An Aegean Prophecy (5 page)

‘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.’

‘Open it, please.’

Inside was not what Andreas expected, and from the abbot’s gasp, nor had he. The place was a mess. Books
tossed everywhere in a way suggesting they’d been skimmed before discarded, a mattress sliced to pieces, every drawer emptied, contents scattered across the floor.

‘Jesus - sorry,’ said Andreas.

‘I was thinking the same thing.’ The abbot shook his head. ‘How could someone get in without disturbing my seal?’

Andreas didn’t answer right away. He stood studying the mess. ‘What’s missing?’

‘I have no way of knowing.’

‘Think hard. Think about the man, think about his life, think about what he valued, what he used. It might help you to remember something.’

The abbot stared at the floor, then at the bed, and finally at the desk. ‘No, I’m sorry, he treasured his cross, it belonged to his grandfather, but other than that I can’t - wait a minute. Why, of course! His computer! It’s gone.’ The abbot looked around again at the mess. ‘All his disks are gone, too. He loved his laptop. It was his pride and joy. We presented it to him last year as a gift in honor of his fortieth year with us.’

‘Are you sure no one else but you had access to your seal?’

‘Positive. It is from this ring.’ He thrust out his right hand. ‘And it never leaves my finger.’

Andreas nodded. ‘I was afraid you’d say that. Otherwise it would be all too simple.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Since no one could have entered after you sealed the room, someone had to get in before you arrived. No way
they got in through that window.’ Andreas pointed. ‘It’s still locked shut and must be forty feet from the ground. Unless this is one of the great coincidences of all time, where a man’s room is ransacked and his life taken in the same night in unrelated incidents, I’d say if we find who did this we find who murdered him.’ Andreas paused. ‘Unless, of course, you or one of his fellow monks did this after learning he was dead and before you sealed it.’

‘I was the first to learn of his death. And the room was sealed within minutes after that. As for my being the likely computer thief, Vassilis used a PC. I’m a Mac man.’ The abbot smiled.

Andreas nodded with a grin. ‘Fair enough. That leaves us with whoever killed him doing this either before the murder or in the thirty to sixty minutes between the time of death and when you sealed the room.’

‘What sort of person would murder and rob a man of God, then come into his room and steal yet more from him? Heaven help us.’

Andreas didn’t give the answer he was thinking: someone willing to take one hell of a risk - like a professional killer not finding what was wanted on the victim, or making damn sure no one else found anything. ‘Any chance of computer backup for what was taken?’

‘We have a very elaborate backup system here, what with all the information we must protect in our library, but the work Vassilis did on his laptop he considered personal and much of it never made it onto our system.’

‘What do you mean by “personal?”’

The abbot smiled, as if reminiscing. ‘Vassilis didn’t like
the idea of his every thought becoming part of what he called the “information universe” before giving serious reflection to whether what he offered would help or hurt the purpose for which he lived. He worked offline from our network on those sorts of things until he had something he thought worthy to share.’

Nothing’s easy, thought Andreas. ‘Can you get me what you have of his on your backup?’

‘Certainly.’

Andreas bent down and picked up a plastic wrapper with three ten-by-twelve manila envelopes inside. They were unused. He looked around and picked up six more, all unused. ‘Where’s the tenth?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The packaging says “ten envelopes,” but I only see nine, and they’re unused.’

The two men scoured the room but found nothing.

‘Come to think of it, I remember passing Vassilis on his way back to the monastery yesterday afternoon. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag. The envelopes may have been in it.’

‘Do you remember a name on the bag?’

‘No, but he would have purchased them at Biblio, a shop just off the town square …’ The abbot’s words faded off at the mention of the square.

‘Thanks. I think I’ll give my partner a hand with the interviews.’ Andreas paused. ‘I’m sincere about the thanks. I know this must be very tough for you.’

The abbot nodded. ‘You have no idea how much Vassilis meant to this monastery. Not only was he a true man of
God, he was a mentor to us all. He wanted nothing of higher rank, yet there was no one above him in the Church of Greece who did not treasure his judgment as if he were a peer. He was their genuine friend and a trusted, respected confidant.’

Andreas caught a glint of something in the abbot’s eyes, as if his words had triggered a thought. But the abbot said nothing. He didn’t have to. Andreas said it for him, ‘Perhaps he was
too much
of a “confidant.”’

The abbot stared off into the middle distance. ‘God help us if that’s the answer.’

Andreas nodded. ‘Amen.’

It was nearly sundown by the time they finished interviewing those they could find on the abbot’s list. A few visiting monks were out wandering about the island. The abbot said he would arrange for them to be available in the morning. Dozens of interviews had yielded two things: a mound of praise for a revered man, and zero leads. No one saw the monk leave, knew why he left, or had any idea of who might be involved in his death.

They were standing in the
piazza
by the monastery’s gift shop. It was closed and the
piazza
virtually deserted. ‘No way some local did this,’ said Andreas.

‘Way too professional,’ said Kouros. ‘But why?’

Andreas shrugged. ‘My guess is vengeance or fear. But it had to be a hell of a motive to lead to this.’

‘You think it might be tied to Vassilis’ past, from before he became a monk?’

Andreas shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Can’t imagine whatever drove this taking forty years to come to a head.’

‘Maybe one of the visiting monks noticed something?’

‘Maybe,’ said Andreas, looking at his watch. ‘Jesus, I never called Lila to tell her I wouldn’t be home tonight.’

‘Don’t worry, I spoke to Maggie and told her to call.’

Thank God for his secretary. Maggie ran Andreas’ office. Most thought she ran all of Athens General Police Headquarters, better known as GADA. She’d been there longer than the building. Maggie’s long-time boss had retired a few weeks before Andreas was promoted back to GADA from Mykonos, and when the human resources director suggested she retire with him, the political buttons she pushed had the director staring at his own retirement. That’s how the legendary Maggie Sikestis came to report to Andreas - or, as it so often seemed to Andreas, vice versa.

Andreas let out a breath. ‘Thanks, Yianni.’ They started toward the stone path leading back to the town square.

‘No problem.’ Kouros smiled. ‘But to be honest, Maggie said she’d already called her.’

Both laughed.

‘
My friends, please, come join me
.’ It was Dimitri shouting to them from his open front door.

That guy doesn’t miss a thing, thought Andreas. ‘Thanks Dimitri, but—’

‘You haven’t eaten yet, have you? And if they fed you inside,’ he pointed toward the monastery as he spoke, ‘you must be even hungrier.’