Mykonos After Midnight

Chapter Twenty

Andreas and Kouros made it from the apartment to the harbor town of Vouliagmeni south of Athens in thirty minutes. This was Greece’s most exclusive marina, where the rich and mega-rich kept their private yachts. The forty-eight-foot Uniesse’s engines roared to life the moment the two cops stepped out of the taxi. The two jumped on board, cast off the mooring lines, and were underway.

“It should take us less than three hours to reach Lia,” said the captain.

“I really appreciate this, Zanni,” said Andreas.

“Appreciate what? An excuse for me to get out of the house for a moonlight, full-throttle sprint across a calm sea? I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Andreas laughed and smacked him on the back. “I also appreciate your keeping this just between us.”

“No problem. Like I said, I should be thanking you.”

The nearly full moon had turned the sea to silver glass, spewed out as diamonds in the breaking wake of the ship.

Andreas whispered to Kouros. “When you see the world looking as serenely at peace as it does tonight, it’s pretty hard to imagine all the deep shit we’re in.”

“Yeah, but did I hear him right? Are we headed to Lia beach, on Mykonos? We may as well have stayed in Athens.”

“Relax. Lia’s on the island’s southeast corner, far away from all the late night craziness, and with any luck we’ll be in and out of there long before any early risers are around to notice us.”

“But Mykonos is the first place the press will look for you when they can’t find you in Athens.”

“We’re not staying at Lila’s parents’ house. That’s where they’ll look. We’re using the home of American friends. They won’t be back until September. Their house is isolated at the top of a rutted, dirt mountain road far away from any beach. No tourist ever goes up there except by mistake, and the neighbors can’t see a thing over the walls surrounding the place.”

“Sounds like Meteora.”

Kouros was referring to the community of soaring, massive gray stone pillars in central Greece where for more than a thousand years many sought monastic seclusion among its virtually inaccessible heights.

“Not quite, we won’t have to hoist ourselves up in baskets. Lila arranged for one of her parents’ cars to be left by the beach.”

“I sure hope this works.”

“The house has television, so if it doesn’t, I’m sure the networks will tell us.”

***

The house sat high above the sea, facing south across the relatively undeveloped far southeastern shoreline of Mykonos. Centuries-old walls ran down from the property toward the sea, marking boundaries, holding back erosion, shading goats from the sun, and offering sanctuary to lizards from predators.

Its owners had taken great care to build in keeping with the habitat. The gardens were desert-like, with natural stone and unpainted wood featured in everything they built. The property literally faded into the mountain, and to find it even those who knew where it was often had to think, “Look just below and to the right of the mountaintop radar station.”

The sun was still low in the eastern sky, and Andreas sat outside having coffee on a stone terrace spanning the south side of the house.

“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Kouros coming out onto the terrace with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“I’m a bit wound up.”

“I bet.”

Kouros stared at a span of islands spread out across a rose-blue sea running off to the horizon. “What a view.”

“Sure is. Makes it worthwhile getting up at dawn.” Andreas took a sip of coffee. “I’ve been trying to figure out which ones they are. I recognize Naxos and Paros off to the west.”

“I was in the navy and used to know that stuff. Let me see if I still remember them.” Kouros stared east for about a half minute.

“Okay, the one way off in the distance to the left is Ikaria. It gets a lot of play in the foreign press about a relaxed lifestyle that has quite a few Ikarians living to be over a hundred.”

“Mykonians say that’s because they’re just too bored on Ikaria to bother to die.”

Kouros laughed. “The next one is only about six or seven miles from here. It’s uninhabited, all rock and cliffs, and the locals call it Stapodia. Beyond it is Donousa, and off to its right but so far away it’s hard to make out even on a clear day is Amorgos. You were right about the last two, Naxos is across from us and Paros is next to it on the right.”

“Well done, sailor. Now, could you tell me when that rash of white overrunning those beaches to the right of us is going to spread over here and kill this view.”

Kouros pointed to some dots of white along the beaches directly below them. “The infection has already started.” He took a sip of coffee. “Build, build, build.”

“That’s been our countrymen’s mantra since the eighties. It’s all about the money. Either having it or giving the impression that you do. And for those with that mindset, building a house on Mykonos was a surefire way of showing yourself part of the in-crowd, or able to spend as if you were.”

“Tell me about it. The other night I met a woman in a nightclub and when I told her I was a cop who spent time on Mykonos she thought I was loaded. But as soon as I told her I was an honest cop she walked out on me.”

Andreas laughed. “I assume you wanted her to go.”

“Well, to be honest, I told her that last part after.”

Andreas shook his head and grinned. “What the hell has happened to us, my friend. ‘Nothing in excess’ once was Greece’s guiding principle. Now it’s, ‘Nothing is ever enough.’”

“I wonder what the Mykonian perspective is on all this?” Kouros spread out his arms and waved them in the direction of the beaches below.

“I’m not sure there is a ‘Mykonian perspective’ on things these days beyond one they share with the rest of Greece over how this financial catastrophe will end.”

Andreas sipped his coffee and stared at the sea. “But Lila once told me something about Mykonos that might help answer your question.”

“Go for it.”

“For most of their history Mykonians were an overlooked people living in poverty under a range of different foreign occupiers, some good, some not. They saw their families slaughtered, carried off as slaves, die from strange diseases brought to their island from foreign lands, and starve to death.

“They also witnessed the rise of the greatest civilization of its time within a mile of their island, on a place one twenty-fifth Mykonos’ size, where hundreds of years before the birth of Christ more than twice as many people lived as currently do on Mykonos. In its day Delos was the place to be and to party, filled with lavish homes, temples, theaters, athletic facilities and places of commerce far outstripping any comparable lifestyle on Mykonos today.

“But in the blink of an eye it all was gone. Leveled, destroyed, wiped off the face of the earth for having made an unwise political choice.

“As Mykonians, they live amid constant reminders of that precipitous past, for the marble and much of the carved stone that embellishes their homes and churches today comes from Delos’ razed civilization of two thousand years ago.

“So, I guess if there is a ‘Mykonian perspective’ to be applied to our times it’s that although their island has prospered and will likely survive our nation’s current crisis far better than anywhere else in Greece, ‘all fame is fleeting, all glory fades.’ In time, new occupiers will come to their island bringing new ideas and different methods. When that will occur and whether the transition will be glorious or not, who can say? But it will happen. Always has, always will.”

Kouros nodded. “That’s a bit heavy for this early in the morning. I could have used more coffee. But if you want my opinion on what drives this place it’s simple. The locals may bitch and moan about what’s happened to their island but they’ve let it happen for one very simple reason.”

“Which is?”

“Precisely what we were talking about before. They like the money. Period. End of story.”

Andreas looked back at the sea. “I see things somewhat differently. But you have a point. One that makes me think perhaps we’re going at Sergey the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re focused on finding the two guys who murdered Christos, but even if we do and they finger Sergey, it’s their word against his. It might screw up his plans for going into business here, because whether he’s guilty or not, once accused, the locals will drive him off the island, but it won’t put him away. To really hurt that bastard we have to reach the core of what’s driving him.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Follow the money. It can’t be Sergey’s. There must be somebody bankrolling him. If we find where the money’s coming from, we might have a better idea of where it’s headed.”

“We already know he’s buying the hotel.”

Andreas shook his head. “Not nearly enough of a return for all the shit he’s stirring up. It’s got to be something else. Something much bigger.”

“So, where do we start?”

“With another cup of coffee and more staring at the sea. Not quite sure yet how we’ll get there without access to the Europol resources I had as Chief.”

Kouros smiled. “We still have Tassos.”

“And Maggie.”

“Wonder what they’re up to?”

“Hopefully, something a lot more productive than we are,” said Andreas.

“Speak for yourself. I intend on spending the afternoon working on my tan.”

“Probably about as good a plan as any while we wait for the next round of shit to hit the fan.” Andreas put down his coffee cup. “I just wish I knew who the hell was going to throw it.”

***

Sergey sat eating breakfast in his room. He would liked to have had it in a taverna or cafenion along the port, but even with his poor Greek he could tell that the moment he walked into one he instantly became the topic of conversation. It was to be expected. Small towns and islands were like that, always looking for new subjects of interest for the gossip mill.

But he figured the less he showed his face around town the less talk his presence stimulated. They could talk as much as they wanted later, after he had his hands on those files.

He was pissed. The two men with Anna had done just as he’d told them to do: disappear off the face of the earth. No way to find them without Teacher’s help. But if he asked for her help she’d definitely ask, “Why?” Might even want to know when he expected to have Christos’ files.

He couldn’t risk that. He must have them before she asked. They were necessary for the next step, to do the magic that would make it all come together.

He shook his head. No way he dared do anything that might start Teacher thinking he was less than perfect.

Those two sons of bitches just better stay hidden until after he had the files. Once he did, Teacher probably would want to find the two herself, just to clear up loose ends.

He heard a knock on the door.

“Come in. It’s open.”

Wacki entered wearing fire engine red jeans, a different florescent yellow Hawaiian shirt, white Louis Vuitton beach sandals, and red-frame sunglasses.

“Is there any other man on the island who dresses like you?”

“There’s nobody, man or woman, who dresses like Wacki.”

Sergey suppressed a smile. “So, what has you up and about before noon?”

“The files you’re interested in. I’ve been asking around. About the fat cop. And whether anybody knew anything about him and some files. I told folks there was money in it.”

“And?”

“A Bulgarian cleaning lady who works at the airport called me this morning. Bitch woke me up.”

“Just get to the point.”

“Okay, okay. A few mornings ago she was cleaning up the baggage area to get it ready for the first flight of the day in from Athens when she heard someone forcing open the sliding doors leading into the baggage area from the terminal. It’s illegal to do that but sometimes locals who don’t want to wait outside for their friends do it anyway.

“It was a fat guy with a briefcase and she told him he shouldn’t be in there. He thanked her for being a ‘concerned citizen’ but said he was a cop on official business and continued walking toward the doors leading out to the runway.

“He stood by the doors until the plane landed, then went out onto the tarmac to meet two other men coming off the plane. She recognized the other two as cops who used to work on Mykonos.”

“Kaldis and Kouros?”

Wacki nodded. “Anyway, she stopped paying attention once she realized the fat man must have been a cop, too.”

“That’s it?”

“Not quite. An hour or so later she was working on the second floor when she saw the same three cops come out of the director of operation’s office. It surprised her, because she knew the director was out of the building.”

“And the briefcase?”

“Still with them.”

“When did all this happen?”

Wacki smiled. “The morning after Christos’ body was discovered and Tassos Stamatos conducted an investigation of the scene.”

And emptied the safe, thought Sergey. “I want to meet with that Syros cop right away. But let’s make it a surprise.”