The Black Life

by Paul Johnston

  Then I realised the train was braking hard, its whistle blowing. The howling of attack dogs started and harsh voices rang out.

  I had missed my chance. It was too late, too late for all of us.

  ELEVEN

  Shimon Raphael got up from his table when I walked into the restaurant in the famous Ladhadhika area near the port.

  ‘Alex Mavros in the flesh,’ he said enthusiastically.

  ‘The same,’ he said, shaking the hand he’d extended. ‘How did you recognise me?’

  ‘Yiorgos emailed me some of the press articles about you.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ He wondered what else the Fat Man had sent. ‘He didn’t by any chance tell you I like female to male transsexuals, did he?’

  Shimon laughed uproariously, silencing even the noisy clientele for a few seconds. ‘Not exactly. There was something about sheep, though.’

  ‘You didn’t believe it.’

  ‘Of course not. I haven’t seen Yiorgos for years, but obviously he hasn’t changed.’

  ‘I don’t know. Imagine all his character faults and multiply them by a hundred.’

  The customs broker bellowed again. ‘He’s a character, all right. He says he works with you.’

  Mavros raised the glass of wine that had been filled for him. ‘Not on this case. At least not on the spot. That can be … risky.’

  ‘I imagine you don’t have quite as large an appetite as our friend,’ Shimon said. ‘Even I don’t. Let’s go for quality rather than quantity. I know what’s good here.’

  Mavros listened as various starters and a baked fish were ordered.

  ‘So, cheers and welcome to Thessaloniki.’

  ‘L’haim,’ Mavros said, as they clinked glasses.

  ‘Very good. Not that there’s many of us left here to say that nowadays.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘About twelve hundred.’

  Mavros looked around the restaurant’s understated décor. ‘And fifty thousand died in the camps.’

  Shimon’s face was grim. ‘A bit under that, but the numbers can’t be exact.’

  ‘Including Aron Samuel.’

  ‘As far as the community knew – until you told me otherwise.’

  ‘You know Allegra Harari?’

  ‘Of course. Her brain is a thing of wonder. She’s been offered jobs in American universities, but she won’t leave the city – says we have to fill the space left by our ghosts as best we can.’

  The waiter brought small dishes of octopus, meat balls, beans and cheese.

  ‘You know she’s been threatened by the Phoenix Rises?’

  Shimon’s hand stopped between plate and mouth. ‘So have I. And others.’

  ‘You take it seriously?’

  ‘Sure. Fireproof doors on my home and office, CCTV, alarms. Listen, Alex, don’t get the idea that this is anything new. There have always been far-right lunatics. Some of the most hot-headed local nationalists fought with the Serbs in Bosnia – brothers in Orthodoxy, eh? All that bollocks about the Yugoslav Macedonian state’s name back in the 90s didn’t help. The scumbags went to Kosovo too, not that the Muslims took any shit from them.’

  Mavros ate a piece of octopus. ‘Mm, this is good. They don’t seem to be interested in standing for parliament.’

  Shimon grunted, his mouth full. ‘There’s no point. They get about one per cent in the local elections. Their leader, Makis Kalogirou, is the opposite of a vote magnet. He’s about as eloquent as a septic-tank hose.’

  ‘They were organised enough to mess up those immigrants.’

  ‘Beating the hell out of people’s one thing they can do. Another’s defacing walls and monuments.’ The customs broker soaked bread in the remains of the bean sauce. ‘Anyway, enough of those wankers. You want me to dig up what I can about Aron Samuel.’

  ‘I do. Rachel’s got Allegra—’

  ‘Rachel?’

  Mavros explained who she was, adding a physical description.

  ‘She sounds interesting.’ Shimon grinned. ‘I didn’t know you had company.’

  ‘I’d have thought the Fat Man would have spilled that ASAP.’

  ‘Strangely, no. Probably jealous he’s not up here stuffing his face with us and his eyes with her.’

  ‘Very likely.’

  ‘So Allegra’s doing the archive work on Samuel.’

  ‘That’s right. I thought you might know … some different stones to look under.’

  Shimon guffawed. ‘Different stones? I like that. Maybe I do. Acting as a middleman between clients and the customs does put certain information my way. In this case, I don’t have any of that, but I do have some potential sources. Leave it with me.’

  ‘Thanks. You’ll be paid, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mavros smiled. ‘I’ll tell you one thing you might be able to help me on without excavation work. Ester Broudo claims she saw Aron on Thursday November 3rd. Do you happen to know whose wedding was taking place at the main synagogue that day?’

  Shimon answered immediately. ‘I was there, all my family was. Ilias Tsiako married Stella Vital.’

  ‘That was easy. Could you see if there’s a link between any of them to the Samuel family? Aron may have been paying his respects or the like without going inside.’

  ‘Good thought. Yes, I’ll check it.’

  ‘And the Broudo family? What do you know about them?’

  ‘That they were almost annihilated, like most of us. My parents knew Ester, but I haven’t seen her for years. Do you want me to check her too?’

  ‘If you can do that without creating any waves.’

  ‘Ha! I’m overweight but surprisingly light on my feet.’

  The small plates were removed and a large platter was set between them.

  ‘The chef’s a master at this,’ Shimon said. ‘He stuffs it with parsley, oregano and garlic and then adds a touch of genius to the sauce.’

  Mavros sniffed. ‘Mint?’

  ‘Close. Spearmint. Sounds weird, but wait till you try it.’

  The fish was magnificent. They gave their full attention to it and only when he was finished did Mavros broach the subject he thought might be awkward.

  ‘You were in the party, Shimon?’ he said.

  The customs broker nodded happily enough. ‘Since the youth organisation. Pissed my parents off in a big way. In fact, it was one of the reasons they left for Israel.’

  Mavros gave him a sympathetic look.

  ‘No, don’t worry. They’d been ready to go for years. My old man was in Auschwitz and he never settled here when he got back. It wasn’t easy for our people.’

  ‘So I’ve been reading. Properties illegally handed over to non-Jews, businesses stolen …’

  ‘And worse. Male survivors of the camps were called up for service in the Civil War. My old man wasn’t a Communist, but he was no royalist either. Two of his friends were killed alongside him in the final offensive on Mount Grammos.’

  ‘So why did you stay?’

  ‘The party, mainly. Then they got upset when I took over the company – the guy I worked for dropped dead. Accused me of being a class traitor, a profiteer and a money-grabbing Jew. I had a wife and kids then and I didn’t need the hassle.’ Shimon caught Mavros’s eye. ‘No offence. Your father was a hero.’

  ‘None taken. I don’t think he’d have liked the party as it’s become. They look after their own like the other political groups. They’re part of the problem.’

  ‘Ah, but those ideals. How come you weren’t seized by them?’

  Mavros poured the last of the wine into their glasses. ‘Bad timing. I was five when the old man died, not long before the Colonels came to power. And I was ten when my brother disappeared.’

  ‘Another hero.’

  ‘He was to me. After he’d gone, I turned against what he’d fought for.’ He shook his head. ‘A kind of betrayal.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard of him, he wouldn’t see it that way. After all, you’re aliv
e and well.’

  ‘It’s not knowing what happened to him that kills me. I don’t let it define my life like it used to, but I’m still tortured by the need to find out.’

  Shimon stretched a hand across the table. ‘Life is torture, my friend. I lost eleven family members in the camps and there isn’t a day when I don’t look at their photos. And now I have to walk past spray-painted swastikas.’ He shrugged. ‘Not that there’s anything new about that. The collaborators did what they wanted in Thessaloniki since the Germans ran the city. They were well connected.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Their sons and grandsons kept that up. Makis Kalogirou is one. His grandfather made a fortune out of Jewish businesses he got cheap from the Germans.’

  Mavros sat back, a worm of doubt wriggling into the topsoil of his mind. Jews and neo-Nazis, the threats to Allegra Harari, Aron Samuel’s long-delayed return to the city – if Ester Broudo hadn’t been mistaken – and attacks on Muslim immigrants in the former Ottoman city. Was he being drawn into a world of violence with long and infinitely twisted roots?

  ‘I’ll stay overnight, Niki,’ Maria Orfanou said, as she pulled up outside the apartment block. ‘You need company.’

  ‘No, I’m all right.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’ Maria was a no-nonsense fifty-five year old whose devotion to her immigrant clients was as great as Niki’s. She was long divorced and lived with a homely Albanian woman in the northern suburbs. Driving Niki home was a big detour, but she did it because she wanted to. ‘Come on, at least let me get you inside.’

  Niki assented wordlessly. They’d been for dinner in an old-fashioned taverna, but she’d eaten little, leaving Maria to hoover up the rest. Overeating was her colleague’s only vice.

  Once they negotiated the politician’s night guard, the code pad, the lift and the various security devices that protected the flat, Niki flopped down on the sofa.

  ‘Go,’ she said. ‘I’m just tired.’

  ‘Really?’ Maria asked dubiously. ‘All right. Make sure you lock up after me.’ She leaned forward and kissed Niki on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ll get a taxi. Don’t worry, we have a reliable one.’

  Maria looked around the darkened flat as if monsters were lurking in the corners. ‘Will Alex be happy about that?’

  ‘Never mind what Alex thinks,’ Niki replied waspishly. ‘He’s having fun in Thessaloniki.’

  ‘He’s a good man,’ Maria said.

  ‘Maybe.’ Niki gave her an anguished look. ‘But he isn’t here when I need him.’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ her colleague said, sitting next to her. ‘Trust me, there aren’t many like him. You know that perfectly well. You want to have his child.’

  ‘Yes … I do,’ Niki sobbed. ‘But … but I can’t.’

  ‘You will,’ Maria said, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘If you don’t, you’ll have me to answer to.’

  Niki smiled and then pushed her gently away. ‘Yes, ma’am. Now get the fuck out of here.’

  Maria laughed and did as she was told. She turned at the door and said, ‘No taxi, though. I’ll pick you up as usual.’ She and her partner had two cars, one ending with an even number and one with an odd, so she could enter the congestion zone every weekday.

  Niki got up after she’d gone to triple-lock the door, apply the chains and set the alarm. Then she went to the bedroom and lay down in her clothes, taking off only her shoes. She could smell Alex on his pillow and the duvet.

  ‘Bastard,’ she said. ‘Why aren’t you here?’

  Sleep finally took her in the small hours.

  Rachel was in a black Mercedes E-Class with her contact. He had flown in a week earlier and familiarised himself with the city and the target.

  ‘Quiet around here,’ she said.

  ‘That’s why we’re in this stolen Panzer. Less likely to stand out.’

  She pressed keys on her laptop. ‘This photo is a couple of years old. Maybe they’ll have given him plastic surgery.’

  ‘The Russians? He’s not that useful to them.’

  ‘So why are they keeping him here in luxury?’

  ‘Because they can get him over the borders to Macedonia and the other Balkan countries easily. He was rabble-rousing in Kosovo during the summer. Gives the Vladimirs something to posture against, as well as scare NATO.’

  ‘I’ve read the file,’ Rachel said. ‘I don’t understand why they’re flying in caviar weekly. Presumably the vodka is for his guards.’

  ‘The bastard’s got a gut on him. Anyway, they like to keep people sweet, especially when they’ve got something they want.’

  ‘And the target’s valuable because he’s helping them disrupt the region. Don’t they realise he was in a Jordanian al-Qaeda cell?’

  ‘Of course. The intercepts suggest they think he’s given up on that. Maybe he has.’

  ‘But we haven’t given up on him. Fourteen people killed and thirty-three injured, including three blinded, in Tel Aviv by the suicide bomber he trained and indoctrinated.’

  ‘That was the worst incident, yes. There were at least five others.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘Our masters have presumably taken into account the chaos this will cause in Greece. Let alone with the Russians.’

  ‘Presumably.’ Her companion’s tone was studiedly neutral.

  She looked at her watch. ‘Five minutes, if they stick to the schedule.’

  ‘They’ve done so every night I’ve been here.’

  ‘The Russians obviously think he’s safe in restaurants.’ She checked her weapons: two Taser X26s and the Glock 19 that had been delivered to the hotel. The order was that she use only the former, as well as the spray can in her jacket pocket. The agent beside her was the designated executioner. He was screwing the silencer on to his Glock.

  ‘One minute,’ Rachel said.

  They pulled down their black balaclavas.

  The steel street door opened thirty seconds early, but they were ready, having already checked that the street was deserted.

  The Jordanian was wearing a voluminous dark-blue coat that failed to disguise his distended lower abdomen. The pair of Russians was also in coats, their hair cut very short. They looked around and then walked towards a grey BMW Sport Wagon at the roadside.

  The Mercedes moved forward quickly. Rachel took down both guards with the Tasers from her open window. As they lay jerking on the road, her colleague got out and caught up with the target, who was running back to the street door. The first bullet hit him in the rear of his left thigh. He collapsed with a cry. The agent slammed his head into the ground, then kneeled beside him.

  ‘Many souls are waiting for you,’ he said, in Arabic, after glancing around to be sure no one had appeared in the vicinity. Then he shot the Jordanian twice in the back of the neck. Getting up and walking backwards to the car, he watched as Rachel sprayed a red swastika on the dead man’s back and another on the steel door beyond him.

  Then the Mercedes and its two occupants disappeared at unremarkable speed into the chill November evening.

  TWELVE

  The wagon doors were unlocked and pulled open. We were in the corner on that side, so the wave of clean air washed over us immediately. Except, although it was much fresher than the stink of shit and piss and unwashed bodies, some of them dead, it wasn’t clean. There was a dark sweetness to it, like meat that had been caramelised. I helped my grandmothers up, unable to look them in their pale eyes. I still had two knives, but I was even less able to use them than before.

  The brusque orders were translated by the few of our people who knew German.

  ‘Everyone out!’

  ‘All the luggage on the ground!’

  ‘Get in line!’

  Figures in dirty grey-blue striped suits were pulling people’s bags out of the way. Some of them were Greeks.

  ‘Quickly!’ one said to us. ‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine.’

  I looked into
his bloodshot eyes and knew he was lying, though perhaps not unkindly.

  ‘Can we all stay together?’ I asked.

  He turned his head and then quivered as a man in mismatched uniform tunic and trousers hit him on the back with a short whip.

  ‘Just do what you’re told,’ he said hoarsely.

  I got out of the cattle truck and helped my mother down. Isaak and my father handed down the grandmothers, while Dario and Miriam slid out, Golda in her mother’s arms. The uproar meant we could hardly speak to each other. The occupants of the train, many of them in much worse condition than us, were funnelled by heavily armed SS into a narrow space. Greek-speaking helpers were now pulling dead bodies out of the carriages and loading them on to trucks. There was a pretty station building with flowers to our right, which calmed some of our people. Maybe this was a work camp after all. But what was being made here? Was it a canning factory producing supplies for the German forces fighting the Soviets?

  Without warning, the women were separated from us. My mother started to wail, then controlled herself because she and Miriam had to hold up the grandmothers as well as Golda. We watched their line move quicker than ours, splitting at some kind of junction ahead. With every breath we took in as much dust as air. Isaak’s missing hand was not obvious and he had regained some movement in his recently injured one. Despite the heat, he was wearing his coat. I kept mine on too as I didn’t want to lose it. We were told by the Greeks that our luggage would be brought to us later.

  There were SS officers in well-cut and clean uniforms, standing on raised platforms ahead. One of them was smiling as he moved his hand to left and right. People were pushed in the appropriate direction. I saw trucks on the left side, old men and women and young children being lifted aboard. I had a bad feeling, in part because the sky to the left was covered by a thick black cloud.

  ‘Don’t limp,’ I said over my shoulder to Dario, having seen a young man with a crutch sent to the trucks.

  My father was behind me. We were both directed to the right. An officer had already sent my mother that way. I watched as he signalled that Miriam and Golda be separated from the grandmothers and sent to the right as well. The old women were carried to the trucks by rough-handed men. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing I could do. I felt sick. Then I heard a shout and looked over my shoulder. Dario had been sent to the left, his limp obviously detected. I later learned the officer making the selection was a doctor. I waited to see what happened to Isaak and was struck several times about the head and back. I only moved on when I saw that my brother was following.