Jeffrey Siger - Sons of Sparta

“That sounds crazy.”

“I know.”

“May I see it?”

Uncle handed him the page. The message had been carefully pasted onto the newspaper with words cut out of other newspapers.

“Any idea who did this?”

Uncle gestured no.

“What plans are they talking about?”

“My guess is the hotel.”

Kouros scratched the back of his head. “In your line of work, Uncle, you must have made a lot of enemies. What makes you think the threat didn’t come from one of them?”

“I thought that, too, at first. But I’ve had death threats before and my enemies know they don’t scare me. Besides, if any of them wanted to make a macho point to impress some third party with how tough they could be by taking me on, I can assure you it would be for a flesh-and-blood real reason, not some generations-old vendetta bullshit. They’d know this sort of threat would make me think the sender a fool, one I’d never take seriously. And I didn’t. Besides, I was too busy working on completing the hotel deal to worry about it.”

“Then why are you taking it seriously now?”

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a mobile phone. “Yesterday, I received this anonymous SMS.” He held the phone so Kouros could read the message: YOUR TIME TO CHOOSE IS OVER. NOW IT IS YOUR TIME TO DIE.

“I will die someday. How, when, and where is in God’s hands. Or maybe the devil’s. But I don’t want my death resurrecting a vendetta that will take more of my family. My sons are hotheads. Proud of being Maniots, but they don’t know what it means to mourn a lost sibling or child, or to live in fear of what your neighbor might be about to do to you at any moment.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I want you to find out who’s threatening me.”

“Then what?”

Uncle locked eyes with Kouros. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Uncle, I can’t set someone up for execution.”

He put a hand on Kouros’ shoulder. “That’s not what I have in mind. That would only fuel the vendetta. If I know who is behind this, perhaps I can reach out and make peace.”

“And if not?”

Uncle shrugged. “All I ask is that you think about it on your drive back to Athens. See if there’s some way you can bring yourself to help that won’t compromise your principles. If you can, I’d be grateful. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d take Calliope’s chest with you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. As I said, I promised my grandmother to give it to someone who would treasure her daughter’s memory and not judge her for her mistake. I don’t see that in either of my daughters, as much as I love them. So, just in case I never get around to keeping that promise, I’d like you to be the one to do it for me.”

Kouros swallowed. “I’m honored.”

He picked up the chest and handed it to Kouros. “And if you do decide to help me find who’s behind this threat, I promise you no one will die because of it.”

Kouros smiled. “Promise?”

“My word of honor.”

“ Maggie!”

The door to Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis’ office on the fourth floor of Athens’ General Police Headquarters swung open and a sturdy, five-foot three-inch redhead stuck her head in the doorway. “You rang, Chief?”

They’d long ago settled on his yelling as far more efficient than the intercom.

“Where’s Yianni?”

“On the way back from the Mani.” She looked at her watch. “Should be here in about an hour.”

“What’s he doing on the Peloponnese?”

“How should I know?”

“Because you know everything about everyone in GADA.” GADA was the nickname for central police headquarters and Maggie served as its unofficial mother superior. She’d ended up as Andreas’ secretary when the retirement of her longtime boss coincided with Andreas’ promotion back to GADA from a brief stint as chief of police for the Aegean island of Mykonos.

“He said it was a family matter.”

Andreas nodded. “Okay, but tell him I want to see him as soon as he gets in.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Andreas waved his hand in the air. “Please, Maggie, not this early in the morning. I’ve a meeting this afternoon with the minister and need practice at being respectful to my boss. You’re not setting a good example.”

“As if you’ll be able to carry off that act for long.”

He smiled. “I wonder what’s on Spiros’ mind.”

Maggie stepped inside the office and closed the door.

“According to his secretary, our distinguished minister of public order is scared to death about something having to do with Crete.”

“How do you know that?”

“Spiros Renatis is your boss, and so that makes him my boss, and I like to keep up with what’s going on in my bosses’ lives. It makes mine easier.”

Andreas sighed. “Why do I even bother to ask? So what do you know?”

“He’s insecure, worried about every little thing. Ever since his wife’s name showed up on that list the French gave our finance minister of two thousand Greeks with undisclosed bank accounts in Switzerland, he’s been afraid of being booted out of his ministry position.”

“Doesn’t seem like much to worry about to me,” said Andreas. “For two years, all the finance ministry did with that list was hide it. It took a journalist to make it public and the only one prosecuted was the journalist. Twice, and both times unsuccessfully.”

Maggie grinned. “Well, at least it got the prosecutors finally doing something.”

Andreas threw an open hand curse gesture at the windows of his office. “I’m still waiting for the first crooked bastard on the list to go to jail.”

“Aren’t we all? Spiros’ story is that the account held earnings on his wife’s investments outside of Greece on which all taxes were paid. But he’s worried some hot-shot prosecutor out to earn a reputation might not buy that and decide to make his wife the first to stand trial, dragging Spiros into the middle of it.”

Andreas shrugged. “But what’s any of that got to do with whatever has him worked up over Crete?”

Maggie shrugged. “That’s all I know. Would you like me to guess?”

Andreas patted his forehead with the fingers of his right hand. “Maggie…”

“Someone’s squeezing his privates big-time.”

“Who?”

“No idea, but whoever it is has a vise grip on them. So, be careful of your own.”

“Thanks for the motherly advice.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled and left.

Andreas leaned back in his chair. He knew he ought to head down to the gym for a workout. Too much time behind the desk these days. He was coming up on forty and needed to keep a handle on the old waistline. Better yet, keep a handle off of it. He stood up, stretched his arms, and bent his six-foot, two-inch frame in half, fingers aimed at the toes. Can still touch them .

He straightened up and stretched again. He stared at the windows, walked over, and pulled back a curtain. There wasn’t much to see. The interesting sites-Greece’s Supreme Court and the stadium of one of the country’s two most popular soccer teams-lay in other directions. Andreas let the curtain fall back in place.

I wonder what flaming bag of shit Spiros plans on dumping in my lap this time.

***

Andreas looked at his watch. He’d been waiting half an hour. His mobile phone rang. “Kaldis here.”

“It’s Yianni, Chief. Am I interrupting something?”

“No, Spiros has me waiting out here with his secretary trying to make me think he’s actually busy. Even had the poor woman tell me, ‘The minister’s on a very important international conference call.’” Andreas spoke loud enough for the secretary to hear but she acted as if she weren’t listening. “She deserves a raise for all the bullshit he puts her through.”