Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4)

by Charles Brett

  "I know. I'm not sorry."

  "You're not even a little sorry? Don't you realise 'His Abominable Beatitude' could contract HIV and then AIDS via an innocent path, for one a blood transfusion."

  "Except he didn't."

  "How do you know?"

  "There is one more part of my story to tell. The priest who raped me?"

  "Yes?"

  "On his death-bed he sent a message asking me to visit. I did."

  "Why?"

  "He was consumed with guilt. He pleaded for my forgiveness. I was reluctant, for it was not long after the doctors confirmed my inability to have children. I resented him and what he'd made me do."

  "Who could blame you?"

  "Then he explained why he was dying. It was of AIDS, donated by his Abbott."

  "You mean Constantinou?"

  "I asked if he was sure. The reason I believed him, believe him to this day, was his guilt about my rape was the avenue by which Constantinou blackmailed him to become his catamite. My rapist priest never had a transfusion. He swore he'd kept his vows of chastity after he raped me. There was only one possible source of his infection. "

  "Why would you believe him after what he'd done to you?"

  "I just did. It was painful. For one natural if wrong sin of a moment, Constantinou obliged him to suffer innumerable acts of sodomy and to die for those. Can you imagine?"

  "What on earth did you decide?"

  "I forgave him on the spot. I blessed him, though I did, and do not, believe in his scrofulous god. I kissed him farewell, and left. He died a couple of days later. There was no public funeral."

  Alexa caught herself. She regarded Evdokia. What must this experience have been like? On top of everything else? She considered, and spoke.

  "You did right. I forgive you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When such heinous behaviour remains hidden, it is a moral disaster for us all. Who cares about my qualifications if this brings the truth to light?"

  Revelling in the attention, though not knowing all Evdokia had related to Alexa, Iphi graduated to illustrating Ioannis's greed. Step by step, she introduced new threads, including Aris and Kjersti as fellow journalists. She pointed to them at the back of the audience.

  While the camera caught confused expressions on Kjersti's and Aris's faces, Iphi opened the can of worms called SinCards and its franchise association with a Russian-funded local bank involved with sports betting and money laundering.

  With devastating innocence she enquired.

  "Will that do?"

  The host thrashed like an out of water salmon. The Metropolitan rushed to his rescue.

  "These are all fanciful lies, Ms Hadjikyriakos. You are a disgrace and do a disservice to your profession. You malign an innocent, decent and holy man. You have no evidence."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course, I am. You're an impostor, an inventor of infantile fake truths to taunt the sanctity of our Church. I don't know why I bother to respond."

  He made to rise.

  The host waved him back as Iphi reached for her envelope. She extracted Aris's photo of the Archbishop with Nikos and Tassos and then the one of the Kristina with the gold ingot passing from Dmitriy to Tassos to Nikos.

  The host accepted them and showed them to the camera. He stretched out his hand so the Metropolitan could review them. Alexopoulos glanced at them and tried to retort. Iphi beat him.

  "In the first, do you deny they show the Archbishop or that is his assistant, Father Spanos?"

  The Metropolitan understood he faced a losing proposition if he argued this sort of detail in a public forum. He switched tack.

  "What are these SinCards? I've never heard of them. They're another myth. You can't produce one. They don't exist except in your fertile, damaged imagination."

  With his head in his hands, Tassos couldn't bear to watch. He'd seen the photos shown on camera. The first he could argue away. The second, with the gold, was impossible. He would be hung, drawn and quartered. The question was: by whom? The Church? Dmitriy? Nikos?

  As if matters could not become worse, the focus returned to the SinCards, his prime hope for the income boost which would assure a comfortable retirement. It was bad enough to have the SinCards become public before their formal proclamation and distribution. Why did that fool Alexopoulos dig the hole deeper?

  A new fear riveted him. It was too late to cancel the SinCard launch. It must continue. Unless this wretched journalist possessed one. If she produced one, like she did the photos, the SinCard franchise would suffocate before birth.

  His phone bleeped. Dmitriy. That was a call he would ignore. When its strident chirping ceased he refocused on his screen. This was the first occasion he wished its detail wasn't so sharp.

  The host turned to Iphi. He felt puzzled and threatened, but he was curious too.

  "I agree with His Excellence. I've never heard of these SinCards. What are they?"

  Iphi grinned. Kjersti groaned. It was the wrong expression for the occasion. Iphi looked too pleased with herself. If she didn't watch out she would trip and endure a squalid end to what was, so far, a virtuoso maiden appearance.

  Aris was mesmerised. 'His' Iphi was dealing out the dirt and he was ecstatic. Bemusement best described Stephane. He was out of his league, and happy to be.

  Iphi delivered a concise description of the SinCards which Nikos wouldn't have recognised but Inma might. She couched it in terms of the least well off about to be morally blackmailed to pay over hard earned income to the Church for confession and forgiveness.

  Her description touched a raw nerve in the audience. They shouted derision at the Metropolitan.

  True to his clerical garb, he ignored their rising chants. A producer shushed the audience as Metropolitan Alexopoulos interrupted.

  "Ms Hadjikyriakos, you invent again. You abuse people with your conceit and lies. You fashion a fabulous story. But it is a dishonest concoction. You are a consummate liar. I could not condone the exploitative indecency these SinCards represent. No responsible Metropolitan could."

  Perceiving an opportunity to make a larger point, he rolled on. Naked ambition won.

  "Let me be crystal clear. If elected Archbishop, I would condemn SinCards, were they to exist, which I don't believe they do. They are, would be, an aberration before God, a plague upon the poor, and an offence to Christ's faithful."

  The audience rewarded his righteous condemnation with furious applause. He smiled beatifically, with the satisfaction of points well made. When quiet resumed the host turned back to Iphi.

  "Do you have anything to add? That seems straightforward. Perhaps it was a mistake of Ioannis?"

  Iphi ignored him.

  She faced the Metropolitan.

  She started, then halted.

  A stillness enfolded the studio.

  In the quietest of voices, which rang out in that calm, she spoke.

  "You are correct. You did object to the SinCards when Ioannis first announced them to you and your fellow Metropolitans, the legal electors of the next Archbishop."

  Metropolitan Alexopoulos preened.

  Iphi paused again.

  Milking the effect was fun.

  The audience hung on her every word.

  The producer in the control room was no different. He was as in thrall but he had the wit to instruct one camera to frame Iphi and a second the Metropolitan.

  Both were on screen, side-by-side. The Metropolitan and Iphi were oblivious to all but each other.

  "Could you explain, 'Your Excellence', how you and your colleagues dropped your resistance to the SinCards once Ioannis bought you off with one percent of the takings, to be paid into your personal bank accounts?"

  A spasm flashed across the Metropolitan's face. How could she know? Who had told her?

  Within a second, he re-asserted facial control. Too late. Both the studio and the home audience, courtesy of the wide-awake producer, understood that spasm. It all but confirmed Iphi's a
ccuracy and his guilt.

  The host intervened. He pointed to one of three hands raised in the audience.

  "The lady in the purple jeans. Would you like to ask Metropolitan Alexopoulos or Iphi a question?"

  A camera swivelled.

  The microphone passed.

  The red light lit.

  The host nodded encouragement.

  "Your Excellence." Her voice was modulated and, possibly too calm for the now fevered audience.

  "Is it accurate that these SinCards are imminent, that you will be paid a percentage and that this will go to your personal account and not the Church?"

  Metropolitan Alexopoulos responded with vigorous if vacuous words. He sought to change the subject. His questioner prevented this, cutting back in.

  "I repeat my questions. They are straightforward, but let me help and simplify for you. Is it accurate that SinCards are imminent? Will you receive a percentage? Will that percentage go to your personal account?"

  Metropolitan Alexopoulos prevaricated, again.

  The audience became restless. The host turned back to the questioner.

  "Have you anything more you'd like to add?"

  "Not really. From His Excellence's failure to reply twice, I can only presume he is as described: a crook, a liar, corrupt up to his ear lobes and unworthy of his office. I hope he is damned. Shame on him."

  The Metropolitan attempted a riposte.

  He heard his inadequacy.

  The audience taunted him.

  He stood, floundered and fled.

  It was a scruffbag who deserted. In his haste, his Kamilavka and Epanokamelavkion tumbled off.

  The host gaped at Iphi.

  She looked back.

  What had she done?

  "Do you really have the evidence?"

  "We do."

  "How will you make it known?"

  Before Iphi could reply, he interjected, his excitement apparent.

  "We have a development at Nea Hagia Sophia. We will cut to my colleague in the Old Town. Mario?"

  The monitors changed image to reveal a close-up of Nea Hagia Sophia and the Kampanarió. Before their eyes the corner of the Kampanarió nearest to the Basilica sagged.

  The Kampanarió tilted.

  It looked as if it would crash across Nea Hagia Sophia. Then it ceased at a precarious angle of about ten or fifteen degrees.

  A deep mourning quartet, of four bells mortally wounded, keened.

  Everyone was speechless.

  Thanos carried in a telephone and handed it to Evdokia. Her eyebrows asked the question. He didn't answer but gave his wife a big kiss and hug on his return. Evdokia raised the phone to her ear.

  "Hello. Who is it?"

  "Can't you guess?"

  "Georghios. You!"

  "Is that the way to greet a forgiving husband?"

  "What is there to forgive?"

  "You abandoning me to wreck the Church as Samson did the Temple?" Georghios wavered. His tone was harsher than he'd intended. This conversation wasn't what he'd expected. He sought to regain the initiative. "That woman on the TV. She was talking about you, wasn't she?"

  "How do you know?"

  "That doesn't matter; for later. I've known for years. If you wouldn't tell me, then I had to respect your privacy, although it hurt. You and me."

  Evdokia's shock eliminated all words. It was Georghios who had to continue.

  "I'm impressed. The corrupt part of the Church is in disarray. Can we resume our duties to our parishioners?"

  Another shock. He wanted their lives to continue as before, despite her abuse. She'd never conceived this outcome, not after her behaviour. As so many times before, the inherent decency of Georghios overwhelmed.

  "I'll be on the bus tomorrow."

  "Good. You are forgiven. You did right, though the payment..."

  His words trailed off. Evdokia intuited she'd caused much offence. It was her turn to apologise.

  With that, the conversation relapsed into normality. When they finished, she turned to Thanos and Alexa. They'd disappeared, leaving her to talk in private.

  In the kitchen, she found them celebrating. Thanos had heard a synopsis of the TV show on the radio news as he drove in from the airport. His view was the Church was wounded, possibly mortally. What it did next might determine if it featured in the future.

  The pictures of the imminent collapse of the Kampanarió came with information they'd missed. The cause might be a gas find underneath the city. That would have consequences. Might the island achieve energy self-sufficiency without the expense of deep-sea recovery from the Mediterranean? What an irony if this came from underneath the new Basilica. Might they have to knock it down?

  Alexa asked about the phone call. More delight followed. Thanos opened wine. Evdokia knew her head would ache on the morning bus. She didn't care.

  Dmitriy cursed the television. Not only had the profit share in the SinCards disappeared in proverbial smoke, but the relationship with Tassos was adrift. He muttered to himself before taking a decision.

  The sports-betting would have to disappear further underground. The Eastern Ukraine or Abkhazia possessed attractions. Both were lawless and possessed a Russian influence which should keep his Bratva investors content. Sokhumi's proximity to Sochi meant he should investigate it as a future base for the Kristina, if the harbour was big enough.

  Which left Tassos and Nikos. Should he bring in some hard men from Moscow? No. While it would satisfy his thirst for retribution, one swift visit to both to regain his ingots would quench far more. Then he must cut loose his last ties with Cyprus.

  This was a pity. He'd planned to design an expensive Villa there to obtain the Cypriot passport available to outsiders who invested more than two million Euros in local property. Thank god he hadn't committed. Building his own Cypriot place was a dead duck. Malta, perhaps?

  The TV show ended with the champion windsurfer and her fiancé, the politicians ignored to their dismay. Iphi joined the others in the foyer. She was over the moon, waving a piece of paper which offered her a junior presenter role at a salary double what she had earned.

  From the studio, Aris drove all four to a new restaurant, alleged to be expensive and with good wines. Iphi said she was buying. It was expensive, but they went for a cheaper island wine. Their conversation reprised and re-analysed the interview and the Metropolitan's stupidity.

  Stephane was on the outside. He'd helped, but they'd put the stories together. He listened as they planned and schemed what to do next. Twice, Aris had to go outside to talk on the phone. The restaurant was small and Greek-Cypriot noisy, as in deafening.

  On his second return, he didn't re-seat himself. Instead he announced Europol wanted to meet with him about the money laundering. This brought a shiver of concern to Stephane who couldn't remove the hook he had hung himself on. Aris didn't stop.

  "Come on Iphi, interviewee extraordinaire. It's time to resume what we shall in future refer to as 'Kjersti interruptus'."

  Stephane chortled at the deplorable pun. Kjersti flushed a deep pink; it suited her in Stephane's eyes. Iphi allowed Aris, with only mild reluctance, to carry her off.

  Which left Stephane with Kjersti.

  "No, Stephane. Don't think it! Your place is not the answer. I'll wait for a couple of hours and creep back into Iphi's, hoping they have screwed each other to sleep."

  "A touch crude?"

  "Yes. But after that 'Kjersti interruptus' quip, I feel crude. And, no. You had the hots for Eleni, or she did for you. You moved on Inma with impressive speed, only to discover she was gay. No go there."

  Stephane's jaw dropped. The missing jigsaw piece fit. Well, he consoled himself, he'd only invited Inma out to bug Davide. It hadn't worked.

  "She didn't tell you? Poor sap. Now you think to make your charming French moves on me? I repeat, it's not on."

  Stephane's instinct was to compete, to answer back. He fought to restrain a vicious retort. After all, there was truth in her re
proofs.

  He smiled. "Touché. I'm sorry for being crass."

  Kjersti's eyes opened wide. She suspended her next attack, which was as much driven by envy of Iphi's TV success as criticism of Stephane.

  "Why did you look as if horses had galloped across your grave when Aris was talking?"

  "Wouldn't you? My whole objective of working with Eleni, besides the money, was to obtain local cover in case accusations arose about my involvement with the sports-betting. The Archbishop was my protector. Except he's dead. At least I don't now have to pay Eleni. I'm leaving in a couple of days. For good. Unlike you. You'll be back writing your book with Iphi and Aris."

  Kjersti responded with a non-sequitur.

  "You should talk to Davide and even Aris."

  "Why?"

  "Aris before he talks with Europol. Davide because he has friends in improbable places."

  "I know. But what good would the Vatican do me?"

  "I meant Interpol, for one, and the Spanish police for a second. He might make an introduction which enabled you to turn witness and so escape indictment."

  It wasn't what Stephane had contemplated. To approach Davide wasn't an agreeable prospect either. To have to beg?

  "He's not all bad."

  "You read my mind."

  "Not difficult. I watched you. Trying to pluck Inma off his arm would have been neat, except it wasn't."

  That brought a rueful nod from Stephane. What should he do?

  "What are your plans, now that your stories are out and running?"

  "It's time for me to escape too. I have one book to finalise and another, a novel, to attempt to write."

  "Am I permitted to invite you to Hérault? To meet me."

  This time Kjersti's eyes narrowed. She contemplated Stephane for almost a full minute.

  He waited. Was he about to receive more damnation or something better?

  "Thank you. It's a thought... I think I could like that. Now, order a decent bottle of wine before we die of thirst."