Santorini Caesars (5 page)

Chapter Six

Andreas did not recognize the stern-faced secretary of indeterminate age sitting at the desk outside the minister's office. She, too, was new to the ministry, having joined her boss when he left his position as his party's Assistant General Secretary in charge of Event Coordination, a position the pundits often characterized as “Riot Coordinator.”

To give the devil his due, if anyone ought to know how best to deter—if not actually control—demonstrations, it would be the rebels' former organizer-in-chief. But that assumed Babis-the-minister was willing to risk revealing his longtime secrets to his erstwhile enemies. After all, Greek politics being what they were, today's minister could well be tomorrow's anti-establishment rock-tosser.

The thought brought one of Lila's favorite quips from a classic American cartoon character into Andreas' mind: “We have met the enemy and he is us.” He smiled at the line.

“Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis and Detective Kouros to see the minister,” he told the woman.

She fixed a frown and her tiny bird-like eyes on Andreas' face. “I'm not sure what has you smiling, Chief Inspector, but the minister said to send you right in.” She did not get up from behind her desk.

“A swamp-living cuddly possum named Pogo. No need to show us in, I know the way.”

She looked at him as if he were a visitor from another planet.

Perhaps I am
, he thought as he and Yianni headed toward a dark, heavy wooden door leading into what until a few months before had been his own office.

Andreas pulled open the door and stepped inside with Yianni right behind him. Babis sat off to the left behind an ornately carved antique mahogany desk far different from the standard-issue desk of Andreas' tenure. The Brigadier sat in one of two bottle-green leather armchairs across from the minister, and a man in a dark brown sport coat with an upturned collar sat in the other.

“Close the door, Kaldis,” barked Babis.

Yianni turned to shut the door.

“No, Yianni, let me do it.” Andreas stepped toward the door and pulled it gently shut. “It just might be the last thing he tells me to do that I can agree with.”

The Brigadier gave a strained chuckle.

“Stop being a wiseass and sit down,” said Babis.

Andreas walked away from where Babis sat toward two pairs of straight back wooden chairs facing each other across an expensive oriental rug. He passed by the chairs and chose a chocolate leather Chesterfield sofa at the far end of the office. Yianni stood by the door.

“I like what you've done with the place, Babis. A trifle costly, but as long as it makes you feel more in touch with your roots—”

“Why are you sitting at the opposite end of the room?” said Babis.

“I'm hoping distance might make my heart grow fonder.”

The man next to the Brigadier pointed his thumb back over his shoulder at Andreas and said to Babis. “Why do you tolerate a subordinate speaking to you like that?”

Babis shrugged. “I told you he was difficult. But you wanted him here.”

“And who, pray tell, are you?” asked Andreas.

“None of your business,” said the man without looking his way.

Andreas waved for Yianni to join him on the couch. “
Kali mera
, Brigadier.”

The Brigadier turned his head and nodded at Andreas. “Good morning, Chief Inspector.”

As Yianni sat down next to him Andreas said, “It might be easier for us to have this conversation, gentlemen, if you turned your chairs around slightly so we're not looking at the backs of your heads.”

The Brigadier stood and rearranged his chair. The other man didn't budge.

“By the way, nice dye job,” said Andreas to the back of the man's head.

The man flashed Andreas an open palm—the Greek equivalent of the American middle finger—but still did not turn around.

“Who's he?” whispered Yianni to Andreas.

Andreas whispered back. “No idea, but someone who thinks he's important.”

“And if he is, you're not exactly charming him.”

“I'm not worried. I have you for backup.”

“Are you two finished chatting among yourselves?” said Babis.

Andreas nodded. “We're just trying to figure out if the red line on the back of mystery man's jacket collar means it's Prada or a blood pressure indicator.”

This time the man in Prada flipped Andreas the middle finger.

“Ah, so you're multilingual,” said Andreas. “I take that to mean you're from some intelligence branch. Bet you speak Russian too.”

“Enough!” shouted Babis. “We have serious things to discuss.”

“On that point,” said the Brigadier, “Why don't we begin with someone telling me why I'm here. More importantly, why is he here?” He pointed at the man next to him.

“Patience, Brigadier. We'll get to it in due time,” said the man.

The Brigadier leaned toward the man. “In case you've forgotten, I'm a Brigadier in the Hellenic Military and I'm not in the habit of being spoken to that way.”

The man in Prada leaned in toward the Brigadier. “You exist only because the people say you exist. You serve the people and you shall act as the people decide.”

“I think you should do as he says,” said Babis.

“With all due respect, Minister, you are not my minister, and you have no authority to order me to do squat.”

“Tsk, tsk,” uttered the man. “I would think you'd want to know who murdered your only child.”

Color rose in the Brigadier's face and his clenched fist pressed hard on the arm of the chair.

“It's getting interesting,” whispered Andreas to Yianni.

“Bet the Brigadier decks Prada.”

“Sir,” said the Brigadier staring daggers at Prada. “If in the next thirty seconds I don't get a full explanation of what this is about, I'm calling my commander, the minister of defense, for instructions on how to handle what's beginning to smell like a very inappropriate meeting.”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” said Prada, shaking his head.

“You've twenty seconds left,” growled the Brigadier.

Prada slapped his hands on the sides of the chair. “Very well, have it your way.” He nodded at Babis. “Tell him.”

Babis leaned back in his chair. “You are here at the request of our Prime Minister's State Security Police.”

“I never heard of any such branch,” said the Brigadier.

“Nor have I,” whispered Andreas.

“We function under the direction of the Prime Minister,” said Prada. “To secure the state from subversive elements seeking to undo the will of the people.”

“What the hell?” Andreas jumped up from the couch. “Last I checked, our Constitution doesn't permit secret police.”

Not looking at Andreas, Prada said, “I suggest you hold your tongue, Chief Inspector.”

Andreas bolted across the room to the man's chair and swung it around with Prada still in it. “Permit me to rephrase it. ‘Our Constitution doesn't permit secret police,
asshole
.'”

“I'll have you arrested,” snarled Prada, revealing badly misaligned teeth.

“Then let me give you something to remember me by.” Andreas cocked his fist.

“No!” shouted the minister.

The Brigadier reached up and grabbed Andreas' arm. “Please, Chief Inspector, if any one gets to hit the bastard, let it be me.”

Andreas threw up his hands and pointed a finger at Babis. “This has something to do with you.
Explain
.”

“How dare you—”

“No way this asshole could have police powers without your involvement. No way.”

Babis cleared his throat. “Yes, that's true. And the State Security Police is a duly formed body under the powers of this ministry. Its chief,” he nodded toward Prada, “reports directly to the Prime Minister. Through me, of course.”

“Of course,” said Prada.

“Wait until the press gets ahold of this,” said Andreas.

“The media,” scoffed Prada, “they are more concerned with their licenses and staying in the good graces of our government than in the nuts and bolts of police structure. And if you're talking about those few reactionary lackeys intent on terrorizing our people with false reports of our government's aims and aspirations, they are being appropriately dealt with.”

Andreas stared at Prada for a moment then looked at the Babis. “I get it, this is some sort of a practical joke. But I think it's in bad taste to involve the Brigadier. So why don't you tell us what's really going on?”

Prada spoke through a clenched jaw. “You, Kaldis, are about to be arrested for interfering with the people's right of free assembly. It was your decision to remove the girl's body from the scene of her murder that brought such horrid turmoil to our beloved country. And you trespassed on university property in direct violation of our Constitution.”

Andreas looked at Babis. “Is this guy serious?”

“I gave you the chance to apologize, but you refused.”

Prada nodded. “Plus, you assaulted me.”

The Brigadier cleared his throat. “And why am I here?”

“Simply to demonstrate to the people your sincere and genuine appreciation to the government for not allowing the fascist cop who defiled your daughter's sacrifice to the people to go unpunished.”

Andreas clenched his fists.

“In other words, you want me to give my blessing to what you have in mind for Kaldis?”

“And your wife's blessing, too, of course.”

The Brigadier nodded. “And if I don't?”

“It will be a shame to see such an illustrious military career ruined.” Prada rocked his head from side to side. “Especially after all you've overcome, what with your father's past.”

“I see,” said the Brigadier. He rose to his feet and bowed to the minister. “I thank you for inviting me but I'm afraid I won't be able to help you out with this.”

“Then you're through,” said Prada from his chair.

The Brigadier turned to Prada. “Remember what you said before about Kaldis assaulting you? I don't think I'll be a very good witness for the prosecution.”

“Why not? You saw what he did to me, and you have a duty to testify honestly.”

“Yes, but all he did was swing your chair around with you in it. That's nothing compared to…”

The Brigadier reached down, yanked Prada out of his chair by his jacket, and threw him across the desk onto Babis' lap. “And if I ever see your hyena face again I'll rearrange your teeth.”

“Don't bother,” said Andreas putting a calming hand on the Brigadier's shoulder. “It would only improve his appearance.”

“You're all under arrest,” spit out Prada as he struggled to get to his feet.

Andreas turned to Yianni, who'd come off the couch and stood by the door. “Detective, do your duty. Take us away.”

***

No alarms went off and no one attempted to stop the three men moving briskly away from the minister's office.

“We need to talk,” said Andreas.

“Not here,” said the Brigadier, looking over his shoulder at two security guards chatting up a secretary. “Who knows what that prick might decide to do.”

“Which one?” said Yianni.

“Take your pick.”

Andreas smiled. “How about Dal Segno? Is that public enough for you?”

“Sure. I'll see you there in fifteen minutes.” They stepped outside the building and the Brigadier waved to his driver. “You're welcome to ride with me. I'll bring you back for your car when we're done.”

“Thanks, but it might not still be here when we got back.”

The Brigadier nodded, got into the backseat, and was gone.

“I like that waving to his driver bit,” said Andreas as he and Yianni walked toward their marked blue-and-white cruiser.

“That only works if you're willing to let someone else drive,” said Yianni holding out his hand for the car keys.

Andreas waved him off. “Sort of like our minister.”

“Huh?”

“From what I saw upstairs, Babis is definitely not driving the ministry.”

“I wonder who that Prada guy is?” said Yianni.

“No idea. I never saw him before.”

“Me either. Maybe we can get an ID on him from the photos.”

“What photos?” said Andreas.

“The ones I took on my phone while you and the Brigadier were playing beat up on the troll.”

***

With its fancy shops, restaurants, residences, and reputation as Athens' ritziest downtown area, the Kolonaki neighborhood was a discouraged destination for public appearances by leaders of the current government. The area's affluent lifestyle didn't fit the party's working class image, and at the top of the list of places to avoid stood Dal Segno Caffe with its reputation as the inner sanctum for Greece's old-line political lions.

Which made it the perfect place to meet.

Andreas drove up onto a pedestrian walkway next to the cafenion and parked.

Yianni shook his head. “First assault, now illegal parking. You're a damn closet recidivist.”

“Just order the coffees. I'll find us a table.”

They headed toward a storefront made of broad glass, polished natural wood, green marble, and Parisian green trim, and walked through a break in a line of sidewalk café tables into the cafenion.

“Pick out some of those too,” said Andreas pointing at an array of Italian cookies and assorted sandwiches inside a glass display case.

“I'll have to report you to Lila.”

Andreas waved an open palm in Yianni's direction as he stepped out onto an awning-covered patio. He headed toward an empty table tucked away in a corner behind the patio's lone tree.

He wondered how real his risk of arrest was. It made no sense, but if this government truly represented the left wing coup so many accused it of being, anything could happen. Tassos had told him many stories of how the Colonels ran their right wing junta. No reason to think these guys on the left would be any different. After all, Stalin wasn't a pussycat. But he couldn't worry about that. Prada might be hoping to make him a symbol of police aggression, but that would be hard to pull off if the parents of the murdered girl didn't go along with it, and impossible if the Brigadier spoke out in Andreas' defense.