Santorini Caesars (15 page)

Andreas nibbled at his lower lip. On the other hand, if the PM had told Andreas to stop the investigation, it would be a direct confirmation of Prada acting on his behalf. With all the subtle ways the Prime Minister had at his disposal to prevent Andreas from ever learning the truth, it made no sense for him to say anything to make Andreas think Prada didn't have the full backing of the Prime Minister's office.

He rubbed at his right temple. The Prime Minister had taken great care to mention that Babis wanted Andreas' head. He'd said it in a way that suggested the Prime Minister had Andreas' back. Still, all it would take was a “Do what you think is best for your ministry,” phone call from the Prime Minister to Andreas' boss and Andreas would be history.

I'll know soon enough,
thought Andreas, shaking his head as he started the car.
Politics
. Andreas hated the process. He glanced up and down the street, still not believing this was where the Prime Minister of Greece lived. His eye caught a street sign and he smiled. Perhaps that explained it. This had to be the only place in Greece where the Prime Minister could find what the name on that street sign promised. Andreas pulled away and drove off, leaving Harmony Street behind.

***

Andreas marched into his office carrying a box of pastries and a bottle of
tsipouro
.

Yianni stared at him from a chair in front of a row of empty coffee cups aligned along Andreas' desk.

“Glad to see one of us is in a party mood. For the last four hours I've been sitting here listening to our military's best and brightest engage in a marathon booze and bitching session over their rapidly fading futures, only to have you show up with this.” He pointed at the bottle of
tsipouro
in Andreas' hand.

“What can I say? After my meeting with the Prime Minister and your time here, I figured we could both use a drink.”

“But this stuff is like gasoline.”

“No, gasoline would be its Italian cousin,
grappa
. This one has just enough anise to make it pleasant. Besides, we're civilized…we mix it with water.”

“Spoken like a true Greek.”

Andreas put the bottle and pastry box on his desk and sat down in the chair next to Yianni.

“Went that badly, huh?”

Andreas shrugged, opened the box, and took out a cookie. “Either the Prime Minister is with us or against us. No telling. But I'm going to act as if we have his full support and plunge ahead on that assumption.”

“And if you're wrong?”

“You and I will have a lot more time for
tsipouro
.”

“Great. Did he tell you if what Prada told the military was true?”

Andreas gestured no. “But my instinct is it wasn't.”

“Instinct? Maybe I'll have that
tsipouro,
after all.”

“Any news from our boys on Santorini?”

“They're just as bored as I am. As for the two-dozen military men on whose every word we're hanging, they've been drinking for hours. The more they drink, the more the younger ones urge the older to pressure Prada.”

“And the top brass?”

“They just listen to the younger ones vent. It's as if they don't want to be quoted.”

“Sounds like a wonderful time is being had by all.” Andreas bit into the cookie.

“Prada's little speech put a real damper on the weekend.”

Andreas nodded. “Just like he intended.”

“What do you mean?”

“He had to know the effect his words would have on that group. And assuming he knew what he said wasn't true, he also knew that sooner or later the whole episode would get back to the PM. That adds up to Prada having had one hell of a powerful reason for taking such a risk.” Andreas drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desktop. “All we have to do now is figure out his motivation, determine who else is involved, and how it all ties into the murder of Penelope Sigounas.”

Yianni opened the box and took out a
galaktoboureko
custard pastry roll. “Oh, that's all? I feel so much more relaxed now.”

Andreas ignored him. “His purpose in going to Santorini had to be to get a rise out of that group. But why?”

“If that was his goal, as I said, he certainly succeeded in pissing off the younger officers.”

“But you're sure none of the general officers jumped in on the bitching or at least encouraged it?”

“Not as far as I heard. The closest any big brass came to what I'd call encouragement was when one said, ‘If you feel that strongly, why don't you go talk to him directly?' ‘Him' being Prada.”

“Who said that?”

“The air marshal.”

“Sounds a bit out of the usual chain of command, wouldn't you say? An air marshal telling lower-ranking officers to take their gripes directly to the Prime Minister's right-hand man?”

Yianni yawned. “It came after a long, droning diatribe by one officer in particular. To me it seemed Air Marshal said what he did more out of frustration with the officer's yammering than anything else.”

“Who was the complainer?”

“A Colonel Retsos.”

“A colonel? Well, that certainly raises warm memories.”

Say the word “colonel” and Greece's junta dictatorship years immediately popped into the minds of those who lived though them.

“I told the Prime Minister there's been a lot of bitching but no mention of any use of force. Is that still true?”

Yianni nodded.

“Good.”

Yianni took a bite of the pastry, and a sip of coffee. “So, let me get this straight. If you're right about the Prime Minister not authorizing Prada's little speech last night, aren't we back to square one as far as figuring out how any of this makes sense?”

“You could say that, but I have an idea.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Not yet, but don't worry, there's still time. There just might be a party I want Petro to crash later.”

“Sounds like you're about to make his day.”

Andreas reached for the
tsipouro
. “Let's drink to Petro and good luck.”

Yianni slid two empty coffee cups toward Andreas. “How about good luck for us all?”

***

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” Petro told Andreas. “You want me to find out where Colonel Retsos plans on having dinner tonight, go there, make friends with him, and learn all that I can about what he plans on doing to get our Prime Minister to change his mind on our nation's military policy?”

“Yep, that about sums it up,” said Andreas.

Petro pulled the phone away from his ear, stared at it, and shook his head.

“Petro, are you there?”

“Yeah,” he said bringing the phone back to his ear. “I'm just wondering how the hell I'm supposed to do any of that, let alone all of it in one night.”

“It's not as difficult as it sounds. I doubt the colonel and his buddies will stay cooped up in the hotel, so just listen to where they plan on going.”

“That'll be the easy part. How am I supposed to make friends with the guy? For sure he'll recognize me from the restaurant, and I doubt some hotshot colonel will be interested in making friends with his busboy from the night before.”

“Don't be so negative. See, you've already hit upon common ground for striking up a conversation. Just let your natural charm carry you from there.”

Petro closed his eyes. “Why do I sense Yianni is in the background hooting and hollering while you're telling me all this?”

Andreas laughed. “What can I say, that's Yianni. But we both have faith in you to pull this off.”

Petro heard Yianni shout in the background, “All you'll need is a little luck. We're rooting for you.”

“Sounds to me like you're drinking for me too.”

“Pardon?” said Andreas.

“Not you, Chief, I'm talking about my cheering section in the background.”

“He means well,” said Andreas.

“So, what precisely are you hoping for me to get from this colonel?”

“I want to know whether he plans on hooking up with Prada and who, if anyone, is encouraging or assisting him to do that.”

“Anything else?”

“If the subject comes up, what he plans on doing if he can't get the Prime Minister to change his mind.”

“I can't imagine him telling those things to a complete stranger.”

“Just go in confident and play it by ear. No telling what you might learn.”

“Do you want me to wear a wire?” Petro glanced at Dimos.

“No need to risk them finding out they're under surveillance,” said Andreas. “We have days of them talking the subject to death. Just find out what you can about any plans for getting to Prada.”

“I'll try. No promises.”

“None expected. Just try your best. Bye.”

“
Good luck
,” shouted Yianni.

Petro shut the phone in one hand and smacked his forehead three times with his other.

“Sounds like you have a busy night ahead of you,” said Dimos.

‘You heard?”

“Of course I heard, I'm a professional eavesdropper, with the equipment to prove it. Besides, I'm standing right here and your phone volume's too loud.”

“How am I ever going to get close to that guy? He'll shoo me away like a cockroach.”

“You mean like a cat. A cockroach he'd probably step on.”

Petro raised his hands. “Okay, a cat. It's still the same problem.”

“You need a distraction, something that will make him want to hang out with you.”

“Like what?”

“Sappho.”

“What are you talking about? She's not that kind of girl.”

“
Malaka
, I'm not saying set him up with her, I'm saying that she's fun and everyone on this island knows her. All you have to do is show up with her, and before you know it she'll be in conversation with them. It's the way she is. You'll just have to take it from there.”

“She's a bit of an unguided missile on the conversation front.”

“As long as you don't tell her what you're up to, who cares how outrageous she gets? It will only charm the colonel and his buddies more. Guys like hanging out with funny, fast-talking women. She'll be the hit of the night.”

Petro shook his head. “I don't know—”

“Let me stop you right there. What you don't know is whether you want to get her involved in this. That I can understand. But don't say it's because it wouldn't work. It will work, or at least has a better chance of working than you showing up solo.”

Petro sighed. “Maybe Retsos will decide to stay in tonight and this whole scheme will just fade away.”

Dimos held up a piece of paper. “Sorry to break the news to you, but while you were on the phone with the chief, Colonel Retsos made reservations for twelve at twenty-two-hundred hours at a restaurant called Alexi's on the main road to the airport in the town before Mesaria. It ain't romantic, but it makes you feel right at home. The perfect place for making new friends.”

Petro glared at the piece of paper before snatching it out of Dimos' hand.

“Enjoy your evening.”

Chapter Fifteen

Petro and Sappho sat at a table close by the kitchen. There were only a half-dozen tables in the place and they wouldn't have had a table at all if the owner's son hadn't offered them the one he sat at to serenade customers with his
bouzouki
playing. He said that was the least he could do for his grade school sweetheart and promptly hugged and kissed Sappho hello far more vigorously than one would expect in casually greeting an old friend.

Sappho shrugged off his enthusiasm with a comment about how she hoped he played the
bouzouki
with a more sophisticated touch than the one he'd just applied to her backside. He laughed and walked away, leaving Sappho and Petro to their table.

“Quite a fan you have there.”

“He's stoned all the time,” said Sappho. “It's the curse of our island. Drugs. They're everywhere.”

“At least he gave us the table.”

“His mother would have killed him if he hadn't. We're in the same business. You take care of each other.”

“Was he really your boyfriend?”

“Ah, you're jealous.”

“Just curious.”

“I let him feel me up once in eighth grade. The poor guy's never forgotten it. Probably the last female breast he ever touched. Other than on a chicken.”

“Too much information.”

“You asked. But while we're on the subject of information, why did you pick this place?”

“Why not?”

“It's just not known to many tourists.”

“One of my buddies that you met the other night suggested we come here.”

“I guess he didn't want to expose you to a romantic setting.”

Petro smiled. “Any place with you is candlelight and roses.”

“I see you're still reading that what-to-say-to-a-woman book.”

“I'm just happy you agreed to come on such short notice.”

Sappho reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Why wouldn't I? Our restaurant isn't busy tonight and I like spending time with you.”

Petro sat quietly.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I'm just waiting for the punch line.”

“Tonight I decided to be sincere.”

“Not sure I can handle it.”

“Don't worry, it's like water skiing. Just relax and let the boat pull you up.” She squeezed his hand again.

“Hi, Sappho,” said the waiter.

“Hi, Giorgio. How are things going?”

“Terrific. I've got a job. That's enough to make any Greek feel terrific these days.”

“I hear you.”

“What can I get you guys? By the way, if you're in a hurry you might want to put in your order right away. We've got a party coming in any minute that will take over the rest of the tables, and they'll likely be pressing us hard for attention all night. Military types.”

“Tell me about it.” Sappho looked at Petro. “We had to deal with that sort all last night.”

“Yeah,” said Petro. “At least they're big tippers.”

“So, should I put in your order?”

Petro looked at Sappho. “I'm not in a hurry, are you?”

She smiled at Petro. “Not me. I have all night.”

“Okay, guys, I get it. I'll bring you the wine and some
meze
and just let me know when you need me for anything else.”

“Thanks, Giorgio,” said Sappho.

The waiter patted Sappho on the back, “Any time, darling,” and headed off to the kitchen.

“Everybody seems to like you,” said Petro.

“Are you surprised?”

“Totally. I thought it was only me who felt that way.”

“
Stop
already
.
You're killing me with all this.”

“Don't worry, I'm just booking credits for when you'll want to smack me.”

“You mean there are exciting times to come?”

Petro smiled. “For sure.”

Sappho nodded toward the door. “Like right now, for instance. You'll never guess who's coming through the front door.”

Petro turned his head in the direction of Sappho's stare. “My God, we're reliving last night. It's the same crew.”

“I knew this island was getting too small.”

“Oh, well, don't worry, we'll just ignore them.”

Sappho smiled and leaned forward close enough to almost kiss him. “Yes, it's just the two of us in the room, and no one else.”

“
Sappho
! You're here. What a surprise,” said one voice.

Come, you've got to join us,” said another.

Sappho dropped her head toward the table. “I can't believe this.”

“As our guest,” said a third.

“And bring your father's godson with you.”

***

The officers pushed four tables together, seated Sappho in the middle directly across from Colonel Retsos, and banished Petro to a far end.

Petro couldn't help but admire her. He knew she didn't want to be dragged into the middle of a stag party, but yet there she was, the centerpiece of an otherwise all-male night on the town. She knew just what to say. Who to encourage, who to discourage. Even though this wasn't her family's place, they were her family's customers, and by showing them the attention they craved, she was respecting her family's business.

Petro's thoughts had drifted toward a feeling of pride at how masterfully she handled herself, until shame crept in for his part in tricking her into playing that role.
But I honestly did want to be with her
, he thought. And what he'd said to her he'd meant, even though the words also served the purpose of his job. He wondered if that made what he'd said any less sincere. He hoped not.

“Hey, godson, get with it, will you? You're the damp rag at this party.”

Petro raised his glass to the clearly drunk major calling him out from the other end of the table. “
Stin yia mas
.”

“
Yamas
,” said the rest of the table raising their glasses and toasting to everyone's health.

“Hey, Major, go easy on him,” said Sappho. “I'll need him in one piece for later on. He's more than my father's godson—he's my boyfriend.”

That brought on a host of shouts and hoots from around the table and what Petro thought for sure had to be a broad blush across his face.

An Air Force wing commander sitting next to Sappho jumped up and said, “Godson, sit here. I don't want to separate you two hard-working kids on your night out.”

The drunken major staggered to his feet and said, “I'll take your seat if you don't want it. I'm willing to risk breaking up the two lovebirds.” But before he could move, officers on either side of him pulled him back down onto his chair.

The wing commander waved to Petro, “Get over here, son, that's an order.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Petro.

“Pussy,” shouted the drunken major waving his glass of whisky in the general direction of Petro.

“Cool it, Major,” said Colonel Retsos.

The drunken major stared in the general direction of the colonel but said nothing, instead taking a swig from his glass.

“Sorry about that,” said the colonel as Petro sat across from him. “He's really not a bad guy, just under a lot of pressure at the moment.”

“I bet,” said Petro with a smile.

The colonel extended his hand across the table. “The name's Retsos.”

Petro shook his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Again, I apologize for his behavior.”

“No reason to, Colonel. I get it. He's just blowing off steam. The Mediterranean is one big tinderbox filled with crazies running around lighting matches, and Greece sits on the edge of it all looking to you guys to keep us from going up in flames.”

“Well said.”

Petro smiled. “Feel free to use it. I've a lot of career military buddies, and you guys get nothing but blame while you should be catching only praise. Every significant problem Greece faces, from FYROM, to the masses of immigrants streaming in through Turkey, puts you on the front lines.”

The Colonel smiled. “You're starting to sound like a PR flack for the Defense Ministry.”

Petro shook his head. “Could be worse, I guess. You could have called me a politician.”

The colonel laughed. “Forgive me, please.”

Petro lifted his glass and held it up to the colonel. “Forgiven.”

They clinked glasses and launched off through many glasses of wine, accompanied by grilled eggplant, tomato
keftedhes
,
fava
, local cheeses, and a host of other Santorini appetizer specialities, into focused conversation over sports, fishing, the world of the military, and how lucky Petro was to have Sappho in his life. Though busy entertaining the rest of the table, at the mention of that final subject, Sappho jumped in on their conversation with a one-liner that let both men know she hadn't missed a word of what they'd been saying.

“I think we'd better pick a less dangerous topic, Colonel,” said Petro, reaching over to pat the back of Sappho's hand.

She turned her hand over, took hold of Petro's, gave a quick squeeze, and let go.

“I've been so busy talking about myself, I haven't given you a chance to tell me anything about your life,” said the colonel. He waved at Petro and Sappho. “Other than the obvious, of course.”

‘What would you like to know?”

“Well, I don't know…how about what you do for a living?”

“I'm trying to get into the hotel business. As I see it, it's about the only career in Greece that looks to have a future.”

“Good thinking. Just be sure you find the right location. Like here on Santorini, for instance.”

Petro nodded. “Yes, but it's tough breaking in on this island without the proper backing.”

“For sure. You need the right backing for everything in life.”

“Even in the military?”

“
Especially
in the military. If you don't have connections, you're fucked.” He glanced at Sappho, who didn't appear to be listening. “Sorry about that,” he said to Petro.

“No problem,” said Sappho, without looking at either of them.

Petro shook his head and the colonel laughed.

“She's amazing,” said the colonel.

“For sure. She doesn't miss a trick.”

“I bet she could introduce you to backers.”

Petro leaned toward Sappho's ear and said loudly, “Won't ever happen. She wants to keep me working in the restaurant so I'm never out of her sight.”

The colonel laughed again. “Well then, maybe I can borrow her for an introduction….”

“To whom?”

The colonel took a sip of wine. “That civilian who came to dinner last night.”

Petro hoped his face remained steady. “Which guy was that? You all wore civilian clothes.”

“The one who arrived late and left early.”

“I don't know him.”

“Maybe she does?” nodding toward Sappho.

“Let's ask her,” said Petro.

“No, please don't.” The colonel reached across the table to grab Petro's forearm. “I don't want to raise the subject at the table. It's sort of a touchy one.”

“Touchy?”

“We've been going back and forth all day over whether we should try to meet with him on a policy issue. Some said yes, some said no. The brass has left it up to us to decide because they don't want to hear any more arguing over it. In fact, that's why they passed on joining us for dinner. They didn't believe us when we promised not to talk about it tonight.”

“I take it you're on the side that wants to talk to him?”

Colonel Retsos nodded.

“I don't understand why you need an introduction. Couldn't you just call him up and say you want to meet with him? After all, it's not as if you're complete strangers. You did have dinner together a night ago.”

“You're probably right. But I still have to convince a few more of my colleagues that the brass meant it when they said we could speak to him if we wanted. Trouble is, none of the brass is willing to introduce us to him. So, despite what we were told, my colleagues are worried the brass will be pissed if we do manage to get in to see him.”

“Sounds like some folks are afraid to rock the boat.”

“Bingo,” said the Colonel pointing at Petro with his wine glass. “At all levels. But what they don't understand is that meeting with this guy is our only chance of keeping the boat afloat.”

Petro raised his glass. “To floating your boat.”

“And to Greece.”

They clinked glasses and drank.

“Amen,” said Sappho reaching over and squeezing Petro's thigh. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I probably could arrange an introduction for him, if you'd like.”

Petro whispered back. “Thanks, but it's better for you to stay out of this.” He kissed her on the ear.

She turned her head and looked at him. “Well, that's a start.”

“What is?”

“The kiss.”

***

The colonel and Petro talked straight though the main course of lamb
kleftiko
—lamb and potatoes cooked in waxed paper—and
paidaikia
(lamb chops), but neither said a further word about the disagreement among the troops over approaching Prada.

Petro saw no purpose in pushing the subject. He had his answers for Andreas: Colonel Retsos had no plan for hooking up with Prada and no one was encouraging or assisting him to make it happen.
No one, except perhaps Petro, with his unintentional suggestion that he call Prada directly.

As for Andreas' desire that he fish for what Retsos might do if he couldn't get Prada to change his mind, Petro saw no non-suspicious way of raising the subject. But he did have a strong instinct on the point. He didn't see the colonel as the
coup d'état
type. He came across as a good soldier committed to the separate roles of civilian and military leadership, and to working within that framework. He also struck Petro as not the sharpest blade in the military's drawer, with traits more likely subject to exploitation by one possessing ulterior motives than to harboring any such motives of his own.