The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (7 page)

              With little money or food they walked avoiding Russian troops along forgotten paths during the day. Before dusk arrived, Talos kept his eyes open for a good location with a natural windbreak. With the skills obtained in the resistance, he quickly constructed a rough shelter and filled it with any dry materials he could find.

              Talos fished whenever possible and set snares before going to sleep. With the small animals caught and roots from untended fields they ate well. As they walked Kiki searched bushes for wild fruit. The roots became soup for lunch and the berries, breakfast. Throughout their journey their nightly ritual became routine but as they neared the city food of any description became scarce.

              Ten days later, they entered a dirty and uncared for city. Russian troops, acting in a similar manner to their Nazi counterparts, stood on street corners stopping and checking the papers of those who ventured out, their actions threatening. Two soldiers stood in Talos’ and Kiki’s path and demanded to see their papers. While one gave them a cursory glance, the other stroked Kiki’s hair. She shuddered as his rough hand touched her cheek.

              Talos grabbed their papers and pulled her away.

              The soldiers laughed and said something in Russian. He noted as they walked that most shops were empty of food and customers. As they made their way to his uncle’s home, a scuffle broke out in a baker’s shop. The police dragged a woman dressed in rags into the street, removed the half loaf she held to her chest and beat her.

              Twenty minutes later, they weary couple stopped. “This is my uncle’s house.” He rapped on the door and waited.

              The wrinkled face of an old woman leant out of a ground floor window from the next building and peered at them. “What do you want?”  

              Talos walked towards her. “This is the house of my uncle, my father’s brother, Konstantinos Dalaras. We have travelled from the mountains to talk to him.”

              “You can’t talk to the dead. He and his wife starved to death during the occupation. Wait, I have a key.” The window shut and minutes later the woman dressed in black left her home and tottered towards him. “The key. The house is as they left it and so is the bed they died in. There’s no food but I have some potatoes and mixed with wild herbs they make a tasty soup. You are welcome, come this evening.”

              Talos blinked slowly. A trace of sadness entered his voice. “We are from the mountains where we know death. I will tell my father his brother has died. Before we leave I will honour his name. Where are they buried?”

              The woman shrugged. “I do not know. One day they were there, the next gone. When the Germans were here it was best not to ask.”       

              For a moment there was silence. “I understand,” said Talos. Your offer of soup is welcome. Thank you. You’re very kind but where do I find the mayor?”

              The woman smiled, her large grey eyes sparkled as she played with a small wooden cross. “Do you know George Seremetis?”

              “My uncle was a clerk to a lawyer who knew him.”

              “A good man who has helped many of the resistance to escape. He has an office in the municipal building but he is a busy man.”

              “I have important information.”

              “Go with your wife and rest. Wash, relax, tomorrow will be here soon enough. Your information can wait.”

              The lock turned and they entered the dark and musty house filled with shadows, the floor covered by threadbare carpet.

              The shutters creaked as Kiki opened them to let light into the rooms.

              With logs from the back garden, Talos lit a fire. The flames gave cheer to an empty room.

              When the water boiled in the kettle resting in the embers, she added fresh lemon juice. In silence, they relaxed and sipped the liquid.

              The old woman banged on the door and shouted, “My soup is ready.”

              The potato soup gave warmth but little sustenance.

              “Delicious and thank you,” said Talos. “You must excuse us, it’s been a long and tiring day.”

              On entering his uncle’s house they climbed the stairs. The bed was as the woman described. In a chest of drawers, Kiki found clean sheets and remade it. Huddled together to keep warm they slept until the daylight woke them. 

              With no food in the house, Talos and Kiki left and walked hand in hand to the municipal offices. The aged building was drab and in poor condition but a uniformed man at the entrance vetted everyone before allowing admission. “Why are you here?” he asked.

              “We have important business with Mayor Seremetis,” said Talos.

              “You can wait outside his office. When he returns he might, if he has time, talk to you. He’s inspecting the harbour facilities this morning. Ships filled with food are anchored in the bay. With luck some of us might eat tonight, providing the Germans didn’t booby trap the quays.”

              Talos and Kiki found the mayor’s office and sat on the long wooden bench outside. The chill of the unheated stone building crept into their bones. For a while, they chatted but exhausted from their journey, they leant against each other and slept.

              “They’ve been waiting for you, Mr Seremetis,” said the security guard.

              “How long?”

              “All day.”

              He held up a hand. “They’re in luck. I came back to retrieve files for another meeting tomorrow. I’ll see them in my office.”

              Talos stirred as someone shook him. He snapped open his eyes and realised where he was. “What’s the time?” He nudged Kiki.

              “Time you were at home. The Mayor is waiting to see you. Don’t waste his time, he’s had a long and busy day.”

              Confused, they followed the man into an office where desks covered in files filled most of the space. 

                  Seremetis leant back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You waited the whole day to see me. Please sit and tell me why.”

              Talos described the attack on the trains and the avalanche in detail.

              Seremetis shook his head and yawned at the same time. “I apologise but sleep is a luxury these days. It’s out of my jurisdiction. What do you think I can do?”

              “Supply men and heavy lifting equipment to open up the tunnel.”

              The mayor’s sharp eyes settled on Talos. “I can’t help you.”

              “You answer without thinking. Men who died for our country are entombed inside a mountain and you won’t help.” 

              “I can’t help because I don’t have the resources. You live in the mountains and it’s difficult. You must realise the hard facts of life at this time. When was the last time you ate meat?”

              Talos looked at him quizzically. “We ate rabbit two nights ago. Why do you ask?”

              “I had one mouthful of goat, one month ago. The Germans took the food and left the people nothing. Three hundred thousand died in Athens from starvation and many more from German brutality.”

              The mayor looked uncomfortable. “I want to help. My conscience tells me I should, but I can’t. You’re concerned for the dead. I’m worried about the living. This country’s on the brink of civil war and my jail is full of Nazi collaborators. Your request, if it were possible, would be the last thing on my list.”

              Weary, Kiki shrugged and placed her hand over Talos’. “Come, husband, we’re finished here. The Mayor has explained why and I understand. Maybe one day our families will be remembered.”

              Talos stood and held out his hand. The mayor came round from behind his desk and with a firm grip shook it. “I’m sorry. Go back to the mountains and take care of your wife. I see she is pregnant.”

              Blushing, she grabbed her husband’s hand, and dragged him from the office.

              Hungry and cold, they returned to the house and went to bed.

              The following morning they began their journey home.

Part Two

Chapter One

London England - June 2013

The high temperatures and blue skies started on the previous Friday and miraculously continued throughout the weekend. Petros Kyriades checked the forecast on his iphone; outlook wall-to-wall sunshine.

              He pushed his helmet visor down and straddled his BMW. The engine started on the turn of the key. It idled for a few moments before he engaged gear. The traffic remained light until the outskirts of the city.

              At the rear of Andreas’ Bistro, he stopped, dismounted, removed his helmet and entered by the main door.

              The lunchtime rush remained an hour away as Andreas polished the glass counter. “The accounts are on the table by the window. Coffee?”

              Petros smiled at his property manager. “I don’t know why I check these.” He pointed at the ledgers. “You account for every transaction to the nearest penny.”

              He shrugged. “Because once a year, you have to present them to your accountant.”

              Petros grabbed the mug of black coffee and sat by the window. One by one, he flipped the pages, making notes on his pad as he sipped his coffee. Finished, he closed the books. “I’m bored out of my skull.”

              The entrance slammed open and two youths charged in. “Give me the fucking  money,” shouted the taller of the two as he wielded a long-bladed kitchen knife.

              The other glanced at Petros. “Stay where you are or you’re fucking dead.”

              Petros stood and fixed his eyes on the thug. “Leave while you can still walk.”

              The smaller laughed. “Hark at this geezer, Jimmy.”

              Jimmy screamed. “I told you not to use my name, arsehole.”

              In an instant Petros stooped, lifted the ledger, and hurled it as a Frisbee.

              Spinning, it struck Jimmy on the back of the head. Stunned, he raised the hand with the knife, staggered and tumbled to the floor.

            “What did you say, arsehole? Move and I’m dead.” Petros charged forward.

              Arsehole turned. Andreas struck him in the face with a cast iron saucepan. With blood pouring from his nose, he fell back, hit his head on the wall and collapsed.

              Petros noticed Jimmy attempting to slither away and stamped hard on his right knee. “What do you want to do with these reprobates?”

              For good measure, Andreas kicked both hard in the balls. “Chuck them out with the rubbish and forget they were ever here.”

              “Do you fancy having fun?”

              “Now I know you’re bored,” Andreas said.

              “Strip them and toss them in the dock. They could do with a wash.”

              Andreas checked no one was around and with Petros, dragged the naked semi-conscious thugs to the edge of the quay.

              “Anything you want to say?” said Petros.

              “You broke my fucking leg.”

              “Me, I saw you slip when you went for a swim and I have a witness.”

              “One, two, three,” said Andreas. With a boot in the centre of their backs, Jimmy and his mate tumbled into the cold, dirty water.

              Petros contacted the police on his mobile but kept his eyes on the floundering pair.

              “I can’t swim,” shouted Jimmy.

              “I can’t hear you,” said Petros, “I’m deaf.”

              The police arrived in a launch and with the dexterous use of a boat hook, they dragged the hapless creatures inboard.

              On returning to the bistro, Petros lifted and dumped the thugs’ clothes into a refuse bin. “They won’t be back.”

              Andreas chuckled. “The joke’s on them.” He pressed a button on the electronic till and the drawer opened. “Ten pounds in loose change. When my lunchtime customers arrive, they bring the correct money. Saves so much time when you have one hour away from your desk. If those two idiots came this afternoon they would have taken hundreds.”

              “Two short planks have more brain power. Good job Bear wasn’t here.”

              “Oh. Before I forget. Do you remember at my wedding chatting to a relative of mine?”

              “Things got a bit hazy. Something about he’d lost a train. I gave him my card and told him to contact me.”

              “Not quite. It’s a village tale from nineteen-forty-four, just before the Russian army liberated Greece. I grew up with the story. Anyway, he Skyped and asked if I could have a word. He believes a train full of stolen artefacts is inside the mountains. What I know to be true is, in the late sixties, the Greek authorities retrieved two German steam engines from a gorge a two-day walk from my village. Human bones littered the area. No one knows if they were Greek, German, or Italian. The engines, although badly damaged, were returned to Germany for restoration.”