Jeffrey Siger - Target - Tinos

Andreas knew it would be a waste of time to argue. Spiros was hell bent on fitting a square peg into a round hole. “Sorry. The wedding had me busier than I anticipated and things just got backed up.”

“Allow me to repeat what the Prime Minister personally told me this morning, ‘There is nothing more important than closing this case.’ Nothing.”

Andreas held his hand over the phone and whispered to Tassos, “I sure hope he’s pushing this hard only because he really is scared shitless of the press stirring things up again.”

“Did you hear me, Andreas?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Then what are you doing about it?”

“I’ve already canceled my honeymoon.”

“You what?”

“Well, actually I postponed it. I knew you wanted the matter closed by the wedding and when it wasn’t I felt an obligation to stay and make certain it’s resolved ASAP.”

“Lila must be furious!”

Andreas winked at Tassos. He knew Lila’s potential anger at her new husband was not what alarmed Spiros. The distinguished minister was worried about himself. Lila’s position in Athens society far outranked his own, and incurring Lila’s wrath was not prudent for one who relied on ass-kissing and favors to move on up the social and political ladder.

“Well, she’s not exactly happy but I promised her I’d have it wrapped up by the end of Tis Panagias.”

“August 15th is this weekend,” said Spiros.

“I know, but I’m sure by the time the holiday is over you’ll no longer have to worry about closing the case.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. And my best to Lila.” Spiros hung up.

Andreas stared at the phone. “Because from the way things look now, dear minister, you and I will be too busy looking for a new line of work.”

Tassos smiled and gave the thumbs-up sign. “Nicely handled. But what are Yianni and I going to do?”

“You, I’m not worried about. You’d find some way to keep your job even if the Turks took over. As for Yianni, he’ll probably follow the rest of his generation and take the advice of that American cowboy who said, ‘Go west, young man.’”

“It wasn’t a cowboy. It was a newspaper man named Greeley.”

“Whatever.” Andreas put the phone in his pocket. “But for now, I just want to go outside for some fresh air.”

They went out onto the starboard upper deck. The boat was about a mile or so from the harbor and close enough to shore that whether they looked right or left all they saw over a slice of bright blue water was land and Mount Tsiknias looming off to the northeast. It was Tinos’ highest mountain, but not its most famous. That title belonged to Xobourgo, a soaring granite height, faced with sheer cliffs on three sides, that sat due north of the port. From pre-historic times the island’s inhabitants flocked to Xobourgo for protection from all sorts of invaders, and when control over Tinos fell to Venice in 1204 it became the island’s fortified heart for five hundred years of Venetian rule.

“What’s that?” said Andreas. He pointed at a conical, dirt and stone brown mound laced with ancient looking stonewalls. The mound looked more than twice as high as the ferry and came up to the very edge of the water as if standing on the rocks. “It looks like an alien spaceship.”

A crewmember smoking a cigarette nearby said, “Everyone asks the same question. It’s the Vriokastro.”

“The what?” said Andreas.

“A prehistoric acropolis going back to Mycenaean times, maybe even earlier,” said Tassos.

“That’s almost four thousand years ago,” said the crewman.

“Give or take a thousand,” smiled Tassos.

“And before you ask,” said the crewman, “it’s two-hundred thirty feet high and covers twenty-two acres.”

“How come no one’s built on it? Looks to be prime real estate to me.” Andreas pointed to the right. “And they’re building next to it.”

“It’s a protected, national historic site,” said Tassos.

“As if that matters any more these days,” said the crewman. “Next week we’ll be selling it to the Chinese.” He flicked his cigarette into the sea. “Got to go, guys. We’re almost in port. Enjoy your time on Tinos, the island of miracles.”

From his mouth to God’s ears, thought Andreas.

Kouros got a lucky break. Or rather, Maggie earned it for him. She’d put the photographs from the surveillance tapes of the two Greek prostitutes who’d last been seen with the tsigani brothers out on Greece’s “Do you know this person” law enforcement hotline and came up bingo! One of them had just been arrested and was sitting in Kordydallos prison.

“What’s she doing in there?” said Kouros. “Isn’t Kordydallos a bit much for hookers?”

Maggie said, “She crossed the wrong customer when she pocketed his watch as a bonus for her services.”

“That still doesn’t seem to qualify her for Kordydallos time.”

“It was a five-hundred thousand euro Patek Philippe,” said Maggie. “And yes, I said the same thing, ‘ five-hundred thousand euros for a watch! ’”

“I guess I don’t have to ask whether the victim was connected enough to have her put away there.”

“The customer was a very rich Saudi.”

“Then she’s lucky she ended up in jail. It usually ends a lot worse for hookers who screw around with those guys. So to speak.”

Maggie handed Kouros an envelope. “Here’s her file, mister comedian. I’ve told Kordydallos to hold her no matter who shows up to get her out. But you better get right over there, just in case.”

Kouros smiled. “On my way, chief.”

Kordydallos Prison Complex wasn’t very pretty to look at: a walled, multiple square-city-block, gray amalgam of not more than four-story warehouse-like structures crowded around a tiny central patch of green. Although an uneasy place at best, it was most well known to the public for two separate, recent great escapes in a rented helicopter-each time by the same notorious kidnapper/bank robber.

Women were housed separately from the rest of the general inmate population. But that didn’t make life any easier inside for a woman as attractive as Maria Fioropoulou, and from her file she wasn’t one used to the sort of violence she’d find there. Her record was strictly busts for high-end prostitution, starting five years ago when she was sixteen.

Kouros was leaning against a virtually colorless wall in a second floor interrogation room. Maria was standing in front of a square metal table anchored to the floor. She was wearing handcuffs and staring at the floor. Kouros motioned for the officer who’d brought her into the room to remove them.

“I don’t think they’ll be necessary.” Kouros studied her. There were bruises and scratch marks on her face, arms, and legs. “Do you?”

She nodded “no” without lifting her eyes from the floor.

As the handcuffs were removed Kouros walked to a chair across the table from where she stood. He pointed to an empty chair next to her. “Please.”

She sat down. Her eyes looked everywhere but at Kouros. “Where’s my lawyer?”

Kouros waited until the officer left the room before sitting down. “You won’t need him, this is an unofficial meeting.”

“Nothing with police is ‘unofficial.’”

Kouros nodded. “A wise way to look at things. But just listen to what I have to say. There’s no reason for you to talk if you don’t want to.” He stared at her, but she still wouldn’t make eye contact.

“You’ve made a very powerful enemy. But, of course, I don’t have to tell you that. I’m sure you already know it. Isn’t fate a bummer? Bet you didn’t even know how valuable that watch was when you lifted it. Had it only been a Rolex your boyfriend might not even have missed it.”