Greek passport now that he was a Greek citizen.’
‘What rank does he hold in his monastery?’
‘None, he does not want rank. Which perhaps is why he’s so well thought of by so many. He presents no threat.’
Andreas thought, this guy Zacharias seems too good to be true. What’s he doing in the outcast monastery if he’s so talented? ‘Do you happen to have a file on him?’
The Protos paused. ‘What you’re asking is highly irregular.’
‘So is the murder of a monk. And I’m trying to keep it that way.’
The Protos let out a breath. ‘You have your own special way with words.’
‘Can you arrange for me to come up and meet with Zacharias?’
‘When?’
‘Today.’
‘Impossible, this is Holy Week.’
‘Your Holiness, I appreciate all that but like I said-’
‘My son, I understand what you’re about to say, but you don’t understand. That monastery has the strictest rules of any on our Holy Mountain. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed access during Easter Week. From Sunday to the following Sunday at noon it has no contact with the outside world. There is no telephone and even electricity is forbidden during that holy period. There is no way you can visit or communicate with Zacharias until Sunday afternoon.’
Andreas let out a deep breath. ‘When can you get me his file?’
‘The one I have, right away, but it contains little more than what I’ve said. Any additional information would be in his monastery’s file.’
‘And not available until Sunday.’
‘Assuming the abbot cooperates. Sorry.’
Andreas thought damn, but said, ‘Thank you, Your Holiness.’
‘You’re welcome, my son.’ He paused. ‘And I appreciate all that you’re doing. Bless you and your family.’
‘Thank you.’
Between the garlic and the blessing things were looking up. Now if only he had some idea of where the devil to look for an answer, or something like that.
This was the time of year he liked least. Most held the opposite belief. They lived for the pageantry and depth of Orthodox Easter. He couldn’t stand being cooped up for almost eight days, and counted off every day, every hour, until Sunday noon, his own resurrection day. But he never let on. Never. He had their trust and wasn’t about to lose it with a casual gesture or word. No, he wouldn’t let down his guard for a second.
Gaining trust wasn’t as hard as many thought, at least not for Zacharias. He’d been doing it for years, long before finding his way into monastic life. Through time and patience he’d take the measure of one he wished to befriend, then with an easy smile, become exactly what the other wanted him to be, allowing his target to take center stage and credit for whatever mattered to the other. And when the potential friend questioned Zacharias’ motives — and that time always came — Zacharias was at his best.
He’d confide a past that made him less than perfect, one that encouraged rescue and, in a monastery, a shared desire for salvation. His story forged a relationship in spiritual steel. The other now ‘knew’ Zacharias’ weaknesses and understood him completely: Zacharias was a soul seeking redemption and a place in heaven through a revived life of selfless good works and prayer.
And to keep all of them believing that, he’d keep on praying.
‘These still are pretty good.’ Kouros was eating one of the spanikopita from the night before.
‘Obviously, you’re a bachelor,’ said Andreas.
‘And proud of it.’ He finished off the last bite and reached for another one.
‘Stop already, I’m getting sick watching you eat that crap.’
Kouros didn’t stop. ‘So, how did your early morning call go to the Protos?’
‘Just terrific, everything’s absolutely perfect in paradise. The answer to our question on the surprise appearance of the twentieth abbot at the Protos’ ceremony turns out to be a dead end. We’ve got a savior monk reuniting the gone-astray monastery with the flock. And I can’t even talk to that monk until Sunday morning.’
‘Sunday, why Sunday?’
‘No person or communication is allowed to enter or exit that monastery from Palm Sunday through noon on Easter Sunday.’
‘Bummer. Which monastery is it?’
‘The one Maggie and I were talking about last night.’
‘Chief, you never mentioned the name. The two of you were looking at some paper and I was falling asleep.’
Andreas shook his head and said the name.
Kouros stopped in mid-bite. ‘You’re kidding me?’
‘Why?’
‘That’s the monastery of the three missing monks. The monks we never got to interview on Patmos.’
Andreas sat up in his chair. ‘The same ones Abbot Christodoulos said left to return-’
‘Sunday night. But if what the Protos told you was true, no way they could have made it back to that monastery in time to take part in Easter Week.’
Andreas nodded his head.
‘Maybe you misunderstood what the abbot said?’
‘No way.’ Andreas paused. ‘But maybe he didn’t know that monastery’s rule and just thought that’s where they were going.’
‘Maybe, but before the abbot came to Patmos he was on Mount Athos for a half dozen years. If that monastery was as strict as the Protos said, he must have known they couldn’t have made it back to their monastery in time.’
‘Kind of makes you wonder.’ Andreas picked up a pencil, stared at it, and put it back down on his desk. ‘Let’s see what the abbot has to say for himself.’
Lila always liked time to herself and had no doubt that’s what helped keep her from going mad when, after her husband’s death, virtually every eligible man in Athens and beyond was after her. She detested all the phony posturing and hustle of the dating scene, and learned that ‘eligible’ could be a relative term to many a currently married man who saw landing Lila as a unique opportunity for ‘trading up’ the social ladder. She’d even tinkered with the idea of escaping her suitors by hiding away in a monastery for nuns. But the fates were Greek and they had their own plans for her. Or so Lila now liked to say.
At the moment, though, Lila was not alone. Her mother had stopped by and they were sitting in Lila’s kitchen having coffee. As a child, Lila would sit in her mother’s kitchen and watch her hover around the cooks, making sure everything was prepared ‘just like your father likes it.’ Even though her mother never had to cook or touch a dirty dish, she was as much an old-school Greek wife as any you’d find in the remotest mountain village: husband ruled, wife did all else — albeit, in Lila’s mother’s case, with a houseful of servants to help.
Kitchens were where Lila and her mother liked to talk when alone. They preferred the cramped intimacy of a cluttered kitchen table to the formality of china-and silver-filled dining rooms.
Lila sighed. ‘I never expected this to happen.’
Her mother glanced at Lila’s belly.
Lila stroked her tummy. ‘No, mother, not the baby, I mean this.’ She waved her hands around and over her head. ‘I didn’t even know Andreas ten months ago. Now we’re about to have a baby together.’
Her mother nodded. ‘Are you afraid?’
Lila’s lip quivered. ‘Yes. And I feel so ashamed that I am.’ She started crying.
Her mother handed her a handkerchief. ‘If you weren’t somewhat afraid it wouldn’t be natural. You’re close to the most intimate moment of a woman’s life, giving birth to a being you will love more deeply than yourself for the rest of your life.’ She reached over and stroked Lila’s hair. ‘It is a moment for great joy. And great fear. But you are blessed. Andreas is a wonderful man and will be a terrific father.’
Lila threw the handkerchief on the table. ‘But he won’t marry me. He won’t even talk about it.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
