‘Nothing of consequence.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. You’re saying that this “unusual man” who “liked to avoid controversy” would get worked up over “nothing of consequence?”’
The smile was gone. The abbot stood. ‘I have other appointments.’
Andreas did not stand. ‘Your Holiness, I didn’t want to come to Patmos and, frankly, I’d prefer getting back to Athens. But somebody with enough clout to pressure my boss, the minister of public order, wants me here asking questions. So when I tell my boss it’s a waste of time because you won’t answer my questions, the worst that can happen to me is that I’m sent back to Athens to do what I want to do. I leave to your imagination what’s the worst that can happen to you.’ Andreas left unsaid, from whatever son of a bitch is behind this.
The abbot stared for a moment and sat back down. ‘Good point.’ He smiled. ‘Our police captain warned me you could be persuasive.’ He paused. ‘Mount Athos.’
‘Excuse me?’ said Andreas.
‘Mount Athos. That’s what was bothering Vassilis. The scandal in that Mount Athos monastery was consuming him. He was convinced it would be the ruin of the church.’
‘I don’t understand. Claims of corruption in the church aren’t new. Vassilis had to know that. Besides, this is isolated to one monastery. How could he think it was going to bring down the church?’
The abbot pointed to a framed map of Greece and Asia Minor on the wall to Andreas’ left. ‘In 1054, at the Great Schism, the church of the West was fixed in Rome, and the church of the East in Constantinople. Our church has had a presence in Constantinople since the city’s founding in the fourth century, and it has always been home to the Ecumenical Patriarch, the spiritual head of our church and my direct superior as abbot of this monastery.’
The abbot leaned forward. ‘The occupiers of Con-stantinople have permitted our Ecumenical Patriarch to remain there, in what they call Istanbul. But there are requirements imposed by Turkey’s constitution. Most significantly, the Ecumenical Patriarch must be a Turkish citizen and have a degree from an authorized Turkish university. For many years there was no problem, because Greeks on lands conquered by the Turks could attend the Ecumenical Patriarch’s seminary, the Holy Theological School on the island of Halki in the Sea of Marmara.’
Andreas started to fidget. Where the hell is he going with all this?
‘But in 1971, Turkey passed a law forbidding private universities and closed the Halki School. There is no longer an Eastern Orthodox theological seminary in Turkey. Our blessed Ecumenical Patriarch sits in Constantinople because he meets Turkey’s legal requirements, but after his time has passed…’ The abbot shook his head, and looked up as if searching for a miracle. ‘Unless Turkey changes its constitution to accommodate Greece, I fear our next Ecumenical Patriarch must find a new home. Just think how the western world would react if Italy tried evicting the pope from Vatican City.’
Everyone shrugged.
‘Okay, we know that’s never going to happen in Italy, but the situation in Constantinople is real, and a lot more than just the eleven million of us in Greece are worried about it.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ said Kouros, sparing Andreas the same observation.
The abbot nodded, as if fielding a question from a visiting student. ‘The Russians have long claimed that the head of the Eastern Orthodox Church belonged in Russia. Russia and its former satellites have the most members of the faith, hundreds of millions. But for over nine hundred years our church has been linked to Constantinople, while for most of that time the Russian Church existed merely to appease the Russian masses. Under the tsars, the church was their servant. After the revolution, the only god allowed in Russia was the central government. That made Russia a highly unattractive alternative to Constantinople, yet the Russian Orthodox Church long has sought to undermine, and indeed directly challenge, our Ecumenical Patriarch.
‘The West also liked keeping the Ecumenical Patriarch isolated in Constantinople, removed from his resources and access to his followers. It minimized the risk of some powerful Eastern Orthodox leader emerging who might affect the western powers’ view of “world order.”’ The abbot flashed his fingers for emphasis.
‘But things are different now. Or at least that’s what Moscow wants the world to think. Russia claims to have embraced the church anew, and that the sheer number of Orthodox followers within its borders entitles it to have the church headquartered there — when the Ecumenical Patriarch is forced out of Constantinople.’
The abbot crossed himself. ‘Can you imagine our Ecumenical Patriarch driven out of Constantinople by the Turks and into the arms of Russian control and methods? Just think of the influence it would give the Russians over its former satellites. Forget about controlling their borders, Russia will control their peoples’ souls.’
Andreas wondered if that was part of the Greek Orthodox Church’s pitch to the Eastern Orthodox community against the Russians. He also wondered how he could find the son of a bitch who got him into this mess.
The abbot continued. ‘No one but Russia wants that. But what’s the alternative? Some have suggested Geneva, but the most obvious and natural choice is Mount Athos, a place holy and revered by all Eastern Orthodoxy. It is where the secrets of Byzantium remain safely hidden amid reclusive lives led much the same now as in the fourth century. Some say the entire Mount Athos scandal grew out of an effort by one monastery to establish itself as a world financial center in anticipation of an objection from Russia that Mount Athos was too unsophisticated and out of touch with modern times to be the physical center of our faith.’
The abbot shrugged. ‘All I know for certain is that Moscow and Mount Athos are in competition to serve as our next Ecumenical Patriarch’s home. Vassilis knew that too, and he worried that the scandal, with all its allegations of fraudulent property transactions, made Mount Athos seem far too tainted with corruption to serve as our Ecumenical Patriarch’s home. Especially in light of all the real estate the Ecumenical Patriarch controls.’
‘As if Russia were any better.’ Kouros snickered.
The abbot nodded. ‘Yes, but Vassilis argued that corruption in a holy place is perceived as far more serious and sinful than corruption in a place of government or business.’
‘He had a point,’ said Andreas.
‘What sort of property are we talking about?’ asked Kouros.
‘A lot… and lots of rents. The Archbishop of Greece controls all Eastern Orthodox Church property on land Greece freed from the Turks in our 1821 War of Independence, while all Eastern Orthodox Church property on land obtained by Greece when our borders were redrawn after World War I — that’s most of northern Greece — is under the control of the Ecumenical Patriarch.’
Andreas nodded, thinking that was some serious money. There looked to be a lot more than souls at stake here.
For the next hour Andreas and Kouros pressed the abbot for every detail he could remember of the past week that touched upon Vassilis in any way, and for a list of anyone with even the remotest contact with the murdered monk. They asked to see whatever files there were on Vassilis, but they proved useless. The background information was forty years old, everything else was praise, and the most recent entry was over twenty years old: a glowing accolade from the archbishop of Greece. Andreas figured whoever was charged with making entries felt there was nothing more to be said, and so no one bothered. Andreas made a mental note to have his secretary dig up what else she could on Vassilis’ past.
‘Yianni, start interviewing the people on His Holiness’ list.’ Andreas looked at the abbot. ‘And, if you have no objection, I’d like to see Vassilis’ room.’
‘Certainly.’ The abbot stood up and nodded goodbye to Kouros. ‘Follow me, please.’
Vassilis’ cell was in a whitewashed building by a pebble and stone courtyard filled with flowers. The building stood on the south side of the monastery and, if his cell had a window on the outside wall, enjoyed a terrific view of the valley below. What Andreas first noticed was the silence. Only birds disturbed the mood.
‘His room is at the far end.’ The abbot pointed. ‘It’s the one with the table in front.’ A photograph of a young, smiling monk sat next to a single white lily on a tiny, square-top table. ‘As soon as I heard, I gave instructions for no one to enter Vassilis’ room until the police said it was allowed. We needed nothing from his room to prepare him.’
‘What time did you learn about the murder?’
‘A little before three-thirty this morning.’
‘Did the police find anything in his room?’
‘They haven’t asked to see it.’
Figured. ‘Has anyone been inside?’
The abbot looked at the door and pointed to a bit of wax running from above the lock onto the frame. ‘No, my seal is still on the door.’
