what the future brought.
But he also told Maggie to keep up on the news from Mount Athos, just in case.
22
Free at last. Praise the Lord. It was noon, and the monastery’s doors at last were open. Everyone was off to eat, then to sleep. Forty days of fasting without meat, fish, cheese, butter, or eggs had taken much of their energy. But Zacharias had no time for that. He had to hurry to catch the fast boat from the port of Daphni to Ouranoupolis and be back in time for supper at seven in the Russian abbot’s monastery. A two-hour mountain road walk to the bus, a half-hour ride to the boat, a one-hour voyage aboard the Little Saint Anna, and a return voyage getting him back to Daphni before evening prayers at six was the plan. Thank God the Russian monastery wasn’t far from Daphni. Still, it would be close.
As he hurried along the dirt path toward where the bus would be, he fiddled with his cell phone. He couldn’t get it to work. Couldn’t be the battery, he’d left it in the charger all week. Then it hit him. He’d also left the phone on, just in case a message somehow got through — and the abbot must have turned off all electricity into the monastery. The phone was dead. Damn, damn, damn.
He quickened his pace. No matter, he’d assume the worst, that none of them made it to Ouranoupolis and he’d have to do this alone. He could do it. He could do anything.
As he walked, Zacharias thought of other possibilities. What if they were caught? What if there were police waiting for him in Ouranoupolis? No, the three would never talk. They’re afraid of the Lord and what would happen to their souls should they stray from the path they’d chosen to walk together with him — and to their families should they cross him. He had picked his men carefully, each with a past and a family to protect. Yes, they would never give him away.
The bus wound its way through timeless green beauty. He stared out the window; there seemed no human presence, man nonexistent. This now was his place. This was where he belonged. He would make it worthy of his work. The boat was there. As if ordained to wait for him. Yes, it was ordained. It was part of the Lord’s plan. The time was now.
It was almost four in the afternoon, and the man had been sitting in the same taverna chair for almost five hours. His ass was killing him. But his orders were clear and direct: ‘Petro, do not move under any circumstances until contact is made, and that means any circumstances.’ They were not instructions one could misinterpret. Especially considering their source. He’d been doing this sort of work for more years than he liked to remember, but this was the first time the director had given him his orders personally.
The jet, the parachute, the underwater approach were right out of one of those James Bond movies, but considering the last minute timing involved with this operation, there was no other real choice. You couldn’t get even a donkey to move in Greece on Easter. Still, he was getting too old for this special ops craziness. He just hoped the boat was here to meet him. All he could do was wonder, because the plan didn’t allow him to leave this goddamned chair to check.
Some plan. Once contact was made it was up to him to make the call: kill, grab, or walk away. The choices had been conveyed in their reverse order of preference. ‘We’d prefer no more dead Greek monks on public streets during Easter Week, and if he seems no threat, let him take the package and go — the dioxin is phony anyway,’ were the director’s exact words.
‘Where the hell is that monk?’ Petro muttered under his breath in Russian. The Little Saint Anna had docked twenty minutes ago.
‘May I have a light?’ someone said in Greek. It was a man who looked to be in his late thirties, early forties, sitting at a nearby table. He could be older, but his full beard was black and neatly trimmed. He was wearing jeans, a plaid work shirt, a fisherman’s hat, and construction boots, drinking coffee, reading a Greek newspaper, and holding a cat on his lap.
‘Here you are.’ Petro responded in Greek, handing him a lighter.
‘Thank you very much, that is very kind of you,’ said the man with the cat. ‘So, where’s the package?’ He now spoke Russian with a Serbian accent.
‘Package? What package?’ Petro responded in Greek.
The man with the cat continued in Russian. ‘Since you understood what I said, there is no reason for you to continue straining to speak in Greek. I’m very comfortable in your mother tongue.’ He smiled in a way suggestive of twinkling eyes, but his remained dark and focused.
‘So I see,’ Petro said, switching to Russian, ‘but I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’
The man stroked the cat and spoke as if talking to himself. ‘Of course you don’t. And if I gave you 75,000 reasons you still wouldn’t know, would you?’
That was the amount the director told him would be paid for the dioxin. ‘That’s a lot of reasons.’
The cat man smiled, staring off toward the sea. ‘Yes, I know. And I also know that you were expecting someone else to give them to you.’
Petro nodded. ‘Yes, one of two possible persons as a matter of fact, and you do not fit the descriptions they provided.’
Cat man smiled again, still staring off to sea. ‘You mean three.’
Petro nodded again. ‘Yes, three. So why isn’t one of them here?’
‘They had commitments elsewhere and asked me to come in their place.’
‘Highly unusual for this sort of transaction.’
Cat man nodded. ‘I accept that.’
‘Well, I can’t.’
The man dropped the cat to the street and looked directly at Petro. ‘I am not with the authorities, although I do not expect you to believe me. But I am the one who is providing the money.’
‘You’re right, I don’t believe you.’
‘How can I change your mind?’ His tone was conciliatory, solicitous.
Petro shrugged. ‘I have a job to do, to deliver whatever’s in that package to one of three people and pick up the payment. If I deliver it to the wrong party my ass is on the line.’
Cat man shrugged. ‘It’s going to be a lot more on the line if you don’t show up with the money.’
‘Maybe, but then again, why take the risk? I get paid the same whether I deliver or I walk. But unless I get a specific ID confirmation on the party I’m supposed to meet, my instructions are to walk.’
Cat man nodded. ‘Okay, now that we understand each other, what do I have to do to make you comfortable enough to take the risk? Shall I present you with the “ID” you were to be given or descriptions of the three you were expecting to meet?’
He shook his head. ‘No need to, I’m sure you know the three. I just don’t know you.’
‘Okay, then let me put it simply. How much?’ Petro smiled. ‘Forty thousand.’
‘Ten.’
‘Thirty.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘No.’
‘“No?” Why “no”?’
‘Fifteen thousand additional euros for no additional risk. Take it or leave it.’
Petro hesitated. ‘Okay, but I want to see the money now.’
Cat man looked around the taverna, leaned toward Petro, and opened his shirt to show a money belt strapped about his waist. It was more like a bellyband for a bad back, but with pockets filled with euros.
‘I see you’ve done this sort of thing before.’
Cat man smiled. ‘A long, long time ago. So, where’s the package?’
‘It’s in a boat at the pier on the other end of the harbor.’
‘Go get it.’
‘Not a chance. For all I know your missing three guys are waiting out there to rip me off.’
