Santorini Caesars (23 page)

She shrugged. “Sorry, but I'm in the restaurant business, not the cloak and dagger. I can't think of anything else.”

Petro nodded. “Okay, so tell me about the top of Pyrgos where the tree-lighting ceremony will take place.”

“What's there to tell? It's set up next to what's left of the old castle. The villages of Skaros, Emborio, Oia, Akrotiri, and Pyrgos all have ancient castle ruins, but even the best-preserved suffered severe damage in the earthquake of 1956. They're made of volcanic rock and pumice mortar, the same as virtually everything else on this island. I think they date back to the Middle Ages.”

“Any military significance?”

“Today? Not that I know of.”

Petro sighed. “That's it?”

“As I said, this sort of thing isn't my bag.”

Petro stared at her without saying a word.

Sappho stared back.

“So?” said Petro.

“I assume ‘so' is your way of asking whether I believe you?”

Petro nodded.

She shrugged again. “I don't think it really matters at this moment. Unless you're a lunatic or serial killer who's come here to have your way with me, something very serious could go down on Santorini in the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Yes, it could.”

“So, whether or not I ever want to see you again,
if
what you said has even the slightest bit of possible truth to it, an assassination of our Prime Minister on Santorini would be very bad PR for our business. And, after all, above all else I am a ‘hard-nosed businesswoman.'” Sappho emphasized her words with finger quotes.

Petro nodded. “I deserved that.”

“No, you deserve a lot more, or a lot less, but that's for me to decide when my mind's in a different place.”

“Fair enough.”

She pulled out her phone and punched in a number. “Time to call the mayor. By the way, since I'm doing all this secret agent stuff do I at least get a code name or something?”

Petro's face turned deadly serious. “Absolutely. Would you prefer Crockett or Tubbs?

“Huh?”

“Miami?” Petro waved his hands in a broad gesture around the room. “Miami Vice?”

She wrinkled her forehead and gave him a blank stare.

“An old American cop show. Crockett and Tubbs are the lead cops.”

Sappho rolled her eyes. “You know, up to this point I thought we at least had a sense of humor in common.” She pressed buttons on her phone. “Another disappointment.”

***

Andreas recognized the caller ID coming through on his office line as Petro's, and picked up before Maggie could answer. “I hope you're calling with good news.”

“All I can say is I'm calling with answers.”

“That'll work.”

“My friend spoke to the mayor and he told her that an invitation to the Prime Minister to attend the tree-lighting ceremony went out a month ago.”

“A month ago? Dammit. So much for my theory. I'd have bet just about anything that Prada somehow was behind getting the PM his invitation
after
Prada had been invited to dinner with the Caesars. We're back to square one.”

“Not so fast, Chief. You'd have won your bet.”

“But the invitation was a month ago and Prada was invited to dinner with the Caesars two Fridays ago.”

“Yes, but guess when the Prime Minister
accepted
the invitation.”

Andreas sat bolt upright in his chair. “I almost wish you're not about to tell me what I know you're going to tell me.”

“Yep, two Fridays ago.”

“My God, it
is
an assassination plot.”

“The mayor said he'd been pushing the Prime Minister to come but was getting nowhere. Then out of the blue Prada called him that Friday to say the PM would love to come, but he needed to know the precise details of when and where he was expected to be on the island.”

Andreas felt goose bumps running up his arm. “Did your friend get the details?”

“My friend's very good. She dragged everything out of him with promises of a big dinner at her restaurant.”

“Is she with you now?”

“Yes.”

“Let me speak to her.”

“Chief—”

“Don't worry, just put her on the phone.”

Andreas heard a muffled back and forth.”

“Hello?”

“Is this Sappho?”

“Yes, and how did you know my name?”

“I'm Chief of Special Crimes. I'm supposed to know those sorts of things. But in case you're wondering, Petro didn't tell me. He's been very protective of you. Even fought with me over getting you involved in this. I want to thank you for making me look good in front of him. Your help's been invaluable and proven me right.”

“Anything I can do to make him look bad is fine with me.”

Andreas stifled a laugh. “Well, as I said, you've been a very big help to me, if that helps you any.”

“I just wish I could have got you a better line on where the attempt might take place. All the mayor could tell me was that it's going to be a quick in and out trip. Straight from the airport to Pyrgos for the ceremony, and immediately back to the airport.”

“How are they getting from the bottom of Pyrgos to the top?”

“The mayor didn't know, but my guess is our Prime Minister would like to be seen as a vigorous young leader and will likely hike up the hill through the village streets greeting everyone who comes out to see him along the way.”

Andreas nodded at the phone. “I'm sorry to say that sounds about right.” He paused. “That's all very helpful, thank you, but the primary reason I wanted to speak to you was to tell you that you've done a great service for your country.”

Pause.

“Did you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, but do you mind if I call you back?”

“Call me back?”

“Yes. You see, Petro placed this call and for all I know—”

Andreas burst out laughing. “I get it, you want to make sure I'm who I say I am. I wish everyone were as cautious as you. Sure, feel free, but I won't give you my number. That would defeat the purpose. May I speak to Petro again?”

Pause.

“Yes, Chief.”

“She's a winner.”

“I know.”

Andreas swallowed. “We've got a serious problem. I've no doubt there'll be an attempt on the PM's life, and most likely in Pyrgos. I want you up there right away. Check to see if anything strikes you as unusual, different, or out of line.”

“It'll be dark by the time I get there.”

“Trust me, whoever plans on assassinating our Prime Minister will be working through the night.”

“That's not what I meant.” There was a slight bristle to Petro's voice. “I've never been to Pyrgos. I have no idea what's ‘unusual, different, or out of line.'”

“So, find a local you can trust to help you. And let me know when you get there. Any questions?”

Pause. “No.”

“Good. And you're doing great work. Keep it up.”

“I'll try my best. Bye.”

Andreas put down the phone. He knew he'd been tough on the kid, so much so that had his conversation with Petro been face-to-face he might have had to duck a few times. His efforts to do some repair work on the inevitable damage his demands surely wreaked on Petro's relationship with Sappho probably wouldn't help much, but the bottom line was Andreas had no choice. The Prime Minister's life was on the line.

Everyone else's life would just have to wait.

***

Petro put his phone back in his pocket and rubbed at his chin.

“Are you thinking of an appropriate thing to say?”

“More like how do I tell you that I have to leave?”

“I heard. For Pyrgos.”

He nodded. “Not sure what I'm looking for, but I've got to start on it right away.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Could be. The chief wants me looking for anything abnormal, but if there really is a plot to assassinate the Prime Minister tomorrow, the bad guys must be up there making sure everything looks just the opposite. My wandering around on a rainy night might just be the bit of abnormal that tips
them
off, and who knows how they'll react to that?”

“I think you need a local to give you cover.”

“The chief said sort of the same thing.”

“Which reminds me. I'm debating whether I should call to verify if he's who you said he is.”

Petro waved a hand in the air. “Go ahead, knock yourself out. They're your message units.”

“Okay, I've made up my mind.” Sappho lifted her purse off the table as she stood up. “Let's go,” and headed toward the door.

“Go where?”

“To Pyrgos.”

“You're not coming with me. I just said it could be dangerous.”

She stopped and turned around. “What other local can you call for help who you can trust with what you're up to? Do you even know another local?”

Petro looked at his feet.

“Besides, I like your boss. He actually tried to make you sound as if you cared for me.”

“I do.”

She waved one hand in the air. “Enough already with the
kamaki
lines.”

“Whoa, I'm not a
kamaki
.”

“As I understand the meaning of
kamaki,
and I'm not talking about the little trident that fishermen use to spear the innocent octopus, any man who does whatever it takes to seduce the woman of his interest at the moment is a
kamaki
.”

Petro shut his eyes.

“Counting to ten are we?”

“Don't you ever let up?”

“I will once we get to work. I don't want our Prime Minister assassinated, and as I said before, certainly not on Santorini.”

Petro set his jaw. “You'll have to do whatever I say.”

“Don't I always?” Sappho fluttered her eyelashes.

Petro rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips and shook his head. “Why do I just know I'm going to regret this?”

Chapter Twenty-two

Andreas told Yianni to pick him up at home the next morning in time for them to make the first flight out of Venizelos International Airport to Santorini. He'd decided against requisitioning ministry aircraft for the trip as that presented too big a risk of word getting back to Prada. No way he'd see Andreas flying to Santorini that morning as anything other than a warning to call off whatever was on for that night.

Now came the most dangerous part of his plan: telling his more than eight-months-pregnant wife that he was leaving town. He wasn't looking forward to what he expected to follow her inevitable words, “For how long?” so he made a tactical decision to stop along the way for flowers.

He floated, “Hi, honey, I'm home,” out into the apartment as soon as he walked through the front door.

No answer.

He walked through the rooms looking for any sign of life. “Hello?”

Marietta met him just outside the kitchen. “Mr. Kaldis, Mrs. Kaldis is sleeping.”

“Was trying to,” came from the living room.

“Oops,” said Andreas, handing the flowers to Marietta and heading on toward Lila lying on the sofa in a cream silk bathrobe.

“Sorry about that, my love.” Andreas bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

“You're home early.”

“How are you feeling?” He sat on a chair next to the sofa up by her head.

“Just perfect. Feet swollen to where I have no ankles, battery acid popping into my throat every time I lie down, and don't even ask what it's like when I need the loo.”

Andreas smiled. “Hope I'm not catching too much blame.”

“Blame? For this?” Lila pointed at her belly. “No.” She sighed. “Though at times I must admit there's a bit of resentment at how men get to go on living their lives without any of the physical restrictions we have to put up with.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh, but it's all worth it in the end.”

She reached out her hand and Andreas took it. “So, why are you home early?”

“To spend time with you,” he swallowed. “Before I have to leave for Santorini in the morning.” He braced for her to drop her hand.

She didn't. “I rest my case.”

“That's not what I thought you'd say.”

“For how long?”

“That's better.”

Marietta came into the room carrying Andreas' flowers in a vase. “Mrs. Kaldis, look at the beautiful flowers Mr. Kaldis brought for you.”

Lila used Andreas' hand to pull herself up to a sitting position. “Oh, so you'll be away for
that
long.”

Marietta put the flowers on a table next to the sofa and quickly left the room.

Andreas waited until Lila seemed to have found a comfortable sitting position. “At least one night.”

“At least?”

Andreas looked back toward the kitchen then leaned forward and whispered. “I think we've uncovered a plot to assassinate the Prime Minister. We think it's planned to go down tomorrow night.”

Lila crossed herself. “My God, who's behind it?”

Andreas swung over onto the sofa beside her. “We don't have a scrap of hard evidence. It's all speculation at this point.”

“Names, please.”

“As I see it, Prada for sure, and likely Babis. A lot of effort has gone in to setting it up to look like a military operation so that the military takes the fall, but to me it's all pointing to a foreign-run organization.”

“What foreigners?”

“An international consulting firm called the Mayroon Group.”

Lila shook her head. “That sounds crazy. Like a James Bond film.”

“Until it happens, then the entire world says it was so obvious, how could the authorities have missed it?”

“But what do they have to gain?”

“Power and first claim on our nation's assets. They helped get the Prime Minister where he is, but he's no longer playing ball with them.”

“Then I take it their purpose is not to create a more perfect socialist state.”

“I don't think the label matters. All they want is a more perfect puppet government to control.”

“They want to seize power so that the seizers can rule?”

Andreas nodded.

Lila shook her head and slapped her hands on the sofa. “Is there anyone anywhere in our government who actually cares about our country? Our families? I'm sick and tired of one politician after another, one party after another, all focused only on what puts money in their pockets and nothing else.
They're
the reason we've got this Mayroon Group, and who knows how many others like them, believing they can direct our future. We're just numbers to them.” She smacked the sofa again and sighed. “I'm worried.”

“About what?”

Lila rubbed her belly. “I fear for our children's future if we remain in Greece.”

Andreas put his arm around his wife. “You're really wound up.”

Lila rested her head upon his shoulder as tears welled up in her eyes. “I'm more worried about you. If these people are willing to assassinate our Prime Minister and they think you might be able to stop them….”

Andreas kissed her on the forehead. “Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to me. There's no way for Mayroon to know I'm on to them.”

“You can't be sure.”

“You have to trust me on that.”

“But why does it have to be you? We can live anywhere in the world.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Good question. Every day I go to work at a job that at times seems hopeless. And, yes, I've asked myself, ‘Why do I care when so many others seem not to?' ‘Why don't I quit?' ‘Why don't we move out of Greece as so many we know already have?' For me the answer is simple.
I don't want the bastards to win
.”

Andreas paused. “Greece came this close,” pinching his thumb and index finger nearly together, “to getting booted off the euro, possibly falling out of the European Union.

Andreas bit at his lip. “If Mayroon succeeds, we face the same fate as if we'd exited the EU. Our country run by profiteers, where the strong rule as unchecked as feudal lords, taking whatever they can from the weak. And those lords will not all be Greeks, certainly not in places where foreigners come with great wealth to spend on great vices. We'll all suffer, especially our children. Or we'll join the stream of migrants passing through Greece on their way to hoped-for better lives in other lands.” Andreas shook his head. “I can't allow that to happen.”

Lila lifted her head from his shoulder. “You can't stop it alone.”

“I can try.”

“How?”

Andreas stared toward the Acropolis. “I wish I knew. I really wish I knew.”

Lila reached over and turned his face toward hers. “The flowers are lovely. And a wise decision on how to deal with a cranky wife.”

“You're not—”

Lila put a finger to his lips. “Of course I am.” She kissed him.

“Okay, I know when not to disagree with you.”

Lila smacked him lightly across the chest. “I'm glad your sense of humor is back.”

“Why?”

“Because I've changed the color in the baby's room again.”

I guess that means we're staying.

***

Sappho parked her car at the edge of a roundabout close by a taverna and next to a long series of ascending, pebble-inlaid, deep-tread steps, set off on the left by a blue double-pipe railing, and on the right by a white masonry wall bearing a sign in the shape of an arrow marked CASTLE pointing up the steps.

She stepped out of the car and stood next to the driver side door. Not a bit of sunshine, starlight, or moonbeams made it through the cloud cover, but at least it wasn't raining; the sky held a dull milky-gray glow in its clouds. She watched Petro pull up and park his motorcycle next to her. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Nope, not a chance. I just decided you needed space.” He smiled.

Sappho forced a grin on an otherwise grim face. “My guess is this is the entrance they'll use if the Prime Minister plans on walking up to the top. The main square is a bit farther down the road, but this gives him options on the route to the top.”

“It's as good a place as any to start. We can check out the other possibilities later.”

“You really don't plan on sleeping tonight, do you?”

“Just lead the way,” he waved his hand toward the steps, but abruptly held it up for her to stop. “What about that?” He pointed to a sign warning that vehicles parked where they'd parked would be towed.

“I'm local. They know my car. No one will tow me.”

“What about me?”

She shrugged. “Who cares? Let's go.” She started toward the steps.

Petro followed, shaking his head. “Hey, show some mercy. I might get shot at before this is over.”

“I can't wait.”

The name Pyrgos meant tower or castle, and much of the village's modern-day attraction remained rooted in the diligent preservation of its medieval configuration and atmosphere, despite having grown far beyond its original castle walls. What remained of Pyrgos' roughly fifteenth-century castle sat atop the highest village on the island, silhouetted against the slopes of Mount Profitis Ilias. The village once boasted a citadel ringed by the solid outer walls of abutting houses built as a protective perimeter for an enclosed community of churches, houses, stables, assorted hiding places, and a labyrinth of passageways. The citadel's narrow roads followed the contours of the hillside, leading up to a single entrance into the castle, one guarded from above by a place where boiling oil would rain down upon invaders successful enough to overcome its other defenses. If all else failed, the village relied upon a system of underground tunnels for its ultimate escape plan.

Petro followed Sappho's lefts and rights, twists and turns, up dimly lit stone steps and stretches of paths, past one church after another.

“How many churches are in this village?” he asked.

“Last I heard, around forty-five. You should see them during the day. Some of them look like they belong on top of a wedding cake.”

They entered a small square. More steps on the far side led up to yet another church.

“Let's stop here for a minute,” said Petro.

“Tired already?”

“No, we need to talk about a plan.”

She pointed to a wall without windows over by the steps. “Over there. Too many eavesdroppers in this town.”

“In every town.” Petro leaned in and whispered to her, “I sense we're almost at the top.”

She nodded. “Up the steps is the Church of Agios Nikolaos. From there it's not far to what remains of the castle and Theotokaki, a tenth-century church inside the castle walls.”

“But where's the tree?”

“In the square in front of the entrance to the castle. Aristocrats used to gather there in what was called The Coffee Shop High Up.”

“Catchy name,” said Petro.

“So much for the history lesson. What's your plan on figuring out where the bad guys are?”

Petro let out a breath and leaned his back against the wall. “It's all closely packed buildings with doorways, windows, rooftops, and a million other places to hide, plus church bell towers that give a potential shooter an angle on practically every part of the village….” He waved his hand in the air. “We're in a literal assassin's paradise.”

“That doesn't sound promising.”

“It isn't.”

Sappho walked toward the steps. “Well, let's head on up for a look at the tree.”

“Whoa. Two people wandering about in the dark in lousy weather in front of an unlit Christmas tree is about as obvious a tip-off as I can think of for anyone on the lookout for something out of the ordinary.”

“So, hold my hand and act as if you're hoping to get lucky.”

Petro bit his tongue and took her hand. The best play at the moment for improving his situation seemed to be no retort, witty or otherwise.

They took their time reaching the square, pausing every so often along the way to enhance the image of two lovers strolling aimlessly in the dark. The square looked smaller than he imagined, only thirty meters long by less than half that in width, but the unlit tree stood out in bold silhouette against the clouds.

“Impressive-looking tree,” said Petro.

“Usually there's more light up here. I guess they're keeping it dark so that when the tree goes live tomorrow night it'll make a big impression. I've been thinking,” whispered Sappho in his ear, “there are a lot of places to hide, but unless your assassins are suicidal, they don't want to be caught.”

Petro nodded. “I agree with that.”

“Which means they need to find a place with a clear escape route.”

“Do you know of any?”

“Regrettably, a lot. This village was built with escaping from pirates in mind. But they'd have to be a local to know the secrets.”

“I doubt they're local. But who knows what they know?”

“My grandfather used to play in a tunnel under the castle as a kid. It ran from here to Exo Gonia. It would have been perfect for what you have in mind, but it was destroyed in the earthquake of 1956.”

“Anyone ever try to repair it?”

“The town tried in 1996 but stopped because it wasn't technically feasible.”

“Do you know where the old tunnel entrances are?”

She gestured no. “Are you thinking your assassins dug out a tunnel?”

Petro gestured no back. “They wouldn't have had time. I just want to make sure no one else might have done the repair work and our bad guys know about it.”

“I'll ask my father.”

Both stood staring at the tree outlined against the sky.

“Where to now?” she asked.

“Let's check out the other routes the Prime Minister might take to get up here.”