The Silver Stain (20 page)

‘You look very well.’

Barba-Yannis threw up his wrinkled arms. ‘I am on my own, like many of my generation. My wife died last year and my children and grandchildren are in Germany. They have done very well. They say I will soon be a great-grandfather.’

‘May they live for you,’ Mavros said, calculating that the old man would have been in his early twenties during the war. ‘Tell me, why did they go to that country?’

‘I went there first myself,’ Barba-Yannis said. ‘In the Fifties things were not good here and I had a record – I was in EAM during the war. I wasn’t a communist, mind – I never liked the party’s hard-line stance. But it was better to be absent for some years, especially since there were jobs in the factories up there.’

Mavros looked into the rheumy brown eyes. ‘But didn’t you feel bad after everything the Germans did here?’

‘Of course I felt bad!’ the old man said, slapping the balcony rail. ‘I lost relatives and friends – comrades . . .’ His voice failed.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

Barba-Yannis drew his forearm across his eyes. ‘No, my child, it is good to remember the past. The younger generations do not like to – they prefer to make money rather than honour our sacrifices. Besides, there is no benefit in hating. The German soldiers paid a heavy price too.’

‘One of them even put back a lot into the local economy.’

‘You mean Rudolf Kersten? Yes, he is greatly admired.’

Mavros caught a hint of disapproval. ‘But?’

The old Cretan rubbed his thinning hair. ‘But some people say he took part in one of the massacres. Even though he denies it, I’ve never been able to see him as the repentant do-gooder most people do.’

‘Makrymari,’ Mavros said, in a low voice.

‘You’ve been doing your homework, my boy,’ Barba-Yannis said, nodding in approval.

‘I’m trying,’ Mavros smiled. ‘I hear there was a Jewish population in Chania.’

‘Ach, the Jews. They kept themselves to themselves, but we didn’t mind them.’ The old man lowered his head. ‘You can imagine what happened to them.’

‘Sent to the camps?’ Mavros said, aware that many thousands of mainland Greek Jews had been gassed.

‘Worse. They were loaded on a ship in Iraklio with Italian soldiers who had surrendered. For years, it was thought that the Germans had sunk it themselves, but not long ago I heard it was torpedoed by a British submarine. No survivors.’

A chill ran through Mavros. War really was hell, not only because of the slaughter of combatants and non-combatants, but because of the ghastly twists of fate leading to ‘accidents’ that destroyed the lives of countless families – including those left to mourn.

He roused himself. Barba-Yannis was a potentially useful source about resistance activities.

‘Did you know an EAM man called Kanellos?’

‘Did I know Kanellos?’ the old man asked, with a gap-toothed smile.

‘Kanellos was that rare thing – a hero who cared about other people. After the first days of the invasion, he swore he would never fire a gun again.’

‘What happened?’

‘I wasn’t here – I’d been sent with a message to the EAM commander in Rethymno the day before the landings started and got caught up in the fighting there. But what we heard was that Kanellos was in the killing grounds outside the city with a band of fighters. They slaughtered the paratroopers with knives when they landed and then took their own weapons to fire on them. I still don’t understand how the airfield at Maleme was lost. The British generals were fools.’

Barba-Yannis emptied his water glass, and Mavros passed his across.

‘Thank you, my son. And then Kanellos was at the village of Galatsi. Almost all his men had been killed. The British – well, most of the fighting men were those big New Zealanders – decided to charge the Germans up the main street, with a couple of tin-can tanks at the front.’

Waggoner, Mavros thought. There was mention of his role in the battle on the Internet sites he’d trawled and in extracts from his books.

‘Kanellos realized from the start that it was a suicide mission, because the Germans had landed thousands of men by then. He tried to talk the gendarmes and the local citizens out of taking part, saying their efforts and their lives would be much more valuable in the future.’ The old Cretan blinked away tears. ‘He was right about that. The initial charge was a success, but within an hour they had all been cut down by Germans on the higher ground. Apart from a few wounded British at the rear, there were hardly any survivors. It was a tragedy and it is to Kanellos’s honour that he tried to avert it.’

‘Presumably Kanellos wasn’t his real name,’ Mavros said, his voice unsteady.

‘Of course not. The senior men all used aliases, even before the war.’

Mavros nodded. ‘And after that? Kanellos stayed throughout the occupation?’

‘Till the German surrender in Chania.’

Mavros looked across the space to the flat opposite, trying to keep calm. An old woman in a nightgown was playing listlessly with an overweight cat.

‘Did you ever hear of a hoard of silver that was found in a cave up in the mountains?’

Barba-Yannis gave him a sharp look. ‘How do you know about that, Mr Alex?’

Mavros gave him a shortened version of the story in Waggoner’s memoir.

‘Kanellos betrayed them?’ the old man said, his voice breaking. ‘Ridiculous. He would never have done a thing like that. He worked by persuasion, not betrayal. Some of those British agents were madmen,’ he continued. ‘Lambis – Waggoner – was one of the worst. He used to come down from the mountains and shoot Germans with the
andartes
. There were many reprisals.’

‘I thought the Cretans generally were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to get rid of the Germans?’

Barba-Yannis looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You know, that’s the kind of bravado the mountain men still come out with. Of course, people were prepared to die for the cause of freedom. But not everyone agreed with old men and boys being put against a wall. That was Kanellos’s message: no sabotage unless it was a major target – most of those were so well guarded that you couldn’t get near them – and no civilian lives to be put at risk. Some of the British – Waggoner, especially – had different priorities.’

Mavros looked down. ‘Kanellos – describe him, will you?’

‘Medium height, thick black hair brushed back from his forehead, a hooked nose and a thick moustache.’ The old man raised a hand. ‘But most striking of all were his eyes – they were dark-blue and penetrating. You felt they could see all the way inside your soul. He was a wonderful man. I never saw him again after he left the island.’

Mavros’s phone chirruped. There was a message from the Fat Man asking him to call urgently. Mavros didn’t need to. He already knew Kanellos’s real name.

FOURTEEN

A
fter the old caretaker had gone, Mavros called the Fat Man.

‘Kanellos was my father,’ he said, without any preamble.

‘How the hell did you . . .’ Yiorgos broke off. ‘Oh, I get it. You do the work and get me to confirm it. That’s typ—’

‘Shut up!’ Mavros yelled. ‘Have you . . . have you any idea what this means to me? I hardly knew my father before he died, none of us knew anything about what he did in the war . . . or did you, Yiorgo?’

‘I swear on my mother’s grave I didn’t, Alex.’ The Fat Man’s tone was sombre now. ‘You know what the Party’s like about past operations. I only got a steer on Kanellos because someone owed me a very big favour.’

Mavros sat back in the armchair by the phone, his heart rate gradually slowing. He had been speaking to a man who had worked with his father, who had seen him when he was in his prime and who admired him. It was as if a familiar ghost that always kept its distance had suddenly come up behind him and whispered in his ear. The problem was, he couldn’t understand the words.

‘Alex? Are you all right?’

‘What do you think? My mind’s doing a passable imitation of a washing machine on spin cycle.’

‘What? Oh, I see. Look, I can try to find out more if you—’

‘Not now, Yiorgo. I’ve got enough to think about. I should really phone my mother, but that’ll have to wait. I need to talk to her in person.’

‘It isn’t bad news, Alex. From what I heard, Spyros did great work for the movement, like he did before and after the war. Your father was a hero, I’ve always told you that.’

‘A hero I didn’t know,’ Mavros muttered, ‘like my brother.’

‘Well, it seems you know him better now. Isn’t that a good thing?’

‘I need time to think about that. I’ll talk to you later.’ Mavros cut the connection and called Niki.

‘Hello, how are you?’ he asked.

She heard immediately that something had got to him. ‘What’s happened, Alex? Are you all right?’

‘Of course,’ he replied. He still wasn’t going to tell her anything about the men from Kornaria and the vendetta. ‘Tired, though. Listen, I might have to stay on a bit longer here. There are some more things I have to check out.’

Although Niki could be self-centred, she was good at picking up other people’s moods. ‘I thought you’d found the woman, Alex. Why don’t you come home? I’ll look after you, my love, I promise.’

Mavros was touched. ‘It won’t be long, I promise. Listen, I have to dash now. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘I love you,’ she said.

He repeated the words, with enough feeling to reassure her. He did love her, but he’d loved his father – the sad-eyed phantom – for much longer.

His mobile rang.

‘Do you want me to pick you up?’ Mikis asked. ‘I’m in the area.’

They arranged to meet at the corner of the street.

‘Christ and the Holy Mother, what’s happened to you?’ the young Cretan asked, as Mavros got into the Jeep.

‘Must have been something I ate.’

Mikis glanced at him dubiously before driving on. ‘Anything you feel like sharing?’

‘Not right now. Can you take me to the clinic?’

‘I’m heading there to check on the boys. I’ve talked the old man into letting me stick with you today. The film people are mostly over at the fake village they’ve built anyway.’

Mavros remembered the massacre scene that was due to be filmed. ‘Thanks. Maybe we’ll go there later.’ He kept silent for the rest of the short trip, trying to get his mind back on the Maria Kondos case.

There was a black Mercedes outside the clinic, with two bulky, besuited men inside, while the watchers’ Range Rover was in its usual place across the street. Mikis went over to talk to his friends.

Going up the stairs, Mavros knocked on the door of the private room. It was opened by Cara Parks.

‘Good morning, Alex,’ she said, the smile freezing on her lips. ‘What is it?’

‘Erm, some family news. Don’t worry, it won’t get in the way of anything.’

‘Well, you’re finished here, anyway,’ the actress said, extending an arm towards the patient, who was in a wheelchair. ‘Maria’s talking again and Dr Stavra . . . Stavra . . .’

‘Stavrakakis,’ he completed, with a weak smile.

‘Yes, he says that Maria can come back with me to the Heavenly Blue.’ Cara leaned over her assistant and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Not that she’s going to work, of course.’ She introduced Mavros and explained his role.

Maria Kondos nodded her thanks, though it was unclear if she recognized him, then turned to the actress. ‘I
will
work,’ she said, her voice surprisingly strong. ‘The only thing that’s wrong with me is my feet.’

‘Hold on a moment,’ Mavros said, stepping forwards. ‘What did the doctor say about your temporary inability to speak?’

Maria looked at Cara. ‘That it was shock-induced. Can we go now?’

Mavros was beginning to understand why the woman was disliked among the crew. She was haughty and brusque, clearly regarding him as a low-level servant.

He turned to the actress. ‘I’d like to ask your assistant some questions. I’m still unclear about what happened in the village.’

‘I can’t remember,’ Maria Kondos said firmly. ‘The police inspector was here this morning. He didn’t ask many questions.’

‘Margaritis?’

Cara Parks nodded.

Mavros wondered about that. Then again, the police hadn’t been told about the fight on the road, so his interest in a forbidding woman who remembered nothing about her disappearance wouldn’t have been huge.

‘Do you speak Greek?’ he asked, trying another angle.

‘A bit,’ Maria replied. ‘My parents spoke it at home, but I lost most of it when I went to the West Coast. Why?’

‘I was wondering if you’d heard anything when you were in Kornaria.’

‘I told you, I can’t remember a thing.’

‘Even why you walked out of the resort on your own on Sunday evening?’

‘I imagine I wanted some fresh air.’

Mavros kept on at her. ‘Someone called your mobile from a phone registered to Vasilios Dhrakakis in Kornaria on Sunday evening, not long before you left the Heavenly Blue. Have you no recollection of that?’

‘The name means nothing to me,’ Maria replied, her eyes meeting his.

Mistake, he thought. She thought she could take him on, but he had too much experience of liars. He let it go for the time being and turned the heat up another way.

‘Are you aware that the driver who helped me get you away from the men who were pursuing you is now involved in a vendetta? As am I.’

‘Alex!’ the actress said, shocked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Not your problem. Besides, what could you do?’

She glared at him. ‘Get the production’s lawyers involved, the American consul.’

‘Yeah, that’s going to help.’

‘All right, if it’s money you need, I’ll give you it.’ She glanced at the other woman. ‘After all, you saved my precious Maria.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out,’ Mavros said, with considerably more bluster than he felt. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on set?’

‘This afternoon,’ Cara said. ‘Now I’m going to take Maria back to the hotel.’

‘Let me escort you down.’

‘No, that’s not your job,’ the actress said, calling her bodyguards on her phone.

Mavros looked at Maria Kondos. Why wasn’t she talking? Was she protecting someone in Kornaria? Or could it be that she was less of a victim than she appeared?