Neil Olson - The Icon

“The communist threat was real,” Matthew insisted, accelerating away from the stop, surprised by his own defensiveness.

“They could easily have taken over Greece.”

“I don’t deny that, but it was a bad war that followed. Thousands were rounded up, tortured, locked away without charges. Some executed. Even the men who fought that war have trouble defending it. They just don’t talk about it at all.”

Matthew slowed the car as they neared the house. His father’s inarticulate rage toward the old men had been a feature of the family dynamics for so long that no one inquired into it any longer. But Alex had revealed more of his feelings in the last few minutes than in all the years preceding, and despite how angry some of it made him, Matthew was loath to let the moment pass.

“Is it impossible for you to accept that they did what they thought was necessary? That it’s in the past now and they’re old men?”

“Would you accept that argument for the Nazis in South America? For Milosevic or Karadzic?”

“Come on, you can’t put them in the same category.”

“My point is that their actions do not disappear because they’ve become old men. They did what they did. And they still have their hands in it. Don’t believe for a moment that they’ve given up those ways.”

“This is where you lose me. Fotis has been in this country for decades. Papou spends his time in his garden. What would the Greek government need with a couple of guys that old?”

“I’m not speaking of whom they work for, I’m talking about their ways. They’ve been bred in the ways of manipulation and double-dealing. It’s become instinct with Fotis. He has to have some scheme going at all times, business schemes, spy schemes, it doesn’t matter. He’s like a shark, in constant motion. If he stops plotting, he’ll die.”

“And Papou?”

“He’s subtler. I don’t think he takes the same pleasure in his work as your godfather, but he still takes orders from the Greek government, or some part of it. He keeps an eye on Fotis, and performs other jobs as well. Don’t believe that he came here just to see me.”

“I do not buy this stuff.”

“I know. I don’t know how to make you believe.”

They pulled into the driveway and Matthew killed the engine, yet neither made a move to get out of the car. Rain built up slowly on the windshield, obscuring the details of the house, but a warm yellow light shone clearly in the kitchen window.

“Why does Fotis have the icon?” Alex asked at last. “What happened with the museum?”

“The seller changed her mind. The Greek church approached her about the work, and she decided that they should have it.”

“How does that involve him?”

“They approached Fotis also, to try and influence the deal, I guess. He knows the estate lawyer. And to help arrange transport, so he got to hold on to the icon for a little while.”

“To what purpose?”

“For him? So that he could pray before it. It’s a very holy icon. It’s supposed to have miraculous curative powers.”

“The old bastard. Does he think he’s found a way to live forever?” Alex seemed halfway between rage and laughter.

“He’ll only have it a week or two, then it goes to the church.”

“How did you end up in the middle of this? You were supposed to be appraising the work for the museum.”

“I did. I really thought that would be the end of it. But Ana, Ana Kessler, the seller, she wanted me to advise her.”

“And Fotis encouraged this?”

“Yes.”

“So you talked her into the deal.”

“No, it’s what she wanted to do. I didn’t talk her out of it, though. I didn’t tell her about Fotis’ involvement.”

“You didn’t influence her at all?”

“If I did, it’s because I thought it was right, not because of him.”

“Are you sleeping with this girl?”

Matthew only sighed and leaned back in the seat. The air in the car was cooling, and the house suddenly beckoned.

“I see,” Alekos nodded. “He’s teaching you well.”

Matthew slammed the dashboard with his fists, startling both of them.

“Do you really think so little of me? That I don’t have any ideas of my own, that I don’t believe in anything of my own? Are you so consumed by this hate for them that you need to reduce everything to that level?”

Alex shook his head slowly, but he seemed more distressed at having upset his son than bruised by his words, making Matthew feel impotent in his anger.

“You shouldn’t take it personally. They’re masters. They’ve done it to me my whole life. If you can take a lesson from this, you can avoid some future pain.”

“What in God’s name do you think they’ve done to you?”

A figure appeared in the kitchen window, blocking most of the light.

“They’ve orchestrated my life. I’m a chemical engineer because my father wanted me to be. I live in America because he sent me here. Even marrying your mother…”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t speak to you about this.”

“You knew she was Fotis’ niece, that’s how you met her.”

“I knew she was his niece, but I didn’t yet understand who he was. He even pretended to disapprove, just to tempt me, knowing she and I would fight him.”

“And why exactly did he do that?”

“Who knows? Maybe he thought it was a way to steal me from his old pal Andreas, turn me into the son he never had. God knows he tried, but I saw through him soon enough.”

“This is bullshit.”

“You don’t know, you weren’t around.”

“I don’t need to have been around. I don’t even have to be your son to see through this, because either you loved her, so nothing he did mattered, and it was right. Or you didn’t, and it was wrong. Either way it’s on you, nobody else. So don’t try to feed me this garbage. And by the way, I know we’re having this heart-to-heart, but I don’t want to know the answer to that, OK? She’s my mother, so keep it to yourself.”

The figure had vanished from the window, and the rain increased. Matthew breathed deeply in an effort to calm himself. He could not have imagined, even minutes before, being so angry with his father. Yet it was a pure, righteous, cleansing anger, and he could not wish it away, even knowing the guilt he would feel later.

“Of course, that’s true.” Alex seemed deflated, yet his face still had a warm flush of color, unseen there for weeks. “I’m sorry I spoke of this. Please don’t ignore everything I’ve said. Please take warning.”

“Let’s go inside, you must be getting cold.”

“No. I don’t feel anything.”

Ioannes was sitting quietly at the kitchen table in the bishop’s small but ornate guesthouse when Jimmy entered without so much as a knock.

“Good morning, Father.”

“And to you, my son.”

“So, Tomas is gone. Vanished.”

“It would appear.”

“Left a whole congregation sitting in their pews last night, waiting on the word of God.” The little man paced the room restlessly, checking his pockets, pulling out a small pistol to caress it.

“Poor bastards.”

“Father Makarios told me.”

“Did he also tell you that half a million dollars of church funds disappeared with him?”

“I didn’t know the amount, but it was clear there had been a major embezzlement.”

“He’s the one you should be looking for.”

“I assumed that you and Makarios were doing that. Unless you are depending upon the police.”

“Hah. Makarios can’t even bring himself to tell the police, thinks the little devil will repent, show up with a good explanation. They hate a scandal. Anyway, I’ve got some people looking.”

“I suspect he took that money for himself, to go underground.” Ioannes spoke slowly, measuring his words. “I don’t believe he has the icon. He was fronting for a buyer. A donor, he called him, in his communications, who was supposed to give the work to the church.”