An Aegean Prophecy - Jeffrey Siger [25]
‘Hello.’
‘I’m here.’
‘You need a room key to get the elevator to stop at my floor. I’ll send someone down to meet you.’
‘What does the “someone” look like?’
The man laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out.’
Andreas wondered if he should reconsider his decision to meet without backup. He thought to say something to his team in the lobby but decided against it; someone might be watching him now that he’d made that call. He walked to the elevators. The only thing waiting for him was a massive reproduction of a classic, white marble Cycladic statue of a female form, arms crossed below the chest. It stood against the far wall at the end of the elevator bank. He was staring at it when an elevator door next to him opened.
A couple in jeans, tee-shirts, sneakers, and matching baseball caps stepped out, speaking English and clutching a map. Nope, not them. Another elevator door opened. This one was at the far end, next to the statue.
A man stepped out and turned to face Andreas. The statue vanished. The sun would have disappeared behind this guy. He was a giant, but not just any giant, a graying blond one in full Eastern Orthodox cleric dress: hat, cross, and all. Backup no longer seemed relevant. They’d need a howitzer to stop this guy. Andreas stepped inside the open door and the cleric followed. He put a room key into the slot by the floor buttons and pressed six.
If this guy’s taking me to room 666 I’m not going in. His private Book of Revelation joke had Andreas smiling to himself, but then the man opened the door to room 616. The man waved him inside without saying a word or entering the room, then closed the door behind Andreas. Another man was inside, alone in the room, sitting on a chair by the window. The sunlight passing through the window made it difficult to make him out.
‘Welcome, my son.’ The man did not stand, just extended his right hand.
He was wearing a finely tailored, dark blue suit, like the Italian one Lila had bought Andreas for his birthday. He wasn’t sure if he should shake or kiss the man’s hand. Perhaps this was a test to see if Andreas actually knew who he was. Andreas moved slightly to the left as he approached him, just enough to shield the sun a bit and get a better look. The man was old but looked fit. His silver hair was pulled into a tight bun behind his head, in the fashion of Italian movie stars. And Greek clerics. Andreas bent over and kissed the man’s hand.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Your Holiness.’
‘So you do know who I am.’
Andreas nodded, even though he didn’t. ‘Hard to miss, considering your entourage.’ He pointed back over his shoulder toward the door.
‘Ah yes, Sergey. A very loyal follower of the faith.’
Andreas had heard rumors of such loyal followers of the faith making it into receptive monasteries directly out of Balkan military forces. Whether they entered seeking true salvation or sanctuary from a past they and the world would rather forget, he did not know.
‘Frankly, I don’t like traveling, as you say, with an ‘entourage,’ but after what happened to poor Vassilis,’ he crossed himself, ‘do I have a choice? Or to dress as I am to journey to meetings such as this?’ He pointed at his suit.
Andreas took that as an opening for avoiding preliminary chit-chat. ‘What are you afraid of?’
‘I wish I knew.’
‘Please, just tell me what you do know.’
‘How much history do you want?’
‘All of it.’ Andreas sat down on the edge of the bed across from him and listened. An hour later, he wondered if he’d said the right thing to an old man who’d just lost a very dear friend. Nothing he’d told Andreas seemed relevant to the case. The ancient intrigues of the church were of interest only to scholars, reminiscences of his days shared with Vassilis in the seminary were almost fifty years old, and their shared views on modern theological problems of the church raised not even a hint of a motive for murder.
Thank God I’m wearing a wire, Andreas thought. If I’d been taking notes I’d have lost patience long ago. He sneaked a peek at his