An Aegean Prophecy - Jeffrey Siger [27]
The man rubbed at his eyes with his right hand. ‘So we agreed to meet at three the next morning in the house of a friend of his, off behind the Patmos town hall. The friend was away and we’d be alone. The only people who knew I was on the island were the American pilot who flew the helicopter, the taxi driver who brought me to Chora, and of course, Vassilis. The pilot had no idea who I was, and the taxi driver thought I was some old monk with “a relative in the military” important enough to get me “a lift to Patmos for Easter Week.” Even my secretary didn’t know where I was going.
‘I was in the house by two-thirty, waiting for Vassilis to show up. He was late and that wasn’t like him. Then I heard someone shouting, and when I realized what he was saying … “Kalogeros Vassilis was murdered in the square” … I didn’t know what to do.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I’m ashamed to say it, but I was afraid.’
Andreas leaned over and touched the man’s knee. ‘No need to explain, you were right to be afraid.’
The man nodded. ‘I called my secretary and told him what happened. He said to stay where I was and he would arrange for “someone” to accompany me back home.’
‘Sergey?’
‘Yes, and through the help of another friend with another helicopter, Sergey met me at the house, disguised me, and got me out of Patmos before the sun came up.’
Damn sight more efficient than the Patmos police, thought Andreas.
‘He is very concerned that anyone even remotely suspected of knowing whatever led to Vassilis’ murder is in grave danger.’
Thank you for inviting me to the party, thought Andreas.
‘May I have some more water?’
Andreas got up, went to the minibar, and brought the man another bottle.
‘Thank you. I still have no idea what Vassilis planned on showing me.’ He twisted off the cap and took a sip. ‘I can assure you that sitting afraid and alone in that house, not knowing what might happen before help arrived, I tried thinking of anything he conceivably might have found explosive enough to get him murdered.’ He shook his head. ‘I came up with nothing. But I reached a decision. No matter what it took, I swore I’d see those who killed him brought to justice.’ He crossed himself, perhaps as an apology for the show of anger.
‘That’s how you got involved. I called my friend - I assume you know the former prime minister?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘Not really.’
The man shrugged back. ‘No matter. I told him there was no more heinous and pressing a crime to solve in all of Greece than that morning’s murder of a revered holy man in the middle of the town square of the Holy Island of Patmos during Easter Week. He agreed and promised to use “all of his influence” to get the country’s “best investigator” assigned immediately. I told him whoever was chosen must be incorruptible and not afraid of treading on political toes.’
Andreas laughed. ‘Should I be flattered that he picked me?’
The man smiled. ‘I’m not sure. If police are like churchmen, you’re probably in the minority.’
Andreas laughed again. ‘Of all the people in the world, you’re the one Vassilis chose to confide in. Why do you think he did that?’
‘We were simpatico. We thought the same way about a lot of things.’
‘So, what’s your gut instinct on why he was murdered?’
‘I wish I had one. All I have are thoughts. Just random, unsupportable thoughts.’ He stood for the first time since Andreas had entered the room. He was as tall as Andreas, but very slim. He turned and stared out the window.
‘So much of life is illusion, driven by masters of manipulation who incite passions, instill mortal fears, justify actions. They’ve always existed, always will. But those to fear, to guard against - and yes, to pray against - are illusionists who act without conscience, without values, without any moral compass.’
Time to bring him back to the here and now, thought Andreas. ‘What are you trying