Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4)

by Charles Brett

  "May I ask? What are you going to do about her?"

  Davide faltered.

  Did he want to discuss this here and now with Inma? It felt wrong, as if this visit to Stasousa was an artificial, pre-planned fishing expedition. But that couldn't be. First, it was unlike Inma. Second, Inma's hire of the car was a last minute suggestion.

  He dithered.

  "To be candid, I've run out of patience and emotional energy regarding Ana. My uncle did us no favours. When Garibey de Williams sequestered us together I really enjoyed her company. We were on the verge of... I don't know."

  "So?"

  "Tio Toño's fear of our consanguinity was the ultimate dampener. We never recovered after that. She thinks I ran away. Probably I did. But what else could I do?"

  "And no one could predict that Señor Delafuente, the lawyer, would manage to prove not only were you not blood-related but that she was an heiress?"

  "Exactly."

  "How do you feel?"

  "Empty. Like not seeing her again. I understand why she did not come to Madrid for the memorial. But that, for me, killed off whatever remained. If she'd joined you and Kjersti after the mass, it might have been different. Since then, I feel like Sisyphus, pushing my rock of past hope up to the top of the hill, only to see it roll down again. I decided, a couple of days back, this is pointless. She is in the past."

  "Are you certain?"

  "As much as I can be. Why?"

  "You sound full of hurt?"

  "No. I am over the worst. That occurred in Ydra when I wondered and hoped and despaired – all at the same time."

  They sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes. It was Davide who restarted.

  "Besides..."

  Davide's voice trailed off. Inma listened expectantly.

  "Besides... The olives, the Sierra de Mariola. I'm an urban, technology creature. She was too when we met. Now she's all horticulture and trees. I've tried to imagine living there. The situation and scenery are beautiful. I like trees and olives, but not that much."

  "You think you would go mad there?"

  "I fear it."

  "Me too. I'll let you in on a secret. When I have stayed, and I haven't said this to Ana, the isolation creeps over me. It's so far from civilisation. Yuste feels so much closer to Madrid and real life than Ana's pair of fincas and thousands of olive trees. I suspect Kjersti has the same response underneath. That's why she runs so much when there. It's her escape mechanism."

  "It seems we all have that reaction in common, not that I ever had the opportunity to stay and find out."

  Both Davide and Inma fell silent again. After a couple of minutes, Inma checked her phone. It was past time to head to the airport. She stood.

  "What are you doing when we reach Madrid?"

  "A good question. I've nothing planned. I must consider my future, as I explained. I'll go and fester in tio Toño's piso, be stuffed with Ángela's wonderful cooking and get fat until something comes up."

  Davide walked beside her to the car. They fastened their seat belts. Before Inma drove off, she turned towards him.

  "Would you like to revisit Yuste? This time without policemen. Or Caterina."

  Davide studied her.

  He hadn't anticipated this.

  He looked her in the eye.

  "Are you sure?"

  "No."

  "You mean after we land in Madrid?"

  "Why not? Yes. Lili can do without me a little longer. We, I, don't want you festering, or fattening."

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Tassos felt chipper. He'd overcome the disaster on the Kristina. What Dmitriy didn't know, and which suited Tassos he never know, was the pre-existing alliance he had with Nikos. In one sense, his instinctive horror at the notion of Nikos occupying a role in SinCard management wasn't simulated. But it made sense. Better still, it bound Nikos closer to, and more dependent on, himself than Dmitriy.

  He greeted Nikos in the new SinCard offices. He'd established these as soon as he'd been assured of the franchise. Since then, he'd recruited a small staff who had the announcement preparations in hand.

  "Welcome, Nikos. Come and meet our people. First, however, let me show you your office."

  He moved through the open plan area. The office for Nikos had been, until this morning, his own. Nikos didn't need to know this now. If he learnt later, it would be a plus point in Tassos's own favour. Better to flatter and assure him of the indispensability of their relationship.

  At some point, though, he would have to disabuse Nikos about Dmitriy's quaint allegations concerning his treatment of women. After all, he paid for his pleasures. His 'friends' knew his preferences before they visited his bedroom. That was more than enough for Nikos.

  "How is your master, the Archbishop?"

  "On his last legs. The inflammatory spasm up the Kampanarió shocked him beyond credibility. He wasn't well before. Now I wonder if he will be alive when I finish here."

  "That bad?"

  "That bad."

  "I hope he lasts until the SinCard announcement. It would be best coming from him in person."

  "Inma's marketing plan took account of any possible infirmity, at my request. Should Ioannis die, it will take weeks before a new election can commence. Of course, if like last time, that could be open-ended, like a Roman Rite Conclave. We have a brief window of opportunity."

  "You reassure me."

  "What about the SinCards? Have they arrived?"

  "One million from Germany."

  "That's more than one for every Cypriot."

  "Yes. What's your problem? The number came from your Inma. She recommended three per potential buyer. Her argument was simple. Lost cards, the value of which accrue to the Church, are inevitable."

  "They don't have value now, do they?"

  "No. Parishioners will be given the cards when they attend services. Part of the marketing pitch involves the priests praising their importance along with encouraging all to deposit at least fifty Euros or more on their cards."

  "Doing the math, if a quarter of a million buy, that would mean over ten million Euros at the start. His Beatitude, whether from on high or still on this earthly plane, will celebrate."

  "What can I do for you now?"

  "Nothing. I came to escape and to ask you to look after this, if you will?"

  Nikos produced the gold ingot which Dmitriy had abstracted from Tassos only to donate it to Nikos. His action puzzled Tassos.

  "I'm a simple priest, not a financier. Where do I keep such a bauble? I trust you to hold on to it for me, in case I have need of it."

  Tassos purred. Nikos was where he wished, within claw reach.

  "I didn't like how Dmitriy treated you. That was an unpleasant scene."

  "Dmitriy is like that."

  "What about his reference to broken women?"

  "Let me be honest with you, Nikos. I like what some call the 'rough'. I now have enough money to pay for it. There will be no trouble. My escorts know what to expect. Their medical expenses, if any, I pick up. It's part of each deal."

  "Just another commercial transaction, like any other, if perhaps a touch sordid, in order to satisfy normal human urges."

  "That phrasing is a delight. I must remember it."

  "Enough said. If you don't have anything for me to do now, I will go back to His Beatitude. He waits for explanations from his brother and from Eleni about the gouts of flame. I have no idea when they will appear."

  Nikos and Tassos said their goodbyes. Nikos turned the corner as Tassos unlocked the walk-in safe which had attracted him to these offices. Inside were boxes and boxes of SinCards, all emblazoned with 'Κάρτα Εξομολόγησης', or Confession Card. There was no mention of sin. Nikos had recommended this, on the counsel of his Opus Dei lady. Tassos reflected on the peculiar world Nikos inhabited.

  He relocked the safe and retrieved his Mercedes. In an hour, he would be back in his penthouse. He contemplated consulting his special phone numbers. N
o. His desires must reach a certain peak.

  He drove out of Nicosia and took the turning towards Limassol. All was well. Dmitriy was offshore, steaming in circles. Nikos was on his side, not that of Dmitriy. The SinCards were primed for launch. He could relax and anticipate the next jump up in his income.

  The car's hands-free phone bleeped. He pressed the answer button: Nikos.

  "Have you heard the radio?"

  "No. I never listen."

  "They're evacuating the Old Town around Nea Hagia Sophia. They fear a bomb though nobody can explain where it would have come from. I didn't think the Turks dropped bombs on the Old Town in 1974."

  "What does your master say?"

  "Nothing. He can't. He's barely conscious. The doctors are here. The bishops are circling, like crows awaiting carrion. Not that he'd make much of a meal. What a combination of events."

  "Keep strong, my friend. Keep me in the loop. If you need support, just call. We are allies and friends as well as business associates."

  "Thank you, Tassos. I will."

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Stephane was at loose ends. The row with Eleni didn't bother him. He knew what she was about and he was no longer interested. His mastery of the 100 Tonne Challenge meant he must not exercise for a few days. It was agony doing it and worse afterwards. His legs ached. His arms ached. His abdominals ached. Eleni did not understand his struggle to reach her office.

  In a fit of resolution, he phoned Inma's hotel. The switchboard redirected him to Reception where a man informed him that the Condesa de Arenas de Ávila had left. He asked for Davide Shape. There was a pause. He heard background mutter.

  "The Condesa and Mr Shape departed together. My colleague heard them discussing flights to Athens and then Madrid."

  Stephane accepted inevitability. Nothing would happen with Inma. To his surprise, this mixed irritation and frustration. There was something about her which he didn't understand. Clearly, Davide did. Were they truly business colleagues? He could not imagine Davide succeeding where he hadn't. To be fair, he'd not picked up any vibe between them.

  Kjersti? Could he face it? Could he face several empty days before his own flight from this island? The obvious solution was Eleni. No way! He picked up his phone again.

  "Kjersti? Are you busy?"

  "Yes. Finishing my story. About the SinCards. Not with your delightful mistress? Oh, Aris wants to talk to you, about confirming some detail or other for his story. Could you come to Iphi's again?"

  "When?"

  "As soon as you like. Now, would be good."

  Stephane exhaled, in relief. He would have company, and away from Eleni.

  "Give me an hour?"

  "Sooner if possible."

  "I'll try."

  He took a shower to ease his still aching limbs. It made a fraction of difference. Then he summoned a taxi.

  They did not greet his arrival at Iphi's apartment with enthusiasm. His hosts were like funeral directors preparing for a mournful occasion. Misery leaked from each.

  "What's wrong?"

  Nobody said a word. Then Kjersti began.

  "Both Iphi's and Aris's editors won't run their stories. They argue the facts are too incredible about the sports betting and money laundering and too dangerous about the past behaviour of the Archbishop."

  She pulled a wry smile.

  "According to Iphi's source he is known, to those who dislike him, as 'His Abominable Beatitude'. She adopted that for her article. Its irreverence became the quasi-justification for rejection. Not respectful enough."

  "That's stupid. Didn't you say it was about abusive behaviour? How can anyone be reverential about that?"

  "We are all in agreement. But it changes nothing."

  "What next?"

  Iphi intervened. Listless in front of the TV station she had hoped to adorn one day, she watched the formal pronouncement of the death of Nikolaos Constantinou, Ioannis, Archbishop of Nova Justiniana and All Cyprus.

  "He's dead."

  "Who's dead?"

  "His Abominable Beatitude. My story dies with him."

  Iphi whimpered. So much effort for nothing.

  In contrast, the news energised Kjersti. "Dead men can't sue. Let's turn everything upside down."

  Aris and Iphi regarded her as if she was mad. Stephane couldn't judge.

  "Wake up guys. The solution is obvious. It's staring us in the face."

  Her enthusiasm brought no response. Stephane was the spectator.

  "We are going to file the stories on the international wires. We will byline each of the three articles with all three of our names.

  "Iphi: you must rejig yours to incorporate His Abominable Beatitude's death. Make it semi-biographical, but not an obituary. Report it as the death of another clergyman who ignored his flock."

  "Aris, I think your one is fine as it is, though some tightening of your English version could be good. I must re-arrange the SinCard one."

  "What difference do you think this will make?" Aris demanded.

  Iphi nodded her agreement.

  "My name, for a start. Someone will pick one of them up. It will snowball. I'll also prime my agent with copies of all three and recommend he start hunting possible takers. We are going to do this back-to-front. The overseas publications, printed and online, will be minor to start. They will accelerate and the Cyprus press will find they are behind the curve. Your editors are going to scream with exasperation when they realise what they will have lost. "

  A thought occurred to Kjersti, followed by a second. Iphi, Aris and Stephane, now caught up in her enthusiasm, waited on what came next.

  "You received emails from your editors expressing their disinterest? Good. Their refusals are locked down. Send them to me and I will forward to my agent. Don't worry about them being in Greek. With these, we will place their refusals on independent record."

  Her focus moved from Aris and Iphi to Stephane. He did not understand what he could offer.

  "What do you know about social media, Stephane?"

  "Little enough."

  "I've no idea what that means but I want you to identify ways we can multiply whatever is published. Okay. Let's get moving. No time like the present."

  Iphi, Aris and Stephane stared at the whirlwind. It wasn't for resisting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nicosia/Limassol (Cyprus)

  Stephane glanced around. The mood in Iphi's apartment remained flat, sombre and depressed. All four had worked like dogs yesterday, the journalists to improve their pieces and Stephane to send them out. By early evening, they were all starving. Iphi dispatched Aris to 'go buy some pizza'.

  His reluctance was clear. The reason was not. Was it his diet, about which he grumbled much, or Iphi's peremptory command?

  Shortly before midnight, Kjersti called it a day. Aris drove Stephane home, all the while recommending he 'never travel on the back of Iphi's motorbike' if she was the driver. There was an edge to him. Stephane couldn't work out why. He'd tuned Aris out.

  Next day, they'd reassembled at eight, which was stupid. It was hours too early for Western Europe and still night in North America. Despite his observation to this effect, despondency settled over the room. Nothing they'd written had been picked up. Their depression magnified with each passing hour.

  Stephane didn't know whether he should make himself scarce. Iphi and Aris carped at each other. Kjersti was restless. Eventually, she succumbed. She went out for a run.

  Stephane was envious. He was desperate for exercise. He contemplated the pool before recalling it was shut for several days, for cleaning. He forced himself to stay still.

  With a jerk, which drew both Stephane's and Aris's attention, Iphi pushed herself out of her chair. She hesitated.

  "Come on Aris. This is taking too long. We require action."

  Aris's demeanour was unenthusiastic. He slumped.

  Iphi grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. She didn't stop there but hauled him down the corridor. A
door slammed. Stephane heard voices. Then all went quiet.

  By himself, and envying Aris, he contemplated the walk home. His mini-apartment was not a place to endure misery. He made a coffee and reopened his laptop.

  To his surprise something was happening. The SinCard story was making an impression.

  Five kilometres away, Kjersti regretted her impulse to leave the apartment. While a run was good for her sanity, she feared for Iphi and Aris. They were a natural pair who couldn't couple. It was the only way she could think of it. When Iphi was in the ascendant, Aris was timid. When Aris bossed, she pushed back. The chemistry never combusted.

  She shrugged as she ran, a peculiar sensation. She wasn't an agony aunt and she would not play go-between to arrange their lives.

  As for Stephane, she'd little cared for him until she saw how he'd worked yesterday. Although he knew less than she about social media, he possessed one of those strange minds which absorbed when involved with technology. He'd been a godsend while they adjusted their pieces for, they hoped, international syndication. His idea to target the Cypriot diaspora was inspired.

  A park loomed. It was scruffy, not the immaculate, laundered ones of summer Oslo. Seeing a bench, she began a set of methodical stretches. These calmed her and mitigated her despair. She'd thought at least one of the stories would attract immediate attention. All was blank. Her distress was greatest for Iphi, who so wanted to succeed.

  She reached into her belt-pack for her phone. Not a cheep in the hour she must have run. Insignificance added to her torment.

  She pressed the phone's on-button. Nothing. It was off, as in without power. She held the on button until the phone booted. Seconds later the screen lit.

  She entered her password. More seconds passed as the wretched device verified its network connection.

  Then her phone pinged and pinged. There were message alerts, email alerts, voicemail alerts and more.

  Before she could sort through and review this panoply, the phone rang. It was her agent.