’ll go first. I lost your daughter. It’s my risk to take to get her back. Just keep an eye on the toilet window and fire the shit out of it if you see any movement.”

  Andreas crossed himself and crouched at the edge of the window, ready to dart for the cover of a doorway ten steps toward the toilets, when he heard someone shout, “ARYAN,” and a loud thud above him on the roof.

  Andreas looked up. “What the hell was that?”

  “Sounded like something landed on the roof,” said Yianni.

  The sound of footsteps running across the roof tiles in the direction of the toilets quickly followed.

  “Maybe it’s the cop you put in the bell tower,” said the commander.

  “Maybe,” said Andreas, “but how would he know Aryan’s name?”

  People in the courtyard started chanting, “Taxiarchis, Taxiarchis.”

  “Now what’s happening?” said Yianni.

  “Sounds like somebody’s calling out to the Archangel Michael,” said the commander.

  “I’m out of here,” said Andreas. “Yianni, stay with Dana until we know what’s happening.”

  Andreas crept around the window to the stairs, hurried down and out into the courtyard, followed by the commander.

  Up on the roof, at the east end of the north monastery wall, two men stood battling each another. One, masked in black Arab dress, held a sword. The other wore an ancient Greek battle garment and metal shoes in a style reminiscent of Archangel Michael in full avenging fury, but instead of a sword, he held only a flute, and fought maske
d.

  “What’s going on?” said the commander.

  “No idea,” said Andreas, “but for sure, one of the two of them up there’s our bad guy, which means I’m rooting for the other one. Whoever the hell he might be.”

  l l l l l

  Aryan had become far too cocky for his own good. The madman’s decision to go with a rifle significantly increased his chance of capture in the case of a strong, immediate police response. Poison remained the way to do it, even though the police undoubtedly expected it. But if Aryan insisted on using a rifle, why in the world wait until his target stood before the media to take the shot? Obviously, the fool had fallen in love with his own dramatic psycho fantasies. That made him easy to anticipate.

  The man in the bell tower smiled. At least to another psycho.

  The man had overpowered the cop in the tower within minutes of learning the location of the press conference. From the tower, he could monitor Aryan’s potential escape routes. The simplest escape involved blending in with those gathered by the toilets, moving away from the commotion into the parking lot, and driving off in his van for the goat herder’s shed and the two he’d kidnapped.

  But there could be alternate routes, and when he saw the figure coming out of the toilet dressed in Middle Eastern terrorist garb, he knew it wouldn’t be a simple inconspicuous dash to the van for Aryan. The psychopath wanted to be seen.

  Down in the courtyard, cameras filmed the chaos as reporters scurried about talking into their microphones. This had to be Aryan’s moment. The man took off his long coat, revealing an ancient Greek battle garment beneath, and pulled on a pair of metal shoes, both of which he’d purchased in a local tourist shop catering to the Taxiarchis faithful. Dressed in the image of Taxiarchis, he stood waiting for Aryan to make his move.

  That would be his cue to enter Aryan’s staged drama, but masked, thus playing his part anonymously, leaving those who believed in the Archangel to decide for themselves what they’d witnessed. He saw his costume as the perfect distraction for the gathered crowd of Taxiarchis’ faithful at this site of the Archangel’s ancient miraculous performance. There was more glory to be found by the pious in believing they’d been blessed to witness a new miracle by their beloved Taxiarchis, than in looking to unmask an impersonator. Or so he hoped.

  Up until now the man held a decided advantage over Aryan: Aryan didn’t expect him to be here. That’s why the man’s flute-playing cover had worked so well, allowing him to sit in one place and watch unnoticed the comings and goings of Aryan and the other players in the cast. It’s also why he’d been able to follow Aryan’s van so easily. But now he would have to make his entrance and bring down the curtain on Aryan’s performance.

  Another hope.

  The man stared out across the rooftops, the flute he’d brought with him from home tucked into his waistband. By the east side of the monastery’s north wall, he saw a hand reach up onto the roof. From there Aryan could easily make it up the slightly peaked roof, down the other side, and over the monastery wall out to the parking lot, offering all below but a brief glimpse of him in his terrorist getup.

  The Greek-garbed man yelled, “ARYAN,” dropped down onto the roof, and headed straight for his target.

  Showtime.

  l l l l l

  Aryan froze. Who’d called his name? And who was that, charging straight for him along the ridge of the roof? A cop? The assailant wore a costume and had no visible weapon.

  He must be mad.

  Having given the crowd below their brief glimpse, he had to get off the roof now if he wanted to escape the police. He ran crouching toward the monastery wall.

  “Stop, coward Alban Kennel!” shouted the man.

  Aryan stopped and spun around. “You’re who betrayed me to the police!”

  “You’re too predictable, Alban.” The man stopped three paces from Aryan. “When I heard the media announce this morning that your name would be revealed at a press conference, I knew you’d try to stop it. And, being the sick fuck that you are, you’d game yourself into going after everyone you could think of who might be able to identify you. I can’t risk having a danger like you running around loose. You left me no choice but to…intervene.”

  Aryan pulled a kilij sword from the scabbard across his blouse. “You’ve saved me a trip to the mainland.”

  “Ah, so you recognize me.” The man gestured to the crowd below. “Though perhaps our audience will believe their Taxiarchis savior has returned.”

  Voices from below yelled for Aryan to drop his weapon.

  “I guess the police want you to get this over with,” said the man.

  “Happy to oblige.”

  Aryan leaped forward, sweeping his blade at the man’s neck, but the man ducked, pulling the flute out of his waistband as he did, and driving it hard against Aryan’s right elbow, eliciting a wince from Aryan and a stumble on the roof tiles.

  “You’ve always been overconfident of your blade skills,” said the man.

  “We both know they’re far better than yours.” Aryan circled to his left and up onto the ridge.

  “Knowledge is power.”

  The shouts for Aryan to drop his weapon grew louder.

  “Sounds like you better hurry up, before they start shooting at you.”

  “They won’t dare, because if I die, they’ll never find the missing girl and Muslim.”

  “You mean the ones in that goat-herder’s hut?”

  Anger burned in Aryan’s chest. He lunged forward with his blade.

  The man parried and deflected a follow-up slash on the body of the flute. “Bet you didn’t think a wooden flute could handle your steel.”

  Aryan slashed out in tight arcs but the man countered each move with his flute.

  “That’s because it’s not what it appears.” The man backed up. “It has a steel bore.”

  Aryan charged forward, swinging the sword relentlessly.

  A chant of “Taxiarchis, Taxiarchis” rose up from the courtyard.

  “I think I have more fans than you do.” The masked man backed up toward the base of the bell tower.

  Aryan pressed closer, his sword pointed level.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said the man. “Sooner or later the flute’s going to give out, or I’m going to give out. I have a better plan for you. Surrender to the police and I’ll let you live.”

  His face burning with rage, Aryan slashed at his opponent’s neck, driving him farther back.

  The instant the man’s back touched the bell tower wall, Aryan stopped his slashing and lunged for the man’s heart, but the man parried the maneuver, swung his body away from the bell tower, and skipped east along the roofline. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “That’s right,” said Aryan. “Run.”

  The man stopped with his back to Aryan, fidgeting with what looked like a carved bird mounted near the mouthpiece of his flute.

  “I see your weapon holds up no better than your courage,” said Aryan striding toward the man.

  The man turned and tilted his head. “Once again your arrogance gets the better of you. You love a weaker opponent. Like a flute player armed with nothing but his flute.”

  “You chose your weapon, now die with it.” Aryan charged.

  The man pointed the flute at Aryan’s throat. “Like I said, it’s not what it appears.” He pulled back on the bird.

  The sound of a twelve-gauge, double-aught buckshot shell reverberated off the monastery walls. Smoke from the barrel of the flute hung in the air as Aryan stumbled backward, fell to the roof, and rolled off into the courtyard.

  Every eye in the courtyard fixed on the body on the ground. When they looked back up to the roof, the warrior Greek had disappeared.

  Shouts of “miracle” echoed across the courtyard from the wild-eyed crowd rejoicing in this latest mira
cle of Archangel Michael. Andreas struggled to press through to the nearest exit, but by the time he’d made it outside the monastery walls, the mortal form of Alban Kennel’s slayer had vanished.

  l l l l l

  The commander stood in the courtyard, staring down at the nearly decapitated body of his daughter’s kidnapper.

  Yianni stood off to the side near Dana, his eyes fixed on the father’s face. He saw the first tear and turned away.

  Andreas came running up to them. “The other one’s gone.” He looked at the body, then up at the commander. Tears now rolled freely down the older cop’s cheeks. Andreas looked down.

  “Any idea of the identity of the one that got away?” said the commander.

  “No,” said Andreas softly.

  “How about where my daughter might be?”

  Andreas looked up. “Since they’re not in the monastery, they must be somewhere nearby. To have snatched them when he did and been back in time to set all this up, they couldn’t be more than twenty minutes away.”

  “That covers a lot of ground on this island. And if he had an accomplice….”

  “Let’s get the search going,” said Andreas. “He’s dead. He can’t harm them now.”

  “Unless he’s already done it,” said the commander.

  “I don’t want this to sound wrong, but we need to stay positive.”

  The commander raised an eyebrow as he turned to face Andreas.

  A loud ping went off.

  “What’s that?” said Andreas.

  “A text message,” said Yianni reaching for his phone.

  Andreas turned his attention back to the commander. “What’s the fastest way to get word out to all the cops in the area?”