Jeffrey Siger - Target - Tinos

“Why July 23rd?” said Andreas.

“Both involve dignitaries and the same amount of police, but when the procession reaches the harbor on the 23rd it turns left and continues to the edge of town where the holy icon is transferred to nuns from Saint Pelagia’s convent. They take the Megalochari back to their convent in a taxi and keep it there until eight that evening when it’s walked back to Panagia Evangelistria in a two and a half hour procession.

“There would be a lot more chances to pull off a robbery then, but that festival day has come and gone and the Megalochari is still here.” Eleni forced a smile and looked at her watch. “Oh my, I’ve got to run. I’m late for a meeting with my boss.” She stood up.

Andreas stood and handed Eleni his card. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful and I hope we’ll have the chance to talk again.”

As Tassos rose he said, “If you think of anything else, no matter how crazy or insignificant it may seem, please let me know.”

“I will, uncle.” Eleni kissed Tassos on both cheeks. She reached out to shake Andreas’ hand. “And, Chief Inspector, good luck.”

“Good luck? With what?”

“Your wedding. Have you forgotten?” She laughed. “That’s not a very good sign.”

Andreas shook Eleni’s hand. Ain’t that the truth.

It was far too early for lunch when Eleni left Tassos and Andreas sitting at the table, but her father and brother insisted they stay “a bit longer” and try what was “special on the menu for lunch,” amounting to enormous portions of sklavotyra — round cheese balls surrounded by fresh figs, sun dried tomatoes, and capers-deep fried meatball-shape keftedes made of tomatoes, and an omelet of local sausage and cheese.

Tassos said it would be rude not to accept. Andreas said it would just be fattening.

“So, what do you think of my niece?”

“I’m getting married.”

“I thought you were over that macho every-woman-can-be-mine Greek bullshit.”

“I am. I’m just not over busting your balls.” Andreas smacked Tassos lightly on the side of his arm. “She’s very impressive. Smart, but a bit anxious. I wonder if she’ll tell her boss about our conversation?”

Tassos gestured no. “Not a chance. She knows we’re trying to help. But I can’t blame her for being nervous. There’s a lot at risk. Just a few years ago the Foundation put sixteen million euros into renovations and a new museum addition. We’re talking big business here.”

“How in the world did the Tinians manage to keep the Foundation and all that wealth out of the hands of the Greek Church?”

“They’re very resourceful people. It’s the only island that successfully resisted Turkish rule. The Venetians were in charge during most of those Ottoman times, keeping Tinos a Christian oasis amid Turkish domination of the Aegean. When the Turks took over about a hundred years before our War of Independence it was in a negotiated way giving Tinians rare economic and religious privileges. Turkish fleets had to stay twelve miles away, Tinians could wear traditional dress and build and run their own schools and churches. Four elected Tinians governed the island and the only permanent Turkish residents there were the governor and the judge. Tinos was the economic center of the Cyclades and had its largest population. It was called ‘Little Paris.’ Things only fell apart for Tinos at the end when political infighting and corruption allowed the Turks to assert themselves in the final decade or so before the revolution.”

“And then came a nineteen-hundred year-old piece of wood to the rescue.” Andreas shook his head.

“Back then it was only seventeen-hundred years old, but if we’re talking rescue, I’ll take whatever help is out there to save Greece today,” said Tassos.

Andreas smiled. “Do you think the Megalochari is what they’re after?”

“Hard to say. Like you said, the holy icon is portable, making it relatively easy to steal. But all that church’s gold, jewels, paintings…” Tassos rolled his hand off into the air, “would be a lot less difficult to sell than one of the world’s most revered religious treasures. And then there is all that valuable stuff in churches all over Tinos that would be far easier to rob than Panagia Evangelistria.”

“Maybe the plan is to rob them all?” said Andreas.

Tassos gestured no. “Pirates tried that for centuries. Tinians are quite accomplished at hiding their treasures.”

“It just doesn’t makes sense to me why anyone would bring so many bad guys together on a relatively small island just to rob a single church, no matter how rich it is. There has to be more to it than that. And why is everything coming to a head so close to August 15th?”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence? I have to agree with Eleni that it seems a lousy day to pick for a robbery.”

“Yeah, it’s ‘lousy’ if you’re going after the Megalochari. But what if the target is something else? Say, like everything else. With everyone focused on the procession it might be the perfect day for heisting the rest of the church’s treasures.”

Tassos shrugged. “I think perhaps we should take a different approach and stop trying to figure out what the bad guys could steal.”

“A ‘different approach’ for you generally means head-busting,” said Andreas.

“I don’t think we have to go that far, but I do think it’s time we pay a visit to some of Tinos’ more recent emigres and try to find out what brought on their sudden attraction to life on this island.”

“Like I said, head-busting.”

Tassos and Andreas had been driving around for almost a half hour looking for a dovecote. When you mentioned Tinos to a native Greek the second most likely thing to come to mind were the island’s nearly one thousand intricately designed, two-story stone dovecotes. They were almost as famous as the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. Decorated in elaborate geometric patterns and natural shapes like cypresses and the sun, dovecotes were mainly built on slopes near water and cultivated areas in the eastern and central parts of the island where the wind offered easy takeoffs and landings to attract the doves. Venetian occupiers had introduced them to Tinos in the 18th Century to satisfy their taste for pigeon meat and provide a high quality source for fertilizer.

But Tassos and Andreas weren’t sightseeing. They were looking for one dovecote in particular. Eleni’s father told them that a Tinian contractor specializing in restoring dovecotes had a lot of new metanastes working for him. He remembered seeing some that morning on a farm on the far side of a village “about twenty minutes from here if you know the way.”

“That must be it.” Tassos pointed to an open field off to the left fenced in by centuries-old stonewalls. Beyond the field sat a traditional white Cycladic farmhouse and next to it on the left a freestanding, two-story white and natural stone dovecote. The bottom story was for storage and gathering bird droppings, the top for the doves. Three men in work pants and tee shirts stood smoking in front of the dovecote.

“Must be break time,” said Andreas.

Tassos looked at his watch. “More likely boss-is-away time.”

“Well, let’s see if we can get their attention.” Andreas made a left onto the gravel and dirt path leading up to the farmhouse. He turned on the flashing roof lights as the cruiser approached the men.

“What are you doing that for?” said Tassos.

“To see how they react. And to let them know this is a formal visit. May as well start getting the word out that there’s a new sheriff in town.”

“You and those damn American westerns.” Tassos opened the door before the car stopped and stepped out the instant it did, keeping the door between him and the men. “Okay, guys, over here.” He pointed to a spot in front of the car.