The Green Lady Page 20

  ‘Er, no. We have plans for later, don’t we?’

  Bitsos missed nothing. ‘Count me in.’

  Mavros looked at the journalist. He was well into his fifties, out of condition and an inveterate moaner. Then again, he had a camera and the experience to sniff out criminal activity at long range.

  ‘All right, Lambi.’ He ran his eyes over the others. ‘The rest of you hold the fort. Now, is there somewhere Bitsos and I can get some sleep?’

  ‘I’ll take you to my place,’ the fisherman said. ‘It’s still reasonably clean.’

  ‘Not for long,’ Mavros said, glancing at the journalist.

  The Son was puzzled by the latest order he’d received. He wasn’t to target the ecologists any more, at least for the time being. That irritated him, as he had unfinished business with the skinny guy who’d erupted out of nowhere and run into him. Belting him in quick succession on the mouth and the side of the head had been no problem – his reactions were lightning-fast – but being forced to leave the scene with the job unfinished counted as failure in the mental ledger he kept of his performance. Plus, the young woman inside the office had attracted his attention. He’d have killed her partner after interrogating him, but he had seriously considered keeping her alive, at least until he tired of her. Then she’d have gone the same way as the others.

  Now he was to go back to Athens and deal with another woman, this one not as young though, if the photos were accurate, still striking. Perhaps he’d have the chance to get to know her intimately, though the timetable he’d been given was tight and her death was to appear an accident. He’d already left the pickup in the garage of the safe house in Paradheisos and was driving an unremarkable Fiat towards Dhistomo. He’d been told to stay overnight as an over-enthusiastic police commander had set up roadblocks following the failed mission in Kypseli. He didn’t care. The detached pink house at the end of a road was out of the way and there was no one else in it. That was the good thing about a company town. The HMC could more or less do what it liked, although someone had screwed up with the over-enthusiastic policeman.

  Driving into Dhistomo, the Son saw the signs to the museum and massacre memorial. The Father would have insisted on stopping and paying his respects, even though some of the victims would have been commies or similar scum. The old man had been strange like that. He hated the war-time resistance because of its left-wing bias but, as soon as they were dead, they became heroes. That didn’t apply to the bedraggled remnants who had fought the Civil War against the British- and then American-backed national army. They were traitors in life and in death. The Son couldn’t give a shit. People who threw away their lives for shadowy ideals like fatherland or resistance were fools. Even the Father had been seduced by the Junta’s semi-literate ideology of Greece rising phoenix-like from the flames, its contradictory ancient and Christian elements somehow expected to co-exist. Money was all that mattered, as Greece’s population had showed in recent years. Everyone was on the yellow brick road to affluence – two or more cars in every family, a house by the sea and another in the mountains, credit cards, Italian fashions.

  He drove quickly towards the main highway, though he was tempted to take the turn into Livadheia and deal with the troublesome policeman. No, he needed to control himself. His employer had things in hand. All he had to do was get to the address in the Athens suburb, deal with the woman and get back to Paradheisos. If ever there was a place less deserving of that name. Then again, the road from paradise to the halls of Hades wasn’t long. The Elysian Fields themselves were in the underworld. Whether his next victim ended up there or in the punishment park of Tartarus was of no concern to him.

  NINETEEN

  Mavros had fallen into a deep sleep on the sofa in Akis’s saloni. It had taken some time, as Bitsos had insisted on loudly making himself a toasted sandwich in the adjoining kitchen, before crashing out upstairs.

  In his dream he was walking across a dusty plain, a hot wind whipping his hair and distant screams all around. Then he heard a familiar voice say his first name. It was Niki, his former lover. She sounded close, but he couldn’t see her through dirty clouds that suddenly rose up all around. He heard himself call her name several times. His arms were extended and his hands touched something soft: flesh, bare and drenched in sweat. He embraced the body, feeling her breasts against his inner forearms. Then the dust storm cleared and she turned into a picture of horror. He jerked awake, the worm-ridden face still in front of him.

  ‘Welcome back to the land of the living,’ Akis Exarchos said, from the table at the other side of the room.

  ‘What . . . where am I?’

  The fisherman told him.

  Mavros got up, limbs stiff, and went over.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘A Webley .38 Mark 4 British officer’s service revolver. My father got his hands on it in the war. He never told me how.’

  Mavros watched as Akis wiped oil from the hammer and cylinder. ‘You’re seriously taking that with you across the water tonight?’

  ‘Seriously is the word, my friend. The HMC security men are armed with Glocks. I had big trouble finding rounds. Eventually a guy in Crete sold me twenty.’

  Mavros remembered his time on the Great Island. There were probably more antique weapons there than in the rest of Europe put together.

  ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ he said, sitting down opposite the fisherman.

  ‘Listen, we know Bekakos is going to be there.’

  ‘I saw him in Paradheisos earlier. Why go into the lion’s den?’

  Akis gave him a tight smile. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask that. All right, I’ll tell you why. One of my contacts over there told me they’ve found an ancient temple on the hill above the plant.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. It’s in very good condition. And it’s not just any temple. Apparently our ancestors worshipped Hades and Persephone there.’

  Mavros immediately thought of Lia Poulou. Could this be where she’d been taken? There was some link between her and Persephone, also known as the Maiden – he suspected the pomegranate seeds in the victims indicated that. But what would the daughter of the HMC’s owner be doing on the site? Unless Paschos Poulos knew she was there. Could that be why he was in the vicinity?

  ‘Why are you so interested?’ he asked Akis.

  ‘Because they only uncovered it when they were testing for ore in old workings on the hillside a few months ago. The temple’s going to be taken to pieces and removed from the site. I want the world to know and your friend Bitsos can tell them. I’ve got a camera myself, but I’m sure he’s more skilled than I am.’

  ‘What about Bekakos?’

  ‘If I see him, I’ll shoot him.’

  Mavros thought he was joking – for a split second. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s the worst of them. Not only did he abuse that poor girl, but he tried to buy my dead wife.’

  Mavros opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by another sight of Niki’s worm-ravaged face. Jesus, what if the Son goes after her, he thought. He scrabbled in his pocket and pressed out the sequence of numbers that he hadn’t forgotten. It rang until her voicemail kicked in.

  ‘Niki, it’s me. Listen, this isn’t a joke. You may be in serious danger. Get out of your flat and stay away from it and from work. Call me when you get this.’

  ‘Who’s Niki? Girlfriend?’

  ‘Ex.’

  ‘Ah. Still in love with her?’

  ‘What kind of a question is that? You hardly know me.’

  Akis shrugged. ‘Since Yiorgia died, I can’t be bothered with niceties. There’s life, there’s love and there’s death. Nothing else matters.’

  Mavros examined the wiry fisherman. ‘That’s pretty profound. Do you read philosophy in your boat?’

  ‘No. It’s what my grandfather used to say. He lost a leg fighting the Italians. My family’s from Epirus, so he was among the first troops w
ho pushed them back in Albania.’

  ‘I wondered about your accent. So how come you ended up in Kypseli?’

  ‘My wife. We met when I was working on a road gang here. I stayed when they moved on.’

  ‘You haven’t got kids,’ Mavros said, having seen no toys or drawings in the house.

  The fisherman slipped the gun and ammunition into a shoulder bag. ‘No. The plant’s probably to blame for that too.’

  Mavros had a flash of Niki’s anguished face when she talked about having children. ‘Listen, what good will killing Bekakos do? He’s only one of hundreds, more like thousands, who work for the HMC.’

  Akis’s eyes flared. ‘What good will it do? The bastard’s a child-molester, as well as an apologist for the death-dealing plant. Do you seriously imagine anyone will ever bring him to justice?’

  ‘I will,’ Mavros said firmly.

  The fisherman looked at him sadly, then shook his head. ‘You and whose imaginary army?’

  Lambis Bitsos staggered into the room. ‘Army?’ he asked blearily. ‘Count me out.’

  Mavros and Akis exchanged glances and shook their heads.

  The Fat Man dozed off in the sauna that was the Peugeot. He was lucky. Although he missed their arrival, he was awake when Professor Phis and his guests appeared on the pavement in the late afternoon. He tried unsuccessfully to shrink down in the seat, but they were paying him no attention. He recognised Maria Bekakou, dressed in an ankle-length white dress that one of the goddesses in the old man’s collection could have carried off. Her hair was drawn back tightly and she looked severe in the extreme. Next to her was a tall man in a dark suit and a wide-brimmed hat. When he stepped towards the black BMW that pulled up, a chauffeur opening the doors, Yiorgos caught a glimpse of the thin face. It was Tryfon Roufos, the antiquities dealer who had tried to have him killed. He managed to restrain himself. He was about to call Alex when he realised his phone had fallen beneath the Peugeot’s seat.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered, eyes on the BMW. The passengers had got in and it was moving off. The Fat Man abandoned the search for his phone and set off after the black car. It was probably only going up Kifissias to the Bekakos house. He’d be able to call from there.

  But that wasn’t what happened. The BMW cut through the northern suburbs and joined the main highway north. Yiorgos struggled to keep up with it and was still without his phone – every time he stopped at traffic lights, he stuck his thick-fingered hands under the seat, but succeeded in doing nothing more than pushing the device further away. Loud was the swearing.

  Then the chauffeur-driven vehicle took the exit towards Thiva, but didn’t head for the town. It drove west, towards Livadheia and Delphi. The Fat Man began to realise that a phone call might not be necessary. He never wasted his money on betting, even though he’d been happy enough to run card syndicates in his café, but he was pretty sure he’d soon find himself in Paradheisos with Alex. He glanced around at the harvested fields and the dun-coloured mountains. He hated the countryside, but this was less harsh than his home village near Sparta. Then he remembered the burned man who had been found on Mount Kithairon. Ahead was the great bulk of Parnassos, while to his left was Helikon, home of the Muses. Screw ancient mythology, he told himself. He needed to make sure he wasn’t spotted by the occupants of the target vehicle. He was looking forward to a meeting with Tryfon Roufos. It would be brief but painful.

  Mother, where are you? It’s been so long that I can’t remember your face. If I could use my fingers, if they hadn’t started tying my wrists together, I could feel your imaginary features, I could bring you closer. But it’s so dark in here, the only light coming under the door that crashes open when they bring me food and take me to the toilet. I have no self-respect left. They wipe me after I’ve finished, they pull up my knickers. I’m so hot all the time, why have they made me wear the white robe that reaches to my ankles? Why has my hair been plaited? I don’t even know if they’re men or women, their robes black as night and their faces covered by masks. The features are bland, but the white paint makes them look like ghosts. Why are they haunting me?

  Mother, I called you Mummy when I was small and Mum when I last saw you. My father disapproved, preferring the Greek equivalents – Mama, Babas. I stopped calling him ‘Baba’ when my periods started; ‘Patera’ seemed more natural. I didn’t know why, it just happened. But now I understand. He put a distance between us, he . . . no, I won’t think about it.

  And what about Uncle Rovertos? I remember asking you why I had to call him that, since he and Aunt Maria are not blood relatives. You smiled like you always did and said they were as good as my real uncles and aunts, Father having no brothers or sisters and you not speaking to your family since you came to Greece. But they aren’t as good. They are much worse. I don’t know if they’re the ones wearing the masks and robes, but I’m sure they have something to do with it.

  I have to tell myself I’m still only fourteen. Why have they done this to me? Being locked up for weeks, months, I don’t know how long, has been bad enough, but I’m tortured by the thought of what is going to happen to me. The end of this part of my life is close.

  Mum, save me from what’s going to happen. Save us.

  Lambis Bitsos consumed a four-egg omelette and half a loaf of bread, hunger having overcome his worries about the food in Kypseli. He looked out across the water, the sun darkening it to imperial purple, and lit a cigarette.

  ‘So how many security personnel does the HMC employ over there?’ he asked.

  Akis Exarchos took the plates to the sink. ‘A hundred plus.’

  ‘Christ and the Holy Mother.’

  ‘But there are three shifts and fewer men work the night one. So maybe twenty, twenty-five at most.’

  Mavros smiled at the journalist’s discomfort. ‘You’ve seen the plans of the plant, Lambi. It’s massive. They’ll be split up all over it.’

  Akis nodded. ‘I know their locations. It won’t be the first time I’ve been across.’

  ‘Really?’ Mavros said. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘You’d better ask Lykos.’

  ‘Well, I can’t, can I? The four laughing cadres have taken him and the girls off to Itea so they aren’t implicated in whatever we get up to.’

  Akis shrugged. ‘You either come with me or you don’t. I’m going whatever.’

  Mavros glanced at Bitsos. It seemed better if they went with Akis. They might be able to stop him doing anything foolish, as well as find out useful information – not to mention check out the temple to Hades and Persephone in case Lia Poulou was there. Which reminded him. He hadn’t heard from his client since the morning. He wanted to ask Angie about Lia’s trip to Paradheisos in March. Then he remembered Niki and the Son’s possible interest in her. He called again, but got voicemail. He left a fourth message.

  ‘We’ll come,’ Mavros said. ‘When do you want to set off?’

  ‘In half an hour.’ The fisherman left the kitchen and went upstairs.

  ‘Are you sure this guy’s not playing us?’ Bitsos asked.

  ‘Pretty much. What’s your problem? He told you there are dozens of health and safety violations. You’ll get a scoop even if we don’t find Bekakos. And the HMC is obviously way out of line with the ancient temple.’

  The journalist stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one. ‘Yes, but what if we get caught?’

  ‘He’s armed,’ Mavros said unhappily.

  ‘What, with those harpoons?’

  Mavros’s phone rang, so he let Bitsos think that was the extent of Akis’s arsenal.

  ‘Alex, where are you?’ The Fat Man was speaking above the noise of a straining car engine.

  ‘Kypseli. Why? Where are you?’

  ‘South of Dhistomo. They stopped at a kafeneion there – toilet break, I’d guess – and I managed to find my phone. Fucking thing had—’

  ‘Woah, Yiorgo, slow down. You’re heading in this direction?’

  ‘That’s wh
at I just said, isn’t it?’

  ‘What a pleasant surprise. Who’s “they”?’

  ‘Maria Bekakou, Professor Phis, a chauffeur and guess who?’

  Mavros looked at the ceiling. ‘Guess who? All right, Kevin Spacey.’

  ‘Not even close. Tryfon Roufos.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘Thought you’d like that. And there’s more. I spent an hour with the professor in his place this afternoon—’

  ‘You what? You were supposed to get in when he wasn’t there. What if Roufos or Maria Bekakou told him about you?’

  ‘Obviously they didn’t. I don’t think he knows his pet assassins screwed up yet.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you took a risk. Find out anything interesting?’

  ‘I think so,’ the Fat Man said proudly. ‘For a start, his flat is full of ancient stuff – vases, statuettes and the like. Get this. A lot of them have to do with Hades, Demeter and Persephone. He’s even got a bowl full of dried up pomegranates.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Is that all I get for risking my skin?’

  ‘Hm. What else?’

  ‘What else? Well, he’s got a display case full of ancient pots covered in porn. Men rubbing themselves up against boys, men shafting women, men and goats—’

  ‘I get the drift.’

  ‘Oh, and La Bekakou is dressed like an ancient goddess.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Long white dress like a robe, hair drawn back . . .’

  ‘All right. Are you sure they haven’t spotted you?’

  ‘No, but they haven’t done anything to lose me.’

  ‘See where they’re going and call me back. Oh, and Yiorgo, you’ve done well.’

  ‘It’ll cost you. I want a salary and pension contributions.’

  ‘OK. Watch yourself.’

  Akis came back in with yellow waterproof clothing. ‘You might want to put these on. There’ll be spray.’

  ‘Haven’t you got an enclosed cabin?’ Bitsos asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s called the engine compartment. A minute down there will complete the damage your cigarettes have done to your lungs.’