by Leo Kanaris
‘Good,’ said George distractedly. He was still thinking about ‘Andonis’.
‘I remember Anna telling me he was not a man to provoke,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Andonis.’
‘True of both, I would say.’
‘Can we get a search order for either of them?’
‘That will be difficult.’
‘Why?’
Sotiriou’s phone rang. ‘Excuse me.’
As he answered the call, the Colonel’s manner altered. His eyes narrowed, his brow contracted, his mouth compressed into a thin downward curve. The confident set of his features was suddenly gone. He must be talking to someone above him in the hierarchy, and in a nasty mood. He spoke very little.
Eventually he said, ‘Very well, sir, I will do as you ask,’ before laying down his phone.
It took him a few moments to compose himself.
‘Trouble?’ said George.
‘Trouble,’ said the Colonel. ‘I left your phone with the secretary of the Chief of Police.’
‘So?’
‘He found out.’
‘Did she tell him?’
‘No. I asked her not to mention it.’
‘Maybe she did anyway.’
‘No. I trust her.’
‘How then?’
Sotiriou sighed. ‘I left it there as a kind of trap.’
‘To catch the people who are tailing me?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Only now you’ve caught yourself in it?’
‘You could say that…’ Sotiriou placed the palms of his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes.
‘Well?’ said George. ‘What’s happened?’
Sotiriou looked at him heavily, without hope.
‘They’ve put me in an impossible position.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’ve been ordered to arrest you.’
‘Arrest me? What the hell for?’
‘Harassment. More serious crimes will no doubt be added before long.’
‘Where has this come from?’
‘The Chief of Police.’
‘Himself?’
‘He had a visit from the men in the Mercedes. They’re Special Security, by the way, not gangsters.’
‘Special Security? On whose orders?’
‘We don’t know. But it’s likely to be at a high level, and connected with your friend Andonis. Whoever he is.’
‘Anna wasn’t bluffing then.’
‘It seems not.’
‘But how has this suddenly led to an order for my arrest?’
‘The Mercedes men wanted to see you. The Chief of Police said he knew nothing about you and they proceeded to humiliate him by locating your phone in the secretary’s desk.’
‘OK. Unpleasant but effective.’
‘Doing their job, that’s all. The Chief of Police forced his secretary to say who’d left the phone there, and then he called me. My official duty now is, as I say, to arrest you.’
‘But I’m acting on your orders.’
‘That’s right. If they find out about that, I’m finished too.’
‘What do you mean you’re finished too?’
Sotiriou did not answer. George knew what he meant.
‘So what the hell do we do now?’
‘In sixty seconds from now you get out of this car and start walking. Go home, collect what you need, and disappear.’
‘Just like that? Walk out of my own life?’
‘Not forever. A week or two will be a good start. Give me time to work on this and get the order lifted.’
‘Then what happens to the investigation? All this work?’
‘We’ll come back to it.’
‘When?’
‘When we have more evidence.’
‘They’ll be destroying it as we speak!’
‘They can’t destroy everything. Something will remain. Some trace. It always does.’
George felt a surge of frustration and anger.
‘The longer we leave it, Colonel, the less will remain! And now they know we’re on to them.’
Sotiriou placed a hand on George’s shoulder. ‘We can’t discuss this now,’ he said. ‘You must go.’
‘Where?’ cried George. ‘I can’t just snap my fingers and create a new life!’
‘Go anywhere you like. Go abroad. Just don’t tell me your plans.’
‘That’ll be easy! I don’t have any.’
‘Fine,’ said Sotiriou lightly. He offered his hand. ‘Stay in touch.’
‘Can’t do that,’ said George. ‘You took my phone.’
‘Buy a new one. And let’s speak through your friend.’
‘Haris Pezas?’
Sotiriou repeated the name. ‘Pezas,’ he murmured. ‘Any relation of your last assistant?’
‘That was Hector. His brother.’
‘Is he any good?’ asked the Colonel mildly.
‘What?’ exclaimed George. ‘You’ve just turned my life inside out and you start a conversation about my assistant? Are you serious?’
‘Relax,’ said Sotiriou calmly. ‘I presume you trust him?’
‘Yes of course I trust him!’
‘Excellent… Off you go now. I’ll give you an hour.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then your home will be put under surveillance.’
‘You realise this is an abuse of my rights, as well as an absurd waste of police time?’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said the Colonel. ‘It’s a necessary evil.’ He offered his hand again. ‘Goodbye.’
George walked fast through the streets of Kolonaki. He had a lot to organise, starting with his own thoughts, which raged through his head like a torrent, chaotic, anxious, turbulent and vengeful. He must pick up some essential things from home – laptop, camera, passport, bank cards, a change of clothes. He must buy a phone, without which he couldn’t function. And he must find somewhere to stay.
This was the big one. He could go to Zoe’s house on Andros, or try to remain in Athens. Andros would be safer but too far from the action. He had no intention of being idle, knowing he had to step up the pressure on ‘Andonis’, keep him guessing, keep him on the defensive. In Andros the temptation would be to switch off. It would also expose Zoe to danger.
Athens, then. But where? Not a hotel, because his name would go to the police within twenty-four hours. It would have to be a friend, somewhere outside his neighbourhood. Kifissia came to mind. Or Piraeus. Or Maroussi, where Petros Karagounis had a house. Perhaps Maroussi was best.
Approaching Aristotle Street he grew tense and watchful. Colonel Sotiriou had promised him an hour, but time is notoriously elastic in Greece. An hour could mean the whole of the afternoon, or just fifteen minutes. The Chief of Police might be impatient for results. He might send men over at once, pre-empting Sotiriou’s orders.
The street looked clear, however, and he slipped into the Café Agamemnon unseen.
‘Dimitri,’ he said, ‘I need to talk urgently.’
‘Take a seat. I’m making coffee for those ladies.’
George glanced over at a pair of well-heeled Kolonaki housewives. One was talking in a loud, confident voice about her difficulties with hair colouring. When the other protested that her hair was like a twenty-year-old girl’s, she rejected the suggestion vigorously. ‘No, agapi mou, just look at the parting! That’s the weak point. It’s supposed to be dark chestnut. Do you see dark chestnut? No. It’s red. Bordeaux in fact. Bordeaux! How many twenty-year-olds do you know with Bordeaux roots? I’m sick of Bordeaux! I told Mihalis to use anything he likes, Kerastase, Clairol, never mind the cost. And he’s tried them all! Every one! He might as well have used water!’
George would normally have been irritated by her self-obsessed jabbering. As a glimpse of ordinary life, however, a life suddenly beyond his reach, it seemed strangely touching. If women could sit in a café all afternoon talking passionately about hair dyes, things could not be so bad.
A minute later Dimitri was with him. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
George explained the situation. ‘I’ll have to make myself scarce,’ he said.
‘Where will you go?’
‘I don’t know yet. The police are bound to question you. Don’t tell them anything. But don’t lie to them either.’
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
‘You didn’t buy me a phone by any chance?’
‘I didn’t have time. Let me give you your money back.’
‘Hold on to it,’ said George. ‘I may have a favour to ask you.’
‘Whatever you want.’
George thanked him and left the café. He climbed the stairs to his apartment.
It took him ten minutes to collect his necessary belongings into a shoulder bag. He was about to leave when he noticed the message light blinking on the telephone.
There were two messages. One from Zoe, asking him to call, the other from Evantheia at the flower shop, saying she had a bouquet for his wife’s name day.
This was odd. Zoe’s name day was in the spring. Several months away. This must be a mistake. Or something worse… He was puzzling over this when the telephone rang. ‘Private number’ said the caller display. He let it ring until the answering machine clicked on. He heard his own voice saying, ‘Please leave a message.’ Then that smooth, confident, menacing voice, saying, ‘Mr Zafiris, I warned you.’
On impulse he snatched up the phone. ‘Andonis?’ he barked.
‘Who’s that?’ The voice had a note of alarm.
‘This is Zafiris. You’re the one who’s gone too far now. Your secret is out.’
‘Stay where you are, Mr Zafiris. If you leave your apartment you are in mortal danger.’
‘Thanks for the warning,’ said George. ‘But I’m telling you, you’ve lost the game.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘We’ll see,’ said George. Without waiting for a reply he unplugged the phone and let himself out of the door.
33 Pursuit
The word ‘bullshit’ rang in his ears as he descended the staircase. Why had Andonis told him to stay in his flat? Threatened to kill him if he left? There could only be one reason. Because he wanted him in there. Trapped. A fish in a barrel.
Bullshit to you, Andonis.
There was no one in the street, although he was sure the black Mercedes must already be on its way. He walked quickly up to Evantheia’s and asked about the bouquet.
Evantheia took a package from a shelf behind her and placed it on the counter.
‘Strange bouquet,’ said George suspiciously.
‘It’s from your friend Mr Pezas,’ she said. ‘He told me to say it was flowers.’
George smiled. ‘Thank you, Evantheia. Forgive me, I’m in a rush right now, but I’ll see you very soon.’
He hurried out of the shop, peered anxiously up the street at the oncoming traffic. Seeing a taxi, he flagged it down.
‘Where are we going?’ asked the driver, a large, lazy-looking man smoking an electronic cigarette.
‘Maroussi.’
‘Address?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘I can type it into my GPS.’
‘Just drive please!’
The driver seemed reluctant, or possibly slow-witted. George glanced over his shoulder, every black car looking like a Mercedes.
‘Go!’ said George angrily. ‘I’m in a hurry.’
The taxi driver took a last puff of his e-cigarette and placed it on the passenger seat. He sighed and put the engine into gear. At last the car moved off. As it did so George, turning his neck uncomfortably, saw a black car stop. This one was a Mercedes. With tinted windows. One of the doors opened. The short bald man in the leather jacket got out, raised the dark glasses from his eyes, and searched both ways along the street. Catching sight of the taxi, he tensed like a wildcat.
‘Shit,’ muttered George. He cursed as he saw the Mercedes pull out and follow them down the street.
Now he was being tailed again and Maroussi seemed like a bad idea. He did not want to lead his pursuers there. But what was the alternative? Kifissia, Piraeus – wherever he went they would go too. Maybe even to Andros? As he contemplated what they might have in store for him he knotted up with anxiety. What could he do? Where could he go? He sat still for a minute, his hands gripping his bag, forcing himself to calm down. ‘Concentrate on your breathing’ – a phrase remembered from a yoga class, many years ago. It helped at times like this. Breathe in slowly, counting to eight, and let it slowly out. Once again. In and out. Four or five times more. Concentrate. Eliminate other thoughts. He became aware of his body, the shape it made in the car seat, the slump in his shoulders. His head, buzzing with possibilities. His hands, one on his left knee, the other clutching the package from Pezas…
Suddenly it occurred to him: time to open it. A few more breaths, this was doing him good… Inside the package was a new telephone. A note stuck to it said, ‘Charged. Ready to use. Pin number 0951.’
George turned on the phone and keyed in the pass code. A text message was waiting. ‘Hope you can use this. Arriving today 1530 Eleftherios Venizelos. Meet there. Haris.’
George checked the time. It was 3.15 pm.
‘Change of plan,’ he said to the driver. ‘Take me to the airport.’
Twenty-five minutes later, speeding along the Attiki Odos, the Mercedes still visible fifty metres behind, George tried calling Haris.
‘Just landed,’ said Haris. ‘Where are you?’
George explained the situation.
‘How many in the Mercedes?’ asked Haris.
‘Two, I think.’
‘Right. Give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back.’
George settled back in his seat and watched the countryside flash past. This conversation made him feel better. He was no longer alone.
Three minutes later his phone rang. George answered, and Haris said, ‘Tell the driver to enter the short-term car park on the Arrivals level. He won’t like it, because you have to pay to get out, but that’s going to work in our favour. Tell him you’ll add the parking fee to the fare. Is that clear?’
‘Completely.’
‘Leave the taxi there, with the packaging on the back seat, pay him what you owe so far and ask him to wait. Say you’ll be back in twenty minutes.’
‘Will I?’
‘No.’
‘Why do I leave the packaging?’
‘So it looks as if you’re coming back.’
‘That won’t fool him.’
‘He won’t care. He’ll have his money. Cross the road to the airport, go up to the Departures level and make some enquiries about a ticket to anywhere you like, New York, Dubai, Frankfurt, whatever. Say you’ll think about it. Do some shopping, have a coffee, use up twenty minutes. It can be more but no less than that. Then head for the taxi queue and take a cab to Markopoulo. There’s a butcher’s shop there, Margaritis, 24 Trikoupi Street. Margaritis is a friend. He’s expecting you. Say you’d like to see me. He’ll take you out through the back door of the shop to his house. We’ll meet there.’
‘I’ll be followed.’
‘Of course. One of the agents will follow you into the airport, on foot. The other will be stuck in the car park. After twenty minutes he’ll have to pay to get out. That should delay him enough to keep him off our backs.’
‘What about the one on foot?’
‘I’ll deal with him.’
‘Be careful.’
‘Of course.’
‘He’s Special Security, not some thug.’
‘It’s OK. I know what to do. Just play your part. And stay calm.’
‘There’s a warrant out for my arrest. Won’t the airport police spot me?’
‘That’s my only worry. But there are hundreds of people wandering around. Just stick to the crowded places and don’t draw attention to yourself.’
‘Haris, this is scaring me. Is it going to w
ork?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘What if the Merc doesn’t follow us into the car park?’
‘Call me if that happens.’
‘Or the little bald guy talks to the police?’
‘He won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Special Security don’t like the police.’
‘He might still do it.’
‘I’ll be watching him. If he goes near the cops I’ll let you know, and you head straight for the taxis.’
George paused a moment to consider the plan. It was not foolproof. Plenty could go wrong. But it was better than anything he had in mind.
‘All right,’ said George. ‘Let’s go for it. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.’
As they came to the airport, George told the driver to head for Arrivals. Seeing the sign for the short-term car park he said, ‘In there.’ The taxi driver pulled over in a lane reserved for buses. ‘I’m not going in there,’ he said.
‘I’ll pay for the ticket.’
‘No.’
‘I’ll pay you ten euros extra.’
‘I’m not allowed in there.’
Bugger, thought George.
‘I need you to wait for me.’
‘I’ll wait here.’
‘You’re not allowed here. It’s for buses.’
‘No problem.’
‘OK,’ said George. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Thirty-five euros.’
George paid.
‘Do you want me to wait?’
‘No.’
He opened the door and got out.
‘Your bag?’ said the driver.
‘It’s rubbish.’
‘Take it with you.’
George reached in for the bag. As he straightened up he glanced to his left and saw the Mercedes parking. Also in the bus lane. The plan was not going well.
He dialled Haris again.
‘Total mess so far,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling very unsafe.’
Haris asked what was wrong. When George explained, he said, ‘All right, stay cool. Just walk into the airport and carry on as I said.’
‘Airline desk, shopping…?’
‘The twenty minutes is irrelevant now. Just make the airline enquiry and order a coffee. I need to be able to see you and the bald guy. We’ll make it work.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘Don’t worry.’
