Andreas had heard rumors of such loyal followers of the faith making it into receptive monasteries directly out of Balkan military forces. Whether they entered seeking true salvation or sanctuary from a past they and the world would rather forget, he did not know.
‘Frankly, I don’t like traveling, as you say, with an ‘entourage,’ but after what happened to poor Vassilis,’ he crossed himself, ‘do I have a choice? Or to dress as I am to journey to meetings such as this?’ He pointed at his suit.
Andreas took that as an opening for avoiding preliminary chit-chat. ‘What are you afraid of?’
‘I wish I knew.’
‘Please, just tell me what you do know.’
‘How much history do you want?’
‘All of it.’ Andreas sat down on the edge of the bed across from him and listened. An hour later, he wondered if he’d said the right thing to an old man who’d just lost a very dear friend. Nothing he’d told Andreas seemed relevant to the case. The ancient intrigues of the church were of interest only to scholars, reminiscences of his days shared with Vassilis in the seminary were almost fifty years old, and their shared views on modern theological problems of the church raised not even a hint of a motive for murder.
Thank God I’m wearing a wire, Andreas thought. If I’d been taking notes I’d have lost patience long ago. He sneaked a peek at his watch. At this pace, a late dinner with Lila was out of the question; breakfast might even be iffy. He had to find some way to move this along onto something relevant.
‘Excuse me, Your Holiness, would you like some water?’
The man seemed surprised at hearing another’s voice. ‘Uh, why yes, thank you, my son.’ He paused. ‘I hope what I’m telling you is helpful.’
Andreas went to the minibar and took out two bottles of water. ‘Yes, very.’ He walked back to the man and held out the bottles. ‘Gas or no gas?’
The man took the flat water. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why did you ask that I be assigned to this case?’
The man took a sip of water. ‘I was just about to tell you.’
Andreas hoped that meant within the next hour. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and opened the other bottle of water.
‘Vassilis was a scholar and patient observer. He saw things others missed. A debate with him was an exploration of thought.’ He shook his head. ‘He never should have left his theoretical world. I told him to stay out of it.’
Andreas leaned forward. ‘Out of what?’
‘This Russian thing.’
A chill ran down Andreas’ back. ‘Go on, please.’
‘I’m certain that by now you are well aware of Russian interest in relocating the Ecumenical Patriarch.’
Andreas nodded.
‘And of Vassilis’ obsession with how the scandal at Mount Athos might affect that issue.’
Andreas nodded again.
‘If the Russians could be shown to have played any part in creating that scandal, it would destroy the credibility of their attacks on Mount Athos’ fitness to serve as the new home for the next leader of the church. In fact, if Russians were involved, the moral value of our claim is strengthened. It would make us the innocent victim of vicious intrigues by a former superpower.’
From his use of ‘our’ and ‘us’ in describing Mount Athos, Andreas presumed that was where he called home. It also fit with Andreas’ guess about sanctuary for Sergey, because anyone accepted into monastic life on Mount Athos acquired Greek citizenship without further formalities.
‘I told him to let it be, that there was nothing he could do, but he would not relent in his quest for proof.’ The man paused. ‘I assume you know all that, too.’
Andreas nodded as if he did.
‘There’s one thing I’m certain you do not know.’ He paused and took a sip of water. ‘Vassilis was coming to meet me when he was murdered.’
The man took another sip, then crossed his legs and sat quietly watching Andreas, as if waiting to measure his reaction.
‘I didn’t know that.’
The man nodded. ‘He called me on the morning of the day before he was killed. He said he had proof things were not as they seemed.’
The same state of mind Dimitri had used to describe Vassilis, Andreas thought.
‘He was excited, but also frightened.’
Probably something like the feeling Andreas now had.
‘He said I “must” see what he’d found “immediately.” I tried calming him down, but he wouldn’t listen. He invoked Revelation, saying I must see it now, “for the time is at hand.” He was quoting from the opening lines of Revelation, the part some say first warns of the coming Apocalypse.’ The man drew in and let out a breath. ‘I told him to e-mail me whatever it was. He said he knew my assistant screened my e-mails and he couldn’t risk anyone other than us knowing what he’d found. “Too dangerous,” he said. I never dreamed it might cost him his life.’ He shook his head.
‘Did you tell your assistant about your conversation with Vassilis?’
‘No, I told no one. You’re the first person to whom I’ve mentioned any of this.’
‘Who else knew what Vassilis was looking for?’
‘A better question is, “Who didn’t?” As I said, Vassilis was obsessed, as if he’d been called upon to be a savior of the church. He contacted anyone he thought could possibly help get him an answer. Frankly, I was worried some might stop taking him seriously, begin indulging him as if he were an old man who’d lost it.’
‘Had he?’
‘No, not a bit.’
‘So, what happened?’
‘He insisted he must see me in person, but could not possibly come to me without being observed and that “would be dangerous for us both.” He told me I must come to him and made a joke about his friends being only “poor fishermen with brightly colored, slow moving boats,” while mine were more from the “stealthy, fast, silver helicopter” crowd.’
The man rubbed at his eyes with his right hand. ‘So we agreed to meet at three the next morning in the house of a friend of his, off behind the Patmos town hall. The friend was away and we’d be alone. The only people who knew I was on the island were the American pilot who flew the helicopter, the taxi driver who brought me to Chora, and of course, Vassilis. The pilot had no idea who I was, and the taxi driver thought I was some old monk with “a relative in the military” important enough to get me “a lift to Patmos for Easter Week.” Even my secretary didn’t know where I was going.
‘I was in the house by two-thirty, waiting for Vassilis to show up. He was late and that wasn’t like him. Then I heard someone shouting, and when I realized what he was saying… “Kalogeros Vassilis was murdered in the square”… I didn’t know what to do.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I’m ashamed to say it, but I was afraid.’
Andreas leaned over and touched the man’s knee. ‘No need to explain, you were right to be afraid.’
The man nodded. ‘I called my secretary and told him what happened. He said to stay where I was and he would arrange for “someone” to accompany me back home.’
‘Sergey?’
‘Yes, and through the help of another friend with another helicopter, Sergey met me at the house, disguised me, and got me out of Patmos before the sun came up.’
Damn sight more efficient than the Patmos police, thought Andreas.
‘He is very concerned that anyone even remotely suspected of knowing whatever led to Vassilis’ murder is in grave danger.’
Thank you for inviting me to the party, thought Andreas.
‘May I have some more water?’
Andreas got up, went to the minibar, and brought the man another bottle.
‘Thank you. I still have no idea what Vassilis planned on showing me.’ He twisted off the cap and took a sip.
