The Green Lady (30 page)

Mavros ran his hand over the rough rock, feeling the surface crumble. He moved on his knees, feeling for the bars. When he found them, he struggled against them with all his strength. They hardly moved.

‘Shit!' he gasped. He tried in the opposite direction, as far as he could gauge in the complete darkness, hitting Bitsos's legs as he went. The tunnel continued for a few metres and then met a solid wall. ‘Dead end.'

‘Very witty. Conserve your energy, fool.'

‘Why? So it takes me longer to die?'

There was a silence. ‘Well, yes. Won't people be looking for us?'

‘Not if the bastards pick up the Fat Man.'

‘What about that tame cop of yours?'

‘He's not that tame. Besides, what will he have to go on, Lambi? Akis will say he never took us across the bay. Nobody saw us get on the boat. He'll hide the cars and concoct some lie about us having left of our own accord.'

‘Were those fuckers taking it seriously up there in the temple? It's 2004. Who worships the ancient gods?'

‘Quite a lot of people, if your pals in the media are to be believed. Remember those protests about the Olympics being a travesty of their original form? They were by the Olympian gods' faithful.'

‘Yes, but millionaires like Paschos Poulos, hard-nosed business types, what are they doing dressing up in robes and slaughtering piglets?'

‘Shame you couldn't take any pictures.'

‘They took my camera anyway, the thieving tossers. It cost me a fortune.'

Mavros laughed. ‘You're worried about your camera at this juncture?'

‘I managed to get the memory card out. It's in my pants.' Bitsos was quiet for a while. ‘Anyway, it's time you came clean. What brought you down here in the first place? You haven't suddenly gone all ecological.'

‘Er, no. Though the muck in the air and sea around here is pushing me rapidly in that direction.' Mavros thought about it. There was no point in keeping secrets any more. ‘I was hired by Angie Poulou.'

‘The tycoon's wife? What for?'

‘They kept it quiet, but their fourteen-year-old daughter Lia disappeared on May 1st. They've been pretending she's at school in Switzerland while Kriaras coordinates the search for her.'

‘Jesus. The fucker certainly nailed the news blackout. Have you picked up any trace of her?'

‘She was down here in March at one of the ecologists' workshops. She also met Ourania, the girl Rovertos Bekakos abused.'

‘She's fourteen too, isn't she? Shit, there's something very nasty going on. A paedophile ring?'

Mavros tried to get comfortable, but the stone floor was jagged. ‘Angie said she suspected Bekakos and maybe even her husband of that kind of thing.'

‘Hang on, there's also the Son. I didn't see him tonight.'

‘Just as well. He'd have hung us from the roof with fish hooks.'

‘Thanks for reminding me of that modus operandi. At least the Father hasn't shown his face.'

‘Mm. The question is, where is the Son? He's been killing off rival Olympian believers, but I think he's also looking for Lia. Christ, Niki.'

‘What, you think he might have gone after her?'

‘I left her numerous messages to clear out.' Mavros clenched his fists. ‘But it's not only her. My whole family could be at risk.'

‘Cool it, Alex. Deep breaths – though the air down here stinks worse than a whore's armpit.'

Mavros couldn't help laughing. ‘Delicate as ever. Hang on, what about my client?'

‘You mean she'll start asking where you are?' Bitsos said hopefully.

‘No, I mean what if the Son's been turned loose on her?'

‘Why?'

‘She was petrified about her husband finding out she'd hired me.'

‘But who hired the Son? Surely Poulos is behind that.' He paused. ‘Fucking hell. You mean he might want his own wife dead?'

‘He might want Lia dead too.'

‘Because he abused her?'

Mavros didn't reply. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the horror of the case – people cut to pieces, pomegranate seeds stuffed in their bodies, underage girls used as sex objects, animals sacrificed; let alone the premature deaths from the pollution. He almost resigned himself to dying in the underworld, so vile was life on the surface.

Then he pulled himself together.

‘Come on, Lambi, let's see if the two of us mightn't be able to shake the bars free.'

They gave it their best shot, but to no avail.

A
ngie Poulou crept to the bathroom door, pistol in her right hand. She listened, but could hear no sound. That immediately made her wonder about the cook, Fidelia. Surely she would have heard the shot. She slipped down the corridor, noticing a trail of blood. That made her more confident, as she could see spatter all the way to the top of the stairs. She checked the hall from above and saw no sign of her assailant. What she did see stopped her heart for a couple of seconds. Fidelia was sprawled on the marble, blood emanating from the swathe of her dark hair.

Telling herself to keep her cool, Angie moved to the stairs and went down, looking around continuously. When she reached the ground floor, she checked the doors. They were all closed, except the French windows that led to the pool. Her killer had left the way he'd come, the blood leading round the corner beyond the recliners. She ran through the extension and pulled the doors to, engaging the lock. Then she rushed back to the cook. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse slow. There was nothing for it. Despite the fact that, from the time Paschos got involved with the Olympics he had told her to contact Brigadier Kriaras in any emergency, she'd had enough of her husband's rules. She dialled 166 and asked for an ambulance, giving details of Fidelia's condition. She was told to put a blanket over her, which she did. Sitting by the motionless servant, Angie realised she would have some explaining to do. She got up and looked at herself in the large gold-framed mirror, barely suppressing a scream. Instead of teeth, the fronts of both upper and lower jaws were lined with metal pegs, most of them bent outwards. She went to the nearest bathroom and wiped the blood away. She put on a towelling robe, then stuffed the pistol into the laundry basket and ran upstairs. The bathroom looked like a slaughterhouse. She pulled out the plug and let the water run out of the bath, using the hand shower to wash away the worst of the blood. The ear fragment she picked out with a facecloth and dumped in the rubbish. She had a vague idea that reattachment might be possible, but she was damned if the bastard was getting it back.

The bell from the gate rang. She went downstairs and checked the screen by the phone. The ambulance looked normal and there was no sign of the killer, even though he might have been waiting for the gate to open in order to make his escape. As she waited for the paramedics, Angie had a thought – how had he got in? The perimeter wall was supposed to be impassable. Had he been given the pass code? Was that more evidence of her husband's betrayal?

One of the green-overalled personnel was female, the other male. They headed straight for Fidelia and did what they'd been trained to do.

‘What happened, Madam?' the woman asked, looking round.

‘She must have slipped,' Angie said. ‘I was upstairs.'

‘And you?'

Angie realised the paramedic was looking at her face. ‘Oh, I went headfirst myself when I heard her scream. I collided with the door frame.'

‘And lost all those teeth? You should come with us too.'

‘No, no, I'm fine.' She showed the family's private health insurance papers. ‘Please do everything that's necessary for poor Fidelia.'

‘If you're sure, Madam,' the woman said dubiously. ‘But you really should get those contusions looked at – there may be bone damage.'

Angie nodded. ‘I will. It's just, I have to meet my daughter at the airport. Don't worry, the chauffeur will drive.' She watched the paramedics remove the cook on a wheeled stretcher, one of them holding a drip high. When they were gone, she went back to the first-floor bathroom and got down on her knees to pick up the remains of her crowns. Suddenly the dam she'd erected to contain her emotions burst and she started weeping uncontrollably, the broken pieces of gold and porcelain scattering across the tiles as she lost control of her hands. How could he? How could Paschos send someone to kill her? Or was it someone else?

Then it occurred to her that the assassin might have advised his employer of his failure – or might be preparing a second attempt after patching up his wounds. Gathering the crowns into a plastic bag, she ran to the bedroom and changed into a pale blue linen trouser suit. Then she threw clothes and shoes into a suitcase. Until she'd found Lia and uncovered whatever Paschos was up to, she wouldn't be coming back to the house. Then she located her mobile phone and called Alex Mavros. It rang unobtainable. She tried again, with same result. Had he been got at by another assailant? That thought made her sob again. If he was gone, who could she turn to?

Angie Poulou put the pistol into her Hermès handbag and hauled the suitcase downstairs. Now she had to get to the garage and take a car without her driver/bodyguard getting in the way. Although he was off duty, he lived above the garages. It was strange that he hadn't come round to the main house with all the commotion caused by the ambulance arriving and then taking poor Fidelia off to the hospital. Angie went to the far end of the house and opened the door that led to the outbuildings. She expected to be accosted by the man – a muscular Ithacan whom she disliked intensely – but there was no sign of him. How could that be? One of the men was always on duty. She groaned, realising this was also part of Paschos's plan. She and the unfortunate Fidelia had been left on their own with the killer. Fine, she thought. If that's how he wants to play . . .

Her BMW saloon was in the middle garage, next to the Mitsubishi 4x4 they used on the estate on Evia. Angie decided she would take the latter. As she stowed her luggage, she made her mind up where she was going. Alex Mavros had last been heard from in the vicinity of the HMC plant by Paradheisos. Rovertos Bekakos was down there too.

Viotia here she came – and this time she would ignore her bees.

Mavros began to shiver. He had come into the cage covered in sweat, but the ambient temperature so far beneath the surface of the earth was low.

Alongside him, Lambis Bitsos clenched his arms to his body. ‘Do you think it's possible to freeze to death in Greece in August?'

‘I'm beginning to fear so. Then again, we're also up against dehydration, lack of food and whatever creepy-crawlies live down here.'

‘Did you see any spiders before the lights left? I fucking hate spiders.'

Mavros laughed weakly. ‘Before this is over, you'll be eating them, my friend.'

‘I'll eat you first.'

Mavros edged away, aware of Bitsos's permanently raging hunger.

‘Don't be stupid,' the other man scoffed. ‘We'll be out of here before we get that desperate.'

‘You reckon?'

‘I do, and I'll tell you why. The Fat Man hasn't been brought to join us.'

‘Jesus, Lambi, you're right. He must still be at large.'

‘At large? Very good. But you take my point?'

‘I do. The problem is, he has no idea where we are.' He thought of Telemachos Xanthakos. The policeman would help, but he didn't know their location either. Which left . . .

‘That wanker of a fisherman,' Bitsos said. ‘If he goes back to Kypseli, which logically he has to in order to keep in with the ecologists, he could be a weak link.'

‘He could be.' Mavros found his mind moving away from their immediate plight to the females in the case. He wished he'd managed to get more out of Angie Poulou about her husband – it was clear she had suspicions about him, and she wasn't involved in the Hades and Persephone cult. He also regretted not managing to ask her about Lia's involvement with the ecologists and the abused girl, Ourania. Had she been to Paradheisos more than once, perhaps when Angie was tending her bees on Mount Elikonas? Could it be that Lykos had kidnapped her and kept that from Angeliki? And then there was Niki. Had the Son really gone after the woman Mavros had loved for years? If so, she was doomed – perhaps already dead. He felt his heart constrict as he realised how much he loved her. He should never have driven her to leave him. So she wanted children. What was wrong with that? He thought of his father, Spyros, who had died when Mavros was only five but who still influenced his life. Inevitably, his brother Andonis also flashed before him, his lips in their perpetual smile and his blue eyes wide open. If Mavros had kids with Niki, the ones he had lost would be kept alive, their genes passed on.

‘What is it?' Bitsos demanded. ‘Are you crying?'

‘No,' Mavros mumbled, but his eyes and cheeks were damp. He was thinking of the children he would never have and the women he had failed – Niki, Angie Poulou and her daughter, the last only fourteen years old but, if Ourania's abuse by Rovertos Bekakos was anything to go by, already mature beyond her years in the worst of senses. The question was, had Paschos Poulos been involved? Had he really abused his own daughter?

Given he was deep in the underworld with little hope of rescue, Mavros supposed he would never find out the answers to those and many other questions.

‘Alex?' Bitsos said tentatively.

‘What, Lambi?'

‘Can you . . . can you hold my hand?'

He took the journalist's scrawny paw and sank into an inner darkness that was even more absolute than that in the former dynamite store.

The Son grabbed a towel after he sent the Filipina flying and ran to the gate. He held the fabric against the wounds to his head and ear until he got to the Fiat. He drove towards the national highway, but pulled in before he got there and looked at himself in the vanity mirror. His left ear had been halved and was still gushing, but the razor slashes to his face and scalp were less bloody. He managed to tie the towel in such a way as to cover all three cuts, but he knew he needed surgery urgently. He called the emergency number he'd been given and told the gruff man who answered what he needed. Five minutes late he received directions to a private clinic and was told to enter at the rear. When he was finished, he was to phone again to report.