“So, whom do we talk to?”
“Since it looks like they took him from Syros by boat, let’s start with the coast guard.”
Law enforcement on the seas and in the nation’s ports was the responsibility of the Hellenic Coast Guard, also known as the port police, commanded by a harbormaster.
“I’ll ask the harbormaster to find locals who might know something. He should know the ones we can trust not to gossip. After all, that’s how the coast guard gets most of its information on what’s happening in Mykonos waters. From folks like fisherman, ship captains, marine suppliers, boat agents, and union guys shuttling passengers between the cruise ships and the port. They’re the ones who notice when something’s not right.”
“That’s still a pretty big chance to take. Gossip is like breathing around here.”
Andreas nodded. “I’ll tell him to round up the ones he trusts the most, but not to tell them why, and to bring them here without letting them call anyone. That way we’ll at least get a shot at convincing them not to talk. Besides, what other option do we have?”
“Prayer?”
“I haven’t stopped since Maggie called.”
“Amen.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The coast guard SUV climbed a steep, paved mountain road along a rocky, gray-brown hillside. The road was originally dirt; and time, inattention, and the fiscal crisis seemed determined to return it to its roots. It also didn’t help the residents’ pleas for road repairs that the elegant homes that sprouted in the area during Greece’s boom years were owned primarily by non-locals who did not vote on Mykonos. Local politicians with influence who’d favored the wholesale issuance of building permits to seasonal residents, and local businessmen who profited off a construction craze fueled by off-islanders’ money, often had a very different attitude toward those same folks when asked to provide them with municipal services paid for out of public coffers.
“I remember when no one wanted to live out here,” said a barrel-chested fiftyish man with salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard to match. He was in the back seat, on the passenger’s side, looking down the mountain. “My grandfather used to say that even the goats had given up on this land. “Now look at it. Covered with people.”
“The goats had more sense, Panayis. The people just had more money,” said the man next to him of about the same age, but thick-waisted and clean-shaven.
Panayis laughed. “I wish my father had kept some of the land instead of selling it off. Maybe then I’d be as rich as you, Alex, and not have to spend my life working for a living.”
“Fishing is a noble profession, my friend. I just prefer doing it as a hobby.”
“Yeah, when you’re not overcharging me for boat repairs.”
A third middle-aged man in the backseat laughed along with Panayis. “Yeah, Alex, the last time you rebuilt an engine for one of my taxi boats you charged me almost as much as a new one would cost.”
“That’s only because you’re my cousin, Manolis. If you weren’t family I’d have charged you double.”
Everyone in the SUV laughed.
A lean, spectacled man, older than the others and sitting up front, said to the driver. “I think it’s time for an explanation. When you called and said you needed our help ‘right away,’ how could we refuse? After all, you command the coast guard on Mykonos. But we have a right to know what’s going on.”
The harbormaster said, “Absolutely, Vangelis. And I promise you’ll get your answer in a few minutes.”
Near the top of the hill the paved road twisted left up toward the air force’s radar station and a dirt road cut off to the right. The SUV took the dirt road and bumped along for a couple more minutes before stopping on the right next to an arched doorway in a seven-foot high natural stone wall.
“I know this place,” said Alex. “The owner’s a customer.”
Manolis smiled. “Then maybe you shouldn’t go in. It could be a trap.”
“Malaka,” said Alex, equating him affectionately to a wanker.
The gate in the doorway swung open and Andreas stepped out. He opened the front and rear passenger’s side doors and nodded toward the doorway. “Gentlemen, I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry. We have a lot to do in a very short time.”
Vangelis set his eyes on Andreas. “Before I move from this seat, I want to know what has our former police chief dragging us out to the middle of nowhere?”
Andreas nodded. “It’s simple. Without your help a man will die in a matter of hours. Now, if you please, let’s hurry inside.”
And they did.
***
Once inside the house, Andreas offered them water, refused their request for tsipouro, and showed them to chairs arranged outside on the covered terrace. He and Kouros stood with their backs to the sea, facing the five men
“Let me get right to the point,” said Andreas. “If any of you talk about what I’m about to tell you with anyone, the kidnap victim is as good as dead. And by ‘anyone’ I’m including your wives, girlfriends, and priests. Do any of you have a problem with keeping this strictly among ourselves?”
All gestured no, but Panayis said, “How long do we have to keep it secret?”
“I’ll let you know, but if we don’t find the victim by tomorrow morning, he’ll probably be dead.”
“Who is it?” said Alex.
“Tassos Stamatos.”
For an instant the only sound was the wind.
“Who kidnapped him?”
“Where did it happen?”
“When?”
Andreas put up his hands. “I know you have a lot of questions, but most of them I can’t answer.”
Vangelis raised his hand and paused until the others were quiet. “I have only one question. What can we do to help our friend?”
The others nodded.
“Thank you,” said Andreas. He told them everything he could about the kidnapping without disclosing who he thought was behind it.
Panayis was the first to speak up. “If they crossed over from Syros as late as you say and running fast, someone who fishes nights off of Rhenia might have seen something.
“Local sailors coming out of Syros headed for Mykonos know to aim for aspros cavos, the white-faced northwest cape of Rhenia. With the amount of moonlight last night that stone face would have been lit up like a beacon. And boats running fast in the dark get noticed. You’re always worried the captain might be drunk, drugged, or up to no good. And if you don’t recognize the boat or who’s behind the wheel, you keep a damn close eye on it until it’s past you. Let me make some calls.” He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Remember,” said Andreas. “Nothing that might get back to whoever we’re looking for.”
Panayis nodded, and launched into an animated telephone conversation punctuated by malaka as the principal noun, verb and modifier. His face lit up in a Santa Claus-like smile as he hung up.
“We’re in luck. Sometime after one in the morning an idiot in one of those inflatables went flying by him and three other boats, rocking the shit out of them.”
“Any idea who it was?” said Manolis.
“No, but he wishes he did. All they could tell was that it looked like a Marvel.”
“That’s a Greek-made inflatable,” said Alex. “There are quite a few of them around the island.”
“Anything on the captain?” said Kouros.
“No one recognized him.”
“How many people were in the boat?” said Andreas.
“Couldn’t tell. It had one of those canopies that covers everything from the wheel forward.”
“What?” said Alex.
“I said it had a bow canopy.”
Alex rubbed his cheek. “There could be some dangerous people involved.”
“We wouldn’t be here if there weren’t,” said Andreas.
Alex drew in a deep breath and spoke as he let it out. “About a year ago the owner of a thirty-two foot Marvel had me fit it out with a custom canopy like the one you described. When I said it would ruin the primary function of the boat he told me, ‘mind your own fucking business.’”