The Kolonaki area of downtown Athens was as chic as you’d find in Greece. Just west of the main boulevard leading north toward the city’s more affluent northern suburbs, its fancy shops, restaurants, and residences lay at the heart of official Athens. Parliament, its members, and anyone dependent upon government largesse knew it well, for in Kolonaki much of the government’s business-both official and otherwise-took place. Some met in offices, but it was in tavernas and cafés alongside park-like Kolonaki Square that a grand measure of the country’s past had come to be.
Tassos parked in a no-parking zone and walked along the northern border of the small park surrounding an ancient column from which the area drew its name. He stopped in front of a large taverna at the intersection of Tsakalof and Patriarchou Ioakeim streets. Customers at its sidewalk tables sat checking out every passerby as if hoping to spot a celebrity, but it was well past morning coffee time for Greece’s movers and shakers. By now they sat in their offices doing whatever the important and powerful did.
No matter, Tassos was hunting different game: old lions who still came out for early morning coffee, but lingered on into the afternoon talking among themselves of the good old days when they ruled the universe. He crossed the street toward a storefront of broad glass, polished natural wood, green marble, and Parisian green trim. A long row of green-top café tables and matching beige and green chairs sat next to the building and continued on alongside an awning-covered abutting patio, all part of the same self-service cafenion.
He walked into the shop though a break in the line of sidewalk tables and stopped in front of a row of glass display cases filled with pastries, assorted sandwiches, and brioches. An array of liquor bottles adorned the wall behind the counter, and brightly polished chrome and brass coffee machines dominated the space between.
Tassos placed his order, and while waiting, looked out at the patio. In its prime only tourists stared out at passersby from this place, for regulars knew that anyone who mattered already sat inside. This was Dal Segno Caffe, the once inner sanctum to all things Greek politics. But that was back in the days when sitting members of Parliament dared venture out in public. These days Greek politicians rarely appeared in the wild, no doubt fearing who might be hunting for their heads.
Tassos studied the faces at the tables. Mostly tourists, plus a few local businessmen out on a coffee break. Off to the right, away from the main street and tucked away at a corner table partially hidden behind the trunk of the patio’s lone tree, a stocky, pasty, bald Greek sat engrossed in conversation with tall, trim, tanned silver-haired foreigner. The men looked at least a decade apart in age, but Tassos knew each was in his early eighties. He carried his coffee over to their table.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Neither man looked up.
Tassos put his coffee down on their table. “What’s the matter, have you two old farts lost your hearing?”
“We were hoping you wouldn’t see us,” said the bald guy.
“Not with old Strip over here still working so hard at dazzling all the broads with his tan.”
The tanned guy smiled. “Nice to see you, too, Tassos.”
“What has you in town, Strip? I thought you’d lost interest in this part of the world once the Balkans settled down. Went back to America, I heard.”
“I’m out of that business. Left it to the young guys. The world’s too nuts these days for a legitimate businessman.”
“In the arms business?” said Tassos.
Strip smiled. “In any business.”
“So what has you in Athens?”
He nodded toward the bald man. “Dimitri’s granddaughter is getting married this weekend. I’m in for the wedding.”
Tassos picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee. “How nice that our former minister of defense has kept up with his old friends from the arms industry even after all these years.”
“Some things never change,” said Dimitri.
Tassos smiled and put down his coffee. “For sure. Congratulations on your granddaughter’s wedding, Dimitri.”
Dimitri nodded. “Thank you. So what brings you to Dal Segno?”
Tassos laughed. “Don’t worry, it isn’t you. I’m trying to get a line on a businessman from the Balkans and I was hoping to bump into someone here who might know him.”
“Why here?” said Dimitri.
“He’s dealing with our government.”
Dimitri nodded. “So, how can I help?”
Tassos pulled the photo of Ugly Guy out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Dimitri. Dimitri stared at it and handed it back to Tassos.
“Sorry, I don’t recognize him.”
Tassos handed the photo to Strip. “What about you?”
Strip took the photo and squinted at it.
Dimitri smiled. “If you’re really going to look at it, Strip, put on your glasses. Don’t worry, there aren’t any women watching.”
“Asshole.” Strip pulled a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses out of the inside jacket pocket of his very expensive blue blazer.
“So, where’s the wedding, Dimitri?” said Tassos.
“Grande Bretagne.”
“The best place in Athens for a wedding. On the roof I assume?”
“No, weather’s too iffy. Using the hotel’s main ballroom.”
“Hey,” said Strip. “I know this guy. A real lowlife. Mean, dark, dirty, and ruthless. Which is probably why he’s so rich.”
“What’s he do?”
“Whatever makes him money. Big money. Drugs, arms smuggling, probably human trafficking, too. I knew him from the arms business. He’s the sort that made me realize it was time to get out.”
“Does he have a name?”
“It’s one of those all-consonants Ukrainian ones.”
“Is that your way of saying you don’t remember it? Come on, Strip, you haven’t forgotten the name on your first baby bottle,” said Tassos.
“With age there are some things you forget. And some things you better forget. My friend, I’ve spent a decade getting my name off of ‘we don’t want him around anymore’ lists. I’m not about to do anything to get myself back on one. Especially this guy’s.”
Tassos nodded. “Okay, but what can you tell me about him?”
“He works out of the Balkans. That’s where most gunrunners operate these days. North Africa is the big market.”
“Where in North Africa?”
“You name it. Sudan, Somalia, Mauritania, Algeria, Morocco, Libya, Tunisia, possibly even Yemen.”
“Why would he be interested in doing business in Greece?”
“No idea, and before you say it…no, I’m not going to ask around.”
“How about a guess?”
“Ask Dimitri. He knows more about that sort of thing in Greece.”
Dimitri shook his head. “If this guy’s a big-time illegal arms smuggler, he’s probably interested in running ships out of ports like Piraeus and Patras. Boats are what arms and drug smugglers prefer these days. They’re harder to detect than planes, as long as your paperwork is in order.”
Strip shook his head. “This guy runs his business primarily through the air. At least he always did.”
“Well, that sort doesn’t operate in Greece,” said Dimitri. “They need an airstrip. And airstrips get noticed in the parts of Greece they’d be interested in.”
“What ‘parts’ would that be?”
“Places closer to Africa than their operations in the Balkans. A location that increases their range.”
“For a quick in and out with less time in the air to attract attention,” said Strip. “Crete would be perfect for them.”
“Yes, but Crete comes with several serious downside factors,” said Dimitri.
“Such as?” said Tassos.
“A NATO airbase, missile-testing range, gunnery range, and bombing range. Plus, the United States Navy provisions its Sixth Fleet out of there. Air traffic in and out of Crete is closely monitored.”