Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery (17 page)

Chapter Twenty

“How the hell did I ever end up like this?” Tank mumbled to himself.

“Silence,” admonished a wiry, gray-haired monk.

Tank nodded and went back to sitting quietly among the row of chanting monks. His coarse, brown monk’s cassock scratched at skin accustomed to Egyptian cotton shirts; the rough leather straps of his sandals irritated feet used to handmade Italian loafers. But what other choice was there? Too many persons outside these walls wanted him dead. This was the safest place for him.

At least that’s what his father told him. He was the only one who knew Tank was here and neither man trusted telling anyone else. Tank’s first choice was to flee Thessaloniki sixty miles southeast to Mount Athos and find sanctuary among one of that Aegean peninsula’s twenty monasteries, but his father said no. Too many others had sought refuge in that place. A sophisticated hunter would think to look for him there, and for a price he might be betrayed. That was not unknown, even among the faithful.

He’d been here for only a couple of days, but it seemed like an eternity. No contact with the outside world except through his father, and he expected none until his father sent word for him to return. Tank’s father said he’d work things out with everyone involved in this “business dispute.” His father knew how to make big problems disappear for important people, and said Tank’s situation would be “child’s play” for him, resolved in a matter of months at most.

Months…I might have to sit here for months.
His mind wandered back to the political phenomenon he’d become. No one wanted him to succeed. Not even his father. He thought that’s why his father had told him to stay in hiding until the matter stood forgotten by the press. He wanted all the attention back on Tank’s brother, the heir apparent to his father’s influence.
Damn them. I have nothing to fear from anyone. When I leave here I’ll crush them all.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

The old monk nodded at what looked to be the newest monk finding solace in prayer.

I should have told my father about Teacher.

***

“So what’s happening?” said Tassos strolling into Andreas’ office without knocking.

“You mean aside from my forgetting to bolt my door shut from the inside?”

Tassos plopped himself down on the couch. “I know you’ve missed me, admit it.”

“You’ve been away? Oh yes, my secretary’s been unusually happy these past few days.”

“No, I haven’t been at Maggie’s, I’ve been home on Syros.”

“That’s what I meant. She’s been happy.” Andreas smiled.

Tassos shot him the open palm.

“So, are you still all at peace with becoming a daddy again?”

“Sure am. Just waiting for the January estimated time of arrival.”

Tassos nodded. “Wonderful.”

Andreas leaned back in his chair. “Things have been very quiet since the raids. Make that eerily quiet. No sign at all of Tank, Teacher, or the killer. All that serenity has my cop instincts anxiously waiting for something to explode. That wouldn’t, by chance, be what brings you here today?”

Tassos looked away as he gestured no. “Just wanted to say hello.”

“Yeah, right. Okay, ‘Hello.’”

“You could say it with a bit more sincerity.”

“Tassos—”

Tassos raised his hands, “Okay, okay.” He put his hands down. “It’s about Spiros.”

“Our boss Spiros?”

Tassos nodded. “Maggie told me you think he’s ill.”

Andreas nodded.

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but on top of everything else I think he’s got some serious people gunning for him.”

“You mean of the shooting kind?” said Andreas.

“No, the political asshole kind.”

“He’s used to that sort.”

“But this is different. Someone is trying to spin your raids closing down Tank’s business into a calculated plan by Spiros for financing his retirement.”

“Huh?”

“Someone somehow knows Spiros is ill and is selling that to the press, along with the implication he’s about to retire, as Spiros’ motive for taking money from Tank’s competitors in exchange for shutting him down.”

“That will never fly. We went after his competitors too.”

Tassos shook his head from side to side. “Not all of them. You only went after those Tank listed. There are others, like the ones Spiros asked Tank to name in his speech announcing the raids. Setting up a good guy like Spiros to look worse than the bad guys he’s chasing is an old tradition here.”

“Not just in Greece.” Andreas picked up a pencil and began drumming the eraser end on his desk. “What has you thinking Spiros is a target?”

“A newspaper publisher on Syros called me all friendly-like to join him for coffee.” Tassos shook his head. “I never trust those guys. They’re always in the hunt.”

Tassos crossed his legs. “Anyway, one sip into the coffee he started bombarding me with personal questions about Spiros, his wife, his health, their finances. When I said ‘Whoa, what’s this all about?’ he told me it was confidential and he couldn’t tell me.”

Andreas smiled. “I can imagine how you reacted to that.”

“I told him that what he’s working on might be ‘confidential,’ but for damn sure the time I caught him with his pants down and an underage
Roma
behind the town hall wouldn’t be for long.”

Andreas shook his head. “You always know just the right thing to say.”

“It comes with age. Anyway he told me every newspaper in Greece is in the hunt on this story. Someone is working very hard to get the heat off Tank and onto Spiros.”

Andreas rolled his eyes. “Wonder who that could be?”

“Yep, Tank’s pappy. He’s not even trying to hide he’s behind it. He knows all the newspapers want to remain on his good side.”

“And he pays well,” said Andreas.

“That too.”

“I guess I better tell Spiros to be prepared.”

“That’s why I’m telling you. He’ll probably panic. Might try to push the blame onto you. Claim that you’re the one who came up with the list of Tank’s places and the idea of setting him up.”

Andreas nodded. “The old Spiros would have in a minute, but the new model I’m not so sure about. Besides, it’s all true. We did set up his bastard son. Though not in exchange for a payoff.”

“Once the press learns you set him up, they’ll jump to whatever conclusion serves their story. They’ll substitute ‘good old common sense’ for facts, saying it’s obvious no one can show cash actually changing hands between ‘Chief Inspector Kaldis and X, Y, and Z’ but—wink-wink—we all know what happened.”

Andreas shook his head. “I guess I’m fated to hear that sort of thing for the rest of my career.”

Tassos gestured no. “Nah, sooner or later they’ll get around to A, B, and C.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

Tassos nodded. “You’re welcome. I’ve put out word that I want to know the moment anyone hears any chatter about somebody trying to set up a big-time government official.”

“Good luck on hearing anything back on that.”

“What else is there we can do?” said Tassos.

“Not much. As long as Tank’s father is pushing, we’re going to feel the pressure. And if word ever gets out that we’re who added Tank’s operations to the list he’d prepared of his competitors…” Andreas waved his right hand in the air. “The fact the places we added were all part of his son’s illegal business operations will get lost in the noise of ‘police set up’ and a mass of lawyers claiming all of Tank’s businesses are legitimate and that Tank had no knowledge of any illegal activity involving any of them. That will play especially well since Spiros never mentioned anything about any of that when he practically called Tank a hero in announcing the raids.”

“And our suggesting he had a hand in his sister’s murder…”

Andreas again waved his hand in the air.

“Yeah, that will just make us look desperate,” said Tassos. “It’s Tank’s and his buddies’ word against Yianni, who wasn’t even there when it happened.”

“It will be a hell of a media shit storm when it hits.”

“At least you didn’t commit a crime,” said Tassos.

“No, but we committed a horrible political mistake likely to embarrass the prime minister. Tank’s father now has an angle for claiming that the prime minister’s handpicked minister of public order and the police were paid off to add Tank’s
legitimate
businesses to the places raided.” Andreas put the pencil down on his desktop. “But, we’re not there yet. A lot of things can happen between now and Armageddon.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I know.” Andreas pressed his intercom button. “Maggie, the delightful gentleman in here has kindly delivered me a terrific headache. Could you please bring me two ibuprofen, wait five minutes, and call Spiros?”

“Do you expect the headache to be gone in five minutes?” said Maggie.

“No, but with any luck its delivery boy will be.”

Andreas ducked as one of the couch pillows whizzed past his head.

***

Andreas let the phone go into voicemail. “Spiros, call me when you have the chance. Sorry to bother you on your mobile, but I tried you at the office and your secretary said you’re not in.”

No reason to say any more on a recording. Spiros would know it was important.

Maggie’s voice came through Andreas’ speakerphone. “Chief.”

“Yes?”

“It’s Spiros.”

“Thanks.”

Andreas picked up. “Spiros, I—”

“They’re everywhere, like flies. I can’t get rid of them. I have to hide. I can’t go out, I can’t answer the phone, I can’t—”

“
Spiros
,” Andreas shouted. “Get ahold of yourself. What are you talking about?”

“The press. They’re everywhere. They’re asking questions like I’m some sort of secret mafia chieftain who robbed the bank of Greece. No respect for me or the office, they just keep goading me with accusations.”

Guess it’s a bit late for the warning
, thought Andreas. “It’s Tank’s father, he’s stoking the press with stories that you were paid off by Tank’s competitors to stage the raids. I was calling you to tell you to be ready for it.”

“That’s preposterous. We went after his competitors. Besides, what motive would I have for becoming corrupt at this point in my career?”

Andreas paused. “They’re saying you did it to finance your retirement.”

“Retirement? I’m not retiring. Why would I retire?”

Andreas drew in a deep breath and let it out as he said, “Because they know you’re ill.”

Silence.

“Spiros?”

“They know?”

“Yes.”

“You know too?”

“Yes.”

“How do these things get out?”

“It’s hard to keep that sort of thing secret from people who know you. From people who care about you.”

Spiros’ voice cracked. “There’s just so much pressure a person can take. And now…to have to defend myself from claims that my illness is what made me corrupt as I try to beat it….”

Andreas swallowed hard. “I think you should ignore them. Issue a statement that there will be nothing coming from your office on what is a continuing investigation into an elaborate criminal network threatening Greece, because to do so would compromise the case.”

“That won’t stop them.”

Andreas swallowed hard a second time. “Just keep telling them that the person in charge of the investigation, and the only one authorized to speak on the subject, is me.”

“That sounds like I’m trying to pass blame off onto you.”

“I know, but don’t worry about it. I can handle it.”

Andreas heard what sounded like a suppressed sniffle.

“You’re being very kind to me. Far more so than I deserve.”

“Don’t bother going there, Spiros. It’s not necessary. Water under the bridge and all that. I have only one question. It’s a tough one to ask, a harder one to answer, but I need to know.”

“I didn’t take any money from anyone. Ever.”

“That’s not my question.” Andreas paused. “How sick are you?”

Spiros cleared his throat. “It’s pretty serious. But the doctors caught it early enough to give me a fighting chance.”

“Why are you even working?”

“Because I can. I prefer it to staying home. It’s best for my wife too.”

“I just wanted to know where things stood with your health. And frankly it sounds good. A fighting chance is all you Spartan types need.”

“I’m from Tripoli.”

“Close enough.” Andreas laughed.

Spiros did too. “You do realize you’re jumping into the middle of a shit storm without a parachute?”

“So, what else is new? You’ve kicked me out of that plane many times before. At least this time I get to jump by choice.”

Spiros laughed again. “I can’t ever repay you for what you’re doing.”

“No need to. Just get better, that’s all the repayment I want. Make that all that Lila and I want.”

Another sniffle. “Thanks, Andreas. And please thank Lila, too. Good luck.”

“You too, my friend.”

“Bye.”

Andreas held the phone for a moment before putting it down. He’d voluntarily put his neck into the guillotine in place of another’s, and not just anyone’s, that of someone who’d betrayed him many times before. He closed his eyes.
How am I ever going to explain to Lila what I’ve just done
?

His eyes popped open and he smiled. The answer was obvious. He’d quote from the closing lines of her favorite English novel, “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.”

The smile began to fade as Andreas realized that the speaker of those words from
A Tale of Two Cities
lost his head in the end.

Chapter Twenty-one

Thirty miles southeast of Thessaloniki the once undiscovered region of Chalkidiki reached out its bony, three-fingered hand into the northern Aegean, each digit separated from the next by a gulf or
kolpos
. The peninsula of Kassandra, at the far west, sat separated from the middle peninsula of Sithonia by the Toroneos Gulf, which in turn looked east across the Singitikos Gulf to the easternmost finger, the independent monastic state of Mount Athos forbidden to all but adult male visitors with permission.

Kassandra and Sithonia peninsulas served as summertime holiday retreats for many. Kassandra was the more developed, in part because it lay closer, by road, to Thessaloniki, but also because it had experienced massive forest fires that had paved the way for once forbidden development. Local populations swelled ten-fold or more during the season, and elaborate resorts, golf courses, a casino, and marinas set amid the island-like feel of Chalkidiki continued to attract monied foreign and domestic investors intent on building vacation homes along its picturesque shoreline.

Many who came were Russians, some claiming to share their leader Vladimir Putin’s deep religious commitment to Eastern Orthodoxy’s Mount Athos and its Russian Monastery. More and more Russians chose to build here, seemingly oblivious to the irony of erecting hedonistic palatial residences in homage to a Holy Mountain sacred for its fifteen-hundred-year-old customs, vows of poverty, and prayer.

Some of the more expensive homes in northern Greece could be found along Chalkidiki’s shores, including the summer residence of Tank’s father. He’d built a compound on Sithonia away from its succession of fisherman’s hamlets, harbors, and tourist-attracting beaches, on the green northeastern edge of Dragoudeliou-Karra wildlife refuge, a mountainous swath of land cutting though the middle of Sithonia from its north-to-south coastlines. Protected by the European Environment Agency, the refuge comprised more than one quarter of that middle peninsula’s two-hundred-square-mile area.

The compound offered him absolute seclusion. Only the invited could enter his property. It suited those times when security mattered. Like now.

The war he’d mounted against the minister of public order to save his son did not concern him. He could handle the politicians, and he saw himself on schedule to destroy that silly minister in a matter of days. Only an idiot would refuse to talk to the press, delegating that duty to an underling.

What worried him was what he
didn’t
know. He was not a fool. He knew his son had not told him everything. Tank didn’t want him to know he’d expanded his legitimate booze business into the counterfeit trade. He’d have preferred that his son made money in less risky ways, but he’d long ago accepted Tank’s lifelong attraction to the criminal side of life. After all, who was the father to judge the son? But for the corrupt, the father would still be a pauper.

No, what troubled him was the possibility that his son had crossed people who did not share the father’s belief that any dispute could be resolved through the exchange of money. Those types were dangerous and required special handling. That’s why he came here today. To meet with someone who could tell him what unknown dangers his son faced. His ex-KGB neighbor had arranged the meeting. “Ex” to the extent one ever could be from that sort of past.

He looked at his watch. His driver had picked up the man at Thessaloniki airport an hour and forty-five minutes ago. They should be here any minute, depending on traffic.

He picked up a walkie-talkie from his desk and pressed TALK. “Hello.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any word?”

“The driver just called to say they’re five minutes away.”

“Good. When my guest arrives I want you to treat him with the utmost respect.”

“Of course, sir.”

“But I also want you to search him thoroughly. Make sure he is not armed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I mean
make sure.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good. Then show him down to the pool. We’ll be meeting there.”

He hung up without saying more.

He fidgeted with his tie.
One can’t be too careful these days
.

***

“Mr. Vladimir, a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Tank’s father stood to extend his hand across the table. “I understand you speak Greek.”

He took the father’s hand and shook it. “Yes.” He stood about a head taller than the father and looked about a third his age.

“Where did you learn to speak our language?”

“You mean your boys couldn’t figure that out from our little pat and probe dance party?”

“Sorry about that, but I’m sure you understood the reason.”

He shrugged. “In Greece, to an invited guest? Not really.”

The father looked at his three steroid-sculpted bodyguards standing behind his guest. “I told you to treat him with respect.”

The guest sat down in the chair across from the father. “They did. One even promised to send me chocolates. But that little scenario revealed a lot more to me about you than it could possibly tell you about me.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I now know your name and where you live.” The father sat down.

“No, you know the name and address of a dead Russian general. But I know you’re seriously afraid of something. Scared enough to reach out to strangers for information, and then be frightened of the messenger.” He leaned across the table. “Now why don’t you tell me why I’m here?”

The father smiled. “For someone who claims to know so much about me, you mean you don’t know?”

“Of course I know. I just want to know if you know.”

The father’s face tightened. “I’m not one to play games with.”

“Nor am I.” Vladimir gave him a thin smile. “So why don’t we skip the part about how your son is a misunderstood little boy who only gets into trouble because he’s trying to please daddy, and get to the part you really want to know about?”

“Which is?”

“Who’s going to kill your son?”

“You know?”

“Of course I know. Why do you think your friend contacted my boss? My boss knows everything.”

The father’s lips grew taut. “You’re not the boss?”

Vladimir nodded.

“Then I should be dealing with your boss.”

“If my boss gets directly involved, I’d say things are close to terminal for you.”

“Are you threatening me?” The father glanced at his bodyguards.

“Of course not. I was just telling you why you don’t want to meet my boss.”

“All right, enough of this bullshit. Who wants to kill my son and why?”

“Well, to answer your second question first, your son Tank entered into a business arrangement with my boss—”

“You mean you’re with the people after my son?”

“You told your neighbor you wanted to know what’s happening, so he went straight to the source. These KGB types are very efficient. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, your son didn’t listen to my boss when my boss told him how to run their mutual business. Even tried to steal from my boss. My boss gave him a second chance and he blew that one too. Now my boss is out a lot of money and your son has set a very bad example for my boss’ other business associates.”

“And for that your boss is going to kill my son?”

“No, not my boss.”

“Then who?”

“The same person who killed your daughter.”

The father leaned forward. “Are you fucking serious? You say that and think you’re going to leave here alive?”

His guest shrugged. “Ask one of your boys to take my wallet out of my back pocket. I want to show you some photos.”

The snarl stayed on the father’s face, but he nodded at one of the men to do as the guest had asked.

The guard took out the wallet.

“Here, give it to me, not him,” said the father.

“Good choice.”

The father rifled through the wallet until he found the photos. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened.

“Yes, it’s always more effective when the one deciding on who shall live and who shall die realizes the consequences of his decision.”

“These are my grandchildren!”

“Taken yesterday. If I don’t make a certain phone call in the next ten minutes they all die. And if within an hour after that call, I don’t make it to a place that I’ll be directing your driver to take me, they all die.”

The father slouched back in his chair. “What do you want from me?”

“Your son has to die. An example must be made.”

“I’ll never tell you where Tank is. Never.”

He shrugged again. “That’s okay, we’ll kill your other son. The choice is up to you.”

“What kind of people are you, to kill the innocent?”

“Frankly, I think we’re pretty much the same as Tank.”

“He’s not a killer of innocents.”

“Really? He did let your daughter’s killer walk away free. That’s what gave him his second chance. I’d say that makes him at least complicit in her death.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care whether you do or not. But if you really want to know, ask the people who were with him when it happened. But press them to tell you the truth, not the lies Tank had them tell the cops and press.” The man leaned back and stretched. “I have a phone call to make, so make up your mind which son gets it. Or would you prefer both sons plus the grandchildren?”

The father ran his fingers through his thin, long, gray hair. “I’m sure we can work something out. All we need is time.”

“I don’t have time, just orders.”

“Well, goddamn it,
get
time!” He raised his hands as would a supplicant. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. All I meant was I think we should find some time to see what sort of money your boss wants to drop everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything,” said the father.

He shook his head. “That’s going to be costly.”

“
Just call!”
He raised his hands as if apologizing again for shouting.

“Okay. But I’ll need a bit of privacy. You don’t mind if I walk over to the pool do you?”

The father looked at his bodyguards. “Did you check the phone?”

“Yes, it’s clean.”

He stood up and walked toward a pool that seemed to run off into the sea, calling back over his shoulder, “You’re so distrusting.”

The father and his men watched him pace back and forth on the far side of the pool, as if walking on water in animated, inaudible conversation. After five minutes he shut the phone, came back, and sat across from the father.

“You’re in luck. My boss will take cash instead of your son’s life.”

“How much?”

“Fifty million euros.”

“That’s preposterous, ridiculous, out of the question.”

“Yes, I know. Imagine how tough it is working for someone like that. But that’s the terms, take it or leave it.”

“How do I know you’re who you say you are? This could all be a hustle. A set-up.”

“Yes, it could. KGB guys are like that. But ask Tank, and I’m sure he’ll convince you it’s all true.” He handed the father a card containing a Greek cell phone number. “Call me by tomorrow or else we’ll assume you said no.”

“It’s far too much money.”

“Then I suggest you spend the next twenty-four hours raising the cash. Or tell Tank to immerse himself in
prayer
that another of his siblings gets to die in his place.”

The father’s right eye twitched at the reference to prayer.

The man nodded knowingly. “Like I said, my boss knows everything. And be sure to tell Tank that my boss sends her regards.” He stood. “It’s been a pleasant chat, but I really must run.” He extended his hand across the table toward the father. “I hear Delphi is lovely this time of year. And Tank’s such a party guy. He must be going out of his mind cooped up in Monastery Hosios Loukas.”

The father stared at Kharon’s hand. He did not take it.

***

Eleven centuries ago, twenty miles east of Delphi, a holy and pious hermit (
osios
in Greek) found his way into a valley of awe-inspiring natural beauty. In that pastoral haunt of antiquity’s Muses, Hosios Loukas began construction of the only church built on mainland Greece in the tenth century, the Church of Panaghia (the Virgin Mary). That church still stood today within the walls of Greece’s largest extant monastery of Byzantium’s second golden age, and adjacent to Greece’s oldest existing dome octagon church, the Katholikon (big church) of Hosios Loukas.

In keeping with the teachings of Greece’s ancient temple builders, the monastery sat in harmony with its natural surroundings. Terra cotta roof tiles, above classical Byzantine cloisonné-style masonry walls of marble, brick, and limestone, enclosed frescos and mosaic masterpieces set upon backgrounds of gold. But only a fraction of the monastery’s legendary lavish decoration remained, the balance of the place’s precious gold and silver plate, murals, icons, and furnishings lost to time and plunderers.

Though remembered for his gift of prophecy, Hosios Loukas also possessed great skill at cultivating relationships with the generals in control of nearby Thebes. He relied upon their generosity and that of powerful others of his time—much as did subsequent shepherds of his vision with their respective secular powers that be—to create and maintain an isolated sanctuary of tranquility that remained today, a thousand years later, as one of the Mediterranean’s most impressive monuments and a World Heritage Site.

And the perfect hideaway for a scion of one of the monastery’s wealthiest, most powerful benefactors.

***

Tank’s father’s driver made it in thirty minutes to a highway intersection that normally took forty-five, dropped Kharon off at a bus stop, and sped away in the direction from which he’d come.

Kharon started walking the two hundred yards to where he’d hidden a stolen motorcycle. He’d left it there very early that morning before catching a bus to the airport in time to be met there by that same driver.

He had to admit he was in awe of Teacher’s intelligence network. The father’s neighbor who’d started asking questions about Tank’s business partners found that his inquiries had quickly gotten back to Teacher, and once he knew of Teacher’s interest the neighbor told her whatever she wanted to know and agreed to do precisely as she instructed him. Those old-time KGBers certainly knew how to survive.