Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery

by Jeffrey Siger

  He looked at his watch. His driver had picked up the man at Thessaloniki airport an hour and forty-five minutes ago. They should be here any minute, depending on traffic.

  He picked up a walkie-talkie from his desk and pressed TALK. “Hello.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any word?”

  “The driver just called to say they’re five minutes away.”

  “Good. When my guest arrives I want you to treat him with the utmost respect.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “But I also want you to search him thoroughly. Make sure he is not armed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I mean make sure.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Good. Then show him down to the pool. We’ll be meeting there.”

  He hung up without saying more.

  He fidgeted with his tie. One can’t be too careful these days.

  ***

  “Mr. Vladimir, a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Tank’s father stood to extend his hand across the table. “I understand you speak Greek.”

  He took the father’s hand and shook it. “Yes.” He stood about a head taller than the father and looked about a third his age.

  “Where did you learn to speak our language?”

  “You mean your boys couldn’t figure that out from our little pat and probe dance party?”

  “Sorry about that, but I’m sure you understood the reason.”

  He shrugged. “In Greece, to an invited guest? Not really.”

  The father looked at his three steroid-sculpted bodyguards standing behind his guest. “I told you to treat him with respect.”

  The guest sat down in the chair across from the father. “They did. One even promised to send me chocolates. But that little scenario revealed a lot more to me about you than it could possibly tell you about me.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I now know your name and where you live.” The father sat down.

  “No, you know the name and address of a dead Russian general. But I know you’re seriously afraid of something. Scared enough to reach out to strangers for information, and then be frightened of the messenger.” He leaned across the table. “Now why don’t you tell me why I’m here?”

  The father smiled. “For someone who claims to know so much about me, you mean you don’t know?”

  “Of course I know. I just want to know if you know.”

  The father’s face tightened. “I’m not one to play games with.”

  “Nor am I.” Vladimir gave him a thin smile. “So why don’t we skip the part about how your son is a misunderstood little boy who only gets into trouble because he’s trying to please daddy, and get to the part you really want to know about?”

  “Which is?”

  “Who’s going to kill your son?”

  “You know?”

  “Of course I know. Why do you think your friend contacted my boss? My boss knows everything.”

  The father’s lips grew taut. “You’re not the boss?”

  Vladimir nodded.

  “Then I should be dealing with your boss.”

  “If my boss gets directly involved, I’d say things are close to terminal for you.”

  “Are you threatening me?” The father glanced at his bodyguards.

  “Of course not. I was just telling you why you don’t want to meet my boss.”

  “All right, enough of this bullshit. Who wants to kill my son and why?”

  “Well, to answer your second question first, your son Tank entered into a business arrangement with my boss—”

  “You mean you’re with the people after my son?”

  “You told your neighbor you wanted to know what’s happening, so he went straight to the source. These KGB types are very efficient. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, your son didn’t listen to my boss when my boss told him how to run their mutual business. Even tried to steal from my boss. My boss gave him a second chance and he blew that one too. Now my boss is out a lot of money and your son has set a very bad example for my boss’ other business associates.”

  “And for that your boss is going to kill my son?”

  “No, not my boss.”

  “Then who?”

  “The same person who killed your daughter.”

  The father leaned forward. “Are you fucking serious? You say that and think you’re going to leave here alive?”

  His guest shrugged. “Ask one of your boys to take my wallet out of my back pocket. I want to show you some photos.”

  The snarl stayed on the father’s face, but he nodded at one of the men to do as the guest had asked.

  The guard took out the wallet.

  “Here, give it to me, not him,” said the father.

  “Good choice.”

  The father rifled through the wallet until he found the photos. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened.

  “Yes, it’s always more effective when the one deciding on who shall live and who shall die realizes the consequences of his decision.”

  “These are my grandchildren!”

  “Taken yesterday. If I don’t make a certain phone call in the next ten minutes they all die. And if within an hour after that call, I don’t make it to a place that I’ll be directing your driver to take me, they all die.”

  The father slouched back in his chair. “What do you want from me?”

  “Your son has to die. An example must be made.”

  “I’ll never tell you where Tank is. Never.”

  He shrugged again. “That’s okay, we’ll kill your other son. The choice is up to you.”

  “What kind of people are you, to kill the innocent?”

  “Frankly, I think we’re pretty much the same as Tank.”

  “He’s not a killer of innocents.”

  “Really? He did let your daughter’s killer walk away free. That’s what gave him his second chance. I’d say that makes him at least complicit in her death.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care whether you do or not. But if you really want to know, ask the people who were with him when it happened. But press them to tell you the truth, not the lies Tank had them tell the cops and press.” The man leaned back and stretched. “I have a phone call to make, so make up your mind which son gets it. Or would you prefer both sons plus the grandchildren?”

  The father ran his fingers through his thin, long, gray hair. “I’m sure we can work something out. All we need is time.”

  “I don’t have time, just orders.”

  “Well, goddamn it, get time!” He raised his hands as would a supplicant. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. All I meant was I think we should find some time to see what sort of money your boss wants to drop everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, everything,” said the father.

  He shook his head. “That’s going to be costly.”

  “Just call!” He raised his hands as if apologizing again for shouting.

  “Okay. But I’ll need a bit of privacy. You don’t mind if I walk over to the pool do you?”

  The father looked at his bodyguards. “Did you check the phone?”

  “Yes, it’s clean.”

  He stood up and walked toward a pool that seemed to run off into the sea, calling back over his shoulder, “You’re so distrusting.”

  The father and his men watched him pace back and forth on the far side of the pool, as if walking on water in animated, inaudible conversation. After five minutes he shut the phone, came back, and sat across from the father.

  “You’re in luck. My boss will take cash instead of your son’s life.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty million euros.”

  “That’s preposterous, ridiculous,
out of the question.”

  “Yes, I know. Imagine how tough it is working for someone like that. But that’s the terms, take it or leave it.”

  “How do I know you’re who you say you are? This could all be a hustle. A set-up.”

  “Yes, it could. KGB guys are like that. But ask Tank, and I’m sure he’ll convince you it’s all true.” He handed the father a card containing a Greek cell phone number. “Call me by tomorrow or else we’ll assume you said no.”

  “It’s far too much money.”

  “Then I suggest you spend the next twenty-four hours raising the cash. Or tell Tank to immerse himself in prayer that another of his siblings gets to die in his place.”

  The father’s right eye twitched at the reference to prayer.

  The man nodded knowingly. “Like I said, my boss knows everything. And be sure to tell Tank that my boss sends her regards.” He stood. “It’s been a pleasant chat, but I really must run.” He extended his hand across the table toward the father. “I hear Delphi is lovely this time of year. And Tank’s such a party guy. He must be going out of his mind cooped up in Monastery Hosios Loukas.”

  The father stared at Kharon’s hand. He did not take it.

  ***

  Eleven centuries ago, twenty miles east of Delphi, a holy and pious hermit (osios in Greek) found his way into a valley of awe-inspiring natural beauty. In that pastoral haunt of antiquity’s Muses, Hosios Loukas began construction of the only church built on mainland Greece in the tenth century, the Church of Panaghia (the Virgin Mary). That church still stood today within the walls of Greece’s largest extant monastery of Byzantium’s second golden age, and adjacent to Greece’s oldest existing dome octagon church, the Katholikon (big church) of Hosios Loukas.

  In keeping with the teachings of Greece’s ancient temple builders, the monastery sat in harmony with its natural surroundings. Terra cotta roof tiles, above classical Byzantine cloisonné-style masonry walls of marble, brick, and limestone, enclosed frescos and mosaic masterpieces set upon backgrounds of gold. But only a fraction of the monastery’s legendary lavish decoration remained, the balance of the place’s precious gold and silver plate, murals, icons, and furnishings lost to time and plunderers.

  Though remembered for his gift of prophecy, Hosios Loukas also possessed great skill at cultivating relationships with the generals in control of nearby Thebes. He relied upon their generosity and that of powerful others of his time—much as did subsequent shepherds of his vision with their respective secular powers that be—to create and maintain an isolated sanctuary of tranquility that remained today, a thousand years later, as one of the Mediterranean’s most impressive monuments and a World Heritage Site.

  And the perfect hideaway for a scion of one of the monastery’s wealthiest, most powerful benefactors.

  ***

  Tank’s father’s driver made it in thirty minutes to a highway intersection that normally took forty-five, dropped Kharon off at a bus stop, and sped away in the direction from which he’d come.

  Kharon started walking the two hundred yards to where he’d hidden a stolen motorcycle. He’d left it there very early that morning before catching a bus to the airport in time to be met there by that same driver.

  He had to admit he was in awe of Teacher’s intelligence network. The father’s neighbor who’d started asking questions about Tank’s business partners found that his inquiries had quickly gotten back to Teacher, and once he knew of Teacher’s interest the neighbor told her whatever she wanted to know and agreed to do precisely as she instructed him. Those old-time KGBers certainly knew how to survive.

  Kharon shook his head. Crazy how otherwise intelligent people thought they could trust total strangers to do dangerous things for them. Spouses trying to find someone to kill their mates were just the tip of the iceberg on that score. The lucky ones ended up being stung by an undercover cop, the others milked by blackmailers for life.

  Teacher had pegged the old man right. She knew he’d offer money in exchange for his son’s life. It was just a matter of setting him up for it. She’d left those details to Kharon. He liked that sort of improvisational freedom.

  He knew his gambit about having to make two phone calls within an hour of each other wouldn’t work without the photographs. That’s why he’d spent the day before taking candid shots of the grandchildren. Preparation always paid off.

  Kharon pondered whether he actually could have killed those children. He’d never killed a child. Then again, the choice would not have been his, as he’d only threatened their death should Tank’s father kill him first. To Kharon, that order of events made serious soul-searching on the subject a meaningless waste of time.

  Besides, it was all a bluff. Kharon had been out there on a tightrope, performing without a net, the entire scenario made up, including the telephone call to his “boss.” He’d dialed the number for the weather and recited song lyrics until he sensed he’d softened Tank’s father up enough to hit him with Teacher’s demand: an amount she’d told him the day before.

  He found the bike right where he’d left it. It would be a long ride home in traffic. He’d be lucky to make it in six hours; depending on how much time it took to get to where he’d left the BMW. He couldn’t wait to ditch this piece of crap. He should have known better than to steal a rental motorbike. Then again, he had no reason to rush home to Delphi. Or to Hosios Loukas.

  What a stroke of luck for Tank to end up in a monastery Kharon knew so well and so close to his home.

  Once again, he had to credit Teacher and her connections for finding Tank. She’d guessed he’d hidden out on a church property.

  “Greeks always flee to churches. It’s tradition,” she’d told him.

  It took a little more than a day of working her banking connections to come up with a list of religious institutions enjoying Tank’s family’s generosity. But after hearing Hosios Loukas Monastery had made the list, it took Kharon only two bottles of wine and a fine dinner with a talkative fellow who worked maintenance at the monastery to learn that the newest member of the community was a “celebrity” from Thessaloniki.

  Kharon started the bike and eased out onto the road. The early afternoon was hot, but the wind would keep him cool.

  Kharon wondered if, for his part, Tank’s father would keep things cool…or heat them up. The next play was up to him.

  ***

  “Are you calling with more good news?” asked Teacher.

  “I’m beginning to worry I might be spoiling you.”

  “To the contrary. You’re building up a rather large credit balance for the day you inevitably fail.”

  “Here’s hoping that day never comes.”

  “Why? Failure is reality. We all do at some point. It forms us, makes us stronger.”

  “Considering what I do for you, failure is likely to mean I am no more.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.”

  “I’d have preferred if you’d disagreed with me on that point.”

  Teacher laughed. “Touché.”

  “Tank’s father just called me.”

  “That was quick. It’s not even dinner time.”

  “He said he’s trying to see what sort of package he can put together, but because he knew whatever number we agreed upon would be ‘a very large one’—those were his words—he couldn’t possibly get back to me by tomorrow. He said he needed a week and since his son had just told him you were involved, he didn’t want to raise a question with you over his ‘bona fides’ waiting until tomorrow to make that request.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, he apologized for speaking to me as he did. Said he’d never have done that had he known I was your emissary.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Thank you, but that your number was non-negotiable. He said he understood that, but all he could do was pro
mise to give us what he could raise and if that wasn’t enough there wasn’t a thing in the world he could do about it.”

  “Did you mention the three hundred million his family made in ripping off the Greek government of its tax dollars in that electricity bill scam?”

  “Yes. He said the actual amount was far less and he only got to keep a small part of even that.”

  “Interesting that he didn’t deny his involvement. The father knows how to negotiate. I respect that. Even if not a word of what else he said is true. I should have been in business with him rather than the son.”

  “What should I tell him?”

  “What he expects. Give him two days and tell him if we don’t have an answer with an acceptable number and the money in hand by then, he’d best start making funeral arrangements.”

  “And just what is that number?”

  “I’ll let you decide. Just make sure it’s big enough to be painful, but not so much that he decides to sacrifice his son.”

  “If Tank were my kid, fifty euros would be too much.”

  Teacher chuckled. “You’re not a parent.”

  “Okay, I’ll figure something out.”

  “Just be careful and don’t take chances. After all, by now the father knows you’re the one who killed his daughter.”

  “No doubt about it. My picture must have been taken a thousand times with all the surveillance cameras around his house. Anyone in the cafenion that day with Tank could identify me. But that cuts two ways…it lets him know I’m serious.”

  “True, but like I said, Kharon, be careful. Just because you live in Delphi doesn’t mean you can always rely upon your Fates to protect you.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They exchanged good-byes and Teacher hung up the phone. This one has great promise. He was a bit of good news in her life. Now if only her health remained stable.

  She picked up a file on her desk bearing Tank’s father’s name across the front and opened it to a financial summary prepared by her banking sources. She studied it for a moment and looked up at the photograph on her desk.

  “The man asked for a week to raise less than fifty million when he has four times that amount sitting in Swiss and Luxembourg banks, every cent capable of being wired to me instantly. Is he just negotiating for a better price or does he have something else in mind?”