Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4)

by Charles Brett

  "When are you going to relate what happened at the Archbishop's meeting?"

  Georghios emitted a half-strangled croak. He didn't want to open this can of worms. He knew she would think he'd been too meek, that he should have argued the parish's point with force. She never accepted that minor parish priests carried less weight with their superiors than gnats on a bishop's nose.

  "You're going to have to tell me. You know that?"

  He nodded. He'd hoped it could postpone the conversation for longer. He attempted a diversion.

  "Could we eat?"

  "On condition you tell all after."

  He dipped his head in acquiescence. She was tougher than he. He had spent years of subjugation when training to be a priest. She possessed their acumen. This, when allowed free rein, she applied to gut both his more feeble-minded arguments along with any promoted by those who challenged her, or him.

  From a large pot Evdokia ladled out well-filled plates of Louvi, his favourite dish. He espied the black-eyed beans and village-grown zucchini along with its accompanying small plate on which Evdokia had sliced one large onion into perfect half-moons along with a fresh whole lemon. He would enjoy this before she dragged the truth out of him.

  They ate in companionable silence. A facet of her he relished was she didn't have to talk. Her mother was the opposite. She gabbled, never for a moment letting others speak.

  No doubt Evdokia had overreacted. Peaceable silence was her choice. Father Georghios was grateful.

  They finished. He picked up her plate and his and took them to the sink. How he coveted a dishwasher like his mother-in-law's. They had barely afforded the second-hand washing machine a parishioner had offered.

  He expressed his reluctance to return to the table. It was obvious from his posture.

  Evdokia smiled encouragement. He melted.

  "There's not much to say."

  "You mean, you didn't say much."

  "That too. He wasn't sympathetic."

  "No? How so?"

  "Let me try to capture his words... Something like 'The old Palace no longer exists. What should I do? Stop and leave a hole? Or pay to fill it in? The Church's credibility is at stake'."

  "After which you meekly caved in?"

  "What else could I do?"

  Evdokia hesitated. She stretched out her hand and placed it over her husband's. She'd married him for her own convenience, but had grown to like and love this decent man whose heart was genuine in its focus on the well-being of his parishioners. And on her, she admitted to herself.

  "Probably nothing," she replied. "As per normal, the old brute sounds as if he was more interested in his self-importance than you. The Church's credibility is at stake' is his way of referring to his reputation. Typical." She snorted.

  Father Georghios's relief showed. She didn't aim her ire at him.

  "I wasn't trying to get at you, love. But this does mean we'll need to think about Plans B or C. You do realise that?"

  With a nod, Father Georghios acknowledged this truth. He quavered inside at what might happen next. He sympathised with her extreme distaste for the institution and organisation of the Cyprus Church. His modest experience had watched disgraces flower, mostly of a venal nature.

  She was far more antagonistic about such flaws. She bitterly resented the expense of Archbishop's Ioannis's ambitions. She wouldn't let go of the notion that much social assistance was possible if the amount of money was released rather than spent on his newest monstrosity. Her purpose was to deny the Archbishop's ambitions. Ioannis's pretensions be damned.

  This wasn't the whole story. Her shame had never disappeared and she'd never confessed to Georghios how her illegal abortion was why she couldn't conceive. Resentment of her plight afflicted her at times of tension. Like now.

  The trouble was some of their anti-monstrosity plans involved disagreeable consequences, which could become illegalities. While Georghios was determined they should try to minimise if not avoid the latter, she didn't agree. She wanted action. Soon.

  "Shall we gather the decision group? Given how your profligate Archbishop refused to consider the parish's request, I think it's time to take the next steps."

  Father Georghios shuddered afresh. He wasn't happy. "Could we limit the next step to Plan B only?"

  That, at least, was peaceful. It did not involve violence or causing physical damage. Just peaceful demonstrations.

  Evdokia was adamant in her refusal.

  "We must activate both in case B is insufficient. We've no choice. Will you start proceedings, or shall I?"

  Madrid (Spain)

  Inma waited for Davide. She'd postponed their meeting for as long as reasonable after the memorial. The gap should be sufficient, yet not long enough for him to descend into despondency. From what Kjersti'd told her, their run in the Casa de Campo had succeeded.

  But who knew with Kjersti? She was menace wrapped up in free energy. Inma still didn't like her. She now appreciated, however, what Ana had always asserted. Kjersti possessed a complete absence of malice unless wronged. In truth, she was more and more impressed by Kjersti's understanding and sympathy, even if this revealed itself in the oddest of ways. Thank goodness she'd returned to Ana's place. Being with Kjersti was like dancing on nails.

  "Are you okay?" Lili, Inma's business partner, stuck her head around the door. "I'm off to another meeting about blockchains and whether we can provide cover."

  "I'm fine. I hope Davide is. I'd like you to meet. Perhaps if you're back in time? You could describe all?"

  "I'll try, for you. But I'd better warn you. This client is smarmy. He'll try to drag out the meeting so he's 'obliged' to take me to lunch. If I can escape, I will. I want to. If it wasn't for the prospect of new business, I'd be happy never to see the slimeball again."

  Inma kept her face neutral. Lili attracted a certain type of man. Lili knew it, but did not exploit it unless a deal was in the pipeline. It almost entertained Inma to watch businessmen fawn over her – and business women, though in a less egregious way.

  Inside her head, Inma applied mental cuffs. Inappropriate thoughts about Lili must remain in the past. They were unthinkable now.

  Lili sailed out, dressed in bright colours. In the distance, Inma heard their office front door open. There was an unexpected exchange of words. Moments after, Lili ushered Davide into Inma's office, announced they'd met and she would try to make it back before lunch.

  "She's tiny, a slip. You didn't warn me. I almost trampled over her" Were Davide's first words.

  "What Lili misses in stature or figure, she makes up for with raw sales energy, commitment and a wicked understanding of what motivates a prospective deal partner."

  "Like Kjersti, but different."

  "That analogy's new. But you're right. Neither ceases movement; they're always on some quest. In Lili's case, it is for the next deal. For Kjersti, I guess it's the next story. Anyhow, how was your run with Kjersti?"

  "You probably won't believe me. A giggle."

  "That's not what I expected!"

  "Yet true. She took charge and over a couple of hours she cleaned me out. I thought I'd kept fit in Greece. I was wrong, by her standards. I daren't contemplate what she says is required to enter her nirvana of the 'flow'."

  Inma raised an eyebrow. Davide continued.

  "According to her, it's a mental state you reach when the body is fit and physically humming. The mind attains a different plane. Some unpronounceable Hungarian shrink – she did say his name, but I've forgotten – invented the term. For some odd reason, I can remember the basics of her description. Something like 'Flow is the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energised focus, full involvement and enjoyment.' Or something like that."

  "Intriguing. I've never heard her discuss that. I can sort of relate. In my most vigorous exercise sessions, my brain sometimes decouples from its day-to-day bounds."

  Inma reflected. Though not stimu
lated by conventional exercise, her insight in her chapel had been similar. She'd had to stand outside herself to spot what she missed. Since then, she'd shared her revelation with Ana. She had done so with Davide without knowing why, given how personal it was for her. He'd been positive in his reaction and congratulatory, if no believer himself.

  Seeing a deeper appreciation wouldn't come today, she changed the subject.

  "Are you still available for consultation?"

  "Yes and no. Yes, if you don't mind it being remote, possibly from Cyprus. No, if you need me to be in Madrid."

  "Leaving already? Why Cyprus?"

  "Possibly another HolyPhone."

  "I don't want to know. So... what about Ana?

  "Ana? I've no idea. Tio Toño's drawn out obsequies have sucked me dry. You and Kjersti explained why Ana didn't come. I've no problem with her reluctance to have anything to do with tio Toño. But... I guess I was hoping, given I'd turned up at her finca, she might've contacted me in the last week. There's been nothing. Not a whisper."

  "Might she be thinking the same of you?"

  "Possibly. Yes... D'you know anything?"

  "No. Better ask Kjersti. She's doing time in Muro de Alcoi. Though Ana and I speak, it's not been about you."

  That wasn't accurate, mulled Inma. They had, once. But her own need, to reveal to someone her chapel revelation, had dominated the one long discussion with Ana when Kjersti wasn't present.

  Her thoughts progressed. Another instance of Kjersti, if this time inadvertently, acting as an obstacle? Inma had enjoyed, to her surprise, her interview with Kjersti in the car to Madrid. Her take on the olive fly plague was different to that of the olive oil growers. Inma knew. Better still, she'd been able to needle Kjersti about Kjersti's own involvement. That had been pure pleasure, if naughty: a late revenge.

  "What are you smiling about?"

  "Just recalling one conversation with Kjersti, possibly the only instance where I managed to wind her up without her annoying me."

  "Congratulations. My impression is she's a tough nut."

  "I agree and, if I'm honest, I don't relish Ana having Kjersti as a house guest for who knows how long to write her book. I guess we'll have to hope Kjersti's Cypriot friend recovers fast so they can resume that ridiculous Trek."

  "Back to the consulting. What is it you think I can help with?"

  Inma explained how Lili envisaged an opportunity for writing liability re-insurance for a specific commercial blockchain product. Lili's analysis hinted this might become a broader market in the long term.

  In the ensuing conversation, she recounted to Davide how she'd been an original Bitcoin miner, until she left Opus. This had forced her to delve into the underlying blockchain mechanism. For Davide, this explained why she knew about the technology.

  What she and Lili needed, according to Inma, was an impartial assessment of the business opportunity. Was it a one-off? Or was it a broader business with prospects stretching into the distant future?

  Lili's return found Inma and Davide deep in detail. Lili understood what Inma sought. Independent validation of the opportunity. Davide seemed to have started work.

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Subdued and without enthusiasm, Vasilios slunk into his own kitchen. His conversation with his brother, about the lack of money, depressed him. He didn't know what to do.

  His instinct was to smother his brother's dream. He doubted this was possible. His brother and daughter, in combination, presented an unholy, irresistible alliance, one which tolerated no resistance to their common aim.

  How ironic it all was.

  Two years before, Nikolaos was in decline, his health leaching away, his energy declining towards what all presumed to be an imminent and permanent hibernation. In contrast, Vasilios, had possessed vim and stamina. He relished every new project his firm won.

  Today, the circumstances had inverted. His own life force weakened by the month whereas each new challenge buoyed Nikolaos. It was back-to-front. The elder brother gained to the dismay of the younger.

  To learn, that morning, the Church didn't have the resources to complete his brother's dream was devastating. Confronted with such a situation, Vasilios knew he would out seek every possible legal way to extricate himself at the least cost. Face saving would be the lesser priority.

  Not Nikolaos.

  When Vasilia had asked Nikolaos for the next round of payments, Nikolaos had come clean, like an innocent. There was enough for the next few months. But not through to completion. The planned funds dwindled by the week.

  Vasilios re-imagined the shock on Vasilia's face. Such a threat was inconceivable. To her, the Church possessed unlimited resources. She might concede Nikolaos was over-optimistic in his financial estimates. That wasn't enough to dampen, never mind terminate, her dream.

  Despite the dawning horror, Nikolaos had sought to wipe away that dismay. He assured her he possessed a plan. He'd convinced Vasilia his initiative would eliminate the shortfall, and with funds to spare.

  She'd lapped it up. She wanted it to be true.

  Vasilios, on the other hand, doubted his brother. From their youth, Nikolaos possessed one singular talent – pulling rabbits from invisible hats. It was a trick which had oiled his progression up through the Church hierarchy.

  The trouble was, Vasilios knew that many of those rabbits were as illusory as the hats Nikolaos hoped to spring them from. With such rabbits, Nikolaos bought time. Was this another instance?

  He cursed. If Vasilia wasn't his daughter, he would walk away. Now would be a good time. He could plead age and the desire for an overdue retirement.

  Except this was the one option denied to him. Retirement would make Vasilia senior partner in their firm. He didn't trust her to protect the business or their employees. She lacked empathy and business sense. These weren't in her nature.

  Pleasures and satiation came first. If these ignored the needs of others, too bad.

  Vasilios thought of Xerxes, her third husband. Poor bastard. He'd deluded himself to think he would hold the whip hand. On their wedding day, he discerned his mistake. She was, and would always be, the centre of her universe.

  It was why Xerxes hadn't lasted. He couldn't accept such control, which was no surprise. Vasilios couldn't either.

  Vasilia rode roughshod over everything and everybody. She obtained all she sought, except the one prize Vasilios held – that senior partnership.

  He grunted. A secondary thought occurred to him.

  He saw the warning signs of the huntress in preparation. His long dead wife should have named Vasilia 'Artemis', after the goddess of hunting.

  Her next prey was the competent Stephane. From all appearances, he was straight and decent. It was his misfortune he'd captivated her. More intriguing was he hadn't, to Vasilios's uncertain knowledge, succumbed.

  Yet annoyance, frustration and arousal inflamed Vasilia. Still Stephane ignored her. This drove her crazy.

  Although, now he thought back, had a change occurred after Vasilia's and Stephane's recent dinner?

  What he did know was she boiled whenever she left her desires unfulfilled. Dissatisfaction infuriated her. When, two days earlier, Stephane had disappeared on a brief break, it had been Vasilios who copped the price. In his own home.

  She'd assured her father Stephane was within Cyprus. That was all she knew. The island was big enough to hide a solitary Frenchman for a week and she hated Stephane for his neglect of her.

  A door banged.

  In stomped Vasilia. Ill humour blackened her visage.

  "Is there a problem?"

  "Yes and no. I still can't locate Stephane. He must accompany us when Uncle Nikolaos reviews the three-dimensional model created with the 3D printer. We need him."

  "Is he really necessary?"

  "No. Not for the model. If my Uncle Archbishop wants us to play with any of the details, he is. Plus there's a separate reason."

  "Which is?"

  "He said he needs hel
p from someone who has influence on the island."

  "How so? Can we assist?"

  Eleni deliberated. Then she recounted Stephane's experience in Limassol and his fear of a continuing threat.

  "Russians? I'm not sure Nikolaos has sway there."

  "It's less them than seeking an arrangement with the local or international police. Stephane wants to come clean, but only to an organisation which can provide him immunity in return for whistle-blowing. He's categorical. He doesn't want to live the next five or ten years in fear of an arrest or subpoena leading to a jail sentence."

  "I can understand that. What've you promised?"

  "Only an introduction to the most influential person on the island."

  "To receive what in return?"

  "Don't be coarse, father. I don't work like that."

  Vasilios struggled to remain impassive. She deceived herself as much as she attempted to deceive him. Vasilios might not control her, but he could see straight through his daughter. She wanted Stephane in Xerxes's place in her bed, before Xerxes was out the door.

  "Condemning me again before I'm guilty? Why do you always do it?"

  He would have liked to answer it was of her own making. He couldn't. He hadn't been able to since her mother died.

  "Don't ruin Stephane. You've wrecked enough lives."

  Vasilia snorted in disgust.

  "I've no choice. Until Stephane reappears I'm incapable. I can't move forward." Outrage infused her voice.

  Vasilios retreated at its naked hostility. Dinner would be a trial.

  Chapter Six

  Strovolos (Cyprus)

  Kjersti's dismay at the speed of Costas's recovery almost unhinged her. She couldn't believe it. Eight weeks before, she was certain he wouldn't be able to cover any decent distance for at least three or four months. His left side was a bloody morass of scrapes and bruises when she'd left for Spain.