Santorini Caesars (20 page)

“Maybe you'll be here for the big event?”

“What big event?”

“The mayor hit upon the idea of a big-time tree-lighting event to draw tourist attention to the island for Christmas. He wanted to do it at Akrotiri, but the Minister of Culture refused to go along, so he's putting it up in Pyrgos at the top of the hill by the castle ruins where it can be seen from almost any direction. Personally, I think he intended to put it there all along but he's from Pyrgos and didn't want to be accused of favoring his home village, so he suggested Akrotiri knowing the culture minister would never go along with it.”

“Ah, the Byzantine ways of the Greeks.”

“He's turned it into quite a big deal. Even the Prime Minister will be here for the lighting.”

“When's this all supposed to happen?”

“In two days.”

“If tomorrow's weather isn't any better, I just might still be around.”

“Good, I'll keep lighting candles to Zeus to keep up the storms.”

“I thought we only lit candles to the saints?”

“As long as it's working, I'm happy.”

“Good point. Now where were we?”

“You were about to show me another god-like bolt of lightning.”

“Oh, that old routine again.”

She pressed her body tight against his under the sheet. “As I said, ‘As long as it's working, I'm happy.'”

***

Francesco sat on the couch in Andreas' office wearing earphones connected to the iPod he held in his hand. “There's a lot of stuff on here, Chief. What is it precisely that you're looking for?”

“For starters, a conversation involving three of your old favorites from that hotel on Santorini—Colonel Retsos and his Navy and Air Force captain buddies.”

“It took place yesterday afternoon,” added Yianni from a chair in front of Andreas' desk.

Francesco tinkered with the face of the device. “I think this is what you want.” He put it down next to a set of tiny speakers on a table in front of the couch, disconnected the jack to his earphones, and hooked the iPod up to the speakers. “Here goes,” and he pushed a button.

The three men listened silently to the conversation. Then listened to it again. On the second run-through Andreas had Francesco stop it several times so he could take notes.

“Are you sure that's all there is?” said Andreas.

“Yeah. It ends on ‘Gotcha,'” said Francesco. “There's nothing after that on the iPod. Only earlier conversations.”

“He must have turned off the primary recording device,” said Yianni.

“So, what's this all mean?” said Andreas.

“Got me,” said Yianni. “It doesn't sound any different from what we've already heard, except this time they're bending Prada's ear instead of each other's. All of which makes me wonder what got Prada excited enough to say, ‘Gotcha.'”

Andreas picked up a pencil and began tapping the eraser end on his desktop. “Francesco, how difficult would it be to doctor that recording?”

“Depends on how you want to doctor it and how close to perfect you want it to be. Are you talking about cutting, moving things around, adding new material? All that can be done, it's just a question of whether the job will pass professional scrutiny.”

“Well, let's see what we've got here if we simply pull out a few lines and run them in sequence as a conversation.” Andreas picked up his notes.

“Here's a little back and forth between the Retsos and Prada, starting with the colonel.

Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice.

No reason to thank me, I assumed it must be important if our Army, Navy, and Air Force's brightest rising stars wanted to see me on such an urgent basis.

Sir, we're here unofficially, but with the blessings of our respective general officers to ask for your help.

My help? What sort of help?

We're here to express our unanimous concern that what the Prime Minister proposes is catastrophic for the nation. Our nation is doomed. He must be stopped.

I think not.

“How's that for a gotcha sound bite? It plants the seed of a
coup d'état
storyline in our junta-wary public's mind. And once Prada's propaganda version hooks his target audience, anyone who happens to hear the full conversation will likely see it as consistent with Prada's editing job.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Yianni. “He's set those guys up to take a very big fall.”

“A masterful job of ruining their careers,” said Francesco. “And it all started with his dinner appearance on Santorini.”

“This guy is really dangerous,” said Yianni.

“But to whom?” said Andreas. “Why does he want to create the impression that the military is planning a coup, and who's in it with him? Until we have answers to those questions, we're no further along than we were before we heard the recording.”

“Maybe there's something else on the iPod that can help with that,” said Francesco. “If the minister or Prada thought it important enough to record a conversation, who knows what might be on it, especially since they thought they could erase whatever they didn't like?”

“Sounds like you have a project for yourself, my friend,” said Andreas.

Francesco nodded. “Care to join in? Should be some fascinating listening.”

Andreas smiled. “Love to, but Yianni and I have a call to make on a certain Brigadier.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” said Yianni.

“I was hoping for interesting, maybe even revelational answers.”

“It's Christmastime, who knows? Santa might just grant your wish.”

Andreas stood up. “From the way our luck's been running on this case, we're more likely to get trampled to death by his reindeer.”

“As I said, sounds like fun.”

Chapter Nineteen

The Hellenic Army General Staff headquartered at Papagou Camp in an eastern suburb of Athens slightly west of the Hymettus Mountains. From GADA, a straight shot east along Alexandras Avenue and a left onto Mesogeion Avenue brought them to Kiprou Street, a block beyond Athens General Hospital. A left there took them into the park-like grounds of the Ministry of Defense and up onto a blocks-long oval roadway encircling the massive Ministry of Defense building complex.

“We're meeting him in here?” said Yianni.

“I had Maggie call him so he couldn't press me for why it's urgent I see him, and he told her he's here tied up in meetings but will see us on a break.”

They parked in a space as close to the main entrance as they could find. Inside, they asked for the Brigadier and were escorted down several long hallways, up an elevator to a sixth-floor wood-paneled office fitted with a rectangular mahogany conference table for twelve, and told to wait. They sat at the end of the table farthest from the door.

“Chief, have you ever given any thought to how easy it would be for us to simply disappear in here, should we happen to really piss this guy off?”

Andreas smiled as he put his finger to his lips and pointed at the ceiling. “Listening devices,” he mouthed.

“I mean we're breaking in on his meetings with nothing but bullshit questions to which he can't possibly know the answers.”

Andreas smiled again. “One person's bullshit is another's fertilizer, Grasshopper.”

Yianni fought back a laugh.

The door swung open and in strode the Brigadier in full military dress. “Howdy, gentlemen. I've only got ten minutes, so let's get right to it.” He sat at the far end of the table.

Andreas stared at him for a few seconds, stood, walked over, and sat down next to him.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“Cut the bullshit, Kaldis, I've got serious work to do.”

Andreas shook his head. “Man, you're a walking encyclopedia of contradictions, but frankly, I don't care about any of that any more. Just tell me how you knew about the Caesars' meeting on Santorini.

“I don't remember.”

“Of course you do. And I want the truth.”

“I don't have time for your crap.”

“Okay, then, let me tell you what's on my schedule for the rest of the day if you don't start giving me honest answers. I'll be calling a press conference to announce that my unit's uncovered a criminal conspiracy to bring down our government, and I'll be putting you smack dab in the middle of it all.”

“You're out of your mind.”

“Really? Well, let's look at the facts. You sent us off on a wild goose chase to Santorini, knowing that your childhood buddy would be making a guest appearance to deliver a mega-downer of a message to a room full of top military brass, a message that would fire them up enough to want to beg your buddy to change the Prime Minister's mind and have them walking blindly into a trap set to shift all the blame to them for whatever you and your buddy have in mind. So, what's the deal? Prada unmasks a coup plot, a lot of senior heads roll, thanks to our recordings of their conversations, you get a big promotion, and Prada gets still more power?”

“You
are
out of your mind. You're forgetting that my daughter was murdered.”

“Not at all. Your behavior is entirely consistent with someone who got the message her killers intended to deliver. Cooperate or watch more of your loved ones die. You've done
nothing
to help us with our investigation except to tell us precisely what Prada wanted you to.” Andreas leaned to within a nose of the Brigadier's face. “Now's your chance to prove me wrong.”

The blood drained from the Brigadier's face. “No one will believe any of that.”

“Everyone will believe all of that. Remember your father?”

The Brigadier turned his head and stared out the window. His chin dropped down onto his chest. “None of what you said is true, except for one thing.”

He lifted his head and turned to catch Andreas' eyes. “It was my old friend—your Prada—who told me about the Caesars meeting on Santorini. He called me after our meeting in the minister's office while I was on the way to meet you at that cafenion. He apologized for his behavior in the office and for not having spoken to Penelope when he had the chance. I told him to go fuck himself.” The Brigadier sighed, his eyes now distant. “He said he understood I was angry with him, and that's why he felt obligated to share his suspicions that some of my military colleagues who were in the Caesars might be tied into Penelope's murder. He said he knew about their gathering on Santorini because the previous Friday he'd been invited to join them there for dinner on the following Friday. I'd just hung up with him when I met up with you, so when you pressed me for possible suspects, I passed on what he'd told me.”

Andreas looked him in the eye. “This guy keeps screwing you and you keep swallowing his lines? No one's going to believe you could possibly be that gullible. It's far easier to see the two of you in cahoots.”

The Brigadier nodded. “I see that now. But it's not just him who told me about that meeting on Santorini.”

“Who else told you?”

“One of my buddies in the Army's A-branch. He deals with intelligence and security issues. He heard through a NATO intelligence contact that a group involved in advising the Greek government had something in the fire for Santorini.”

“That sounds a bit vague.”

“More like made up,” said Yianni.

“What did they call the group?”

“All he said was that some private organization that's been advising our high-level government officials for years appeared likely involved in something about to happen on Santorini. So when Prada told me about the meeting on Santorini, I assumed they both were talking about the Caesars.”

Andreas' eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “I swear, Brigadier, if I find out this is more of your bullshit, I'll spend the rest of my life hunting for your head.”

Yianni sat forward, tensed and ready to pounce.

The Brigadier leaned back in his chair. “You'll be wasting your life. There's nothing left to hunt. The reason I'm here today is I'm resigning from the Army. My wife can't stand the memories. And, frankly, neither can I. We're moving out of Athens. Maybe even out of Greece.”

Andreas' expression didn't change. “Get me the name of that group.”

“My friend won't tell me.”

“I don't care what you have to do to him or for him, but
get me the name of that group.
” Andreas pounded his fist on the table.

“I'll try.”

“You'll try right now, dammit. Get him on the phone and if he doesn't answer you go kick down his door. Don't you get it? We're trying to find your daughter's killers.”

The Brigadier pulled a phone out of his pocket skimmed through a directory and pressed a number. “Believe me, I get it.” He held the phone up to his ear.

“Hi Eleni, it's me. Is Nikos in?”

A long pause followed.

“Hi, Nikos. Yeah, all's fine but I need a favor. It has to do with Penelope.”

Pause.

“No, her mother's not doing well, but what can one expect? We're both trying to find closure. In fact that's the reason for this call. Remember when we were talking a while back about a group involved in something going down on Santorini?

“Yes, the one you heard about through your NATO buddy, and, yes, I know you don't know the details. All I need is a name, and not your contact's, the organization's.”

Pause.

“Stop being so melodramatic about protecting confidences, asshole. After all, you're talking to me, and it's not as if I'm threatening to tell your wife you're screwing Eleni on your office desk.”

Pause.

He laughed. “Honestly, I knew nothing about that, but if you don't give me the group's name now, for sure I'm telling her.”

Pause.

“Are you certain?”

Longer pause.

“Thanks, buddy, and don't worry. Your secret's safe with me.” He laughed. “Same to you.”

He hung up the phone. “Gentlemen, was I ever wrong. The organization is the Mayroon Group, a New York-based international consulting firm that relies upon a global network of divisions to support its role as advisor to a host of the world's government and industry leaders. Mayroon loomed behind every one of our current Prime Minister's election victories, and even told him to lose his first race, because in its judgment he wasn't ready yet, and whoever won that election would be fatally tarred by the inevitably worsening financial crisis. Mayroon proved to be right.”

“You're saying a foreign-based think tank is our PM's political guru?” said Andreas.

“Not just political, but economic, societal, you name it. And not just his. They're advisors to whomever is willing to pay them.”

“How does your friend know this Mayroon is into something on Santorini?”

“He said the night before he called to alert me, his NATO contact got it from a young lady he'd met at a dinner party. She worked for the head of Mayroon's political-intelligence division and thought it would impress the contact. She said she knew something ‘big' was about to happen on Santorini because her boss had received direct orders from Mayroon's chairman that had her rushing around all afternoon finding detailed maps and photographs of the island.”

Andreas shook his head. “Loose lips. They're everywhere these days.”

“Sounds like someone's considering a real estate investment,” said Yianni.

“That's the likely answer,” said the Brigadier, “but you asked me why I thought the Caesars were involved in this, and that coincidence is my answer to your question.”

“When did this conversation between the NATO contact and the young lady take place?” said Andreas.

The Brigadier shut his eyes. “We spoke two days before Penelope's murder. So the conversation would have been a day earlier.”

Andreas nodded and turned to face Yianni. “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” said Yianni spreading his arms. “Now what?”

***

Andreas handed Yianni the car keys and sat in the passenger seat, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the dashboard and staring out the side window as they passed along Mesogeion's wide boulevard of government buildings, private offices, residences, and shops.

Andreas didn't speak until they were almost back to Alexandras Avenue. “I hate coincidences. Especially when I sense there's another explanation.”

“Are you doubting the Brigadier's story about NATO?”

“No. I'm thinking about all the other coincidences. Both the Caesars and Mayroon are in a position to give direct advice to our Prime Minister, yet we know the Caesars are looking to have Prada use his influence with the Prime Minister. I'd bet Mayroon does the same.

“Then there's the timing. On day one Prada receives an invitation to join the Caesars for dinner on Santorini. The next day Mayroon is running around gathering info on Santorini. On day five the Brigadier's daughter is murdered, on day eight the Caesars meet on Santorini, and on day eleven Prada is yelling ‘
gotcha
.'”

“But what's the tie-in to Mayroon,” said Yianni, “or to the Caesars, for that matter?”

“That's what's driving me crazy. My mind keeps going back to something else the Brigadier told us in the cafenion. He said, ‘Any military man giving serious thought to coup possibilities would know that a coup could not possibly succeed without
powerful outside benefactors
.'”

“Mayroon?”

“They certainly qualify.”

“But the Caesars aren't talking coup, and Mayroon's client is already in charge of the government.”

“As I said, it's driving me crazy. I'm certain all the pieces are right there in front of us, except for the one that makes sense of everything.”

“Any idea on where we can find that bit of information?”

“If Francesco can't pull something helpful off the minister's recordings…” Andreas threw up his hands, “…we're nowhere.”

“I guess that means we're heading straight back to the office.”

“Do you have something better to do?”

“I was planning on buying you a Christmas present,” said Yianni, deadpan.

“You have plenty of time. We exchange presents the old-fashioned way, on the first day of the year on Saint Basil's Day.”

“It will melt by then.”

“Huh?”

“There's a terrific ice cream place nearby.”

“As a great man once said, ‘On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer on Vixen, for a double chocolate fudge I'm a'fixin.'”

“And you have the balls to criticize what I think is funny?”

“Onward, onward, two scoops await.”

***

“Hello, oh master of all things dark and hidden,” said Andreas into his mobile phone.

“It's a bit early in the day for you to be into that sort of drinking, don't you think?”

“It's not booze, it's gelato. Yianni took me to a place Tassaki's Uncle Tassos will just love.”

“The one just off Mesageion?” said Tassos.

“You know about it?”

“You think I got this way eating carrots?”

Andreas laughed. “Where are you?”

“On Syros, dodging raindrops.”

“I have something to get your mind off the weather. Did you ever hear of the Mayroon Group?”

“Maroon?”

“No, MAY-ROON. It's an international consulting firm the Brigadier told us helped get the Prime Minister elected.”

“Never heard of it, but that's not the sort of thing our man-of-the-people, anti-establishment Prime Minister would likely brag about.”