The Golden Silence Read online

  ‘That’s it? You’re just going to let these lunatics continue shooting each other?’

  Kriaras looked at his fingernails. ‘There’s a feeling in the government that a bloodletting is no bad thing.’

  Mavros saw red. ‘And what happens when an innocent bystander gets killed? What happens when young women like the one I’m looking for fall into the animals’ hands?’

  ‘The latter happens every day of the week.’ The commander gave him a tight smile. ‘That’s why you exist, isn’t it? To do the jobs we can’t.’

  ‘You aren’t going to help me, are you? You’re just going to stand by while the fools slaughter each other. Jesus Christ, that’s cynical.’

  Kriaras put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s realistic. Maybe you can afford a conscience, but I can’t. Stay away from Ricardo and the rest of them. They’re too strong for you.’

  Mavros got out and slammed the door, provoking a glare from the driver, who was smoking a cigarette in the shade of tree. The bastard police and the bastard government. They might not be as corrupt as they once were, but the result was the same. Ordinary people were left as sitting targets.

  It was only as he was nearly home that the strangeness of Kriaras’s behaviour struck him. The commander hadn’t attacked him for keeping quiet about tailing the Audi. He hadn’t even been particularly interested in the Father and Son. The thing that had attracted his attention was the name Damis. Or had he imagined that?

  When he got back to the flat, he found Niki parking her car on the pavement outside.

  ‘That’s illegal, you know.’

  She looked at him as if he was insane. ‘Have you told the other drivers?’ she said, inclining her head towards the vehicles lining the street.

  ‘Every day,’ he said, opening the street door. ‘But no one listens.’

  Niki came in and kissed him. ‘Hello. Pleased to see me?’ She kissed him again, this time pressing hard against him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, slipping an arm round her. ‘I think I might be.’ He followed her up the stairs. Her backside was moving in an exaggerated way. ‘Did you have a good day at the office, by any chance?’

  Niki laughed as she slid her key into the door of his flat. ‘As a matter of fact, I did. How could you tell?’

  They fell into a tight embrace when the door closed behind them. Inching down the hallway, trying to shed their shoes, they toppled over on to the bed. Their clothes came off in flurries and landed on the floor.

  ‘Ah!’ Niki gasped, nestling his head to her breast. ‘Sex in the afternoon. What can beat it?’

  ‘Certainly not talking to stone-faced policemen,’ Mavros mumbled as her legs opened beneath him.

  Afterwards, he felt himself sinking away. He tried to stay in the world where girls went missing and no one cared, but surrendering to oblivion was easier. When he came round it was almost dark.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, rolling away from Niki. ‘Where’s the day gone?’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘You’ve been working long hours. Give it a rest.’

  ‘Remember Katia? The girl you wanted me to find?’

  Niki touched his back. ‘Calm down. I know you’re taking her seriously. Maybe too seriously.’

  ‘Dmitri,’ he said, reaching for the phone. ‘Christ knows what he’s up to.’ He rang his client’s home number.

  ‘Yes?’ came the gruff voice.

  ‘You’re there?’

  ‘Where else, Alex? You tell me to stay in with my wife and I do this.’

  ‘You aren’t planning on going out later?’

  ‘No. Maria is cooking special dinner. I must stay. You have news?’

  ‘No, nothing yet. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  ‘See, he’s behaving himself, isn’t he?’ Niki gave him a playful shove. ‘Now smarten yourself up. I’m taking you out to eat.’

  While she was in the shower, he watched the TV news. There was plenty of debate about the shooting and the discovery of the head, but nothing he hadn’t already heard. Niki was right. He needed to let it go for a bit.

  ‘Da-da!’ she said as she came into the sitting-room in a short leather skirt and tight top.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Maybe tonight isn’t going to be as much of a chore as I thought.’

  Niki stuck her tongue out at him and pulled on her coat. ‘Coming, lover boy?’ she said with a seductive smile.

  ‘Again?’

  They went downstairs arm-in-arm. He opened the streetdoor and ushered her through. Following her into the cool night air, he looked across the ancient marketplace to the tall houses beyond. There was loud music coming from an open window. That was what distracted him. He didn’t hear the motorbike until it was too late, the engine noise lowering as it stopped in front of them. There were two helmeted figures, the rear one holding a snub-nosed black object in one hand. As the shooting started, Mavros grabbed Niki and pushed her to the ground, his body on top of hers. He heard the motorbike rev up and then the rattling and cracking were over. The bike and its riders disappeared round the corner.

  ‘Niki?’ he said, looking down. ‘Niki?’

  There was blood on her mouth and hair, and her eyes were half-open. Mavros was aware of a dull pain on the top of his head, but he ignored that. He put his face close to hers. He couldn’t see any sign of movement or feel a breath issue from her damaged lips.

  The Father put down the mobile phone and called the Son in from the bathroom where he’d sent him during the conversation. They were in the medium-price hotel that they’d moved to after the job with the traitor. Traffic noise was coming through the loose windows, the lights of the office block across the street blazing even though few people were at their desks.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ the old man said, lighting a cigarette.

  The Son stood his ground. ‘What I was told to do,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘Don’t give me that shit. You’ve been fucking things up.’ The Father blew out a plume of smoke. ‘You cut me out of a job. What other idiocy have you pulled?’

  ‘I took a decision,’ the Son said, the customary slack smile on his lips. ‘This extra work is too much for you. You need to look after yourself.’

  The old man staggered and dropped his cigarette on to the worn carpet.

  ‘Look out!’ the Son said, dropping to his knees. ‘You’ll set the fire alarm off.’ He patted his hands on the floor to locate the butt. Then he froze. There was a razor-sharp blade at his throat.

  The Father grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. ‘No, boy,’ he said, with a humourless laugh. ‘You need to look after yourself. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t open your jugular.’

  ‘Because…because you need me,’ the Son said, stretching his body upwards to put some space between his throat and the blade.

  The Father drew the knife closer, making a small gash. ‘I need you like I need a second asshole. Do you know how many men I’ve killed since I started in this business? Do you know?’

  The Son let out a stifled squeal. ‘Let me go, Baba.’

  ‘It’s Baba now, is it?’ the old man said sardonically. ‘We’re all lovey-dovey father and son, are we? After you decided you were better off without me?’ He pressed the blade harder and watched the flow of blood increase. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Please,’ the Son said, his arms outstretched. ‘Please, Baba. I won’t…I won’t do it again…please…’

  The old man held his position. The Son’s body was trembling like a tree in a hurricane. Then he stepped back, raising the bloody knife to his face. ‘You’re no different to me than the ones we cut up, you hear?’

  The Son was on the floor, one hand at his neck and the other over his face.

  ‘You hear that, worm?’ the Father repeated, moving closer.

  ‘Yes…yes, I hear that.’

  ‘Good. From now on I’ll talk to our employer and I’ll decide whether you participate.’ He kicked
the Son in the chest. ‘I made you what you are and I can unmake you whenever I want. Remember that.’

  The Son lay panting on the floor until the Father left the room. When he got up, he saw that the dropped cigarette had burned into his upper thigh. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation that had scorched his soul.

  Rea Chioti stood in front of the fireplace, mobile phone in her hand. She’d been on edge all day because she’d been unable to contact the Father. She’d tried frequently, only getting the messaging service. Fear that the opposition had got to him began to mount and she’d gone to spend time with her husband. Stratos was as unresponsive as ever. She persisted in talking to him despite her certainty that he couldn’t understand her, whispering her fears about the Father, about the Russians, about Ricardo.

  Finally, in the evening, she got through to the Son. He was full of himself, but she deflated him by telling him he had no authority to act without the Father. The Son said that the Father was ill. She knew that was a lie and when the old man came on the line, she was reassured. He was in command of the situation immediately, telling her he would discipline the upstart.

  Rea opened the safe and looked at the gold mask. She’d resisted the temptation to do so earlier, even though she wanted to all day. Now was the time. If she’d seen the twisted face and sewn lips before she’d been able to speak to the Father, she’d have been crushed. She gazed at the ancient artefact and felt the strength flow back into her. The Father and the mask. Where would she be without them?

  Suddenly the years were falling away. She was young again, her body firm and her mind as sharp as an executioner’s sword. Her name was Roza Arseni. She was the daughter of a poor family, her father a trade union activist known to the police and often in prison. She was brought up by a grandmother who pushed her to study for the university. There she joined the Communist youth party and met him, the man she loved but who saw her only as a fellow fighter against the oppressors. Manos Floros. It was strange, she couldn’t see his face. She could see the features of the woman he loved, the soft and shy Era. And she could see Jenny Zanni, who became Jenny Ikonomou, the country’s favourite actress. But not Manos. He was a blank to her, his face obliterated by time and guilt. She could also see another hero, the blue-eyed and smiling Andonis Mavros. He was clear enough. The glance he’d given her at the end-of-term party had burned her. It said he knew what she was thinking, he knew that she wasn’t reliable. Andonis Mavros. He’d gone from the world later.

  Rea kept her eyes on the mask—the golden face with its subtle curves and terrible stillness. It was silent, the identity of the woman beneath concealed, just as hers was. No one except the Father knew what she had done. She was a traitor, a female Judas, but she was free. As soon as she understood the Father back then, saw the cold light in his eyes, she knew she was safe. Because he’d reached inside her, he knew who she really was. None of the others, not even Manos, had fathomed her. She wanted power over other people and the Father realised that instantly. He saw he could use her, but she’d used him in turn. Stratos had come to understand that. He’d given her a new life, enabled her to change identities just as he’d done for the Father. Her husband knew she had a bond with the torturer, a bond forged in the furnace of pain, but he didn’t know exactly what had happened between them. It was their secret.

  Rea closed the safe and stepped back, the blood coursing through her veins as if she’d had a transfusion. She was renewed, untouchable. What could Fyodor or any of the others do to her now?

  She picked up the internal phone and dialled the room that Damis had been assigned.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE HOSPITAL WAS a picture of chaos. Family members were hunched over motionless bodies on trolleys, letting out distraught cries. Other people, some of them bloodstained, were blocking the corridors. Mavros followed the paramedics through the crowd, one hand on Niki’s arm as she was wheeled into a room with a curtain down the middle. From the other side came the groans of a woman in pain.

  ‘Niki,’ he said, bending over her. ‘Can you hear me, Niki?’

  She remained as she had been, white-faced apart from the blood on her mouth. The paramedics had found a weak pulse before she was lifted into the ambulance and she’d been given oxygen.

  ‘Step outside, please,’ said a young doctor with his hair in a ponytail. He frowned at Mavros. ‘Let me see your head.’ He felt around an area on the top of his cranium, the dull ache now a sharper pain. ‘You’ll need stitches. I’ll see to you when I’ve finished here.’ He turned back to Niki.

  Mavros went out into the tumult of the corridor and found a seat next to a disconsolate woman dressed in black.

  ‘Ach, my boy,’ she said, looking at him sadly. ‘What torture they put us through.’

  He nodded, putting his hand to his hair. There was sticky blood in it. He saw one of the men from the ambulance approaching, a uniformed police officer behind him.

  ‘That’s him,’ the paramedic said, pointing at Mavros. ‘Sorry,’ he said in a low voice, as he moved away.

  ‘What happened?’ the policeman demanded. ‘There was a report of gunfire.’

  Mavros stood up unsteadily. ‘Look, my girlfriend’s in there. She’s still unconscious. I’m not too good myself. Can’t this wait?’

  The man in blue was overweight, his face covered in heavy stubble. ‘No, it can’t. This is a serious matter. You must—’

  ‘You know Commander Kriaras?’ Mavros interrupted.

  The policeman’s eyes widened. ‘Of course.’

  ‘My name’s Alex Mavros.’ He took out his business card and held it up. ‘Contact him and tell him I need to talk to him.’ He glared at the man. ‘Jesus Christ, they emptied the magazine of an Uzi at me and my girlfriend. Tell him I know who it was!’

  The policeman took a step back. ‘All right. Stay here.’

  Mavros felt the anger drain away. ‘Where else am I going to go?’ He sat down heavily. That bastard Ricardo, he thought. He set this up. Or that streak of piss Damis. They didn’t give a shit that Niki was with me. Christ—Niki. What did they do to her?

  He went over to the door of the consulting room.

  The doctor looked up, his expression severe, then pointed to a chair. ‘I can’t find any wound apart from this one on the side of her head and the damage to her lips. She obviously landed on her face. Lucky she didn’t lose any teeth. She’s still unconscious. I’m sending her to the radiography department. You stay here. I’ll fix your head.’

  Mavros watched as Niki was wheeled out. ‘But we were sprayed with bullets from close range.’

  The doctor swabbed his head. ‘You were lucky. This gash is on your hairline so I won’t have to cut your flowing locks.’

  Mavros sat still as an anaesthetic was sprayed on his head. He could feel the needle, but the pain was insignificant. He thought about what had happened. The bastards aimed to miss. It was a warning, not an attempt to kill. At that range, a three-year-old could have wiped out a dozen people with a machine-pistol. He was relieved, but anger was coursing through him. What if Niki didn’t come round? It was his fault. Not only had he drawn Ricardo’s minions to them, he’d pushed her down so her head smashed into the steps. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

  ‘It’ll hurt less if you loosen up,’ the doctor said.

  Loosen up, Mavros said to himself. There would be no more loosening up. Ricardo, Damis, those morons Yannis and Panos, he’d get them all.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ The doctor stepped back to admire his handiwork. ‘You might need to take painkillers for the next day or two.’

  Mavros got up. He didn’t intend to take anything to dull the pain. It would drive him to close the case.

  His mobile rang as he was on the way to radiography.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Kriaras said, his tone less harsh than usual.

  Mavros described the attack.

  ‘I was told that you know who did it,’ the comman
der said when he finished.

  ‘It’s obvious. Ricardo Zannis was warning me off. He’s got something to hide. He doesn’t like me on his tail so he sent two of his people. But he made a big mistake. Niki’s still unconscious. Who knows when she’ll come round? I’m going to nail him.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Kriaras ordered. ‘It’s too dangerous. Of course Ricardo has got things to hide. He works for the biggest criminal family in the city. You can’t touch him. Leave him to us.’

  ‘Forget it. You’re just watching them kill each other, you said so yourself. If you won’t do your job, then I’ll have to.’ Mavros cut the connection and went into the radiography department. Niki was still on her trolley, a hospital porter wheeling her out.

  ‘Where are you taking her?’

  ‘Neurology,’ the man in white said. ‘They need to do more tests. You with her?’

  Mavros touched her hand. ‘Yes, I’m with her,’ he said, looking at her face. It was still deathly pale, the blood around her lips a blackening crust. ‘Come on, Niki. It’s Alex. I need you to open your eyes.’

  They remained firmly closed.

  The stars across the dome of the sky were bright as Damis crossed the terrace to the block beyond the villa’s main building. The shutters, heavy steel painted blue, were closed and the only artificial lights were in the small courtyard outside. There was a guard with a machine-pistol slung over his shoulder about ten metres further on. He directed an inscrutable look at Damis, then resumed his patrol of the compound.

  The door opened when Damis knocked. The personal assistant Maggi gave him a tight smile and led him down a narrow passage. She pressed a button outside the heavy wooden door at the end. The door swung open with a buzz.

  Damis found himself in a large room with several doors leading off. It was furnished in a very different style from the other parts of the house that he’d seen. Instead of rich people’s chic, this room was done in rustic style. Flokati blankets in vivid colours had been thrown over a bulky sofa and there were carved wooden chests, a heavy table and chairs. Paintings of men in helmets and oriental tunics lined the walls.