Jeffrey Siger - An Aegean Prophecy

‘If you don’t confirm, nothing will happen.’

Andreas dropped his arm from Vladimir’s shoulder and shook his head. ‘I just bought the ticket, there is nothing to confirm.’

Vladimir nodded. ‘Okay, have it your way. Your elaborate ruse of last night will have been a total waste of time.’

Andreas patted him on the arm. ‘Obviously you’ve never slept with Barbara. Gotta run. Happy Easter.’ He never looked back. Just walked into the terminal, through the metal detector and out to the plane. He had no idea if he’d handled this test correctly but he’d gone with his instincts. What happened next was out of his hands anyway. And certainly not in God’s.

Vladimir and the other Russian sat in the back of the Hummer. It hadn’t moved from in front of the terminal.

‘What do you think?’ Vladimir asked.

‘He demonstrated the inborn, aggressive traits of an animal under stress. It’s called the “fight or flight response.”’

‘Okay, Anatoly, I know you’re a psychologist, but I’m asking for your KGB instincts. You dealt with these sorts all the time. Do you think he’s for real, or is all this some sort of setup?’

‘Does he have a motive for setting you up?’

‘Who knows, a lot of people would like to see me fall. He could be working for any one of them.’

‘I know, even paranoids have enemies, Vladimir, but he reacted like someone who feared he’d told you something he shouldn’t have. And the guy’s a cop. He knew that the best way to deal with that sort of confrontation was with absolute, flat-out denials. Assuming of course there was no other way to prove he was lying. You get in trouble when you try building a story. An experienced examiner will tear you to shreds.’

‘Or he really didn’t know what we were talking about.’

Anatoly nodded. ‘Yes, but do you believe that?’

Vladimir shook his head no. ‘I heard him, I know what he said. I know what he planned on giving me.’

‘Then he’s frightened.’

‘Could it be just another part of the con, a way of reinforcing what he said last night?’

‘Anything’s possible, but he didn’t seek you out. He was trying to get on a plane and off the island. We stopped him.’

Vladimir let out a breath. ‘This is all so risky. I’m tempted to just walk away. Did you mention Zacharias? That’s not something he told me last night. We figured it out from the documents.’

‘Yes, but he never reacted.’

Vladimir shook his head. ‘Damn it, if he really was as drunk as he appeared he probably doesn’t remember what he told me. That would be consistent with your “fear” scenario. Deny everything.’

‘Or he really doesn’t know who Zacharias might be.’

Vladimir shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘Perhaps I should ask some colleagues from the old days to check out this Zacharias monk, and if he turns out to be who we think he is, this could be a very serious matter indeed.’

‘Why do you think I had you flown here from Moscow?’ Bringing in the former head of counterintelligence for the KGB’s First Chief Directorate foreign intelligence service was not a decision he’d made lightly. It brought with it all the risks of petting an attack dog trained by another.

‘The presumably dead man in the clippings was very clever, very ruthless, and very Machiavellian. His intrigues became Balkan legend. At the time of his death he was very angry with us. He claimed we weren’t supportive enough against the Americans. Even blamed us for his capture. I can assure you we did not regret his passing.’

‘So, like I said, what should I do with everything that cop dumped in my lap?’

‘Good question. You could ignore it, which is what I assume you’d prefer. If Zacharias is living out his days as a monk in some out of the way place, no one will care. Even if he is who I think he might be. But if he is the one behind these efforts to embarrass our country with the church, that is a very different story.’

‘A lot of people are trying to do the same thing to us with the whole world,’ said Vladimir.

‘But no one like the man in the clippings. Few are as ruthless as he, thank God.’

‘Even if he’s Attila the Hun reborn, what can some low-level monk in a mountain wilderness in northern Greece do to seriously harm Mother Russia? What?’ Vladimir’s frustration was showing.

Anatoly smiled. ‘I think your current status has you forgetting how the meek still can bring down the mighty. But to answer your question, if somehow this “low-level monk” succeeds, and word ever gets out that you knew and didn’t inform the proper authorities…’ He shrugged. ‘The old ways are old, but not all forgotten.’

Vladimir felt a shiver. He’d been thinking only in terms of how to turn this information to his advantage, use it to ingratiate himself with Russia’s ultimate power. He never thought of the downside. And having brought this man into his tent, if anything should go wrong, Anatoly wouldn’t hesitate to use it for the same ingratiating purpose or to blackmail him for the rest of his days. After all, you can take the man out of KGB, but you can’t take… ‘Is there any other choice?’

‘Prayer.’

Vladimir unconsciously ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. ‘Let’s get everything we have to whoever you think should see it ASAP.’

‘It’s the right decision. I’ll transmit it as soon as I get to a computer.’

Vladimir leaned forward, pressed a button and a laptop station descended from the back of the front seat. ‘So you don’t waste time.’ And so Vladimir could verify the information actually was sent. The smart play for this guy was to compromise Vladimir by not sending it on, while allowing him to think that he had.

‘Great, but I don’t have the information with me.’

Vladimir pulled a flash drive from his shirt pocket. ‘Everything’s been transferred to this. All you need to do is the cover letter. Please, it’s getting late, and I’m certain they’ll want to get started on this right away.’

Vladimir made no effort to conceal that he was reading every word Anatoly typed. It was his not-so-subtle way of reminding him who had the real power in that car, and that there would be no role reversal coming out of this affair. Once that e-mail was sent, Vladimir’s hands were washed of this mess, and he was making damn sure there’d be no comebacks.

Anatoly finished typing. ‘Is this okay?’

Vladimir carefully read it, then smiled. ‘Perfect my friend, with one slight typo. The name in the e-mail address ends with an “n,” not an “m.”’

‘Sorry about that.’

‘No problem, but we wouldn’t want it going out like that, we might never know that it wasn’t received.’ I certainly wouldn’t know, because it wasn’t my e-mail. Vladimir leaned over and made the correction, then reread the e-mail and verified that all the attachments were there.

Vladimir sat back, turned toward Anatoly and smiled in a manner reminiscent of a shark about to strike. ‘That would be a terrible tragedy.’ He stretched for the keyboard and hit send. ‘For everyone.’

Just one more sunrise until the monastery opened its gates. Zacharias was prepared for another long night of prayer. The epitaphios service had begun at one in the morning, the procession at four, and more prayer ran on past dawn. Now they were in the midst of celebrating the resurrection as was done in ancient times, with a vigil that began that afternoon and would not end until mid-morning, with only a cup of blessed wine, some bread, and dried fruit to give them strength. This was a period of intense fasting. Some had eaten nothing. It was as the abbot wished it to be, and so it was. It was a time to rejoice, he said.