remote of places. A man in his early twenties, about Andreas’ size, was standing next to the door watching them approach. Andreas waved as he walked up to him, then patted him on the shoulder. ‘Great job, sailor.’
The man nodded. ‘Thank you, sir. The captain is inside with the prisoners.’ He pushed open the door.
The space inside the church was cramped, but neat and clean, as if tended to every day. A military issue, battery-powered lantern stood on a small table next to the door. The required icons were in their proper places, but there was no candle stand. As if reading Andreas’ mind, the captain said, ‘We took it out. No reason to give our friends here anything to swing at us in case they decide to get frisky.’ He smiled. ‘Again.’
The three prisoners sat in a row at the captain’s feet, legs tied together straight out in front of them, and tied again to each other’s. Their hands appeared tied behind their backs. On either side of the row stood a sailor, each armed with a twelve-gauge short-barrel semiautomatic shotgun. They were the best for close work and gave an unmistakable message to the three on the floor: the end is near and here if you want it. From the way the three looked, Andreas doubted they were anxious to test that possibility.
Andreas pointed to the man in the middle. ‘Looks like his face ran into a door a half dozen times.’ The others didn’t look much better.
The captain laughed. ‘They’re big boys, and I guess they thought my little guys couldn’t handle them. They took a run at these two,’ he pointed to the sailors holding the shotguns, ‘when we brought them on board the cutter from the caique. They were wrong.’ The captain smiled again, then kicked the one closest to him on the bottom of one foot. ‘Assholes.’
‘Captain, thank you very much. We’ll take it from here,’ said Andreas.
‘You want us to leave you alone with them?’ He sounded worried.
‘Don’t worry, we can handle it. Just leave a shotgun with my buddy here. He once was one of you.’ Andreas nodded toward Kouros.
The captain smiled. ‘Another sea-sucking lokazides?’
Kouros grinned and gave the captain and the two other sailors some archaic hand-slap that must have meant something to the shared DYK special ops brotherhood of Greece’s equivalent of U.S. Navy Seals.
Andreas had insisted to the minister that the operation use only coast guard vessels so as not to attract unusual attention, and that the men involved must be able to handle trained military types willing and capable of killing without hesitation. So the minister sent in the big boys.
‘We’ll be right outside. If you need anything, just holler.’ The captain glared at the three on the floor and followed his two men out the door.
Kouros took up a position looking straight down the line of prisoners, leaving no doubt what would happen if they tried anything with the new guy holding the shotgun.
Andreas smiled. ‘You guys have had quite a day. First a stroll in the country, then a boat ride, now a bit of prayer and meditation. But, oh yes, I forgot you’re used to that. So, do you miss the monastery?’
No answer.
‘Okay, I understand, these are not the best circumstances for us to get to know each other, but it’s all the time we have.’
Silence.
‘Now, now, you’re not going to tell me you’ve taken a vow of silence are you?’
Not a word.
This was going nowhere, thought Andreas. Time to take another risk. ‘I don’t understand, Kalogeros Zacharias wouldn’t have sent you if you had.’
It was as if someone had touched the three with an electric cattle prod. The prisoner in the middle said something in Serbian to the others.
Andreas shook his head. ‘Fellas, the party is over. We know where you came from, and you know where you’re going. The only question is whether it’s prison for the rest of your lives — for war crimes.’ He guessed that at least one of them had that worry, possibly all of them.
Kouros shrugged and tightened his grip on the shotgun.
‘No matter. Besides I’m sure you boys know more about that than I do.’
‘Fuck you.’ It was the prisoner in the middle.
Must have guessed right. ‘Nice to meet you, too. The name’s Andreas.’
‘We have nothing to say.’
Andreas nodded, and walked over to a bag he’d brought with him. Carefully he lifted it from the floor and stood holding it in front of the three men. He shook his head. ‘Would you like to see what I have in here for you?’
The middle one spoke again. ‘Fuck you, we’re not afraid. We’ve been tortured before.’
Andreas looked surprised. ‘Torture, who’s talking torture?’ He reached into the bag, pulled out and pointed a cylinder in the man’s face. ‘Here, bite this.’
The man jerked his head back and away from the thing, studied it, leaned forward, and sniffed at it. Then he took a bite.
‘Good, huh?’ Andreas gave the others the same choice, and each accepted. Then he went up and down the line until the sausage was finished. ‘I know it’s a little awkward doing things this way, but I’m sure you understand why I can’t untie your hands.’ He reached into the bag, pulled out some bread, and repeated the process.
‘Cheese?’
The three nodded. One even said, ‘Thank you.’
After another round of sausage, Andreas opened a bottle of wine. ‘Hope you don’t mind sharing.’ Carefully, he held the bottle up to each prisoner’s lips, allowing each man to comfortably drink as much as the man wanted. Andreas kept this up until the bottle was empty. Then gave them more sausages, another bottle of wine, more cheese, another bottle of wine, more cheese, and more wine. It took about a half-hour for the feast to finish.
‘I hope you liked it. The farmer you worked for gave it to us.’
‘Yeah, it was good.’ It was the prisoner who’d said thanks.
‘They were good people,’ said the one in the middle. ‘Sorry we had to do that to them. I hope they’re okay.’
Andreas was always amazed when professional killers of innocents showed such seeming genuine concern for their prey; as if murder were just a job to them, unrelated to their feelings for those whose lives they ended. ‘Sure, no problem,’ said Andreas. ‘How did you end up there anyway?’
The prisoner who’d been quiet looked at the others. ‘It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.’ The two others shrugged. ‘We found the place the first day we got there. Just in case we needed to leave the monastery.’
‘Smart,’ said Andreas.
The thankful one said, ‘And when we heard you wanted to talk to us, we decided it was time to move on.’
‘And, of course, you couldn’t go home to your monastery until Sunday.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. The farm seemed as safe as any place.’
‘We were going to leave by boat next Saturday morning,’ said the quiet one.
‘That’s how you got to Patmos in the first place, by boat.’
The middle one nodded.
‘So, who wants to tell me?’ said Andreas.
‘Tell you what?’ said the middle one.
‘Why did you have to kill him?’
No one answered; their faces like carved stone.
‘Okay, guys, I know the rules, no confessions, ever. But here we have a special situation.’ Andreas looked at Kouros. ‘Tell them.’
Kouros looked each of them in the eye before speaking. ‘If you stick with the good soldier’s “name, rank, and serial number” routine, you’ll be prosecuted as international war criminals and spend the rest of your lives in prison. No tribunal would even consider a lighter sentence, not after what you did to a priest. You’re all as good as dead.’
Andreas raised a finger. ‘However, there is an option. If you cooperate I can promise that instead you’ll be tried in a Greek court for murder.’
‘Some promise,’ said the middle one.
