Tassos put his arm around Andreas’ waist and steered him toward the car. ‘My friend, if the Russians are behind this operation they’ve been watching us by satellite all morning, and if it’s somebody else
…’ he shook his free hand in the air. ‘Let’s let them know that now they’ve got three of us to deal with.’
Andreas smiled. ‘I feel so much safer now.’
Tassos took his arm from around Andreas’ waist and smacked him on the back of the head.
On the drive back, Andreas called the abbot to set up interviews with the monks they’d missed the day before.
The abbot was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry Chief Kaldis, but I never had the chance to tell them you wanted to speak with them. I only learned this morning that they’d taken a late boat Sunday night in order to be back in their monasteries in time for Easter observances.’
Andreas let out a deep breath.
‘I’ll e-mail you their names and how to get in touch with them as soon I get that information. I’ll also send you copies of whatever computer backup we find for Vassilis’ work, but so far our network administrator has found nothing for him newer than two months ago. Sorry.’
‘Thanks, just get everything to me right away. Okay?’
‘Certainly. Goodbye.’
Andreas looked at the bright side: there was nothing left for him to do on Patmos, at least for the moment. He turned to Yianni in the back seat. ‘Looks like we get to go home.’ Then he looked over at Tassos. ‘Would you like us to give you a lift to Syros? The extra weight is no problem for the helicopter, it’s a big one.’ He smiled.
Tassos gave him the middle finger gesture. ‘Thanks but no thanks. I’ll drop you at the heliport. It wouldn’t be fair to my friend who sailed though the night to get me here by dawn if I left him to make the four-hour return trip home alone.’
For most men, twenty minutes or so in the air versus four-plus hours on a choppy sea back to the island capital of the Cyclades was a no-brainer choice. That, Andreas thought, was another reason Tassos had so many well-connected friends willing to do so much for him: he never took them for granted. Andreas hoped somewhere out there one of those friends had an answer. Any answer.
Tassos dropped them off at the heliport and drove down toward the harbor. He knew this wasn’t a simple murder and that Andreas knew it, too. There was something almost spooky about this one. And a lot of toes to step on: Greek, Russian, and God knows what else. He didn’t mind that so much; he just wished there were a head he could bust or an arm he could twist to get a lead, some place to start. He let out a breath. It would come to him, it always did. God willing.
‘Surprise, I’m back. See, I kept my promise.’
Lila chuckled into the phone. ‘I know. Tassos called. He said he’d made sure to ship you home.’
‘He’s such a bastard.’ Andreas laughed.
‘So, when do I get to see you?’
Andreas looked at his watch. ‘We’re on the way to the office-’
‘So, sometime before midnight?’
‘No, honest, I should be home this afternoon.’ He looked at his watch. It wasn’t even noon.
Lila laughed. ‘Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry, do what you have to do. Just knowing you’re nearby is all the comfort I need. Kisses.’
Andreas hung up and stared out the window, wondering what he’d done to deserve her. And how much longer could she stand a life with him. He didn’t want to think about that.
Fifteen minutes later he was back at GADA. Athens was a place more than five million called home, and where few ever seemed to be asleep at the same time. Some never seemed to sleep at all. GADA was in the heart of the action, across the street from the stadium of one of Greece’s two most popular soccer teams, down the block from Greece’s Supreme Court, and next to a major hospital.
No sooner did Andreas sit behind his desk than Maggie came bouncing through his office door. She dropped an envelope on the desk. ‘So, what did he have to say?’
‘What did who have to say?’
‘Tassos.’
‘Of course, how could I have thought this was about police business?’
‘It is about police business, I don’t need to ask you what he has to say about other things.’ Maggie smiled. ‘I want to know if he can help you find the guy you’re looking for.’
Andreas stared at her. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’
‘When he called to find out where you were, I knew it had to be serious if he wouldn’t talk to you over the phone, and since we both know what he’s good at,’ she seemed to swoon at a different thought, ‘I figured you were looking for someone.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘You’d have made a terrific cop.’
‘Too limiting.’ She turned and left.
He watched her bounce out the door; five-feet, three-inches of red-topped, endless energy.
Andreas opened the envelope. It contained the photographs he’d given Kouros of the crime scene. He took them out and spread them on his desk. There were dozens. What a tragedy. Time to focus: on each photograph, on each section of each photograph, on everything in context with all else. Looking, studying, hoping to find a clue, anything that might help. But all he kept seeing was the same thing: a sad-looking, silver-haired monk, lying dead on a street, clutching a cross. What a terrible end for such a wonderful life, for any life.
He stood up and walked over to the window. What was going through that monk’s mind when faced with the end of his life? To accept his death… to fight… to pass along a message? There were no signs of a fight or a message, and he was clutching his cross. His choice seemed clear. Acceptance.
Andreas had reached a dead end. Now it was up to Tassos.
6
Andreas was in the middle of a dozen things on a half dozen different cases when Maggie buzzed him. ‘It’s him.’
He didn’t have to ask whom she meant; he just picked up the phone. ‘Are you about to make me as happy as you’re making my secretary?’
‘I hope so — but differently.’
‘Where are you?’ Andreas looked at his watch. It wasn’t even two. ‘You can’t be back on Syros.’
‘No, we stopped for lunch on Ikaria.’
‘Ikaria?’ It was a northern Aegean island, a little less than halfway between Patmos and Syros. ‘Why Ikaria?’
‘I have a lot of friends here from the old days.’
Andreas knew that for Tassos the ‘old days’ meant Greece’s military dictatorship years, between 1967 and 1974, and his time spent as a rookie cop in an island prison guarding the junta’s political enemies. He’d taken great pains to befriend all the politicians under his care as a hedge against Greece’s return to democracy. That made him great friends among both outright fascists and hardcore communists. No doubt the ones on Ikaria fell into the latter category. It was a bastion for communists long ago forced to relocate there from other parts of Greece.
‘I have what you want. I’m on a landline, do you want to chance it?’
‘What the hell, if every phone line in this country’s tapped, we’re wasting our time trying to save it anyway. Shoot.’
‘It was a lot easier than I thought. The person who called the minister of public order to get you assigned to the case didn’t try to hide who he was. Everyone in the office knew.’
‘Why don’t I think I’m going to like what’s coming.’
‘Oh, it’s not as bad as you think.’ Then Tassos told him the name.
‘Great, a former prime minister. How’s that not bad news? Who’s possibly going to make him talk? He’s untouchable, another dead end.’
‘Are you finished?’
