Jeffrey Siger - An Aegean Prophecy

Andreas bet they did.

‘He never said precisely what was bothering him but I could tell he thought things weren’t as they seemed. And, from what I know of the Russians, when “things aren’t as they seem,” they’re my best guess for why.’ Dimitri accentuated the point with his fingers.

‘I think your logic has some Siberia-size gaps,’ said Andreas.

‘Well, let me fill them in. In the 1990s, Cyprus emerged as the number-one destination for Russians and other Eastern Europeans looking for a place to launder suitcases full of cash. Banks thrived on that business, and unimaginable fortunes were made. A lot of ruthless Russian and Eastern European mobsters also set up shop there, driving local hoods back into legitimate businesses or into early graves.’ Dimitri reached for a piece of cucumber.

‘During that same period the monastery involved in the big scandal rose to prominence, playing host to England’s Prince Charles, the first U.S. President Bush, Russia’s Putin, and many other big time movers and shakers in a style equal to any worldclass, five-star luxury hotel. Mount Athos has always been a place where the world’s powerful met in private without having to worry about “special permission to visit” red tape. And like any other visitor to Mount Athos, they were free to visit any monastery they chose, but that’s the one they picked — perhaps because its accommodations were better than the others.’

Dimitri took another drink. ‘Some say it’s just a coincidence that during its rise, the abbot of that monastery was from Cyprus. I’m not suggesting he did anything wrong. He was quite gifted at convincing the very rich from around the world — not just those who’d found their way to Cyprus — that charity toward his monastery smoothed the path toward salvation.

‘Some also say it was a tragic coincidence when the patriarch of Africa, purportedly sent by the Ecumenical Patriarch to check that monastery’s books, perished in a helicopter crash on the way to Mount Athos. Others say some of the monastery’s Eastern European contributors were anxious to remain anonymous.’

Andreas shook his head. ‘You sound like an old Greek sitting around a taverna spinning bits of old news, idle gossip, and off-the-wall speculation into international conspiracy theories. There’s no proof whatsoever for what you’re implying.’

Dimitri picked up his glass and winked. ‘That you know of.’

Andreas looked at Kouros, then back at Dimitri.

‘How’s all that tie into Vassilis’ murder?’

‘Don’t know. But the Russians could have used their big money to burrow so deeply and secretly into that monastery’s infrastructure that even its abbot wouldn’t know what was going on. That would have made it relatively simple to embarrass the whole of Mount Athos by involving one of its oldest and most respected monasteries in a financial scandal and greatly increase the chances of relocating the head of the Eastern Orthodox Church to Russia. With all that’s at stake, I wouldn’t bet against the Russians doing whatever it took to pull it off, including murdering someone who might have figured it out.’

‘Vassilis?’ said Kouros.

‘Enjoy the meze, I’m going to get the fish.’ Dimitri stood up and walked away, taking his glass with him.

‘The man sure as hell knows how to make his exit,’ said Kouros.

‘And his point.’ Andreas drummed his fingers on the top of the table and looked west. ‘You know, if any of what he told us is true, or if he’s working for somebody who’s trying to make us think it’s true, we could be in the middle of some very deep shit.’

‘Located in the middle of a very big minefield.’

‘Blindfolded. I think the time has come to find who put us here.’ Andreas reached for his cell phone.

‘How are we going to do that? The minister sure as hell isn’t going to tell us.’

‘He probably doesn’t even know. My guess is this didn’t pass through normal channels.’

‘So, like I said, how do we find out?’

Andreas dialed and waited. ‘Hi, it’s me. We need to meet and talk about how you can help with a big surprise party.’ He hung up. ‘Answering machine.’

Kouros said, ‘I hate the way we have to use cell phones these days. Can’t say a damn thing on them directly. You’d think after that scandal over tapping the prime minister’s phone they’d have figured out some way to make them secure.’

Andreas shook his head. ‘If someone has the right sort of equipment there’s virtually no way of preventing him from listening in on cell phones.’ He picked up a piece of cucumber with his fork. ‘And if something at all close to what Dimitri suggested is true…’ he rolled his fork in the air, ‘I don’t even want to think about it.’

Kouros picked up an olive and popped it into his mouth. ‘Why, worried about mind readers?’

Andreas shrugged. ‘That’s all we’d need, but thanks for reminding me. I better call Lila as soon as we get to the hotel.’ He put the fork in his mouth.

‘At least GADA keeps all our landlines secure,’ said Kouros.

‘Let’s hope so. I’d hate to think of someone listening in on your late-night desperate bachelor calls from home.’

Kouros grinned as he picked up another olive. ‘Jealous. So, what’s next?’

‘Looks like barbouni.’ Andreas pointed to Dimitri coming through the door carrying a platter of fried red mullet and a bottle of white wine.

‘Here’s something to get your minds off of business for a while. All that will wait.’

Not really, thought Andreas.

Dinner with Dimitri was an experience. Between the great food, a bit too much wine, and endless bitching about every politician in Greece, Dimitri managed to sneak in a few subtle inquiries on the investigation. Andreas deflected them all, or so he hoped.

After dinner they stopped by the Biblio. Shop owners on tourist islands think like fishermen: if you want to catch anything, you better be there when they’re running. So when tourists were massing on the island, everything stayed open late. This shop was barely wider than its door, but there was no telling how deep it ran, because every bit of space was jammed with open boxes stacked to the ceiling. No one seemed to be inside, although the door was open.

‘Hello, anyone here?’ said Andreas.

A shuffling sound came from somewhere deep within the mess of boxes, and a tiny person popped through what until then seemed just a crack between the cartons. It was a very old woman dressed all in black, with raging, uncombed gray hair, dark bright eyes, and a pencil behind her ear. She nodded.

‘Hello, I am a policeman investigating the death of Kalogeros Vassilis.’ Andreas took care to address her formally and use the respectful title for a monk. ‘Abbot Christodoulos thought he might have purchased some envelopes here yesterday.’

The old woman nodded yes, and pointed to a carton off to her right, about three feet above her head. He wondered how she reached them.

‘Did he buy anything else?’

She nodded yes.

‘What?’

She nodded toward a display of crosses hanging by lanyards on a pegboard next to the door. ‘One of these?’ He pointed at one of the crosses in the display.

She waved her hand to the left of where Andreas was pointing, and kept waving him to move his finger until it pointed at a silver-colored one on a black lanyard. ‘This one?’ he asked.

She nodded yes. Andreas picked it up. It was square-edged, made of sheet metal, and its longer leg was at most three inches long and one inch wide. A thin, black lanyard passed through a hole at the top of the cross. More of the lanyard material was wrapped tightly around the longer leg just below where it intersected with the shorter one, presumably as a fashion accent for a cheaply made tourist item. It was marked ten euros.