Jeffrey Siger - An Aegean Prophecy

‘Yeah, Dad, we look alike. No doubt I’m your son. No doubt whatsoever.’ He shook his head and threw more water on his face.

‘So, old man, was that your way of telling me to get on with my life and forget about how badly you fucked up your own family by checking out way before your time was up?’ He watched his anger build up in the mirror but didn’t look away.

‘Smart move, Dad, come to me in a vision on Patmos. Makes it seem like the real thing, huh?’

Andreas paused, as if waiting for an answer.

‘I need a sign, or else I’m going to chalk it up to the tzatziki. Make me believe in family, make me believe I won’t mess things up as badly as you did. Go ahead, I dare you!’

Andreas stared into his own eyes. ‘See, I knew you’d let me down. Again.’

He turned off the light and crawled into bed. He was back to staring at the ceiling when he heard a faint beep.

There was a text message on his phone:

I’M AWAKE, AND THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE, TOO. JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW

JUNIOR AND I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. L.

Andreas tried not to cry. He tried very hard not to cry.

There was a knock on Andreas’ door at seven in the morning. ‘Sir, a taxi driver just delivered an envelope for you. He said he’d wait for you.’

Andreas had been up for an hour. But he wasn’t expecting a taxi.

‘Slide it under the door.’

It was a plain white envelope marked ‘Room 228.’ Inside was scribbled, Tell the driver Lampi. See you soon. He recognized the handwriting.

Ten minutes later Kouros and Andreas were in the taxi on their way to a beach called Lampi. It was a beautiful morning, almost no one else on the road. The taxi headed north through the old port, past harborside tavernas peppered with locals sharing coffee and gossip, and on through the new port edged by shops and places catering to the daily needs of island residents: car repair, hardware, furniture, clothing, electronics, cell phones, and pizza. As the road climbed out of Skala, eucalyptus replaced shops and the view turned to open land, marked by ancient walls, tiny villages, green and brown fields, and random homes and churches scattered across the hills among pines, cypresses, tamarisks, and pomegranates.

At a sign marked KAMBOS the driver slowed down to pass through a crossroads paved in rough-cut stone. ‘We’re almost there. This is Kambos town. Kambos beach is up ahead.’

Andreas had heard of Kambos beach. It was Patmos’ most popular, the one where rich kids from around the world summering in their parents’ homes and local kids in search of friends from a larger world grew up together. How well those friendships wore into adulthood largely depended on how well each appreciated the other’s likely future: the rich would go on to assume their parents’ lives and the locals would just go on.

‘How much farther?’ asked Kouros.

‘About five minutes. We take a left just past the beach and it’s on the other side of those hills.’ He nodded straight ahead. ‘Ever been to Lampi?’

‘No,’ said Kouros.

‘It’s different than it used to be.’

Why does every local, everywhere in Greece, say the same thing? thought Andreas.

‘What do you mean?’ said Kouros.

‘The shiny colored pebbles that cover the beach. Many of them are gone. Too many tourists — and locals — take them, thinking they look better on a table somewhere or stuck in some mosaic. Damn shame how people destroy a place just to show they were there. Crazy how people think.’

Yeah, crazy, thought Andreas, like the British and the Marbles from the Parthenon.

A bit later the driver nodded his head to the right. ‘There it is, over there.’ The road coiled down toward a long beach surrounded by unspoiled hills. Andreas could make out a taverna in the middle, under some trees. Or maybe there were two tavernas. A rented, blue Fiat Punto and a beat-up maroon Toyota pickup were parked at the edge of the beach. The driver turned the taxi around before stopping next to the Fiat. ‘Should I wait?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you,’ said Andreas, paying him.

The driver nodded. ‘Damn shame about the pebbles. Do me a favor, don’t take any,’ and drove off before Andreas could reply.

Andreas smiled. The guy was right to say it.

‘Over here.’ The voice came from the near taverna. It was about fifty yards down the beach.

‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to come by the hotel?’ said Andreas, walking with Kouros toward the voice.

‘You know me, never miss a chance for the dramatic.’

Andreas hugged the man, and they kissed each other on both cheeks. Kouros and the man did the same.

‘How’s Lila?’

Andreas smiled as he thought about his dream last night and her message. ‘Due any day now.’

‘Can’t wait.’

‘She’d probably tell you before me if it were up to her.’

‘If you’re not back home when the baby’s born she might never tell you.’ He smacked Andreas on the shoulder. ‘So, why has the chief of special crimes, based in Athens, dragged the chief homicide investigator for the Cycladic Islands onto a Dodecanese island outside my jurisdiction?’

Tassos Stamatos was well past retirement age, but no one in the ministry dared tell him. He knew where every body was buried, who buried them, and how to exhume any he might need to inflict the greatest possible harm on anyone who crossed him. It was called lifetime job security. ‘I’m guessing it has to do with the murdered monk.’

Andreas nodded yes. ‘The only thing I’m sure of is this wasn’t a mugging gone wrong. Whoever did it meant to kill him. And if even a little of what we’ve heard is true…’ He rolled his right hand off into the air.

‘Sounds like your kind of case.’ Tassos smiled. ‘I figured as much when you didn’t want to talk on a cell phone. That’s why I decided not to chance a landline either.’

‘How did you find me?’ Andreas put up his hand to stop him from answering. ‘Maggie.’

Tassos grinned. ‘You’re the one who brought us back together.’

That was pure coincidence. Andreas had known nothing about their romantic past when he played inadvertent match-maker. He just was happy for them both: Tassos, the longtime widower, and Maggie, GADA’s mother superior. Andreas shook his head and waved for him to continue.

‘If anyone followed you we’d see them on the road.’ He looked up the hill. ‘So far, no unexpected visitors. And anyone here at this hour, besides Niko,’ he gestured toward an old man in a Greek fisherman’s cap at the far end of the taverna, ‘is unexpected. This place doesn’t open until noon. So, tell me what’s going on.’

It took about twenty minutes to fill him in on the facts as they knew them, and another five to spell out Dimitri’s theory on Russians as probable bad guys.

Tassos just listened, and when Andreas finished he sat quietly for another minute or so. ‘I hate to say it, but Dimitri could be right. And if he is…’ Tassos paused and shook his head. ‘Greeks and Russians are getting along pretty well these days, but killing our monks as part of some national plan to bring the Ecumenical Patriarch to Russia

…’ He didn’t bother to finish, just shook his head again. ‘Greece will go nuts. Make that the whole world will go nuts!’

‘Welcome to my life,’ said Andreas. ‘Any idea on where to go from here?’

‘Seems like something for the big boys.’

‘CIA?’

‘Them, or MI6, or a few Middle East shops. They’re the ones most likely, outside of Russia, to know if there’s some basis for Russians possibly being involved. The Cold War never ended as far as they’re concerned. They all keep an eye on each other, like jungle cats stalking the same prey. As for knowing for certain,’ Tassos shrugged. ‘Without a major leak or screw-up by someone directly involved, I doubt anyone will ever know. Killing monks isn’t the sort of operation someone’s likely to brag about, even to clandestine ops buddies.’