'Got you.'
At harvesting time, Tony was invited to visit Carella's main estate. Each member of Carella's family was equipped with a cizgi bicak, a scalpel-shaped cutting knife, to make a precise incision into the plant. Carella explained, 'The poppies have to be harvested within a twenty-four-hour period or the crop is ruined.' There were nine members in the family and each one worked frantically to make sure the crop was in on time. The air was filled with fumes that induced drowsiness Rizzoli felt groggy. 'Be careful,' Carella warned. 'Stay awake If you lie down in the field, you will never get up again.'
The farmhouse windows and doors were kept tightly closed during the twenty-four-hour period of harvest.
When the poppies had been picked, Rizzoli watched the sticky white gum transformed from a morphine base into heroin, at a 'laboratory' in the hills 'So, that's it, huh?' Carella shook his head. 'No, my friend. That's only the beginning Making the heroin is the easiest part. The trick is to transport it without getting caught.' Tony Rizzoli felt an excitement building in him. This was where his expertise was going to take over. Up until now, the business had been run by bunglers. Now he was going to show them how a professional operated 'How do you move this stuff?' 'There are many ways. Truck, bus, train, car, mule, camel . . .' 'Camel?'
'We used to smuggle heroin in cans in the camel's belly until the guards started using metal detectors. So we switched to rubber bags. At the end of the trip we kill the camels. The problem is that sometimes the bags burst inside the camels, and the animals stagger up to the border like drunks. So the guards caught on.' 'What route do you use?' 'Sometimes the heroin is routed from Aleppo, Beirut and Istanbul, and on to Marseilles. Sometimes the drugs go from Istanbul to Greece, then on to Sicily through Corsica and Morocco and across the Atlantic.' 'I appreciate your cooperation,' Rizzoli said. till tell the boys I have another favor to ask of you.' 'Yes?' 'I'd like to go along with the next shipment.' There was a long pause. 'That could be dangerous.' till take my chances.'
The following afternoon, Tony Rizzoli was introduced to a large, hulking bandit of a man, with a grandiose, flowing mustache, and the body of a tank. 'This is Mustafa from Afyon. In Turkish, afyon means opium. Mustafa is one of our most skilled smugglers.' 'One has to be skilled,' Mustafa said modestly. 'There are many dangers.' Tony Rizzoli grinned. 'But it's worth the risk, eh?' Mustafa said with dignity, 'You are speaking of money. To us, opium is more than a money crop. There is a mystique about it. It is the one crop that is more than food alone. The white sap of the plant is a God-given elixir which is a natural medicine if taken in small quantities. It can be eaten, or applied directly to the skin, and it will cure most of the common ailments upset stomachs, colds, fever, aches, pains, sprains. But you must be careful. If you take it in large amounts, not only will it cloud the senses, it will rob you of your sexual prowess, and nothing in Turkey could more destroy a man's dignity than impotence.' 'Sure. Anything you say.'
The journey from Afyon began at midnight. A group of farmers, walking single file through the black night, rendezvoused with Mustafa. The mules were loaded with opium, 350 kilos, more than 700 pounds, strapped to the backs of seven stout mules The sweet pungent odor of the opium, like wet hay, hovered in the air about the men. There were a dozen farmers who had come to guard the opium in the transaction with Mustafa. Each farmer was armed with a rifle 'We have to be careful these days,' Mustafa told Rizzoli 'We have Interpol and many police looking for us. In the old days, it was more fun. We used to transport opium through a village or the city in a casket draped in black. It was a heartwarming sight to see the people and the police on the street, lifting their hats and saluting in respect as a coffin of opium went by.' The province of Afyon lies in the center of the western third of Turkey at the foot of the Sultan Mountains on a high plateau, remote and virtually isolated from the nation's leading cities 'This terrain is very good for our work,' Mustafa said 'We are not easy to find.'
The mules moved slowly through the desolate mountains, and at midnight, three days later, they reached the Turkish-Syrian border. There they were met by a woman dressed in black. She was leading a horse carrying an innocent sack of flour, and there was a hemp rope knotted loosely on its saddle horn. The rope trailed behind the horse, but it never touched the ground. It was a long rope, two hundred feet in length. The other end was held up by Mustafa and his fifteen hired runners behind him. They walked in a crouch, each bent over close to the ground, one hand holding the rope line, and the other clutching a gunny sack of opium. Each $ack weighed thirtyfive pounds. The woman and her horse walked through a stretch booby-trapped with anti-personnel mines, but there was a path that had been cleared by a small herd of sheep driven through the area earlier. If the rope fell to the earth, the slack was a signal to Mustafa and the others that there were gendarmes up ahead. If the woman was taken in for questioning, then the smugglers would safely move on ahead across the border They crossed at Kilis, the border point, which was heavily mined. Once past the area controlled by the gendarme patrols, the smugglers moved into the buffer zone three miles wide, until they reached their rendezvous, where they were greeted by Syrian smugglers. They put their sacks of opium on the ground and were presented with a bottle of raki which the men passed from one to the other. Rizzoli watched as the opium was weighed, stacked, tied and secured upon the sway-backs of a dozen dirty Syrian donkeys. The job was done All right, Rizzoli thought. Now let's see how the boys in Thailand do it.
Rizzoli's next stop was Bangkok. When his bona fides had been established he was allowed on a Thai fishing vessel that carried drugs wrapped in polyethylene sheeting packed into empty kerosene drums, with rings attached to the top. As the shipping boats approached Hong Kong they jettisoned the drums in a neat row in shallow water around Lima and the Ladrone Islands, where it was simple for a Hong Kong fishing boat to pick them up with a grappling hook 'Not bad,' Rizzoli said. But there has to be a better way.
The growers referred to heroin as 'they' and 'horse', but to Tony Rizzoli, heroin was gold. The profits were staggering. The peasants who grew the raw opium were paid three hundred fifty dollars for ten kilos but by the time the opium was processed and sold on the streets of New York, its value had increased to two hundred fifty thousand dollars It's so easy, Rizzoli thought. Carella was right. The trick is not to get caught That had been in the beginning, ten years ealier. But now it was more difficult. Interpol, the international police force, had recently put drug smuggling at the top of its list. All vessels leaving the key smuggling ports that looked even slightly suspicious were boarded and searched. That was why Rizzoli had gone to Spyros Lambrou. His fleet was above suspicion. It was unlikely that the police would search one of his cargo ships. But the bastard had turned him down. I'll find another way, Tony Rizzoli thought. But I'd better find it fast.
'Catherine am I disturbing you?' It was midnight. 'No, Costa. It's nice to hear your voice.' 'Is everything going well?' 'Yes thanks to you. I'm really enjoying my job/ 'Good. I'll be coming to London in a few weeks. I'll look forward to seeing you.' Careful. Don't push too fast. 'I want to discuss some of the company's personnel.' 'Fine.' 'Good night, then.'
'Good night.'
This time she was calling him. 'Costa -1 don't know what to say The locket is beautiful. You shouldn't have . . .' 'It's a small token, Catherine. Evelyn told me what a big help you are to her. I just wanted to express my appreciation.'
It's so easy, Demiris thought. Little gifts and flattery. Later: My wife and I are separating Then the 'I'm so lonely' stage A vague talk of marriage and an invitation to travel on his 84
IWcht to his island. The routine never failed. This is going to be iparticularly exciting, Demiris thought, because it's going to have a 0 different ending. She's going to die.
He telephoned Napoleon Chotas. The lawyer was delighted to hear from him. 'It's been a while, Costa. Everything goes well?' 'Yes, thank you. I need a favor.' 'Of course.' 'Noelle Page owned a little villa in Rafina. I want you to buy it for me, under someone else's name.' 'Certainly. I'll have one of the lawyers in my office .
.' 'I want you to handle it personally.' There was a pause. 'Very well. I'll take care of it.' Thank you.' Napoleon Chotas sat there, staring at the phone. The villa was the love nest where Noelle Page and Larry Douglas had carried on their affair. What could Constantin Demiris possibly want with it? Chapter 7 The Arsakion Courthouse in downtown Athens is a large, grey stone building that takes up the entire square block at University Street and Strada. Of the thirty courtrooms in the building, only three rooms are reserved for criminal trials: rooms 21, 30 and 33
Because of the enormous interest generated by the murder trial of Anastasia Savalas, it was being held in room 33. The courtroom was forty feet wide and three hundred feet long, and the seats were divided into three blocks, six feet apart, with nine wooden benches to each row. At the front of the courtroom was a raised dais behind a six-foot mahogany partition, with high-backed chairs for the three presiding judges In front of the dais was a witness stand, a small raised platform on which was fixed a reading lectern, and against the far wall was a jury box, filled now with its ten jurors. In front of the defendant's box was the lawyers' table The murder trial was spectacular enough in itself, but the piece de resistance was the fact that the defense was being conducted by Napoleon Chotas, one of the preeminent criminal lawyers in the world. Chotas tried only murder cases, and he had a remarkable record of success. His fees were rumored to be in the millions of dollars. Napoleon Chotas was a thin, emaciated-looking man with the large sad eyes of a bloodhound in a corrugated face He dressed badly, and his physical appearance did nothing to inspire confidence. But behind his vaguely baffled manner was hidden a brilliant, trenchant mind The press had speculated furiously about why Napoleon Chotas had agreed to defend the woman on trial. There was no way he could possibly win the case. Wagers were being made that it would be Chotas' first defeat Peter Demonides, the Prosecuting Attorney, had come up against Chotas before, and though he would never admit it, even to himself he was in awe of Chotas' skill. This time, however, Demonides felt that he had little to worry about. If ever there was a classic open-and-shut murder case, the Anastasia Savalas trial was It The facts were simple: Anastasia Savalas was a beautiful young woman married to a wealthy man named George Savalas, who was thirty years her senior. Anastasia had been having an affair with their young chauffeur, Josef Pappas, and, according to witnesses, her husband had threatened to divorce Anastasia and write her out of his will. On the night of the murder, she had dismissed the servants and prepared dinner for her husband George Savalas had had a cold. During dinner, he had suffered a coughing spell. His wife had brought him his bottle of cough medicine. Savalas had taken one swallow and dropped dead An open-and-shut case.
Room 33 was crowded with spectators on this early morning. Anastasia Savalas was seated at the defendant's table dressed in a simple black skirt and blouse, with no jewelry and very little make-up. She was stunningly beautiful The prosecutor, Peter Demonides, was addressing the jury 'Ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes, in a murder case, a trial takes up to three or four months. But I don't think any of you '/ are going to have to worry about being here for that length of / time. When you hear the facts in this case, I'm sure you will >j agree without question that there is only one possible verdict urder in the first degree. The State will prove that the defendant willfully murdered her husband because he threatened to divorce her when he found out she was having an affair with the family chauffeur. We will prove that the defendant had the motive, the opportunity, and the means to carry out her cold-blooded
He moved toward the jury box in an uncertain, shuffling gait He stood there blinking at them, and when he spoke it was almost as though he were speaking to himself. 'I've lived a long time, and I've learned that no man or woman can hide an evil nature. It always shows. A poet once said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. I believe that's true. I want you ladies and gentlemen to look into the eyes of the defendant. There is no way she could have found it in her heart to murder anyone.'^Napoleon Chotas stood there a moment as though trying to think of something else to say, then shuffled back to his seat Peter Demonides was filled with a sudden sense of triumph Jesus Christ. Thai's the weakest opening I have ever heard in my life! The old man's lost it 'Is the Prosecuting Attorney prepared to call his first witness?' 'Yes, Your Honor. I would like to call Rosa Lykourgos.' A middle-aged, heavy-set woman rose from the spectators' bench and sailed determinedly toward the front of the courtroom She was sworn in 'Mrs Lykourgos, what is your occupation?' 'I am the housekeeper . . .' Her voice choked up, 'I was the housekeeper to Mr Savalas.' 'Mr George Savalas?' 'Yes, sir.' 'And would you tell us how long you were employed by Mr Savalas?'
'Twenty-five years.' 'My, that's a long time. Were you fond of your employer?' 'He was a saint.' 'Were you employed by Mr Savalas during his first marriage?' 'Yes, sir. I was at the graveside with him when his wife was buried.' 'Would it be fair to say that they had a good relationship?' 'They were madly in love with each other.' Peter Demonides looked over at Napoleon Chotas, waiting for his objection on the line of questioning. But Chotas remained in his seat, apparently lost in thought Peter Demonides went on. 'And were you in Mr Savalas' employ during his second marriage, to Anastasia Savalas?' 'Oh, yes, sir. I certainly was.' She spat the words out 'Would you say that it was a happy marriage?' Again he glanced at Napoleon Chotas, but there was no reaction 'Happy? No, sir. 1*hey fought like cats and dogs.' 'Did you witness any of these fights?' 'A person couldn't help it. You could hear them all over the house and it's a big house.' 'I take it these fights were verbal, rather than physical? That is, Mr Savalas never struck his wife?' 'Oh, it was physical all right. But it was the other way around, it was the madam who struck him. Mr Savalas was getting on in years, and the poor man had become frail.' 'You actually saw Mrs Savalas strike her husband?' 'More than once.' The witness looked over at Anastasia Savalas, and there was grim satisfaction in her voice 'Mrs Lykourgos, on the night Mr Savalas died, which members of the staff were working in the house?' 'None of us.' Peter Demonides let his voice register surprise. 'You mean in a house that you say was so large, not one member of the staff was there? Didn't Mr Savalas employ a cook, or a maid .. a butler . . . ?' 'Oh, yes, sir. We had all of those. But the madam told everyone to take that night off. She said she wanted to cook dinner for her husband herself. It was going to be a second honeymoon.' The last remark was said with a snort. v 'So Mrs Savalas got rid of everybody?' |! This time it was the Chief Justice who looked over at Napoleon Chotas, waiting for him to object. But the attorney sat there, preoccupied The Chief Justice turned to Demonides. "The Prosecutor will stop leading the witness.' 'I apologize, Your Honor. I'll rephrase the question.' Demonides moved closer to Mrs Lykourgos. 'What you are saying is that on a night when members of the staff ordinarily would be in the house, Mrs Savalas ordered everyone to leave so that she could be alone with her husband?' 'Yes, sir. And the poor man was suffering from a terrible cold.'