The mayor was all but kissing Spiros' feet. 'Yes, yes — if it ever gets out — absolutely. I kept telling them the same thing, over and over, but they wouldn't listen.'
A glare returned to Spiros' eye as he watched Andreas and Tassos drive away. 'Those two will wish they had. I'll personally see to it that their lives are over.' For the moment, he seemed to forget that his niece's life could be ending that night as well.
22
It was his practice to talk to his tributes when he brought them out into the light from the silence below; to educate them on what they were about to become part of. He considered it an opening rite of the sacrifice, as important to him as prayer. None of his tributes understood, of course, because he spoke to them only in Greek. That did not matter to him because he believed that, in life, most prayers went unheard.
He spoke softly and paused often, in the style that had once so charmed his tributes.
'The traditional panegyri actually begins the day before the formal celebration. That's when family and friends begin contributing goats and lambs to the church for slaughter in preparation for the next day's cooking. Other contributions are wine, bread, salads, fruits, vegetables, and special local dishes and desserts. It's all part of the sacrifice honoring a saint. Tonight we honor Saint Kiriake.
'The men in charge of the slaughter arrived yesterday with their own food — and wine. Lots of wine. They were followed by friends who showed up to help, bringing more food — and more wine. Somehow they always manage to get everything done on time. It is, as they say, the Greek way.
'Guests at tonight's panegyri will have taken a piece of bread blessed by the priest and a cup of broth. Then would come the real food: tables full of goat, lamb, appetizers of every kind, salads, black-eyed beans and dandelion greens, and wine — lots and lots of wine.
'The boiled meat comes next; then the yahknee stew, and later, pastries, custards, yoghurts, and fresh fruits. All this accompanied by music, dancing, and more and more wine, until the morning church service. After that, they sober up and finish off what's left of the food at an after-church lunch.
'That's when the panegyri traditionally ends. But tonight we have a different sort of panegyri. A special one, just for you.' That the man intended to kill her didn't surprise Annika. Nor was she surprised that he still didn't realize she was Greek — and had been to more panegyris than she cared to remember. What surprised her was that he knew she was conscious. Or was he guessing? She hadn't moved, at least didn't think she had. He always seemed to be one step ahead of her.
She felt her stomach tighten in fear — fear that she was making a mistake. Maybe she shouldn't risk trying to escape? Perhaps she should just confront him now — in perfect Greek. That certainly would surprise him, and once he knew who her uncle was, he'd know he wasn't as smart as he thought.
She struggled for the right words — ones sure to have the maximum impact. What she came up with was 'You've made a big mistake. My uncle is Spiros Renatis, Greece's deputy minister of Public Order in charge of all police. Let me go now and I won't tell anyone. If you don't believe me, leave me somewhere that will give you time to escape.' She rehearsed the words silently to herself until she had them just right — down to a properly nonchalant tone — drew in a breath, and… FUCK, am I crazy? she thought. I sound like one of those naive, airhead girls whining at the bad guy in a horrible B movie just before he kills her.
She decided to follow her father's advice and keep her fluency in Greek to herself. That seemed her only advantage at the moment. So, she stayed as still as she could and listened to him ramble on in Greek about the Mykonian tradition of panegyri, honoring the ancient gods of the underworld for treasures revealed to him beneath the earth and paying tribute to the saints of neglected churches. Andreas and Tassos had driven into town from Ano Mera. They were having coffee on the waterfront, exchanging jibes with a few port police and some locals who had no idea how powerless they were about to become. Andreas kept thinking there was something he was missing. Something simple. It always was something simple.
'Well, my friend, let's pray they find her,' said Tassos. 'The deputy minister would be so happy taking all the credit he'd almost forget about cutting off our balls. Probably just force me to take my pension and make you miserable for the rest of your life — that is, if you decide to stay on the force.'
'And that's the good news.' Andreas forced a smile.
'Yeah.' Tassos nodded. 'But, if God forbid they don't-'
Andreas cut him off. 'Don't bother telling me, I can guess.' He imagined the sort of headlines: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON. At least I'll be alive to read them, he thought; Annika Vanden Haag won't be.
Andreas changed the subject. 'You know, all this time I've never asked if you're married, or have a family.'
Tassos was quiet for a moment. 'No. I'm a widower.'
'Sorry.'
Tassos at first seemed reluctant to say more. 'She died during the birth of our first child.' He paused again. 'A son. He didn't make it either.'
Andreas didn't know what more to say.
Now Tassos changed the subject. 'Maybe we deserve what's coming to us and maybe we can't help Vanden Haag, but it pisses me off that bastard mayor giving up Manny like he did. We know he's not the killer, but those sons of bitches are going to beat the shit out of him anyway.' He sounded disgusted.
'Sure are. That's what Leros is known for, his interrogations,' said Andreas.
'I've got an idea,' said Tassos. 'Shouldn't his lawyer be informed if he's taken into custody?'
'We can't get in much deeper shit. Go ahead, knock yourself out.'
Tassos flipped open his cell phone, dialed, put the phone to his ear, and waited. 'Katerina, it's Tassos. Call me back as soon as you get this message. It's very important.'
'Let's hope she calls back.' Andreas looked at his watch. 'It's after two in the morning. Where can she be?'
'She's at some panegyri, don't you remember her invitation?' Tassos grinned.
Andreas smiled. 'How can I forget? But that was for last night. I was supposed to meet her at some boat.' At the word boat Andreas bolted out of his chair. 'A boat! Why the hell did she need a boat to get to a panegyri?'
He ran over to one of the port police. 'Is there a panegyri tonight you can get to by boat?'
Tassos was right behind him.
The cop looked at his watch. 'That's the only way you can get there, Chief, but it should be over by now.'
'What are you talking about?'
'The panegyri. On Delos. It's the big one, but it ended at two.' He gave a knowing wink and said, 'Personally, I think that's so the guards can sleep off their drunk before tourists show up in the morning. It's their annual chance to party at work with their buddies from Mykonos.'
Andreas' stomach was churning. 'This is serious. What are you talking about?'
The cop's tone turned professional. 'Around two years ago permission was given to a Mykonos family to build a tiny church on the remote northeast side of Delos. They're allowed to hold a panegyri once a year, and a flotilla of boats travels to Delos from Mykonos to celebrate what they call their once-a-year opportunity to party with the gods. But everyone has to be off by 0200 hours.'
'And the reason for the panegyri?' Andreas held his breath.
The port cop seemed surprised. 'It's the name day for the church they built there — Saint Kiriake.'
Andreas grabbed Tassos by the arm. 'That's where he's taken her.' He was waving to the port police lieutenant standing by a boat. 'Let's see if his boat's as fast as he's been bragging.'
In less than five minutes, Andreas, Tassos, and three port police were streaking toward Delos. With luck they'd be there in twenty minutes, and with greater luck, Annika Vanden Haag would still be alive. 'We're lying close to the island of light, the birthplace of the gods Apollo and Artemis and of a civilization going back more than two thousand years before Christ. For six hundred years a center of commerce and cosmopolitan life for the ancient world, a place of great temples, festivals, and sacrifices honoring the gods and drawing emissaries from throughout the known world.'
