“Do you think they found out from the same source?”
Andreas shut his eyes and opened them again. “I sure as hell hope not. But I can’t say for sure.” He patted, then smacked, the top of his desk. “I’m off to Mykonos.”
“When?”
“The next flight out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, stay here and keep an eye on Demosthenes. My guess is he’s gearing up to go after Kostopoulos again, and it’s going to happen soon. Do whatever it takes, but find out what he’s up to—” Andreas pointed his index finger directly between Kouros’ eyes, “but tell
no one
what’s going on. Understand?”
“Maggie?”
“Trust
no one!”
Andreas drew in and let out another breath. “Except for Maggie. And tell her to have our phones swept for bugs, just in case.”
Kouros left the office and Andreas looked at his watch. There was less than an hour until the next plane to Mykonos. He thought to call Lila and tell her his plans had changed but decided against it. The coincidence was too great: she tells him and the next thing he knows someone tells Demosthenes. He couldn’t believe she was one of the bad guys but, whatever the explanation, he came out in the same place: trust no one.
***
Demon had phone calls and arrangements to make. He used, but never trusted, cell phones, certainly not for this sort of thing with these contacts. He always found some anonymous university landline to use but still worried about the other end of the conversation. These people only used cell phones.
They assured him not to worry, that in their country everything was under control. They even bragged they were responsible for their country’s first cell phone system, a network that didn’t accomplish much more than better coordinate their smuggling operations. He wasn’t sure whether to believe their bragging, but he needed them, and so far, at least, no problems. Still, at his insistence, every two weeks he received a letter addressed to one of his many post office boxes listing new cell phone numbers for him to call.
He waited for someone to pick up.
“Hello.”
The language wasn’t Greek but Demon spoke it. “We need to make some additional arrangements.”
“What sort of arrangements?”
“Our recent message was ignored.”
“I see.”
“We must meet at once.”
“Where?”
“Location three at one-seventeen.” The man would know that meant five this afternoon in the Omonia metro station, a place where Greek was the minority tongue.
“Okay.”
He ended the call. These people were very good at what they did. But they needed direction. He’d make sure that this time that bastard Kostopoulos got the message—
loud and clear
.
It was Andreas’ first trip to Mykonos since his promotion to Athens and he told no one there he was coming. No reason to. He wanted anonymity, not dinner invitations. Still, sooner or later he’d be recognized; he just hoped it wasn’t the moment he got on the plane. Mykonos was one and one half times the size of Manhattan, but when it came to gossip it was a tiny village—of ten thousand citizens and fifty thousand seasonal visitors.
He boarded before the other passengers and sat in the first row, his face pressed against the window. His plan was to get to Kostopoulos right away, then head down to the old harbor for a few hours amidst the bouillabaisse of fishermen, farmers, politicians, and miscellaneous other spicy sorts who made up Mykonos’ version of café society. Andreas hoped acting like he was on holiday might keep the island’s wagging tongues from speculating too seriously on the reason for his visit, but he knew there were better odds at keeping the sun from setting.
Maybe I should have brought Lila along, he thought. It would be a better cover story. Yeah, for every gossip magazine in Greece: “Cop and Socialite on Hide-Away Holiday in Mykonos.” He decided not to think about her; it only aggravated him. He’d focus on her involvement in all this back in Athens.
The flight took about twenty-five minutes and Andreas’ eyes never moved from the window. He’d spent a lot of time in his life doing far worse things than watching uncluttered Cycladic Aegean islands roll out beneath him with their round-edge mountains of beige-to-brown faintly accented by slashed, hillside dirt roads and random dots of white and green. And all of this surrounded by coves and harbors of emerald to sapphire waters set against an endless lapis-colored sea. Ships of every type and size sat pasted on the blue, with bold wakes feigning movement carefully painted behind each one. He watched as the blue began picking up sharper accents of white. That meant wind-driven waves and Mykonos, the Island of the Winds, was close-by. The plane turned to approach from slightly southeast of the harbor town of Mykonos, passing by the neighboring holy island of Delos and coming in over Paradise Beach. There was a lot of history down there. Memories too.
Andreas was first off the plane, but instead of heading toward the door marked
arrivals
he walked toward a half-dozen large and larger private jets parked by the far end of the terminal. Amazing how much money so many people had. Andreas always shook his head when that thought ran through his mind. He wondered why he did that.
He saw what he was looking for: the most popular tourist vehicle on Mykonos, a white Suzuki Jimny parked between the jets and the terminal. The key was in it, and a map. God bless Maggie; he always could depend on her. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Maggie, it’s me.”
“Everything okay?”
“Perfect. Thanks to you. So, what’s the story?”
“The bad news is they found nothing useful on the SIM card—”
“Not surprised, but what about Kostopoulos’ house?”
“That’s the good news. It’s on the northern tip of the east side of Panormos Bay. In the Cape Mavros area.”
“That’s in the middle of nowhere! How the hell do I find it?”
“Well, you start by taking a left at the first road you come to in Ano Mera, go past the monastery…” Ano Mera was the island’s other town, located at its rural center, and Andreas could tell Maggie was reading from something that involved a lot of “at the big tree,” “by the light green—not dark green—gate,” “just past the horses,” and the like. Mykonos had few street signs and virtually no working maps, for that matter. The locals didn’t need them, and most visitors considered it “quaint,” at best, but it did offer a bit of privacy from curiosity seekers randomly searching out celebrities.
“How did you get those directions?”
“I called up Zanni and said ‘My chief would like to drop by for a chat this afternoon.’”
He didn’t respond, just started the engine.
“It’s illegal to drive while talking on a cell phone.”
“I’m not talking, just listening.”
“Cute. What better things do you have to do for the next twenty minutes than listen to me?”
“Maggie…”
“Okay, okay. I called a real estate agency on Mykonos, said my boss wanted to rent a villa for a month like his friend’s, Zanni Kostopoulos. They said there was nothing like his in the Cape Mavros area but they had a few others elsewhere they could show me. I said my boss wanted to be as close to the Kostopoulos’ home as possible and, after some serious pleading and assurances that I wasn’t trying to cut them out of their commission, they gave me ‘general directions’ to one.
“Then I called a liquor store in Ano Mera that delivered, told the man who answered I was trying to find the Kostopoulos home but ‘got lost by the light green gate,’ and wondered if by chance he might know what turns I should take to get there. He asked why I didn’t call the house. I said, ‘I tried but no one answered.’ He asked what number I called and I gave him what I knew was the right one. That’s when he gave me directions.”
Andreas was shaking his head. “Amazing what people will tell perfect strangers.”
“It’s the voice. You have to sound like you need to be rescued. Men don’t understand. They’re all so macho. It gives us power.”
He could tell she was grinning. He didn’t mind; she’d made him smile too. “I think I’ll hang up now. Thanks again.”
Andreas looked at his watch. If Maggie was right about the time, only fifteen more minutes until show time. Should be one hell of a performance. He just wished he knew his lines.
***
The road was narrow, partly dirt, and filled with blind turns and steep drops, but it was the main and only road to Cape Mavros, at the very end of the area locals called Mordergo. The view across the bay to Panormos and Aghios Sostis beaches was spectacular, but Andreas was too busy concentrating on what to expect at the house to notice. He even missed the turnoff “by the horses,” but caught a glimpse of three in his rear view mirror and backed up to make the turn. This road ran straight up a mountain, was all dirt, narrower and much steeper than the other. So steep, in fact, that at the crest of the hill he was tempted to get out to make sure the road actually ran down the other side, but he took his chances and kept going.
There it was, huge and obvious. More a compound than a house, it sat on a bluff by the bottom of the hill about a hundred yards above a small, private cove. Andreas could make out three buildings, all of natural stone, and two enormous swimming pools. The entire property was circled by two concentric stonewalls, five yards apart. The space between them was filled with green—trees, bushes, and flowers. It looked so inviting, but he’d bet anyone who made it uninvited over the first wasn’t likely to make it over the second.
A military-style Zodiac drifted in the cove. Two men sitting on the gunnels scrambled to the wheel when his car came over the top of the hill. He heard the engines start up. They weren’t the only ones moving. Two men leaning against a black Hummer halfway down the road reached inside for what Andreas guessed were weapons. A flash of reflected light off the roof of the main building meant he must be in some sharpshooter’s sights. Another black Hummer and two more men stood down by the main gate. And those were the ones he could see. Kostopoulos must have an army with him.
Andreas put the Jimny in first gear and let the gearbox brake the SUV down the hill. The whining of the transmission made the car sound out of control. The two men by the first Hummer scrambled to put it between them and the roaring Jimny. Andreas’ improvised David and Goliath confrontation of off-road vehicles ended when one of the men put a grenade launcher across the hood of the Hummer and started aiming at the Jimny. Andreas had the answer to his question,
what am I dealing with here?
He slammed on the brakes and the Jimny slid to a stop about thirty feet from the Hummer. Andreas turned off the engine, opened the door and stepped out.
“Halt, don’t move.” The words were Greek, the accent wasn’t.
“And a good morning to you, too, sir.” But Andreas didn’t move.
“What business do you have here?” The same man spoke.
“I’ve come to see Mr. Kostopoulos.”
“He’s not here.” The talker seemed the one in charge.
Andreas smiled. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not nice to lie to a policeman?” He pointed to the ID around his neck.
The man waved for Andreas to walk to him. He was about forty, but four inches taller and had thirty pounds more muscle than Andreas. He looked at the ID, keeping an eye on Andreas’ hands as he did. “He’s still not here.”
Andreas guessed the accent was from somewhere in the Balkans. “I admire Mr. Kostopoulos’ concern for his garden.”
“What are you talking about?”
Andreas gestured toward the house and the boat. “All this artillery and professional military talent, just to keep the goats away.”
The man didn’t speak, just stared at Andreas’ eyes.
Andreas smiled. “Serbia, right?”
“Why don’t you leave now, sir?”
The man didn’t lose his cool, a real professional. “Can’t do that, major. I’m guessing that was your rank.”
“You’ll have to leave, sir. This is private property.”
It wasn’t, but this wasn’t the place or the guy with which to debate the legal niceties.
Andreas shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call this in. I think you need more help here. Those goats look pretty mean. They might attack any minute.” He pointed to three scraggly-looking brown-to-black ones nibbling at thyme and savory a hundred yards up the hill. “Nope, it’s my duty to see you have all the help you need. What do you think, are a dozen local cops and a port police boat in that cove sufficient? Trouble is, I’ll probably have to use some of them for crowd control, what with all the attention that much police presence out here is going to generate. Hope the media cooperate. Hate how nosey they can get, don’t you?”
The major gestured to the other man to keep an eye on Andreas, went over to the Hummer and began speaking on a walkie-talkie, in Serbian.
A minute later he was back. “Drive down to the gate. The man there will speak to you.”
“Thank you.”
The major nodded. Andreas liked his style.
The man waiting for him was the same one who’d met him at the door of the Kostopoulos home in Athens. The two men from the second Hummer stood behind him.
“My name is Alex. Good afternoon, Chief Kaldis.”
“Good afternoon.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Kostopoulos will not see you. He received your message but said to tell you, ‘Do as you must.’” The tone was courteous, but final.
Andreas looked behind Alex until he saw what he wanted. “Excuse me for a moment.” As he brushed past him, the two men blocked his way. Andreas smiled and pointed to a potted plant ten feet behind them. “Just going over there.”
The two looked at Alex. He shrugged okay.
“Thanks.” Andreas walked over, picked up the plant, held it up to eye level, and dropped it to the stone floor. The pot shattered into pieces. None of the men moved; they stared at Andreas as if he were crazy. Andreas took out his felt-tip pen, picked up a piece of broken pottery, wrote three words, and handed it back to Alex. “Give this to him. I’ll wait for a reply.”
Three minutes later Alex was back. “Mr. Kostopoulos will see you now.”
***
It was a beautiful day, and magnificent terraces surrounded the house, but a maid showed Andreas into what he assumed was an office. Every window was closed and covered by heavy drapes; the only light came from electric bulbs, and faint ones at that. Kostopoulos was sitting in an overstuffed paisley-patterned chair, but the light was too dim to make out any color. He pointed for Andreas to sit on one next to his.
“How did you find out?” The voice was flat and cold. It had none of the charm from their last meeting.
“Does it matter?”
“Are you one of them?”
Andreas was surprised at the question, but then realized it was an obvious one. He shook his head and said, “No.”
Zanni shrugged. “As you said, ‘Does it matter?’” He put the piece of pottery from Andreas on the table between them. Andreas hadn’t noticed he’d been holding it. “Ginny, Alexandra, Georgia. Why did you write the names of my wife and daughters?”
“Sorry, but it was the only way to get your attention. And yes, before you ask, their lives are in danger. Yours too.”
He nodded. “I’m sure. That’s why I have very professional help.”
“I noticed. What about your wife and children?”
He let out a breath. “My wife took the children out of Greece to where she says no one ever will be able to find them. Won’t even tell me where she is. Keeps moving around. All I can do is see that they have the same sort of protection I have, and I’ve done that.”
“Do you think she can keep hiding like that?”
He looked down at his hands. “It’s not what I think that matters.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s ego. Certainly anger.” He pulled himself out of his chair, walked over to drapes covering a window, and drew them open. Light filled the room. “Those cowardly bastards killed my son and I’m not going to let them get away with it. Period. End of story.”
He was angry. “All this bullshit about protecting Greece from the ‘wrong kind of people’ is just that. Bullshit. It’s all about one thing, money. Fuck their talk of principles. These altruistic revolutionary bastards want me to give them everything I’ve built for thirty cents on the dollar.”
Finally, a motive Andreas could understand, and one that explained what held muscle like Giorgio’s interest: big money.
Zanni stared out the window. “I received a piece of pottery with my family name written on it, together with some press clippings and a message telling me to read what happened to other families who didn’t leave Greece within ten days. Then I got a call from someone offering to buy all of my assets in Greece. I told him to fuck himself. Every day he called, I wouldn’t take the call and he’d leave a message asking if I’d reconsidered his offer. After the tenth day his calls stopped. Then my son…” His voice trailed off and the room was silent except for the sound of wind at the window. “The day after…his death…the same person called. I took it this time and again he asked if I’d reconsidered. I told him I had, and we’ve been negotiating ever since.”