Jeffrey Siger - An Aegean Prophecy

If this guy’s taking me to room 666 I’m not going in. His private Book of Revelation joke had Andreas smiling to himself, but then the man opened the door to room 616. The man waved him inside without saying a word or entering the room, then closed the door behind Andreas. Another man was inside, alone in the room, sitting on a chair by the window. The sunlight passing through the window made it difficult to make him out.

‘Welcome, my son.’ The man did not stand, just extended his right hand.

He was wearing a finely tailored, dark blue suit, like the Italian one Lila had bought Andreas for his birthday. He wasn’t sure if he should shake or kiss the man’s hand. Perhaps this was a test to see if Andreas actually knew who he was. Andreas moved slightly to the left as he approached him, just enough to shield the sun a bit and get a better look. The man was old but looked fit. His silver hair was pulled into a tight bun behind his head, in the fashion of Italian movie stars. And Greek clerics. Andreas bent over and kissed the man’s hand.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Your Holiness.’

‘So you do know who I am.’

Andreas nodded, even though he didn’t. ‘Hard to miss, considering your entourage.’ He pointed back over his shoulder toward the door.

‘Ah yes, Sergey. A very loyal follower of the faith.’

Andreas had heard rumors of such loyal followers of the faith making it into receptive monasteries directly out of Balkan military forces. Whether they entered seeking true salvation or sanctuary from a past they and the world would rather forget, he did not know.

‘Frankly, I don’t like traveling, as you say, with an ‘entourage,’ but after what happened to poor Vassilis,’ he crossed himself, ‘do I have a choice? Or to dress as I am to journey to meetings such as this?’ He pointed at his suit.

Andreas took that as an opening for avoiding preliminary chit-chat. ‘What are you afraid of?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘Please, just tell me what you do know.’

‘How much history do you want?’

‘All of it.’ Andreas sat down on the edge of the bed across from him and listened. An hour later, he wondered if he’d said the right thing to an old man who’d just lost a very dear friend. Nothing he’d told Andreas seemed relevant to the case. The ancient intrigues of the church were of interest only to scholars, reminiscences of his days shared with Vassilis in the seminary were almost fifty years old, and their shared views on modern theological problems of the church raised not even a hint of a motive for murder.

Thank God I’m wearing a wire, Andreas thought. If I’d been taking notes I’d have lost patience long ago. He sneaked a peek at his watch. At this pace, a late dinner with Lila was out of the question; breakfast might even be iffy. He had to find some way to move this along onto something relevant.

‘Excuse me, Your Holiness, would you like some water?’

The man seemed surprised at hearing another’s voice. ‘Uh, why yes, thank you, my son.’ He paused. ‘I hope what I’m telling you is helpful.’

Andreas went to the minibar and took out two bottles of water. ‘Yes, very.’ He walked back to the man and held out the bottles. ‘Gas or no gas?’

The man took the flat water. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why did you ask that I be assigned to this case?’

The man took a sip of water. ‘I was just about to tell you.’

Andreas hoped that meant within the next hour. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and opened the other bottle of water.

‘Vassilis was a scholar and patient observer. He saw things others missed. A debate with him was an exploration of thought.’ He shook his head. ‘He never should have left his theoretical world. I told him to stay out of it.’

Andreas leaned forward. ‘Out of what?’

‘This Russian thing.’

A chill ran down Andreas’ back. ‘Go on, please.’

‘I’m certain that by now you are well aware of Russian interest in relocating the Ecumenical Patriarch.’

Andreas nodded.

‘And of Vassilis’ obsession with how the scandal at Mount Athos might affect that issue.’

Andreas nodded again.

‘If the Russians could be shown to have played any part in creating that scandal, it would destroy the credibility of their attacks on Mount Athos’ fitness to serve as the new home for the next leader of the church. In fact, if Russians were involved, the moral value of our claim is strengthened. It would make us the innocent victim of vicious intrigues by a former superpower.’

From his use of ‘our’ and ‘us’ in describing Mount Athos, Andreas presumed that was where he called home. It also fit with Andreas’ guess about sanctuary for Sergey, because anyone accepted into monastic life on Mount Athos acquired Greek citizenship without further formalities.

‘I told him to let it be, that there was nothing he could do, but he would not relent in his quest for proof.’ The man paused. ‘I assume you know all that, too.’

Andreas nodded as if he did.

‘There’s one thing I’m certain you do not know.’ He paused and took a sip of water. ‘Vassilis was coming to meet me when he was murdered.’

The man took another sip, then crossed his legs and sat quietly watching Andreas, as if waiting to measure his reaction.

‘I didn’t know that.’

The man nodded. ‘He called me on the morning of the day before he was killed. He said he had proof things were not as they seemed.’

The same state of mind Dimitri had used to describe Vassilis, Andreas thought.

‘He was excited, but also frightened.’

Probably something like the feeling Andreas now had.

‘He said I “must” see what he’d found “immediately.” I tried calming him down, but he wouldn’t listen. He invoked Revelation, saying I must see it now, “for the time is at hand.” He was quoting from the opening lines of Revelation, the part some say first warns of the coming Apocalypse.’ The man drew in and let out a breath. ‘I told him to e-mail me whatever it was. He said he knew my assistant screened my e-mails and he couldn’t risk anyone other than us knowing what he’d found. “Too dangerous,” he said. I never dreamed it might cost him his life.’ He shook his head.

‘Did you tell your assistant about your conversation with Vassilis?’

‘No, I told no one. You’re the first person to whom I’ve mentioned any of this.’

‘Who else knew what Vassilis was looking for?’

‘A better question is, “Who didn’t?” As I said, Vassilis was obsessed, as if he’d been called upon to be a savior of the church. He contacted anyone he thought could possibly help get him an answer. Frankly, I was worried some might stop taking him seriously, begin indulging him as if he were an old man who’d lost it.’

‘Had he?’

‘No, not a bit.’

‘So, what happened?’

‘He insisted he must see me in person, but could not possibly come to me without being observed and that “would be dangerous for us both.” He told me I must come to him and made a joke about his friends being only “poor fishermen with brightly colored, slow moving boats,” while mine were more from the “stealthy, fast, silver helicopter” crowd.’

The man rubbed at his eyes with his right hand. ‘So we agreed to meet at three the next morning in the house of a friend of his, off behind the Patmos town hall. The friend was away and we’d be alone. The only people who knew I was on the island were the American pilot who flew the helicopter, the taxi driver who brought me to Chora, and of course, Vassilis. The pilot had no idea who I was, and the taxi driver thought I was some old monk with “a relative in the military” important enough to get me “a lift to Patmos for Easter Week.” Even my secretary didn’t know where I was going.