Promethea (13 page)

              The arduous ascent to the sheltered village of Volakas would have been a worthy addition to the infamous twelve labours of Hercules. It was, without a doubt, a true test of resolve and endurance.

             
The actual settlement did not show on any of the tourist maps, only the village’s churches did. Perhaps it was because there was nothing here but a scarce local Greek population; sixty islanders more or less. The number had actually swelled from a meagre thirty-three, who dwelled in these regions almost two decades ago.

             
Our unfamiliar faces stood out against those of the locals’. Our presence may have not appealed to them as much as we would have wanted to. And as so, they came out in numbers: one by one, at first, but then a bunch and a dozen. They have exited their houses, staring at us as we entered their infrequently travelled premises. Some of the elder women wore bright white headscarves, as for their men; they donned distinctive grey berets that covered their heads from the scorching sun. Among them were a few who smoked through their handcrafted pipes and others who held on to their break-action double-barrel shotguns. In the background, a couple of children giggled as they chased a dark Harehound around some giant golden stacks of hay.

             
“This way!” Kanellis stretched his index finger.

             
He guided us, alongside four of his men, through a shaded network of sloping narrow pathways. Koufakis walked nearby too. The Deputy had brought him along specifically just to make him witness the impending failure of his own rogue plans.

             
The soft warm wind of Tinos skimmed against my face. Its gentle blows pushed some of the withering petals off the surrounding, arching tree branches. At first, I stepped on the few that fell right beside my feet, until suddenly, hundreds of red and white leaflets rained down from above, covering the winding stone path ahead of us. The beautiful spectacle had encouraged two of the Greek officers to lay their heads down humbly and make the Sign of the Cross. As for Koufakis, he turned around and sighed in contention.

             
The path had prolonged for a few hundred meters more before ending abruptly by an imposing white structure. It was perhaps the largest we have seen ever since entering Volakas. Attached to the structure was a lightly constructed shed, which housed many motorcycles underneath. I felt distracted by one in particular. It was a unique Vespa scooter with an attached jade-coloured sidecar and white racing stripes. I had only seen these before in old exotic movies and always wondered how would it feel to speed through the countryside driving one of them.

             
“Here.” Kanellis whispered, in order not to alert those taking shelter inside the house. The Deputy had already provided us with navy-coloured bulletproof vests but was now handing us each a fully loaded gun.

             
“You never know when you’d need it.” He said, before looking at me in the eyes. “Even if
you
are staying here.”

             
Adam agreed with him. It was not the first time he had done everything in his power to keep me out of danger. I had already known how he interfered with my case assignments, thinking he was inconspicuous… but yet, I knew. And never was I quite appreciative of this fact.

             
“He’s right.” Adam said. “Stay here with Koufakis and that other detective.” His eyes then switched to the young police officer who gave him an assertive nod.

             
“Don’t worry Sir, it is my job.” The phrase came out in a powerful deep Greek accent, which shredded its intended phonetics to pieces.

             
I held Adam’s hand, refusing to let him go. “I have a bad feeling about this.” I said. “Don’t go in there.” I pleaded.

             
Yet it was closure that he was after, not the warmth and comfort of my tender hands. He released my grip gently, one finger at a time, before taking a silent visual oath to come back.

             
Kanellis men used a crowbar to break the lock off a low-laying knee-high blue door. The external inclined wooden door acted as an outer access to the main building’s wine cellar. It was from there that the pharmacist had told them to break in; that it was their safest route. I kept my eyes on Adam, who descended unto the unknown. He was the last one to go down, as I watched them, one by one, getting swallowed by the dark pitch-black ground pit.

             
“Stay here! Keep an eye on Koufakis!” I yelled at the Greek detective.

             
“Agent Hélène, where are you going?” He asked.

             
“I’m finding another way in.”

***

              Adam stepped carefully on the rotten wooden planks of the staircase, as they creaked sharply under their collective weight. The Greek officers were in full gear. They were each wearing a bulletproof vest and carried along plenty of firepower. One of them had even held a close-quarters pump-action shotgun, in addition to his regular sidearm. But all these precautions had done little to quell the Frenchman’s fears. No matter how hard he tried, his quivering hands would not stop trembling. Neither did his forehead stop the shivering cold sweat from rolling down to the side of his cheeks. It was his first ever bust-up and it showed. Kanellis noticed this too, from the rattling sound Adam’s pistol made, and how his hands moved to and fro. He looked back at him and signalled him to stop and remain several steps behind everyone else.

             
The mostly dim, damp room drenched in a distinct rich wine aroma, one that Adam could almost taste. Feet away, Kanellis was approaching a dangling yellowish metal chain and pulling it down. It was connected to a series of cheap old neon lamps that were scattered all across the cellar. Once released, a soft electrical hum buzzed quietly and in a brief moment, the whole room had faintly lit.

             
The space looked much bigger than they had originally anticipated. It was a sizeable storage for wine manufacture, where numerous stacks of large oak barrels. Adam felt dwarfed by the neatly stacked drums; they were arranged neatly in a three-level high grid-like maze. The cellar walls were clad with thousands of massive natural stones and reinforced with wooden rafters. They narrowed down to a tight corridor at its far right end, which stretched to a long tunnel. A vivid white artificial light shone brightly at the opposite end. It sounded like there was quite a bit of lively action at that far side of the house.

             
The policemen moved in formation, carefully sheltered behind the impressive heaps of musky wooden containers. They listened cautiously to the faint, mild chatter at the opposite end of the corridor until it suddenly stopped. In seconds, Koufakis’ men were gushing outside, coming out in ample numbers. They dashed with all weapons blazing, ready for the impending fatal standoff.

             
An erratic frenzy of automatic bullet rounds ended the short-lived silence. Gunshots tore through air and space, whizzing past the in-cover officers and nesting into the great oak barrels around them. The excessive firepower splintered the massive drums, reducing them to sharp shrapnel and jagged pieces. It merely took a few seconds, before the whole place turned into Adam’s worst nightmare… an escapable lethal warzone.

             
Flowing tidal waves of crimson liquid poured in with each gunshot fired and every loud explosion. It was a time where both conflicting sides had finally buckled under their heavy casualties, and pride suffering substantive corrosion. Their protective vests had protected them… to an extent. Yet like brittle tree branches, they had all bent. Only a few remained to bear witness to the spectacle from afar. The dead and injured settled like boulders, soaked in wine, blood and jaws ajar.

             
Adam’s eyes fell on the only ally that had remained. He watched the Greek Deputy’s feet slipping, wounded and slowly crawling in vain. Adam would have helped him. His brain had actually already given the order but his limbs abstained. The only thing that he felt moving was a stream of boiling fluid pooling down his collarbones, rushing like an unstoppable train.

             
Adam closed his eyes and spread his palms. It was a weak attempt to break his fall. Whatever power was left in his hands was failing, as the high levels of adrenaline, once pumped by his heart, were flailing. He bent his right elbow, reaching for the back of his neck and for the very first time, the pain, once numbed by shock, was finally felt. Adam’s attacker grabbed the shiv that struck him down and stabbed him repeatedly until doubt was reduced to nothing. Each stab bridged the gap between life and death; each blow was yet another bolted nail in his coffin.

             
Yet it was in those final moments that ensued, when time had slowed down and chaos, like dust, had settled, that Adam caught a glimpse of his attacker’s true identity… and it was one that he refused to believe, as his senses shut one by one and crippled.

              My strange long detour around the house premises had taken me to one of its most peculiar sections. I took my time, lurking under the protection of its darker confinements and staying wary of the frantic shadows on its walls. I heard the distant shouts and battle cries raging in the background but I chose to ignore them. I was fixated on following the one particular shadow that had gripped my attention. It had the silhouette of a rounded woman, whom I presumed was pregnant. She was quite possibly the woman everyone was looking for.

             
I trailed her slow, hesitant paces to a large rectangular bright space. One that was filled with stark oddities that better belonged in a science fiction film set. Out of the many available doors and exits, the woman in maroon used one to disappear out of sight. Silence was all that there was in the few moments thereafter. Yet, I waited patiently in my shelter for a few more minutes before deciding to stand up and give my surroundings a better and closer look.

             
Light bounced all around me and refracted off some large glass flasks that boiled with strange and colourful liquids. They reeked of bizarre distasteful smells too. All kinds and sizes of beakers, test tubes and microscopes were also available. They were all arranged with great care on some clean metal shelves, which were attached to the white stretching sidewalls.

             
I inched closer in the direction of a large wooden windowpane, which was situated at the exact centre, fifteen meters across the room. Near it, I noticed bone saws, forceps, clamps and scalpels, in what appeared to be a full set of surgical equipment. I peeked through the window and saw an empty surgical bed in an unused operations room. It was probably where they had intended to conduct the delivery.

             
To my right, one of two navy blue metal doors creaked faintly. It was slightly open and seemed to conceal a slim hint of movement. I unlocked the safety lever on my gun and raised it quickly, assuming standing firing position. I, then, walked towards the noise cautiously, resting my palm on the door and pushed it in gently.

              Inside, the room was filled with several, evenly spaced, library-like metal racks. Each of them carried dozens of randomly sized glass jars. The transparent containers had a yellowish murky liquid inside, in which many deformed foetuses had floated motionlessly. Some bore little resemblance, if any, to fully developed human beings. They had merely bathed in the muddy fluid as if they were neglected art pieces made out of modelling clay. Yet as I walked down the line, others started to look increasingly more human. I assumed they must have died mere weeks before their due delivery date.

             
I approached one of the smaller jars in atonement. I had lifted it carefully to my eye-level to inspect it more thoroughly. Yet the space concealed behind the jar revealed a face that was staring back at me, one that I had recognized all too well. I dropped the jar, alarmed, and heard it crashing and spilling all of its contents on the black marble floor.

             
“YOU? What are
you
doing here?!” I exclaimed pointing the gun at him from behind the rack that stood in between.

             
“Calm down, I’m on your side!” he whispered.

             
“How did you get here, Brunner?”

             
“I told you I wouldn’t let this go. I followed the same leads.” He answered.

             
“ I don’t believe you. How did you get the information?” I looked to the side to see if there was anyone else with him.

             
“Listen to me… I still have friends in the force. I had no other option but to crack the ca –”

             
But I did not let him finish his sentence. I squeezed my gun’s trigger the moment I saw him starting to move. My 9mm round flew with the speed of sound and nested in his forehead. It was a lethal wound to which he had succumbed immediately. He dropped like a heavy helpless ragdoll on the room’s hard floor.

             
I knew that my shot, in addition to the ferocious gun battle outside, must have alerted the pregnant nun and those who rose to aid her. I exited the room and caught a glimpse of them using a backdoor to exit the compound undetected. By the time I followed them it was already too late. They had used one of the cars parked outside and drove hastily far and away out of sight.

             
I returned to the massive white room and turned all of its doorknobs in frantic sequence, until one of them finally cracked open. The door led me to a dark long tubular ramped hallway that ended in a huge wine cellar. My legs paced along the straight stretching path as my nose picked up a deep musky smell that only grew stronger with each step I was bound to take. By the time I was finally there, on the verge of the other end of the corridor, I was completely breathless. I stopped, leaning on the sharp ancient stone clad walls, as I attempted to come to terms with the gruesome aftermath of the fatal confrontation.