Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4)

by Charles Brett

  "Very good. What will you want my people to do?"

  "The drum and the ribs of the dome are aluminium. We must search to find if there is any evidence of mercury on the aluminium and we must do it fast. Who knows how long it may have been in place? At least two days if the broken padlocks are related."

  She looked around. She didn't see what she wanted.

  "I need a hard hat and a big torch. Everyone else will need the same. Rubber gloves, like those for the kitchen, would be good, as would masks."

  "You will have a hard hat and torch in a minute."

  He made a call. Sure enough both arrived without delay.

  "I'm going up to the drum and ribs. You said your man found the pot at the north-west pier?"

  "No, the south-west and north-east ones."

  "You're right. Organise those guards for the pier entrances, call your people and let me know when they're here. Don't forget to talk to your grandfather. I hope he has an answer and I hope we don't need it."

  She sprinted off. He stared after her. Could it be that serious? He guessed it must be.

  Eleni reached the top of the south-west pier in record time. She halted, to catch her breath and think. This could be an elaborate hoax to divert effort and suspend progress. She would like to think it was. But the evidence was semi-hidden. To be a hoax, it would have been better to place the mercury out in the open. Or was this a case of who could mislead whom the most? Circles within circles?

  The search would have to be methodical. Every centimetre of exposed drum and each rib would need at least an initial and later a confirmatory examination. It wouldn't be quick. All the time, there was a possibility that one metal was happily guzzling the other.

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Stephane approached the apartment on the outskirts of Engomi in trepidation. Already Kjersti had proved herself a formidable, almost formidable, interrogator. For the second session, she insisted he meet her colleagues, two Cypriot journalists who would have a better feel for local issues. He rang the bell.

  Kjersti conducted him upstairs to an airy, but not new, salon. Two youths, to Stephane, greeted him and introduced themselves, he as Aris and she as Iphigenia – 'but call me Iphi'. She was pretty, if solid of build. She was welcoming, Aris less so, though the explanation might be due to the apartment being her place and not his.

  Armed with coffee, Kjersti brought them to order. The objective today was to flesh out what Stephane had recounted to her about the Russians and the sports betting. She opened a palm in his direction. From now, as Kjersti had jested, he was the pig heading to become bacon – committed.

  He began by describing his area of expertise: exchange systems for financial markets and finance firms. This had brought him employment in Paris, London and New York. He summarised his resignation from the latest bank on a point of principle and how his need for income enticed him to accept the contract in Limassol.

  On his arrival, he had been encouraged to believe he was working for a Cypriot company which specialised in spread betting on sporting events. When Iphi's puzzlement became acute, he gave the example of two people betting against each other that Real Madrid would beat Barcelona 2-1, or 3-2 or 2-0. The importance was that the bets could be multi-faceted. Say 1-0 after 30 minutes or 1-2 at half time. It wasn't just the final score.

  The purpose of the Cypriot company was to match would-be punters for their spread bets. This is where his financial exchange experience was relevant. The target market had been alleged to be the US and Far Eastern customers with their known attraction to sports betting.

  As time progressed, his suspicions had arisen that there was more going on. To start with: his boss. The man spoke some Greek, but sounded Russian. He'd said he'd spent lots of time in the Ukraine and he had a prodigious preference for vodka.

  Then there had been his increasing suspicions that he was contributing to a sophisticated money laundering scheme masquerading as legal gambling. The ingenuity lay in the ability of gamblers to place many small bets against themselves. In effect, money would arrive as rouble bets. Once wagers completed, the winnings would transfer into Cyprus banks, and one particular bank. Each completed bet appeared valid, legal and above suspicion.

  It was clever because it was difficult to disentangle any illegality from the activities of genuine bettors. Their honest activities concealed, in the volume of transactions, the money laundering.

  Iphi interrupted Stephane. She looked uncertain. "Why are you telling us this? Aren't you at risk?"

  Kjersti looked on with approval. Iphi was on the money. Good for her.

  Stephane faced Kjersti. She returned his look but said nothing. Disinterest conveyed he was free to hang himself.

  "She is why."

  Stephane couldn't resist pointing at and provoking Kjersti. It didn't work.

  "My principle risk is if someone identifies me as an active participant in a system I designed to conceal money laundering. That is not what I thought I was there to do. It is what I did. I really do not want a conviction. Besides, that was not all going on."

  "You mean there was more?"

  It was Aris this time. They'd all tuned in.

  Stephane explained how he'd become convinced there were additional illegalities, ones where he couldn't gain access to confirm or deny his suspicions. The scale and expense of the advertising to attract gamblers was the most obvious area for further corruption.

  "When I arrived back from a visit home, I was about to resign to save my sorry ass. Dmitriy prevented me by closing down the company and loading its systems aboard some massive great motor yacht. He paid me off that same day. The one good, or I thought it was good, deed he did was to recommend me to a firm of architects in Nicosia, Constantinou and Partner."

  "What?"

  Iphi and Aris echoed each other in their disbelief. Kjersti smiled. She'd heard most of this part earlier at 'Grind. Brew. Serve.'.

  "Why your surprise?"

  "Is there a connection between the Russians and the gambling and the architects?"

  "I don't think so. My work with the architects was for the junior partner, Eleni Constantinou. Her father doesn't much care for me. I concentrated on the computers and assisted with the brand-new cathedral and her special bell tower."

  Aris dug into his rucksack, which deputised as his briefcase. He brought out some photographs. He handed them to Stephane.

  "That's Dmitriy. He looks as if he is on the same motor yacht. Given the date at the bottom, is he back in Limassol?"

  "Do you know who the others are?"

  "The priest looks familiar. But then, they all do in their black cassocks. The third one I have never seen before. Who are they?"

  "The priest is the side-kick to the Archbishop."

  "You mean His Beatitude, Ioannis? I've met him, at the Constantinou and Partner offices."

  It was the turn of Iphi and Kjersti to show their surprise. It was Kjersti who spoke first.

  "You have? You didn't tell me."

  "You didn't give me a chance? Question after question. A Norwegian torturess!"

  "Why did you meet him?"

  Stephane launched into a long description, one which sounded horribly defensive to his own ears, about how he'd asked Eleni for protection from what he'd done in Limassol. She'd recommended her uncle, as the most powerful man on the island.

  "What was her price?"

  "Ah, Aris. That I could not tell you that in front of ladies." Stephane smirked.

  Aris was having no stonewalling. "Did you pay?"

  "Aris, you should know you cannot ask questions like that in polite company. It would be as if I asked if you were sleeping with Iphi... or Kjersti."

  Stephane added the last to needle the latter. He wasn't ready for the spluttering from Aris, the pink tinge on Iphi or the peal of laughter from Kjersti. What had he said? He rushed on.

  "While the Archbishop promised me protection, it seems he will not be alive to provide me with this for much longer, at least
according to Eleni. Without him, I have nothing..."

  Stephane's voice faded to nothing at the consternation presented on all three faces opposite.

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Eleni shone her torch on the drum and on the rib. Rib by rib she worked her way around. This was consuming far more time than she expected. She'd managed only three ribs so far. When would those security personnel arrive?

  Her phone trilled. It echoed around the enormous dome with an unpredictable acoustic effect. Though no maiden, and she reddened at that long-lost moment when she'd lost her virginity, her prayer was answered. Eight men were on their way up, with gloves, masks, torches and rags.

  She braced herself. She'd have to instruct them about what to look for and the mechanics of searching. It was as well she'd started. She now possessed an idea of what the search should involve.

  The clump of many feet climbing the south-west pier's steel staircase reached her. She met a motley crew. In the cramped space, she divided them into two groups of four. She laid out what each person should do. She sent out the first group, with the lead person going to the rib eight away anti-clockwise, the second to six away and so on. They would work anti-clockwise, repeating the work until they met the second group of four who would work clockwise.

  Her dispersion of the men was not optimal for speed. The advantage was thoroughness. It would mean they checked the ribs and drum at least three times. The Basilica, she, could afford no mistake. She wanted to be as sure as she could this was a hoax.

  She walked anti-clockwise to where the rib eight away was under examination. She assessed the security man as he pointed his torch at all spots where the aluminium was visible. He was lackadaisical. She interrupted to demonstrate. Stunned, she found it was Xerxes. She guessed he needed the extra money. She didn't waste time on niceties. She repeated what he must do.

  Then she undertook the same double-check for each other searcher. More than half required re-initiation. They were taking the search seriously, but not enough. She couldn't bear the tension.

  Rib by rib they worked around. Nothing.

  Her husband made the dreaded discovery. She raced round the dome. He pointed. Sure enough, there was evidence of aluminium eaten away. She took photos on her phone and instructed him to absorb as much of the mercury with the issued rag as he could see. He did as commanded.

  There was little mercury on the rag once he finished. Was this good or bad?

  After two hours the search identified eight affected ribs with their connection points to the drum. All clustered around the northeast pier, which raised new suspicions. The quantity of mercury was always tiny.

  Eleni photographed every instance and swore with an abandon inappropriate to the setting. They'd 'wiped' each instance clean. The mercury beads annoyed. Too often they rolled away. The effort to recapture was substantial, but at least when they rolled they rolled away from the aluminium.

  Satisfied that she'd nullified the immediate threat, she let the searchers go. To her surprise, her still-husband volunteered to stay. For once in his miserable personal trainer life, he offered sympathy, support and a willingness to assist. She wished she could use him as a sounding board. There was no point. He had the brains of an amiable parakeet, a well-mannered one to be sure, but of little use in teasing out complex implications or determining what should happen next. His forte was sexy self-admiration and she'd fallen for it.

  They descended to exit the Basilica. At the site-office, her security supervisor advised her two TV crews waited for her, or someone, to explain the threat. She peeped out at the vans beyond the gate by which they must leave. She cursed afresh. She could stay here or face the music, and she still had to scrub up for the dinner with her father and 'the' uncle.

  More implications competed for consideration. She turned to Xerxes.

  "Would you mind being in front of the cameras?"

  "On TV? With you? Not at all, if they notice my top."

  She examined him. An ad for his new gym adorned his chest; it proclaimed its website address. She couldn't begrudge him some publicity. It was a public 'item' they were in the process of divorcing. Was there an outside chance that indirection via gossip might dilute the threat? It was worth a go.

  "Of course, you can. It would only be fair."

  From the moment the site gate opened for them, the two cameras and two interviewers plus a couple of print journalists flocked around them. Xerxes projected his chest to the best of his vain ability.

  "What's the problem with the Basilica?"

  "We hear there's sabotage. Is that true?"

  "Are you going to have to rebuild?"

  "Getting back together with your husband?"

  Eleni addressed the last first. It was the opening she sought. For five minutes she and Xerxes traded variations on how they were good friends, no more.

  The TV crews let this continue for a while. Then one forced responses about the Basilica. She agreed there was evidence of wilful damage but it was minor. In her professional opinion, the mercury had not had enough time to do serious damage.

  "First, there was too little mercury and it was spread thin. Second, the use of the CLT, the Cross Laminate Timber, hid large portions of the aluminium. In addition, the ribs rose well out of reach. No, I do not regard there to be a long-term threat. No, no rebuilding is necessary."

  Eleni hoped she was correct. She must commission a chemical analysis. These hacks didn't need to know that.

  "Will you involve the police? Will you press charges?"

  "I think this was a one-off, the work of an individual. Not anything organised. Charges? I don't know. If it was someone demented, as seems probable, why would the Church want to? Charity and forgiveness are the hallmarks of the Archbishop, and of the Church of Cyprus."

  She almost puked on her own words. Yet they should douse further interest in the fate of Nea Hagia Sophia. The questions switched back to Xerxes, who planted a chaste kiss on her at the request of one journalist with a camera. Everyone, including Xerxes, evaporated after that. She could prepare for the dinner she now doubly dreaded.

  Lakatamia (Cyprus)

  Evdokia and Alexa stared at the television. The news just broadcast left them bereft of words. It was the worst they could imagine. A reporter interviewing the monstrosity's architect and she confirming unidentified sabotage and its failure. While it consoled to believe their mercury involvement remained undiscovered, was someone else trying to fell the hated new Basilica? That stretched belief too far.

  At last, Evdokia broke their shattered silence.

  "I told you, after we left, we should have kept the pots and brushes. Nobody would have been the wiser."

  Her voice crackled with disappointment. So much effort for so little. And Georghios lost as well. Shame overwhelmed Evdokia. It was Alexa who spoke next.

  "It was my suggestion. I was too clever. I blended two objectives and ruined both."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We should have called the authorities, as an anonymous source, and declared the mercury. That would have sent all into a spin. How do you prove a negative, that the mercury isn't eating away? Because they would not be able to find mercury would not mean it wasn't there. Only disassembly would prove the point. I'm sorry Evdokia. It was my fault."

  "It was as much mine. I should have questioned your idea. I didn't."

  "We don't know for sure they have all the mercury. The TV report wasn't specific. Some might still be consuming the aluminium."

  "It might. It's not likely. I think I must proceed to Plan Delta or Epsilon, or perhaps it is Omega."

  "Which is?"

  "To find a sympathetic reporter or TV station and tell him my story, in the hope this encourages someone to burrow into the past and shovel the shit onto 'His Abominable Beatitude'.

  "Are you sure? It's drastic."

  "No, I'm not at all sure. It will be the death knell of my marriage. Georghios could never forgive me. Decent soul that he is, undermining
his Church would be beyond forgiveness."

  Evdokia faltered. She drew herself together.

  "Yes, I must do it. The monstrosity is too monstrous and His Beatitude too abominable. Both deserve to fall. Now I must find the right person to talk with."

  "I may be able to help."

  "How?"

  "I went to a class to improve my English last fall. I need to be as good as Thanos for when he entertains clients. There was a reporter amongst us, a nice girl who had some fire about her. We've kept in touch and met for the occasional drink. She's been here once. Thanos approved of her."

  "Would you trust her?"

  "As a reporter, I'm not sure. As a friend, yes. She has a quality about her that we both like."

  "If you say so... Okay. Call her. She's probably too busy."

  Alexa detached her phone from its charger. She selected a name and pressed the call button.

  "Iphi? Is that you? It's Alexa."

  She spent the next minutes outlining without offering details or names, what Iphi might find if she paid an urgent visit. She disconnected.

  "That was too easy. I'm suspicious."

  "What? Why?"

  "Iphi is coming here, now. She didn't pose the questions I thought she would. I expected her to distrust what I told her. Not a bit of it. It was almost as if she was primed, which can't be."

  "Could she know about us and the mercury?"

  "No way. Only we know that and there should be nothing to tie us to it. It's why we used gloves. Well, to avoid mercury poisoning as well. A happy coincidence."

  "When will she be here?"

  "She said half an hour. It could be sooner. She drives a motorbike like one of the Furies. I accepted a ride once. Never again."

  "Have you a beer or something stronger?"

  "Yes. But I don't recommend it. You must keep all your wits about you. Befuddlement will not help. Water? Juice?"

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  "I think we should take a break. I want to analyse with Aris and Iphi."