“Not quite sure yet, it’s percolating, but whatever it is will require us back in Athens. Time to head home.”
“Before lunch?”
Andreas smiled. “Who’s buying?”
“Spiros.”
“Good, I know the perfect place.”
***
Sergey watched the two cops leave the hotel gardens and walk along the road toward town. He’d sent Wacki away ten minutes before.
He clenched the curtain in his fist as he stared out the window. All that rat-faced fool ever wanted to do was gossip. He couldn’t be trusted. He knew Wacki was aching to see him fail. It was the nature of his kind. Sergey couldn’t risk involving Wacki or any of his people again in anything serious. They were useless. He must return to using those he could rely upon to do as they were told.
Sergey unclenched his fist, stepped back from the curtain, and looked at the phone.
He wondered if he should ask Teacher to find the two men he’d told to disappear? The fates knew he was wrong before. Yes, that’s why they didn’t allow him to find and eliminate them. The fates looked after him. They always did.
***
Teacher hung up the phone. Sergey seemed so cheerful. Was he mad or just trying to please her? He said, “All is going well,” “Right on schedule,” “Nothing to worry about,” “The license will be ours soon.”
Such confidence.
But then came the real reason for his call. He wanted her to find the killers of Christos, to bring them to Athens. She thought he would want them eliminated. But he said, “No.” Surely he knew the risk in their returning to Greece.
It spoke of desperation. That was not good. Desperation led to misjudgments.
A misjudgment at this moment could be fatal. No gambling meant no international money crowd. The sex, the drugs, the party atmosphere would not be enough to draw them away from other places offering the same. They needed the magic of a casino to bring it all together.
She clenched her fist. Without that casino license her plans were ruined. She would be trapped in this life for the rest of her days.
She looked at the photograph of the young girl on her desk and relaxed her hand.
Am I desperate? Have I misjudged?
***
Halfway to Ano Mera, just beyond the island’s garbage dump and overlooking the wind and kite surfers’ Shangri-la of Ftelia Bay, sat what many Mykonians viewed as the most blatant example of how far their island had gone in the wrong direction: A strip club with signage leaving nothing to the imagination about what was available inside for a price.
“I still don’t understand how that place stays open,” said Kouros.
“Of course you do.”
“Okay, but how do they get away with putting up signs like that on an island with fourteen hundred churches?”
“Maybe that’s why there are so many churches. There’s a lot of sinning to atone for going on in places like that.”
Kouros laughed. “Where are we headed?”
“My favorite place. Fokos Beach.”
“Great. I haven’t been there in years. Could use a trip back to old Mykonos after all this dark side shit we’ve been putting up with.”
“Aha, the true danger of a cop’s life. We see the worst and wonder if there is any better.”
A few minutes later they entered Ano Mera and took the second left, just before a tiny square. They followed a paved road that narrowed down to barely a lane and a half as it wove between borders of old low and new high stone walls. Beyond the walls, beige-brown fields and pastures ran off in all directions toward hills of still different shades of brown, peppered everywhere with tiny white churches, old homes, and new construction.
After about a mile the road turned to dirt, widened to two lanes, and ran north along a valley floor beside a mile-long rainwater reservoir. The valley’s brown-gray hillsides were veined with old stone walls and filled with wild rosemary, savory, thyme, and goats. The only signs of man were power lines along the road and a modern windmill perched on a hilltop off to the east, generating power to operate the reservoir.
Anywhere but on an Aegean island one would marvel at the deep blue of the man-made lake, but on Mykonos it literally paled in comparison to the sea.
“The natural beauty of this island is extraordinary.”
Andreas nodded.
The road made a wide arc to the right, and just before turning sharply left Andreas slowed by a man and boy fishing in the water.
“Nice of you not to coat them with dust from the road.”
“I didn’t want you to miss this.”
As Andreas made the swing to the left the far end of the reservoir came into view.
“What the hell?”
Andreas didn’t have to ask what had caught Kouros’ attention. “That’s about what I thought you’d say when I heard you hadn’t been out here for a while.”
Hovering above the end of the reservoir, as if devouring the hillsides beneath them, loomed a mass of white villas.
“How could somebody so screw up such a beautiful place? Damn them,” said Kouros.
“I think they already are damned. Last I heard not a single one’s been sold, and the asking price has been reduced by two-thirds.”
“Serves them right.”
The end of the reservoir stood seventy-five feet above sea level. Beyond it the road dropped steeply down toward a wide, sandy cove and a taverna of natural stone set fifty yards back from the sea at the widest part of the beach. The cove was edged distally in black- and rust-color stone and framed by virgin brown hillsides, azure blue waters, and brilliant Aegean skies.
It was a picture postcard vision that magazines and moviemakers often used to present the paradise known as Mykonos to the world. Sans villas. And where locals and longtime fans of Mykonos escaped to remember how very beautiful their island could be.
They parked beside the broad stone steps leading up to the taverna’s outside terrace. They’d barely made it up the steps when the owner recognized Andreas and dragged both of them over to his table. He had his grill man cooking octopus, calamari, and fish, his wife turning out zucchini pie, moussaka, and more types of salads than Andreas could imagine, and his daughter pouring wine until Andreas had to threaten to arrest the entire family if they didn’t stop.
In other words it was a terrific time.
The drive back to the airport was a cautious one. Kouros drove, though neither would have passed a breathalyzer test. Nor would either have scored a record for such a test on an island where virtually no one feared being stopped for erratic driving of any sort.
As they neared the airport Andreas began drumming his fingers on the dashboard.
Kouros looked over from the driver’s seat. “Do I detect inspiration?”
Andreas nodded. “I think I have an idea on how to get things rolling.”
“Are we talking about something like the ‘rolling’ boulder opening scene of Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark?”
“As I recall, the boulder was chasing the hero.”
“I guess I should go for a different movie.”
“Good idea.”
“The War of the Worlds?”
Andreas shook his head and waved a hand toward the road ahead. “Drive.”
Kouros smiled. “Liked that film, Ryan Gosling, too.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Morning.”
“Chief Kaldis! What are you doing here?”
“Sorry to startle you. I’ve come to see the minister.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No, it’s a surprise. Just tell him I’m here, please.”
Andreas stood by the secretary’s desk as she dialed her boss, whispered into the phone, stuttered in reply to some comment, and looked up. “He’s very busy.”
“Please tell him that I must see him on a matter of great importance.”
She went back to whispering, nodded to the phone, and hung up. “I’m sorry, Chief, but he can’t possibly see you today.”
“No problem, just tell him I stopped by to let him know I plan on running for his seat in parliament in the next election and I’m on my way over to ask the Prime Minister for his blessing.”