For a secretary used to aggravating people, the tone of relief in Andreas' voice must have had her wondering whether she'd lost her imperious touch because she paused for an instant before responding. 'She's twenty-two years old, five feet eleven inches tall, blond hair, blue eyes…'
Andreas' heart skipped two beats. Thank God she's Greek, he thought.
'Her name is Annika Vanden Haag-'
'But she's Greek?!' he said, practically screaming the words.
His interruption clearly surprised the secretary. 'Uh, yes, Chief, her mother's Greek but her father's Dutch. They live in the Netherlands.'
Andreas thought he'd throw up. He didn't hear her next few words, and when he tuned back in it was to 'She's staying at the Hotel Adlantis.'
Andreas had never fainted in his life and wasn't about to now, but he suddenly felt that he knew just what it would feel like.
The next thing he heard was the secretary practically shouting, 'Chief, Chief, are you still there?'
'Yes… yes, thank you.'
'Do you need any more information?'
He paused; his mind was jumping among a thousand thoughts and settling on none. 'Uh, yes. Could you fax me her photo and her passport and address information?'
'Certainly.'
He took a deep breath. 'I must speak to the deputy minister.' His voice had lost its vigor.
'He's not available.'
'I understand, but the moment he is, please tell him it's critically important he call me at once.'
The secretary's tone turned icy. 'If it's that important, you should tell me what you want to tell him. That way I can get a message to him.'
Bureaucrats — all of them want to know everything. 'It's something very personal.'
In an even icier voice: 'I see. Very well, I shall give him your message. Good-bye.' She hung up before Andreas could return her courtesy.
He put his elbows on his desk and his head into his hands. Andreas was certain their killer was at it again.
13
Annika didn't know how long she'd been sobbing or falling in and out of sleep, but she'd not heard a sound other than her own crying. She took a deep breath and got to her knees. Slowly, she stood up, raising her hands above her as she did to find what was above her. At her full height she felt the ceiling. It was about two feet above her head. Smooth but hard, like concrete. She carefully shuffled her feet along the mattress, touching her hands along the ceiling as she did. It felt the same everywhere. She thought of stepping off the mattress but had no idea what she'd find. It could be a floor, a pit, anything.
She went to her knees and inched her way forward off the mattress. The floor felt the same as the ceiling, smooth and hard. Before every move, she reached out to feel in front, above, and below her. Her feet were about three feet off the mattress when she touched a spot of something wet. There were several more spots near the first, as if something had dripped from the ceiling. They were slightly sticky, and ever so tentatively she lifted her fingers to her nose to smell what she'd touched.
She recoiled and nearly threw up. No doubt now what it was. He'd been there, only feet from her. He could be standing right next to her now and she wouldn't know it. All she could think of was finding her mattress. It was the only place of any comfort in whatever hell this was. Frantically, she probed out behind herself with her feet until she found it, and retreated like a frightened dog to shelter. Hours seemed to pass before Annika worked up the nerve to leave her mattress again, and when she did, she used it as her safehaven, always mindful of where it lay. Quickly she determined a few things. The space's floor and ceiling were square, with about fourteen-foot sides. There was nothing on the floor other than the mattress, but near the center of the ceiling were three one-foot- square surfaces, one smooth, two louvered. She assumed one was a light fixture and the others vents. This meant there had to be electricity. The walls were made of stone, with all the expected ridges, gouges, odd-shaped protuberances, and crevices, but they felt strangely smooth and cool to the touch — as if coated with plastic or Teflon. It made no sense to her. There was not a single interruption in the walls. Not a door or a window — nothing but stone. How was that possible? She wanted to pound on something and shout for someone to come but sensed that was what her captor expected. She decided to wait and see. That was all she could do. Wait and see. Sooner or later someone would come. She was sure of that.
He had many places from which to watch her. He'd built his dungeon that way, dug it out of an old mine tunnel and fashioned it himself, taking great care to fit its wall flush with the existing tunnel wall. It represented years of work, started decades ago, lugging all the stone, cement, and everything else without help. But there was a benefit to building it as he had: it was virtually invisible to anyone who might happen by — as unlikely as that was. Locals were superstitious and many viewed these old mines as haunted.
As far as he was concerned, they were right; for this was the realm of the ancient Egyptian gods that he honored: Serapis, ruler of the underworld, and Anubis, its gatekeeper. Andreas knew there was no time left for civilized tactics. It was bare knuckles from here on out — starting with Ilias. He told his man at the hotel to bring Ilias in to headquarters immediately. Then he called Tassos. His reaction to the conversation with the deputy minister's secretary was equally severe. He said he'd leave for Mykonos as soon as he could get to a helicopter. That's when Andreas decided to have them all brought in: the priest, Manny, Panos, and the jeweler. Panos' son too.
Additional bad news started coming in almost immediately. The officer at the hotel couldn't find Ilias, and no one there had seen him for hours. Their best guess was that he'd gone out the back and down the hill behind the hotel to the road below. He could be anywhere by now — on or off the island.
By the time Tassos called to say he'd landed, the only suspect Andreas' men had been able to locate was Manny — and that was because the taxi dispatcher said he'd come to the station as soon as he 'finished his current job.' The priest was nowhere to be found. Nor were Panos or his son, and according to an employee in his shop, the jeweler was away in Athens for a few days and couldn't be reached. Great, thought Andreas — a missing tourist and a batch of unaccounted-for suspects. Annika had no way of telling how long she'd been asleep. All she knew was she was cold — and thirsty. She also needed a toilet. She felt no hunger, at least not yet.
Her mind kept racing over the same thought: Why? She couldn't bring herself to think it was random, unrelated to something she'd done. That would mean… she stopped herself. Such thinking would lead to panic. There must be a reason. If she could think of the reason, she could think of a way out. She kept saying to herself, 'This is just a problem-solving exercise, a pure and simple problem-solving exercise.' There has to be an answer, a reason. There must be.
More time passed. She decided to move about, get some exercise. She had to do something to keep from losing her mind. She stood and stretched, then stepped across the cell. She determined she could take three long steps in one direction before having to turn. She found her stride. One, two, three, turn, one, two, three, turn, she counted to herself, then started counting aloud: 'One, two, three, turn, one, two, three, turn, one, two, three, turn.' She was moving faster and faster, almost running — almost running into panic. She had to stop. She was dizzy and bent over, resting her hands on her knees. She drew in a deep breath, let it out, and shook her head. 'Think,' she said to herself. 'Think.'
She leaned against one of the walls. It felt cool against her skin. She'd forgotten she was naked. Not important anymore. She ran her hands over the wall; it was the same wherever she touched. Hard and smooth. She walked beside it, rolling the tips of her fingers along as she did. They rolled so easily, as if on wet, smooth, shaped glass, filled with hidden textures. She was growing accustomed to the darkness.
Her hands moved onto the second wall. The sensation was the same. There was now a rhythm to her walk. She felt a comfort in the walls. Around and around the cell walls she went. She was drifting into her third loop when
