Santorini Caesars (24 page)

“I doubt they'll make you any more comfortable.”

“I know,” said Petro. “But at least I get to hold your hand.”

Sappho didn't say a word. Nor did she let go of his hand.

***

Andreas and Yianni arrived shortly after sunrise, and Petro met them outside the airport arrivals building.

“Nice ride,” said Andreas pulling forward the passenger side front seat so Yianni could squeeze into the back.

“I particularly like the neon green,” said Yianni. “So understated.”

“It's Sappho's. You guys didn't give me much notice on picking you up. I had to make do with what was available.”

“Ignore him,” said Andreas. “Just tell me what you've got for us.”

“A lot of potential hiding places, and nothing more than that. We covered what seemed every centimeter of Pyrgos and spent the rest of the night up by the square where the ceremony's taking place sitting in the living room of Sappho's aunt's house staring out a window looking for anything suspicious.”

“Did you see anything?”

“Yeah, her aunt. Sappho told her we'd come to the village for dinner, had car trouble, and needed a place to stay until morning. I don't think she believed us. She kept peeking in to see what we were up to.”

“Smart lady,” said Yianni.

Andreas drummed his fingers on the dash. “Maybe something will pop out at us in the daylight.”

“I thought the old tunnels under the castle might be the way they planned on doing it,” said Petro. “It would be the perfect escape route, because even though there are a lot of places to hide in Pyrgos, there aren't a lot of ways out. We could choke off the exits and trap them in here rather easily.”

“And they'd know that,” said Andreas.

“But the tunnels aren't passable. Sappho's father checked with his friends in construction.”

“Couldn't they just blend in among the crowd and disappear?” asked Yianni.

“Yes, but let's remember one very important thing.” Andreas paused his drumming on the dashboard. “In order for the plan to work, they can't be anonymous killers. There can be no doubt left in anyone's mind that the military orchestrated it all. They want the whole world to think that Greece's military assassinated its Prime Minister.”

“But the killers still have to get away,” said Yianni.

“Unless they actually are Greek military,” said Petros.

“Even if they are, whoever's behind it won't want them caught,” said Andreas. “At least not alive.”

“Maybe they'll use a bomb?” said Yianni. “Take out the assassin and the target at the same time”

Andreas gestured no. “I don't see Mayroon inspiring that sort of suicidal dedication in its assassins. If the killers who took out the Brigadier's daughter are any indication of the kind of talent Mayroon employs, they're not the sort willing to die for a cause. Professionals who get paid to kill for a living want to survive to spend their money. Besides, a bomb of any sort runs the risk of being confused with the non-lethal type of bombings our homegrown terrorists love to do. It muddies the blame-it-on-the-military message this whole operation is about.”

Andreas stared out the side window as they entered the outskirts of Pyrgos. “There has to be a plan that screams military and gets the assassins out alive. We just have to figure out what it is.”

Petro peeked at the clock on the dash. It read eight a.m. “We've got nine hours left to do it. The ceremony's set to take place at Santorini's signature moment of sunset.”

Andreas rubbed his forehead. “Great. Let's find a good place for breakfast, because it looks like we'll be skipping lunch.”

“Hopefully not dinner,” said Yianni.

“I know the perfect place,” said Petro.

“Have you eaten there?” said Yianni.

“No, but I spent much of last night staring out a window in its direction fantasizing over what breakfast must be like there.”

“Between the aunt peeking in on you all night, and your fantasizing over the perfect breakfast, it sounds like your girlfriend had a really great time,” said Yianni.

“You can ask her when you see her. I'm inviting her to breakfast. We'll need her to find our way around the village.” Petro glanced over at Andreas. “If that's okay with you, Chief.”

“Why not? She might even get Yianni to behave.”

“Don't bet on it.”

Petro smiled. “This could get bloody.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Breakfast on the enclosed balcony looking down over the town went well. Yianni behaved, Petro looked anxious, and Sappho acted her usual self, keeping Andreas laughing most of the time.

“I don't understand why Petro is always complaining about you, Chief. You seem like such a nice guy.”

“I'm happy Petro invited you to join us. I'm learning so much I never knew.”

“I'm here to help. Did he ever show you the little voodoo pin cushion doll he has of you?” Sappho turned to Petro. “Go ahead, honey, show him little Andy-baby.”

Yianni burst out laughing. “Andy-baby?”

“What can I say, he ordered it from America.”

“Where's that road lead?” said Petro pointing south.

“Trying to change the subject, are we?” She followed the direction of his finger. “It's the road leading to the three-hundred-year-old monastery of Profitis Ilias on the top of the mountain of the same name”

“How far is it from here?”

“Thinking of joining, are we?”

Petro's face tightened.

“About four kilometers, depending on how you measure.”

“Any other way down once you get up there?”

“Nothing like a road. There's a hiking trail down the other side of Mount Profitis Ilias that splits at Ancient Thira, with one branch going east to Kamari and the other west to Perissa.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Andreas.

“Escape routes. Like you said, it's all about escaping.”

Yianni nodded.

Andreas slapped his hand on the table. “Okay, folks, time to get to work.”

***

Much of what loomed as mysterious in the dark no longer bore a threat in daytime. The hidden corner, ominous passageway, and perfect sniper position of the night before proved to be a vendor's stall, an entryway to a tiny quiet square, and a grandmother's window for gazing down on passersby.

What also became starkly apparent in daylight was the historic beauty of this medieval village: square white- and sand-colored homes of mostly red, green, or blue doors and shutters, and bright white churches of Byzantine and cubist influence bearing a Renaissance touch here and there, all domed in Aegean blue or white. One ornate bell tower followed another, as if each were trying to outdo the other.

They'd walked up every pathway to the top, and down the same pathways to the bottom. They'd checked out every known entrance to the old tunnels, and every building or bell tower with a line on the tree-lighting ceremony. Doing just the things one would expect security to do in advance of a visit by the Prime Minister.

It was nearly three in the afternoon. The three cops and Sappho sat drinking coffee at a taverna off the main road and watching the media trek by on their way to set up for the ceremony. From the snatches of overheard conversations Andreas picked up from the crews passing by, the TV networks were doing someone a mighty big favor by putting so many of their people through so much work to cover such a soft news story.

“Anyone have any new thoughts?” said Andreas, looking into his coffee cup.

Silence.

“Me either.” Andreas lifted his head. “I have to tell the Prime Minister.”

“But if he pulls out now, we blow what's likely our only chance at catching the plotters,” said Yianni.

“From what we've come up with so far, there's a better chance that if we don't tell him he'll be dead.” Andreas shook his head. “That's not a decision for me to make. It's up to him to decide whether to take the gamble.”

“What's the chance of him believing you?” said Petro.

“Or thinking you're crazy and deciding to give in to those pressuring him to replace you?” said Yianni.

Andreas shook his head. “I won't know until I try. But for sure I'm going to try.”

Andreas took out his phone and called Maggie. “Hi, my love.”

Pause.

“Yes we're all having a wonderful holiday on Santorini while you slave away in the office. Listen, I need you to somehow patch me through to the Prime Minister without word getting to Prada that I'm trying to reach him. When you get ahold of him, I'll be available on this line.”

Pause.

“Yep, you got it. A matter of life and death.”

Andreas hung up the phone. “God bless, Maggie.” He paused. “In fact, surrounded as we are by so many magnificent churches, I think this might be a good time for all of us to pray for Greece.”

“Amen.”

***

More than fifteen minutes had passed with no word from Maggie. Andreas left the others in the taverna and walked up to the square. A half-dozen people stood talking with a blond, thirtyish male TV reporter who'd evidently told them the Prime Minister would be coming soon. Anything to generate a crowd.

Andreas' phone rang. “Maggie?”

“I can't get to him, Chief. He'd already taken off in the helicopter when I reached his secretary. I told her it was urgent and to put me through on his mobile, but she refused. She said he was on a conference call at the moment with the Chancellor of Germany and President of France. There was no way she would interrupt that call.”

“Fuck,” said Andreas.

“My sentiments exactly. I called back every five minutes but he's still on the call. I just hung up with her after giving it my best ‘it's a matter of life and death pitch,' but that didn't work either. Her answer was, ‘This financial crisis will be the death of us all.' At least she promised to tell him you called the moment he's done with Germany and France.”

Andreas gripped the phone tightly. “Somehow that doesn't sound promising. I'll have to catch him here.”

“He's supposed to land around four.”

Andreas looked at his watch. “About thirty minutes to go. Patch him through to me if you should happen to hear from him.”

“Don't hold your breath.”

“One can hope. Bye.”

He stared at the unlit tree before shifting his attention to a young, dark-haired female TV reporter speaking in English with a tourist couple. Possibly the only tourists in Pyrgos in December. She looked new to the TV news game, and he guessed not likely to recognize him. He walked toward her. “Excuse me, Miss?”

“Yes, sir?” she smiled.

“What's happening?”

“Our nation's Prime Minister will be here to join Santorini's mayor in lighting this magnificent tree.”

“Sounds exciting. When's that?”

“Sunset, at precisely five.”

“Will there be a procession up the hill?”

She gestured no. “At least certainly nothing formal like at Easter time when thousands of fire lanterns light up the hillside.”

“How's he getting up here?”

“He'll have to walk most of the way unless he uses a donkey or motorbike.” She waved her mike hand at the crews. “The guys who carry our equipment drove their vans as far in as they could, which wasn't very far.”

“At least he'll get some exercise.”

“The Prime Minister won't mind. It gives us the chance to show him walking through the village, mingling with the people.” She nodded at Andreas. “Such as with you, sir, if you decide to stay around for just another hour.”

“Do you know what route he's taking to the top?”

“Not yet. His security won't tell us until the last minute. But don't worry, we'll catch up with him and if you can't stay, you can still watch it tonight right here.” She pointed at the symbol on her mike.

“Thank you, you've been most helpful.”

She nodded and went back to her conversation in English with the tourists.

Andreas walked back down to the taverna, sat with his crew, and shook his head. “No luck. Maggie can't reach him and security hasn't decided yet how or from where they're getting him up to the tree. Though it looks like he'll be walking.”

“I still go with my original guess,” said Sappho. “It gives them choices for getting up the hill and is away from all the congestion where most will park.”

“Do you really think there'll be a crowd? The village is dead,” said Yianni.

“Of course it's dead, it's December. But the mayor is not going to be embarrassed. If you work for the island today, and want to still be working for it tomorrow, you and your entire family better be up in that square tonight, applauding like mad.”

“Anyone with any other suggestions?” said Andreas.

Petro and Yianni gestured no.

Andreas looked at his watch. “Well, it's four o'clock. The Prime Minister should just be landing at the airport. If we're right about the plot, let's hope we're also right that it's not going to happen there.”

He looked directly into Sappho's eyes. “You've been a terrific help, but when we start up the hill with the Prime Minister I don't want you coming with us.” He tapped his index finger on the tabletop. “We have no idea what's going to happen or where, but whatever it is, there's nothing more you can do to help us.”

“But—”

Andreas held up his hand. “No buts. We can't be distracted worrying about your safety. Period.”

Petro looked down.

“Okay, I get it. So let's go.” She stood up and waited for Petro to stand. She smiled at him, took his hand, and led him out the door.

Andreas and Yianni followed behind them, not saying a word.

***

When they reached the place picked by Sappho, it was obvious to Andreas that a lot of folks agreed with her, even the mayor, for he stood at the bottom of the steps amid a crowd of dignitaries. No media yet, though. They must be waiting for official word on where the entourage would stop with the Prime Minister, who should have been coming any minute.

Andreas doubted there'd be more than a few police motorcycles, followed by whatever number of SUVs were needed for the Prime Minister, his aids, and security detail. Greece hadn't yet fallen into the security gear-up frenzy plaguing other western leaders. Andreas wondered if today would change all that.

Three minutes later, the motorcade came into view as it headed south along the main road into Pyrgos. When the motorcycles reached the roundabout and turned in to park, Sappho leaned over and said to Petro. “Told you so.”

Petro smiled.

“This is it, folks. From here on out it's IDs showing and a condition red alert.” Andreas pulled his ID out from under his shirt so that it hung around his neck.

The first people out of the SUVs were the Prime Minister's security agents, the second his official photographer. The Prime Minister stepped out and waved to the crowd as he made his way over to the mayor. Cameramen came bursting around the corner, pushing through the crowds and shouting. “TV. Let us through. TV.”

“Are they always that pushy?” said Sappho.

“Yes,” said Andreas. “Now remember. Stay here. Find someplace to wait until this is over.”

Sappho nodded.

Andreas worked his way through the throng toward the Prime Minister, holding up his ID as he did. He was about six deep in the crowd away when the PM and the mayor turned and started up the steps toward the top.

No way Andreas could catch up to him through this pack. He circled left around the crowd pushing to get on the stairs and made his way along the outside of the stair railing to where he could pull himself up and over it ahead of the Prime Minister. His entrance did not go unnoticed, and two security agents stopped him before he could reach the Prime Minister.

Andreas held up his ID. They were not impressed. “I've got to speak to the Prime Minister.”

“Not now, sir.”

Andreas waved his hand at the Prime Minster, and shouted, “Prime Minister.”

One of the security agents grabbed Andreas' hand in an effort to apply a wristlock. Instead, the agent found himself doubled over in pain through the judicious application of a bit of small circle jiu-jitsu to his own hand by Andreas and thrust backwards into the Prime Minister. The second agent reached for his gun. Andreas put up his hands and said, “Play nice now in front of the cameras.”

“Andreas,” said the Prime Minister. “What's going on?”

“I must speak with you, sir. It's urgent.”

“It must be. My secretary told me your secretary had virtually camped out in my office trying to get me to speak to you. I planned on calling you as soon as this is over. I've got to run. Sunset won't wait, even for the Prime Minister of Greece.”

“It can't wait, Minister.” Andreas leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I believe there's a plan to assassinate you here.”

The Minister's trademark smile vanished and he froze in place. “What?”

“It's complicated. But everything points to it.”

“Who's behind it?”

“People close to you.”

“What people?”

The mayor tapped Andreas on the shoulder. “Sir, would you please allow the Prime Minister to move along? We'll be late for the ceremony.”

“I won't be long.”

The Prime Minister regained his composure. “Come, walk with me, Andreas. Is this your way of telling me you've reached that ‘instinct borne of facts' moment we spoke of when we last met?”

“Still no facts, sir. But instinct, yes. And there are too many people and not enough time for me to explain it all now. Just please take my word for it that if you go through with this I believe there will be an attempt on your life.”

“And if I don't, will the threat go away?”

“Likely not. If I'm right, they'll find another way to try.”

“One you won't know about.”

“Correct.”

“You do know I've taken to wearing a bulletproof vest to these events?”

“Smart, but we don't know how they plan on doing it, and they're likely terrific marksmen who expect you to be wearing one.”

“And you have no evidence of who's behind this plot?”

“Not a shred. Only conjecture.”