‘You’ll need a professional translation for details. My German isn’t that good, and my Serbian is practically nonexistent. But,’ Ilias pointed to the articles in Serbian, ‘one thing I can make out is that all the newspapers mention the guy who died in Switzerland.’
Andreas nodded. ‘What about the photograph of the monk in his cell?’
‘I have an idea.’ Ilias tore through the disks until he found a particular one and popped it into the laptop. It was from a CD collection giving a virtual tour of Mount Athos monasteries. ‘Here.’ He pointed to a photograph. It was the one of the monk in his cell. ‘I thought I saw it before. It’s from that monastery you’re interested in.’
‘Damn, you’re good.’
Ilias jerked forward as if anticipating another congratulatory whack.
Andreas laughed and high-fived him as they bent to the screen.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Andreas. ‘What’s that over there?’ He pointed to a photograph next to the one of the monk’s cell.
‘It’s of the library in the same monastery,’ said Ilias.
‘Can you make this part bigger?’ Andreas pointed to an area of the floor, and watched the photograph grow.
‘My God,’ said Ilias. ‘It’s the carpet.’
Andreas gave no back slaps, no high-fives, no shouts; he just stared at the screen in silence. When he spoke, he first cleared his throat. ‘Thanks, Ilias, good job. Please print out copies of everything. I sincerely appreciate your help.’
Ilias nodded and left with the computer. Maggie was right behind him. ‘Maggie, please stay.’
‘I was afraid you’d say that.’
Andreas didn’t speak immediately. ‘Are you sure we can trust him?’
‘Trust who?’
‘Ilias.’
Maggie smiled. ‘I’m sure. His mother used to work here and always complained to me about her “ungrateful son” who knew “all these secret things” but never gave her any gossip.’
Andreas nodded. ‘So, we have a list of corruptible journalists accusing the Russians of nastiness around Mount Athos, old newspaper stories about a war criminal apparently incinerated in Switzerland — where Zacharias’ passport was issued — a photograph of a monk in a cell in Zacharias’ monastery, and the mysterious Satan-bearing carpet from the doctored photograph on Vassilis’ flash drive turning up in the same monastery. What do you think Vassilis was trying to tell us?’
She shrugged.
‘Like, “Hello, if you want to know where to find Satan, take a look at this.”’
‘That’s somewhat flippant, don’t you think?’
‘Frankly, I think the proper way to describe it is “goddamn frightening.”’
She sighed. ‘Should I call Yianni?’
‘No reason to, at least not yet. Let me speak to the Protos first. I want to hear what he has to say about all this.’
‘He may be hard to reach. After all, it’s Holy Thursday.’
‘Even to learn the whereabouts of Satan?’
Maggie’s face was serious. ‘Especially so.’ She picked up and waved Dimitri’s note. ‘Sometimes, not knowing is better.’
15
For a little less than three more days Zacharias must remain a faceless monk, locked away among more of the same, droning on in endless prayer within the walls of an undistinguished monastery. It would seem the perfect place to lurk unnoticed by the world. But this wasn’t Zacharias’ style. He hated being one of a flock. His preferred form of anonymity involved standing in the shadows of power, silently appreciated by everyone who mattered for his behind-the-scenes contributions to their successes.
How far things had come. Some would say it was luck, but he knew better. It was ordained. Nothing else could explain his escape from that prison camp, safe passage to Switzerland, and good fortune at finding a new identity easily matched by modest plastic surgery. It was ordained, even if his new features did require the death of the original bearer. But the man got to die in a splash of publicity, albeit anonymously: ‘Escaped war criminal dies in fiery crash.’
Now, all of that was old news, lost as a footnote to history and of no interest to anyone. No one knew of his true past, not even the three collaborators he’d dispatched to Patmos who shared a similar history. His mind wandered from the three men to thoughts of what might have happened on that Holy Island.
Zacharias kept reassuring himself that even if something went wrong, he was covered. Everyone who counted owed him, and not just those living on this Holy Mountain, because all men seeking higher position in the church at one time or another passed through Mount Athos. Powerful men, like that fast-rising abbot on Patmos who called him ‘my true friend.’ Still, that wasn’t what kept him safe. Owed favors only went so far. Indeed, today was the day for remembering the ultimate betrayal.
No, he had a far greater hold on all those he’d helped. They’d bought into him, vouched for him, called him brother and meant it. And they knew enough about his past that if the full truth ever came to light they’d never convince a soul they hadn’t known it all from the beginning. It would bring every one of them down with him, and a crippling scandal to Mount Athos and the church. Yes, they would protect him. They will protect him, because they must protect themselves.
Andreas left two messages for the Protos. The first was, ‘Please call me as soon as you can.’ Thirty minutes later he placed a second call saying, ‘It’s urgent.’ He was about to call again when Maggie came into his office.
‘I think you’re going to be interested in this.’
Andreas looked up.
‘I did the follow-up you suggested on that war criminal. Swiss authorities took no dental or DNA records, and what was left of the body was cremated at the request of family.’
‘How convenient. So much for a simple way of proving someone else fried in that car. By the way, what’s the part that’s going to interest me?’
‘We’re not the only one asking questions.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘A few weeks ago, someone else wanted to know if there was some way to identify the body “for certain.”’
‘You’re putting me on.’
‘The caller said it was an inquiry “in connection with a church matter.”’
‘Did they tell him?’
‘They saw no reason not to, but called him back just to make sure he was on the level.’
‘Please tell me they kept the number.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Their file note read, “Monastery of Saint John the Divine, ask for Kalogeros Vassilis.”’ She emphasized his name with her fingers.
‘Yes!’ Andreas pumped his fist in the air. ‘I just love Swiss efficiency.’
‘Yeah, but it takes a Greek to improvise.’
‘Meaning?’
‘If you can’t find a dead body, find a live one.’
‘And do what with it?’
Maggie stuck out her tongue. ‘Wiseass, if Zacharias is the war criminal, then whose identity did he assume in conning the abbot into admitting him into the monastery? I found the full name and details Zacharias used when obtaining his Greek citizenship papers and ran that past the Swiss. Their records have a man with that name leaving Switzerland for parts unknown.’
‘Let me guess, right after the war criminal died.’
