‘I’ve done a terrible thing to Lila.’
There was an audible swallow on the other end of the line. ‘Is she okay? The baby?’
‘Yes, but she won’t be after I tell her. And I have to tell her.’
‘Andreas, please, first tell me what happened.’
‘I’m so ashamed. I can’t even say it.’
The voice turned sharp. ‘Andreas, do not pull this Greek macho male bullshit on me. If you guys only had the balls to see psychiatrists you might actually be as perfect as you think you are.’
He grinned. ‘Maggie, you are the best.’
‘Now, tell me!’
Andreas spent the next twenty minutes reciting every tormenting detail without a single interruption from Maggie.
‘How can I face her?’
‘I know how you feel.’ Maggie’s voice was trembling.
‘How could you?’
‘I was raped by a friend once, too.’
For an instant Andreas couldn’t breathe.
‘He got me drunk and…’ her voice trailed off. ‘I still can’t bring myself to talk about it. And it happened thirty years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, we’re kindred spirits. Rape is rape. The fact you would have enjoyed it under different circumstances doesn’t change things. That only makes you feel guiltier, giving you even more reason for blaming yourself. Believe me, you did nothing wrong. You were the victim. And, frankly, it may not seem politically correct advice, but I see no reason in the world to tell Lila any of this.
‘If you were a woman raped by your husband’s best friend, things would be different, especially if you thought he might try again. In your case, a repeat rape is out of the question. But you better confront the bitch and let her know in no uncertain terms the consequences if she even hints at what happened last night to anyone. Who knows what sort of fucked-up thinking runs through the mind of a woman who’d rape her best friend’s man? And when her friend is about to give birth to their child!
‘Jealousy, competition, spite, maybe just some need to brag about her conquests — like men do endlessly — might cause her to say something to someone. She must be told that if she utters even a single word, it will be a decision she’ll regret for whatever remains of the rest of her miserable life.’
Andreas had never heard such passionate anger from Maggie. He was stunned into silence.
‘Andreas, did you hear me?’
He nodded into the phone. ‘How can I threaten her like that?’
‘You’re right. You can’t. I’ll do it for you.’
‘Maggie-’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve done it before. Besides, it will be better coming from me — up close and personal.’
Consciously, Andreas knew he should object, say no, not under any circumstances, but his gut said say nothing, let her do it her way, she knows best. He struggled with what to say next. ‘I can’t tell you how much better you’ve made me feel. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for. I’ll get to her as soon as she returns to Athens.’
Andreas drew in and let out a deep breath. ‘I better head home.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And let you get to church.’
‘Don’t worry about church. Helping friends in need is the true work of God.’
‘You’re an amazing person, literally godliness on earth.’
‘Let’s not get carried away here, but thank you.’
‘Do you mind if I ask?’
‘Ask what?’
‘What ever happened to the one who… uh-’
‘He didn’t take my advice.’ Maggie’s tone was hard, the words said quickly.
‘And?’
‘He died. Suddenly, unexpectedly. As the random victim of a street mugging turned violent. Kalo Paska, bye.’
The phone went dead before Andreas could speak. Perhaps because there was nothing left to say.
The service was about to begin. For him, it was the holiest moment of the year, a time for personal rejoicing, embracing the very source of his faith. He needed the energy, the renewing power of this night, for difficult times were at hand. He prayed it was not the time; that his old friend was wrong. But he feared the worst. That was why he’d made the decision, the practical one now tormenting him. He saw it as the only path, but would God accept that what must be done in His name on earth could not always be as it is in Heaven? He only prayed no more innocents died at the hands of the evil one in their midst. He shut his eyes and bowed his head. ‘May you strike me down this very night if I have made a dreadful mistake in your name.’
It was as genuine a prayer as the Protos ever uttered.
21
The e-mail hit Yakov’s computer screen just as he was about to leave for home. His wife would give him holy hell if they were late for midnight services. But the message was from his ex-director back in the days when Yakov was new to the foreign intelligence game. Anatoly had plucked him from the crowd and made him chief espionage analyst for southern Europe and the Balkans, better known then as Section V. He at least must take a quick look at it, if only for old times’ sake.
Yakov began quickly scrolling through the message. The pace of his reading slowed, then slowed even more. He picked up the phone, pressed a speed dial button, and waited until the man now in charge of his old Section V duties in Russia’s new foreign intelligence service answered. ‘Artur, come to my office immediately.’
Yakov was reading the attachments when a man entered his office. ‘What is it, Director?’
‘Artur, do you remember about a decade or so ago, the man we called “the Balkan Butcher”?’
‘How could I forget him. But didn’t he die?’
‘So we thought. I’m not sure anymore. This just came in.’ Yakov pointed to the screen. ‘Read it.’
Yakov kept talking as Artur read. ‘Even if this monk, Zacharias, is the Butcher, if all he’s doing is running around creating political angst for the Greek Church, I’m not sure his past matters anymore. After all, we do believe in redemption, do we not?’ He smiled.
Artur did not answer, just kept reading.
Yakov didn’t mind, he was used to asking rhetorical questions and never expected them to be answered. ‘As for the symbolism of the photographs, I think it’s an intriguing intellectual exercise, but I’m not sure of what interest it is to us. One could argue from the placement of the carpet and the superimposed face of Satan in the photograph that it was the Protos the murdered monk was linking to Satan. But let us assume this Zacharias is Satan’s beast or even Satan himself, as I said before, does it matter? Yes, undoubtedly, the Butcher in his day qualified as the devil incarnate, but that was a long time ago. Now he’s someone else’s problem, and I see no reason to make him ours. And so what if this Zacharias is behind all of the bad publicity coming out of Greece? Would it not be better for us to bribe those same journalists to write retractions than risk being exposed as the eliminator of the source?’
‘I’m not so sure about that, Director.’
An actual answer to one of his questions caught Yakov off guard. ‘“Not so sure” of what?’
Artur kept reading through the attachments as he spoke. ‘We’ve received reports of someone attempting to locate the source of the dioxin used on the Ukrainian. At first we thought it was a journalist trying to wring yet another story out of the incident. Maybe even Yushchenko himself trying to find some way to revive his political fortunes with more emotional tales from the past.
‘But then we learned that someone actually was trying to buy dioxin from that same source, and not just any dioxin, but the exact formulation found in Yushchenko. At that point we inserted our operatives into the transaction.
