Jeffrey Siger - Target - Tinos

“Welcome to Tinos,” came over the loud speaker.

The harbor of Tinos lay northwest and virtually equidistant from the old and new ports of Mykonos. How long that port-to-port, nine-mile trip took depended on whether one traveled by freighter, ferry, or fast boat. Almost every regularly scheduled commercial passenger vessel in or out of Athens’ port cities of Piraeus and Rafina that stopped on Mykonos also stopped on Tinos. That wasn’t just because Tinos lacked an airport, but because it was home to the Church of Panagia Evangelistria and the extraordinarily influential earthly power behind it which in less than two hundred years had established what many called The Vatican of Greece: The Panhellenic Holy Foundation of our Lady of the Annunciation of Tinos, better known simply as The Evangelistria Foundation.

Tassos met Andreas at the quayside.

“How was the trip?”

“Uneventful. Except for the part where I told Lila I was leaving her for you.”

“As long as you show up for the wedding all will be forgiven.”

“She sort of said the same thing. But not as sweetly.”

Tassos pointed to a stream of women dressed in black heading in the direction of Megalochari Avenue leading up the hill to Panagia Evangelistria. “Bring her back a candle from the church.”

“Not sure they have one big enough to save me.” He watched some of the women drop to their knees and begin crawling along the three-foot wide, rose-color carpet running up along the right edge of the road. “Amazing how dedicated people can be to their faith.”

Tassos smiled. “Until you know what they’re praying for. Not all are crawling with saintly thoughts.”

“What are you talking about?”

“On the boat over from Piraeus I was sitting behind three normal-looking church-ladies. They were carrying on about the reason for their pilgrimage. Seems they all hated the same neighbor and were coming to Tinos with prayers and offerings to have their neighbor done in.”

“You must be kidding.”

“Just because you pray doesn’t mean you have a good soul. A lot of very bad people are big time churchgoers. And I’m not just talking about politicians.” Tassos smiled. “But at least my little old ladies are leaving their neighbor’s fate in God’s hands.”

Andreas shook his head. “Any luck on who did in the tsigani brothers?”

“Nothing specific, but this being Greece everyone has an opinion. Most blame it on metanastes.”

“So what else is new? Greece’s usual suspects for anything bad, foreigners.”

“That’s about what I said when the Tinians started in on them. But they insisted it’s not like that. They said that this season there are more foreign workers on Tinos than they can remember in years. Tsigani, too. ‘They’re everywhere.’”

“Times are bad in Athens and Tinos is one of the cheaper places to live in the Cyclades,” said Andreas.

“But there’s hardly any work here, and the foreigners are undercutting each other to get whatever work there is.”

“Employers must love it.”

“Even they’re worried. With so many metanastes competing for so little work, they’re afraid crime will go off the charts.”

“Tell me about it. Have you seen what’s going on in Athens?”

Tassos nodded. “In the Cyclades, too. But here’s the strange thing. I checked with the Tinos police. Got the real figures, not the ones for tourist consumption. If you pull out the two murders, crime actually is down on Tinos.”

“That’s what I call a real miracle,” said Andreas.

“I mean way down. And I’m talking break-ins, robberies. The sorts of things you expect to go off the charts when times are tough.”

Andreas shook his head, “Never thought I’d be wishing for crime to be up, but it seems like the bad guys are doing exactly what Punka said they were told to do, ‘behave.’ Any idea why?”

“No, but I’ve set up a meeting with someone who knows as much about what’s going on here as anyone. She works for the Evangelistria Foundation. All I told her was that I wanted to talk to her about a ‘sensitive’ matter. I figured I’d let you decide if you want the Foundation to know that their church might be some sort of target.”

“If I recall correctly, two of our kings believed they owed their lives to the curative powers of the Megalochari, and at least one of our prime ministers considered that holy icon the source of his political power. How many milliseconds do you think it will take after we share our little theory with your Foundation lady before our Prime Minister gets a call from the Foundation and I get one from Spiros screaming, ‘What the hell are you doing?’”

Tassos smiled. “Just tell him ‘we’re closing the case.’”

Andreas rubbed his eyes. “When’s the meeting?”

Tassos looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

Andreas nodded toward the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. “Well, I guess we should head on up there.”

Tassos gestured no. “When I told her it was ‘sensitive’ she suggested we meet at a taverna out of town.”

“Guess it’s not just cops who worry about their walls having ears.”

“Who knows, it might just be her cousin’s place and she wants to throw him some business.”

Andreas smiled. “But we’re cops, we don’t pay.”

“Could be it’s a cousin she doesn’t like.” Tassos pointed to a marked police car. “That’s our ride. You drive.”

Andreas once had a teacher who said Tinos resembled “a haunting, second millennium BC Mycenaean fortress.” It was easy to see why. The island’s high-ridged backbone ran northwest-to-southeast above the sea like some ever vigilant guardian of the shoreline while, at its narrow, eastern sea border with Mykonos, Tinos’ tallest peak, Mount Tsiknias, loomed down from the clouds and across its foothills toward the port city to the southwest.

His teacher would go on and on about how the true beauty of Tinos lay in its surprises. None of that had changed. To foreigners, virtually everything about the island was a revelation for so few had even heard of it. But it was native-born Greeks, those raised on wondrous stories of the Megalochari and perhaps even a daylong pilgrimage or two, who were most surprised at what they discovered outside the harbor town.

Fifty villages as quiet and undisturbed as a dreamer’s quaint fantasy of Greece; brilliant vistas at every turn; a meandering two-hundred-mile network of cobblestone trails and old farm paths running from hillside to hillside and dipping into valleys in between; and a history of fabled marble quarries and artisans linked to some of Greece’s greatest artistic achievements.

Tassos said they were looking for a taverna in a mountain village in the northeast region of the island. Locals called that district Kato Meria; the southeastern part of Tinos, including the port, they called Ano Meria; and everything to the west was Exo Meria. The “lower,” “upper,” and “other” parts, respectively.

The taverna was around a bend on a twisting mountain road and, but for a large sign screaming TAVERNA OMORFI THEA, Andreas would have missed it. The place was practically invisible from the road. Tables inside led to many more on an outside terrace with still more arranged amphitheater fashion along a hillside filled with deep purple bougainvillea and wild fruit trees. It all ended at a fence line of pink and white oleander. Far beyond, out past the valley and port town below, a deep blue sea shimmered toward the islands of Delos and Rhenia on its way to the horizon and a cloudless, robin-egg blue sky.

“The sign was right. This is a beautiful view,” said Andreas.

A woman sitting alone at a table under a fig tree waved at them.