‘Any luck on finding sources for the images used to doctor the photograph we took off the USB drive?’
‘All but one.’
‘Which one?’
‘The carpet. The faces were lifted from group photographs stored on the computer’s hard drive, the painting was a recent download from a museum site on the Internet, so was the photo used for the empty chairs, but the carpet…’ He shook his head. ‘I found the image of the carpet on the hard drive, but no idea of its source. It could be buried on one of the disks or lifted from something online. Can you give me some help?’
‘Like what?’
‘Keywords. I can use them to search the files.’
‘Revelation.’
Ilias keyed it in. ‘Looks like a zillion hits.’
Of course, thought Andreas. He’s a scholar monk living on Patmos. ‘Can you limit it just to file names?’
‘Sure,’ and with a few keystrokes Ilias brought up a hundred entries.
Andreas read the list. Nothing recent, and nothing interesting. ‘Try Russia, but only recent entries.’
That brought up a lot of newspaper articles, but nothing earth-shattering. He told him to try Mount Athos. That got him what he expected, more newspaper articles but nothing more than what everyone already knew.
Andreas kept suggesting keywords, but none led to anything helpful. ‘Okay, I’ve about had it.’ He paused. ‘Try Zacharias.’
Ilias typed in the word. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? How can there be nothing? Try searching for more than just file names.’
‘I did, there’s no “Zacharias” anywhere in the computer.’
Ilias paused. ‘But it’s a biblical name. Someone would have had to intentionally purge every mention of it.’
Like some do 666, thought Andreas. ‘Let’s check out the disks.’
There were about fifty. Not a hit anywhere.
‘It’s almost like someone’s trying to call attention to the name by its absence,’ said Ilias.
Andreas had been leaning over Ilias’ back reading off the screen. He patted him on the shoulder. ‘Sure does.’ He walked over to the window and stared up at the sky. Neither man said a word for about a minute. ‘Try “time is at hand” as a file name.’ Andreas spoke without taking his eyes off the sky.
A few seconds later Ilias said, ‘Nothing.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘Damn, I was sure there’d be something.’ He turned away from the window. ‘I have another idea, but for luck I’ll type it in myself.’ He walked over to the laptop, typed four words, and hit ENTER.
The computer came up with a single hit, a file titled, ‘Thief in the night.’
‘ Bingo,’ Andreas shouted and slapped Ilias on the back so hard the whiz kid almost fell off his chair. ‘Sorry, I’m used to slapping my partner.’
‘Lucky him,’ said Ilias, rubbing away at his back.
‘So, what do we have?’
Ilias opened the file. It was a folder containing a dozen different documents, including three lists. One was a list of monks at Zacharias’ monastery, but Zacharias’ name wasn’t on it. Another was a list of newspaper articles, arranged by journalist, accusing the Russians of a hand in the scandal at Mount Athos, and the third listed TV journalists known for sharing those same views on the Mount Athos scandal. Of the remaining documents, all but one were newspaper articles published more than a decade ago, and not in Greek. The last document was a photograph of a monk in his cell, probably from a magazine.
‘ Maggie, come in here.’
The door swung open. ‘I wondered when you’d invite me.’
Andreas pointed to the two lists of journalists on the screen. ‘What do these names mean to you?’ She read the lists and smiled. ‘Officially or unofficially?’
‘Maggie!’
‘Okay, they’re the best money can buy. If you want a story and are willing to pay for it, you get it. Facts are secondary to these guys.’
Andreas let out a long breath. Just like the ones who brought down my father, he thought. He pointed to the newspaper articles. ‘Any idea what these are about?’
Maggie looked and gestured no. ‘They’re foreign, not my area of expertise.’
‘Uh, Chief.’
‘Yes.’
Ilias pointed to one. ‘This one’s in German, the others I believe are in Serbian.’
‘Can you read them?’
‘Not the Serbian, but I think I can make out the German.’ He studied the article for a couple of minutes. ‘It’s German, but from a Swiss paper. It’s about an escaped war criminal who burned to death in a car crash in Switzerland.’
‘How was the body identified?’
‘From documents on the scene.’
How convenient they didn’t burn, Andreas thought. ‘Anything else?’
‘You’ll need a professional translation for details. My German isn’t that good, and my Serbian is practically nonexistent. But,’ Ilias pointed to the articles in Serbian, ‘one thing I can make out is that all the newspapers mention the guy who died in Switzerland.’
Andreas nodded. ‘What about the photograph of the monk in his cell?’
‘I have an idea.’ Ilias tore through the disks until he found a particular one and popped it into the laptop. It was from a CD collection giving a virtual tour of Mount Athos monasteries. ‘Here.’ He pointed to a photograph. It was the one of the monk in his cell. ‘I thought I saw it before. It’s from that monastery you’re interested in.’
‘Damn, you’re good.’
Ilias jerked forward as if anticipating another congratulatory whack.
Andreas laughed and high-fived him as they bent to the screen.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Andreas. ‘What’s that over there?’ He pointed to a photograph next to the one of the monk’s cell.
‘It’s of the library in the same monastery,’ said Ilias.
‘Can you make this part bigger?’ Andreas pointed to an area of the floor, and watched the photograph grow.
‘My God,’ said Ilias. ‘It’s the carpet.’
Andreas gave no back slaps, no high-fives, no shouts; he just stared at the screen in silence. When he spoke, he first cleared his throat. ‘Thanks, Ilias, good job. Please print out copies of everything. I sincerely appreciate your help.’
Ilias nodded and left with the computer. Maggie was right behind him. ‘Maggie, please stay.’
‘I was afraid you’d say that.’
Andreas didn’t speak immediately. ‘Are you sure we can trust him?’
‘Trust who?’
‘Ilias.’
Maggie smiled. ‘I’m sure. His mother used to work here and always complained to me about her “ungrateful son” who knew “all these secret things” but never gave her any gossip.’
Andreas nodded. ‘So, we have a list of corruptible journalists accusing the Russians of nastiness around Mount Athos, old newspaper stories about a war criminal apparently incinerated in Switzerland — where Zacharias’ passport was issued — a photograph of a monk in a cell in Zacharias’ monastery, and the mysterious Satan-bearing carpet from the doctored photograph on Vassilis’ flash drive turning up in the same monastery. What do you think Vassilis was trying to tell us?’
She shrugged.
‘Like, “Hello, if you want to know where to find Satan, take a look at this.”’
‘That’s somewhat flippant, don’t you think?’
‘Frankly, I think the proper way to describe it is “goddamn frightening.”’
She sighed. ‘Should I call Yianni?’
‘No reason to, at least not yet. Let me speak to the Protos first. I want to hear what he has to say about all this.’
‘He may be hard to reach. After all, it’s Holy Thursday.’
‘Even to learn the whereabouts of Satan?’
Maggie’s face was serious. ‘Especially so.’ She picked up and waved Dimitri’s note. ‘Sometimes, not knowing is better.’
15
For a little less than three more days Zacharias must remain a faceless monk, locked away among more of the same, droning on in endless prayer within the walls of an undistinguished monastery. It would seem the perfect place to lurk unnoticed by the world. But this wasn’t Zacharias’ style. He hated being one of a flock. His preferred form of anonymity involved standing in the shadows of power, silently appreciated by everyone who mattered for his behind-the-scenes contributions to their successes.