Santorini Caesars (26 page)

Andreas waved his hand. “Anything more than that?”

“Square, concrete buildings, some painted in camouflage, some not. They looked like bunkers from old war movies.”

“What about an airstrip?”

“On the top of that mountain? Not a chance.” She turned to him for a moment then looked ahead.

“What is it?”

“I remember seeing a helicopter pad on top of one of the bunker buildings. I've never seen anyone actually use it, but it's there.”

“
That's it
.” He slammed his hand on the dashboard.

“Easy, Chief, the car's not paid for yet.”

“Remind me to tell Petro he owes you a big kiss from me.”

Andreas called the Santorini police chief and told him that their suspect was trying to escape by helicopter from the radar base. The chief said he'd alert the Air Force and warned Andreas to be careful, because still no one had been able to contact anyone at the radar station.

“When we see the guard,” he told Sappho, “I want you to tell me if you recognize him. Something's not right. No one can get through to the station.”

“That's convenient if you're trying to make the military look like it's behind the operation.”

The entrance appeared just as Sappho had described, plus a whole lot of signs making it clear this was not a place that welcomed tourists. The pole gate was up, so Sappho pulled her neon green car right up to the sliding metal gates.

A soldier stepped toward her window.

“I don't know him,” she whispered to Andreas.

“May I help you, Miss? This is a restricted area, only authorized personnel are allowed in.”

Andreas leaned over so he could see the soldier's face. “Soldier, are you aware that an assassination attempt on our Prime Minister's life just took place in Pyrgos?”

The soldier put his hand on his sidearm. “No, and who are you, sir?”

“Let's all stay calm, soldier. I'm going to reach inside my shirt and pull out my ID.” Andreas reached for his ID with his left hand as the soldier squeezed the grip on his sidearm. Andreas held his ID out for the soldier.

“Sorry, sir, but this is a military installation.”

“I'm Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis, head of the Greek police's Special Crimes Unit, and we have reason to believe one of the suspects has escaped onto this installation.”

“Sorry, sir, but I can't allow anyone in without military permission.”

Andreas smiled. “That's a little difficult to arrange when no one answers your phone.”

“I know, sir. All communications have been shut down for repairs, but only for an hour. It should be up and running by eighteen-hundred hours.”

“And the cellphones?”

“Everything here is shut down.”

“That sounds strange don't you think? A radar base without communication to the outside world?” said Andreas.

“All I know is we've had nothing but grief with our communications systems for about a week, and orders came down from the Ministry of Defense to do what the telecom folks told us to do. They promised they'd figure out the problem and fix it within an hour.”

“By then the assassin will have escaped. You know who I'm talking about, don't you?”

“No, I don't.” His hand still gripped his sidearm.

“The fellow in that green-and-white van you just let in here.”

The soldier's expression lost its military starch. “But he had written permission from the Ministry of Defense to be here. Some sort of filming.”

“Soldier, can you see down the hill from here to the road back to Pyrgos?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, how about if you take a look down that way, and tell me whether you see a hell of a long line of red and blue lights screaming along in this direction. Because when they get here, and see you haven't let me in, I can assure you that you'll be arrested as an accessory to the attempted murder of our Prime Minister. After all, if you're going to let the real bad guy get away, they're going to have to nail somebody to make the press happy.”

The soldier took a step back.

“Go ahead, walk over, take a look.”

He hesitated but backed away farther to get a line of sight down the mountain to Pyrgos.

“Oh shit,” was what Andreas heard as the soldier came running up past the front of the car and yanked open the gates. “Come on, come on,” he yelled waving for Sappho to drive ahead.

“Thank you.” She smiled to the soldier as she drove through, then gave Andreas a glance. “Always pays to be nice. He might just turn out to be a customer.”

Andreas lifted his right hand from the side of the seat and placed his gun in his lap.

“You had that in your hand the whole time?”

“Yep, always pays to be prepared. He might just turn out to be a bad guy. Now, please just get me to that helipad.”

“It's back around over there.”

Fifty meters farther in, they found the green-and-white van. It sat diagonally across the road making it impossible for them to pass.

Andreas opened his door. “You stay here and when the cavalry gets here tell them to get as much light as possible on the building with the helipad and to cover it from every angle they can.” He swung his legs out the door, and turned his head to Sappho just before getting out. “Thanks.”

He'd not gone five meters when he heard the helicopter coming in from the south. He started running along the rough road but had to concentrate more than he liked on not tripping in the dark. By the time he reached the first set of structures the helicopter was only a hundred meters away and beginning its approach to the rooftop. He couldn't make out the markings but it looked like a military-style AB-205 copter. Another nice touch.

He made it to the near corner of the building adjacent to the one with the helipad without seeing or hearing a soul, then crept along the side of the building, looking for any sign of the cameraman. He had to be nearby, most likely already up on the rooftop. Probably expecting company. That meant a likely sniper rifle, possibly with a night-vision scope. And these guys didn't miss.

Andreas' thoughts ran to his wife, his son, and his soon-to-be born second child. He hadn't thought about any of that up until now. Only his duty to protect the Prime Minister and catch the would-be assassin. But now the Prime Minister was safe, and if Andreas tried to storm the building to capture the man on the roof, the most likely outcome would be Andreas' death.

Cornered rats were dangerous, and this one most definitely was cornered. The cameraman's only escape was from that roof, a position he'd protect at all costs.

It was a Charge of the Light Brigade decision for Andreas. The copter now hovered about thirty meters over the roof. With so many towers so close by, the landing would be tricky. It would take a talented pilot exercising serious concentration, which was precisely why Andreas began shooting at the cockpit.

He could tell he'd got the pilot's attention when the copter suddenly lurched back and pulled away. He'd also drawn the cameraman's attention. Bullets started flying from the rooftop, all sailing over his head because he'd left the shooter no angle on him from above.

With the rat now trapped, the next move depended on whether the pilot had the balls to try again for the roof.

That's when virtually every cop on Santorini, plus MPs from the Air Force base, arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing, sending a clear message to the pilot that his welcome would be anything but warm and fuzzy. The helicopter hovered for a few seconds, then angled off into the night.

More brains than balls
.

Andreas liked the pilot's thinking. Now he had to make sure the charging cavalry didn't mistake Andreas for one of the bad guys. So he hunkered down and waited.

Within five minutes every official gun and light on the mountain pointed at that rooftop, covering it from all angles. The cameraman had no place to go. The question was, what would he do now? The answer came moments later. A rifle and two handguns flew from the roof and clattered to the ground near Andreas, followed by the English words, “I surrender.”

Chapter Twenty-five

The interrogation of the cameraman yielded precisely what Andreas thought. Nothing. After eight straight hours of hearing nothing more than, “I want a lawyer,” he was transferred to Athens' Korydallos maximum security prison. Europol identified him as a Greek-speaking Scottish citizen dishonorably discharged from British SAS, but they had no relevant information beyond that. His dead partner shared a similar resumé but with the U.S.'s Navy Seals. Andreas held the faint hope that he might soften up and talk once the prosecutor made clear that he faced a life sentence, but probably not, because in Greece every sentence was negotiable if you had the right contacts.

The pilot proved to be a different story. He wouldn't stop talking. He'd never made it off the island. A Greek F-16 Fighting Falcon scrambled out of Souda Air Force Base on Crete had only to buzz the helicopter once for the pilot to set the chopper down. He landed in the Santorini Airport and identified himself as a captain in the Hellenic Coast Guard who moonlighted for a private charter service flying military-style helicopters. All he knew about tonight's flight was that a news film crew with Ministry of Defense authorization to use the radar station's helipad had requested an active-duty military pilot to take them from there to Athens. The owner of the charter service confirmed the pilot's story and showed a letter on official Ministry of Defense stationery authorizing the “news crew's” request.

The telecom company had a similar story. Someone possessing great technical expertise and identifying himself as from the Ministry of Defense had scheduled a repair of chronic communications problems at the radar site—a repair that would require a temporary but complete shutdown of all systems. The supposed Ministry of Defense expert had told the telecom that the shutdown presented no problem and the radar installation would be expecting it. When Andreas asked if that seemed unusual, the telcom representative said the only unusual aspect was the military agreeing to pay up front in exchange for expedited service.

More nails in the military's intended coffin.

But not a hint of Mayroon's or Prada's involvement.

***

The next morning, Prada received a personal telephone call from the Prime Minister asking that he join him for coffee at his office in the Maximos Mansion. Prada arrived early, but he did not have to wait. The Prime Minister's secretary showed him straight into her boss' conference room. The Prime Minister sat waiting at the far end of a rectangular conference table surrounded by paneled walls, built-in bookcases, heavily draped windows, and Kaldis on one side of him, the Brigadier on the other.

“Ah, my friend, welcome,” said the Prime Minister. “Please sit. Or if you want a coffee, please help yourself.” He pointed to a credenza by the door.

“No, thank you.” Prada sat at the end of the table farthest away from the others, his eyes darting from one face to another.

The Prime Minister nodded. “I believe you know my other guests.”

“Yes, but why are they here?”

“Ah, good question. Let's have the Chief Inspector answer that.”

Andreas leaned forward. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Prada gave him a dismissive look.

“No matter, none of us did. In fact, I haven't been to sleep yet. Spent the whole night talking to witnesses. Trying to catch those responsible for attempting to assassinate the leader of our nation is tiring work.”

“Get to the point, Kaldis,” growled Prada. “If you have a point.”

“Relax. There's plenty of time. The Prime Minister graciously cleared his calendar for this meeting. Do you have someplace more important to be?”

Prada glared, but said nothing.

“Good. Oh, by the way, I should tell you not to worry about us recording any of this. It's all off the record. Though I must say I did appreciate the opportunity we had to listen to those hours of recordings you and our distinguished public order minister made in his office. Very informative.”

“I know of no such recordings.”

Andreas laughed. “You're showing fear. Look, we all know you're lying.” He held up a digital player for Prada to see. “So, let's cut to the chase. Yesterday two highly-trained, ex-military commandos attempted to assassinate our Prime Minister in an elaborate plan involving Greek military installations, personnel, and assets. The hired assassins carefully avoided doing anything that might cause harm to anyone other than our Prime Minister. Crowds were scattered by shots in the air, police attempting to intervene were purposely immobilized with shots to their ballistic vests rather than killed by shots to the head, all to create the impression of a carefully executed Greek military operation.”

“Thank God you were there to protect our Prime Minister.” Prada's voice showed no sign of strain at making the words sound sincere.

Andreas smiled. “That's very kind of you to say, but for that I really have to thank you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, it was your little speech some days back at your dinner on Santorini with the Caesars that got me on the road to figuring it all out.”

“Figuring what out?”

“Do you want to listen to the recordings?” said Andreas.

The Prime Minister leaned forward. “I found them very interesting.”

Prada's left eye began to twitch.

“What really put us on track was how quickly your invitation to the dinner led to such a sudden, intense interest in Santorini by some of your longtime friends.”

The Prime Minister nodded. “Mayroon.”

Prada visibly blanched.

“Yes,” said Andreas. “The very next day Mayroon started running around, gathering info on Santorini. On day five, the Brigadier's daughter died. On day eight you met the Caesars for dinner on Santorini. And on day eleven you're heard saying ‘
gotcha
' after a recorded meeting between you and three military personnel from that Santorini dinner.” Andreas held up the player. “Would you like to hear it?”

Not a word from Prada.

“I didn't think you would.” Andreas put down the player. “Nice plan. Arrange to have all the bread crumbs lead straight back to the military and the minister of defense, and make your toady buddy the minister of public order a national hero in the process by having him ride in on a white horse, the hero who'd uncovered the military perpetrators of a great treason.”

Andreas leaned forward. “Did I say ‘nice' plan? I meant ‘brilliant,' because the only ones involved in executing the plan knowing anything about its real purpose were the foreign assassins, and I'd bet even they didn't have a clue of who stood behind it.” Andreas shook his head. “Nope, there's only one person on earth who knows that.”

Andreas let the thought linger.

“That one person must be feeling mighty anxious this morning. With one assassin dead, the other in prison, and both identified as foreigners, that pretty much gets the Greek military off the hook. So the plan failed.”

Andreas looked over at the Prime Minister. “I forget who said, ‘If you're going to shoot the king, don't miss,'” and turned his attention back on Prada. “But that's the problem. The killers missed. Now everyone having anything to do with the plot is racing around covering tracks and eliminating loose ends.”

Prada blinked.

“Which should make you very, very uncomfortable.”

“You're crazy, Kaldis. I had nothing to do with this. The Prime Minister is my closest friend and has had my unqualified support his entire political life.”

“It's the end-of-life part that has us here today. Notably yours,” said Andreas.

“I don't understand,” said Prada.

“Sure you do.” Andreas leaned back in his chair. “Something I've never been able to figure out is how the death of the Brigadier's daughter tied into all of this. Even today, he remains convinced you had absolutely nothing to do with her assassination.”

Prada's eyes met the Brigadier's.

“I always thought of her murder as some sort of a message to the Brigadier. But I was wrong. I missed the obvious. Why don't you tell us why she died? You owe the Brigadier and his wife at least that much.”

Prada stared down at the tabletop. He cleared his throat, but didn't look up. “They knew Penelope was my goddaughter. I used to talk about her with pride. When I told them of the opportunity for putting their business plan back on track—”

“Replacing me with the minister of public order?” said the Prime Minister.

Prada nodded but still didn't look up. “They told me that they were tired of ‘Greek promises' and needed guarantees. I said I could give no guarantees.” He drew in and let out a breath. “That's when they murdered Penelope and told me to take it as their guarantee of what would happen to me should I fail to deliver on my promises.”

“You miserable bastard.” The Brigadier sprang out of his chair but caught himself a pace toward Prada. He paused, straightened his jacket, and returned to his seat next to the Prime Minister.

“There is nothing I'm more ashamed of in my entire life.” Prada looked up. “But there's also nothing more I can do about it.”

“Yes, there is,” said Andreas. “You can give us the people at Mayroon who are to blame.”

“They'll kill me.”

Andreas shook his head. “You're an intelligent man. Are you going to make me state the obvious?”

Prada gestured no. “I'm dead anyway.”

“Yep, you're loose end number one,” said Andreas. “But if you give me the names, we might be able to get to them first.”

“You'll never be able to prove a thing.”

“Let us worry about that,” said the Prime Minister

“Then what happens?”

“I wouldn't worry about then, I'd worry about you and now,” said Andreas.

“That's what I meant.”

Andreas started to speak but the Prime Minister put out his hand to stop him, and leaned forward. “It's simple. I'll let you live. They will not be as generous. The decision is yours. But if you don't cooperate, I may change my mind.”

Andreas blinked. So did the Brigadier.

Prada stuttered, “But, but—”

“No buts, only a decision. Give us the names,” the Prime Minister slammed his hand on the tabletop, “
now
!”

And he did.

***

The three names Prada gave up had the Prime Minister biting at his lower lip. He'd been betrayed by his closest confidents at the highest level of Mayroon. He didn't say a word for about a minute after Prada finished, then simply told him to leave. No one seemed more surprised than Prada, but he left immediately.

No one spoke for another minute.

The Prime Minister sighed. “I know you're wondering why I did what I just did.”

“I expected to be arresting him.”

“He will be. But if we arrest him now, before I've decided on how best to proceed, it will alert Mayroon. And I doubt Prada will tell them on his own.”

“Won't he flee?” asked the Brigadier.

“To where? From whom? No, for now he can walk around free as a bird. But carefully observed. And without power. He is stripped of all authority as of this moment, and I've accepted the immediate resignation of the minister of public order, for failing to discover a terrorist plot against me.”

“What terrorists?” asked Andreas.

He smiled. “I don't know, I'll make some up. But it will be announced as the same terrorists who murdered your daughter, Brigadier. Let us hope that puts an end to these painful demonstrations.” He shook his head. “They must be extraordinarily difficult for you and your wife to watch, so brutally exploiting your daughter's memory for selfish political purposes.”

Wow, he's smooth,
thought Andreas.
Precisely the sort of tactic on which he rose to power.

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” said the Brigadier.

“Did Babis actually resign?” said Andreas.

“He had no choice. All my ministers signed an undated letter of resignation when I appointed them. That way they can't resist me if I want to dismiss them. All I have to do is date it.”

“What about the actual killers of my daughter?” said the Brigadier.

“I think the two who went after the Prime Minister are the ones who pulled the trigger,” said Andreas, “but there's no way of knowing for sure unless the assassin we captured admits to it, which is unlikely.”

“Brigadier, I'd like to talk to you a bit more about your concerns, but could you please excuse us for a few moments? I want to discuss something else with the Chief Inspector.”

The Brigadier nodded and left.

The Prime Minister swung his chair around to face Andreas. “I've not yet had the chance to thank you for saving my life.”

Andreas nodded. “What else could I do? And it wasn't just me.”

“I know, I plan on honoring you and your men.”

“Thank you. And there's a young woman who deserves to be honored as well.”

He nodded. “We work pretty well as a team.”

Andreas wondered where this was headed.

“I particularly like the part where you bluffed about the recordings.”

“I guessed he'd said a lot of incriminating things in the minister's office and wasn't sure what Babis might have recorded.”

“Ah, yes, trust among political friends, a wonderful thing to behold. Which brings me to the point of my wanting to talk to you privately. I never should have replaced you as minister of public order. I want you back there.”

Andreas' face tightened. “That's a great honor, sir. But my wife would kill me if I took the post.”

“Why?”

“She says I get all moody and anxious around politicians.”

The Prime Minister laughed. “I can imagine.”

“Besides, we're expecting a baby and I'd rather spend my free time at home, which I'll never have if I join your cabinet.”