An Aegean Prophecy - Jeffrey Siger [42]
The Protos nodded thank you, and sat down on a chair by a table beneath a window draped in white lace. Andreas didn’t move. He preferred standing, watching the Protos carefully study each face.
After five minutes or so, the Protos put down the magnifying glass and pointed to a chair next to him. ‘Please, my son, sit.’
Andreas did, but on a chair on the other side of the Protos, facing the door.
The Protos didn’t seem to care. ‘Where did you get these?’
‘They were on a computer flash drive Kalogeros Vassilis had hidden in a cross he was carrying when he was murdered.’
The Protos smiled. ‘Ah, Vassilis, resourceful until the end. Always hiding things in the most obvious, yet overlooked, places.’ He pressed his finger against the photo four times. ‘Just like here, I’m certain of it.’
‘What did you find?’
‘May I see the other photograph again?’
Andreas handed it to him.
The Protos bobbed his head through a face-by-face comparison of the photographs. ‘Yes, just as I thought. The faces superimposed on the abbots of the twenty monasteries attending my ceremony are of monks from those same abbots’ monasteries. But, with the exception of three who have succeeded to a position of abbot, none of the others holds any significant hierarchical position in his monastery.’
‘What about the three new abbots? Were they important before in their monasteries?’
The Protos paused. ‘No.’
‘Then how did they become abbots?’
‘The monks in their monasteries elected them.’
‘Weren’t you surprised?’
He nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. Our abbots are elected to serve for life, and there seemed so many more qualified, seasoned candidates available.’ He shrugged. ‘But such is the way of democracy.’
‘How did the three they replaced die?’
‘Die? Oh no, only one died.’ He spoke as if Andreas were implying they’d been murdered. ‘And he was very old. Another moved on to a different monastery away from Mount Athos, and the third … uhh … resigned.’
Andreas knew from the newspapers about the third one’s resignation. He was the abbot caught up in the scandal that haunted Vassilis. ‘Can you think of any reason why these twenty-one men are in this photograph?’ He pointed to the doctored photo.
‘I only recognize twenty faces. And I have no idea why they appear.’
Andreas asked for the names and monasteries linked to the superimposed faces, and took great care to write them down - so as not to make completely obvious that he was recording their conversation.
‘Which face don’t you recognize?’
He looked grim. ‘The face replacing mine.’ He pointed to a blurred image. ‘It looks familiar but I can’t quite make it out. Do you have a better copy?’
‘No, it’s exactly as it appeared on the drive.’
‘Knowing Vassilis, I’m surprised he’d have made such a significant mistake.’
‘Maybe it was meant to be that way?’
The Protos shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
‘What do you make of the empty chairs and the carpet?’
The Protos picked up the glass and looked again at the photograph. ‘Not much, they seem the typical gold tone and red velvet chairs so favored by our monks. It’s a style you see in almost every abbot’s office.’
‘And the carpet?’
He shrugged. ‘Again, a patterned oriental of a type I see everywhere.’
Andreas reached into the envelope. ‘There was something else on the drive.’ He handed him the note. ‘What do you think this means?’
The Protos read it quickly, then read it again much more slowly. He picked up the doctored photograph and magnifying glass. Andreas noticed the glass start to shake, then the photo. At first ever so slightly—
‘My God.’ The Protos crossed himself three times, apparently not realizing he was holding the glass in his hand as he did. He held up the photograph to Andreas. ‘The chairs, the twenty-four chairs. Saint John saw twenty-four elders in twenty-four chairs immediately after the beginning of his vision. Their meaning is a source of rich debate, but in this photograph