Target: Tinos (9 page)

Tassos smiled. “Just tell him ‘we’re closing the case.’”

Andreas rubbed his eyes. “When’s the meeting?”

Tassos looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

Andreas nodded toward the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. “Well, I guess we should head on up there.”

Tassos gestured no. “When I told her it was ‘sensitive’ she suggested we meet at a taverna out of town.”

“Guess it’s not just cops who worry about their walls having ears.”

“Who knows, it might just be her cousin’s place and she wants to throw him some business.”

Andreas smiled. “But we’re cops, we don’t pay.”

“Could be it’s a cousin she doesn’t like.” Tassos pointed to a marked police car. “That’s our ride. You drive.”

Chapter Nine

Andreas once had a teacher who said Tinos resembled “a haunting, second millennium
BC
Mycenaean fortress.” It was easy to see why. The island’s high-ridged backbone ran northwest-to-southeast above the sea like some ever vigilant guardian of the shoreline while, at its narrow, eastern sea border with Mykonos, Tinos’ tallest peak, Mount Tsiknias, loomed down from the clouds and across its foothills toward the port city to the southwest.

His teacher would go on and on about how the true beauty of Tinos lay in its surprises. None of that had changed. To foreigners, virtually everything about the island was a revelation for so few had even heard of it. But it was native-born Greeks, those raised on wondrous stories of the
Megalochari
and perhaps even a daylong pilgrimage or two, who were most surprised at what they discovered outside the harbor town.

Fifty villages as quiet and undisturbed as a dreamer’s quaint fantasy of Greece; brilliant vistas at every turn; a meandering two-hundred-mile network of cobblestone trails and old farm paths running from hillside to hillside and dipping into valleys in between; and a history of fabled marble quarries and artisans linked to some of Greece’s greatest artistic achievements.

Tassos said they were looking for a taverna in a mountain village in the northeast region of the island. Locals called that district Kato Meria; the southeastern part of Tinos, including the port, they called Ano Meria; and everything to the west was Exo Meria. The “lower,” “upper,” and “other” parts, respectively.

The taverna was around a bend on a twisting mountain road and, but for a large sign screaming
TAVERNA OMORFI THEA
, Andreas would have missed it. The place was practically invisible from the road. Tables inside led to many more on an outside terrace with still more arranged amphitheater fashion along a hillside filled with deep purple bougainvillea and wild fruit trees. It all ended at a fence line of pink and white oleander. Far beyond, out past the valley and port town below, a deep blue sea shimmered toward the islands of Delos and Rhenia on its way to the horizon and a cloudless, robin-egg blue sky.

“The sign was right. This is a beautiful view,” said Andreas.

A woman sitting alone at a table under a fig tree waved at them.

“That’s Eleni.” Tassos waved back and they walked to her table.

She looked about Andreas’ age and had the Greek woman’s traditional fancy for
décolletage
revealing dress, in this case a white sleeveless blouse. Aside from that national custom she was discreetly dressed in a knee-length dark-navy skirt and mid-heeled navy pumps. She was virtually indistinguishable from any other serious Greek businesswoman. With one exception: her hair was the bright copper color of an Irish setter and curly as a Shirley Temple doll.

Eleni stood. “Hi, uncle.” She exchanged kisses with Tassos on both cheeks and shook hands with Andreas.

“Uncle? She’s your niece?” Andreas pointed at two men standing by the kitchen. “Let me guess, those two are your cousins.”

Tassos gestured no. “The one to the right is Eleni’s father, and the other is her brother.”

“He’s not really my uncle. He’s just such close friends with my father that I’ve called him ‘uncle’ all my life.”

As they sat down Andreas mumbled to Tassos, “You’re paying.”

The father and son came over with water, biscuits, and coffee, and after exchanging hugs and introductions left them alone to talk.

“So, uncle, what is the ‘sensitive’ subject you want to discuss with me?”

Tassos smiled, “I see your career has made you all business. Whatever happened to, ‘Hello, how are you?’”

She laughed. “I know how you are. My father told me all about Maggie, and since I know you’re here with the famous Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis, who’s marrying Lila Vardi this Sunday on Mykonos in the wedding of the season, I assumed you’re both anxious to get to what’s on your mind.”

Andreas looked at Tassos. “I take back what I said before about Eleni being your niece. She must be your daughter.”

“I should have only been so lucky.” Tassos leaned over and pinched Eleni’s cheek. “Andreas, tell Eleni ‘what’s on your mind.’”

Eleni sat back in her chair and focused on Andreas.

“If you’ll excuse me I’m rather new to your family. I don’t mean to sound rude, but could you give me a little background on what you do at the Foundation. It might make it easier for me to explain what I need to know.”

Eleni looked at Tassos. “He’s trying to decide whether he can trust me.” She smiled. “But that’s fair. I’m personal assistant to the vice-president of the Evangelistria Foundation’s commission.”

“Who’s the President?”

“The Bishop of Syros and Tinos. Whoever is bishop is president by reason of his position. There are ten members of the commission. The other nine are all Orthodox Tinians elected to serve without compensation, and the vice-president runs the day-to-day affairs of the Foundation. You do know what the Foundation is, right?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s the answer I generally hear, second only to ‘not a clue.’ And to be honest, that’s the way we like it.” Shirley Temple flashed a glorious smile.

Andreas smiled back. “Okay, let’s start from ‘not a clue,’ just so that I don’t have to interrupt you with questions by having mistakenly opted for the more advanced lecture.”

Eleni took a sip of water. “First let me give you a little background. In ancient times, a temple to the Greek god Dionysus stood on the present day site of the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. When Christianity came to the Cyclades the temple was transformed into a Christian church dedicated to the Virgin Mary and Saint John the Precursor. It was in those early Byzantine years that the Holy Icon of the
Megalochari
came to the island of Tinos to be kept and venerated within that church.

“However, the
Megalochari
dated back to long before Byzantine times. It belonged to the early Christian era and those who’ve studied it unanimously concluded that it was one of the first three icons painted by the apostle Saint Luke during the lifetime of the Holy Virgin. Many believe the
Megalochari
received its wonder-working power directly from the Holy Virgin herself who blessed it with the words, ‘The grace of him who was borne by me, be through me with it.’

“In the mid-10th century Saracen pirates invaded Tinos, burned and leveled the church, and the holy icon vanished. Nine centuries later, in July 1822, a nun named Pelagia from a monastery northeast of the town had three recurring, consecutive Sunday visions of the Holy Virgin instructing her to convince her superiors to order digging at a specific place where they would find the missing holy icon and must build a church to the Holy Virgin.

“Her superiors believed the nun, but the place in her vision was a cultivated field and the owner was away in Constantinople, so excavations did not start until September. Within a matter of days the ruins of the ancient temple were discovered, but as more days wore on without finding the
Megalochari
the islanders lost heart and work stopped. Soon after, a great cholera epidemic struck the island, killing hundreds. The townspeople were frightened, believing they’d brought the epidemic on themselves by not following the Holy Virgin’s instructions. They prayed for forgiveness, resumed excavations, and began rebuilding a church on the unearthed ruins.

“On January 30, 1823, a laborer discovered the Holy Icon of the
Megalochari
by splitting it in two with his shovel. On one half was the Virgin Mary and on the other half the Archangel Gabriel. It had been buried for almost 850 years, yet when found was virtually undamaged. A miracle in and of itself.

“Sister Pelagia was sainted in 1970.”

Andreas reached for a biscuit, sneaking a peek at his watch as he did. He’d asked for the whole lecture. There was nothing he could do but listen.

“There was another immediate miracle recorded by historians of the time. From the moment the holy icon was discovered no more cases of the epidemic were reported and those suffering with the disease recovered.”

Andreas took a sip of coffee.

“The people of Tinos decided to build a much larger church than the one they’d started. Although they would finish the smaller one, work immediately began on what would become our magnificent Church of Panagia Evangelistria. The construction of the church and much of the eastern part of the complex you see today was completed in less than eight years, virtually all of it during Greece’s War of Independence with Turkey. That was another miraculous achievement, considering Tinos was a poor island and everything was done while it operated a wartime port, sent its young off to fight alongside other Greeks, and struggled to feed thousands of refugees fleeing here from other islands.

“They transported marbles and columns, mainly from ancient temples on the nearby holy island of Delos but also from Tinos’ ancient temple of Poseidon. Marble was mined from our finest quarries and the most famous artisans and technicians of the time worked side by side with unskilled laborers. Passing ships loaded with timber and other building materials generously donated part of their cargo for the construction. And when all seemed lost, the Holy Virgin would provide.”

“By a miracle, I presume,” said Tassos.

Eleni smiled, “Yes, uncle, ‘a miracle.’ At one point during the first years of construction the church faced serious financial difficulties and there seemed no choice but to halt work. A large English frigate, anchored at the time off the town’s beach, was suddenly engulfed in an unexpected storm driving it toward certain destruction on the rocks. The English vice-consul standing on the frigate’s deck saw our church under construction above the town and prayed for salvation from the storm, promising a substantial donation should he be delivered from harm.

“An eyewitness said the storm raged all across the sea but around the frigate there was absolute calm, as if protected by a divine hand. Faithful to his promise, the vice-consul went to the church, gave thanks to the
Megalochari
and one hundred Spanish pieces of eight to the church treasury. His generosity allowed construction to continue.”

“That’s the sort of money-making miracle Greece could use right now,” said a smiling Andreas.

Eleni’s tone turned sharp. “I’m afraid the Foundation has done just about all that it can for our country.”

Andreas forced a smile. “Uhh, no need to take that personally. It was meant to be funny. A witty observation on our times some might say.”

Eleni cleared her throat. “Sorry, I misunderstood. I thought you might be leading into the purpose for this meeting. I’m a bit sensitive on the subject of ‘financial miracles for Greece,’ it seems they’re always tied to some pitch for the Foundation to help ‘save our country.’”

“For yet another time,” said Tassos.

Eleni nodded. “Yes, the Foundation’s treasury has supported the Greek state in famines, floods, earthquakes, and all manner of other things.”

“As I recall,” said Tassos, “The Foundation offered all of its treasures in support of Greece’s defense against the Italian invasion in World War II.”

“Yes, the Italians commenced war against Greece by sinking the Greek destroyer
Elli
in a submarine attack in Tinos’ harbor on August 15, 1940, a day dedicated to celebrating the
Megalochari
. The Foundation responded by dedicating all of its resources toward Italy’s defeat.

“But the Foundation has always been there for our country. Right from the beginning we helped establish its national fleet. We were born out of the same times and our histories are interwoven. The very discovery of the
Megalochari
was taken as a divine sign that Greece’s fight for independence was just.” She shook her head, “But what our country faces today is well beyond our resources.”

“And just what are those resources?” said Andreas.

Eleni turned to Tassos. “Is that what this meeting is all about?”

“Whoa,” said Andreas. “Greece’s financial problems have nothing to do with why we’re here. I want to know what the Foundation has because we’re worried someone wants to steal it.”

Eleni stared at Andreas. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a matter of fact he is,” said Tassos.

“I can’t believe anyone would try to steal the
Megalochari
. Yes, during the day it is on display for all to worship and embrace. It must be. That is its purpose. But when not, it is locked in a safe. It is never out of sight or unprotected. Not since it was stolen.”

“Stolen?” said Andreas

Eleni nodded. “Once. One hundred and seventy years ago, on December 15, 1842 to be precise. An ex-convict passing through Tinos saw the holy icon draped in jewels and gold. Around midnight, after everyone was asleep, he used a rope to drop into the church and stole the holy icon, its gold and jewel offerings, and whatever other precious articles he could find.” Eleni crossed herself.

“The next morning the theft was discovered and the town went wild. Patrols scoured the island and rallied Tinians to find the thief. Every available ship circled the island to cut off the thief’s escape.

“He’d made it to the northwestern tip of the island, a quarter-mile from the neighboring island of Andros, and tried to convince some sailors to take him there. But they couldn’t agree on a price. A patrol found him around noon drinking at a spring. They searched him and found silver articles he could not explain, so they brought him to the governor of Tinos for questioning. The thief confessed and showed them where he’d hidden the holy icon and everything else he’d stolen.”

Tassos smiled, “I assume they obtained his cooperation through modern methods of police interrogation.”

“Probably,” smiled Andreas. “Yours.”

“He was sent to prison and died there, insane. Since that robbery, as I said, when not on display the
Megalochari
is locked in a safe.”

“I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but in the hundred and seventy years since that robbery bad guys have gotten a lot more sophisticated,” said Andreas.