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Gabriel
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After only a couple hours of sleep, Gabe awoke feeling refreshed. Living alone in the mountains was great, but he did miss this—this sense of purpose and adventure—and he was anxious to get started.
Fred sensed it, too. His tail hadn’t stopped wagging since he’d bounded out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn.
Over coffee and breakfast, Gabe used his notes from the night before to refine task lists for himself and the others. Levine would be scouring the finances, assets, and off-shore bank accounts. Dominguez had already begun compiling in-depth profiles on those on Kristikos’s payroll. Livingston—Pixie—was making a list of every communication coming in or out of the estate in the weeks prior to the disappearance.
As for him, he’d contacted the estate manager, Gregory Daskalakis, informing him that he and his associates would be paying them a visit.
By the time the clock hit seven, Gabe was ready to go. He grabbed Fred’s vest and went to see about getting a vehicle, only to be informed that Silas had already made arrangements.
Of course, he had.
Keys in hand, Gabe found the black SUV parked just outside. It was a newer model, fully loaded. He took a moment to familiarize himself with it, murmuring appreciation for the high-tech dash. Fred seemed to like it, too, except for the tinted windows. Gabe lowered the one on the passenger side so Fred could stick his nose out and enjoy the view.
The drive out to the secluded estate took less than an hour. Along the way, he reviewed the information he’d committed to memory and made a mental list of the things he wanted to accomplish.
First, he wanted a walkthrough of the events the night Christos Kristikos disappeared, beginning with the arrival of the mystery guest and ending with the last time someone saw or spoke with Kristikos.
Next, he wanted to meet with each member of Kristikos’s personal staff. He’d reviewed their files, but as with the team Silas had compiled, Gabe wanted to create a more rounded image using his instincts and powers of observation. A person’s body language said far more about them than their bios. Lack of eye contact and subtle tells often outed those who had something to hide.
And, since these were Kristikos’s people he’d be dealing with, they probably had plenty of practice hiding things. The challenge would be separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, and determining what was relevant to achieving his objectives—namely, finding out what happened to Christos and then finding a way to use that information to take Darius down.
Additionally, he hoped to get a good read on how those closest to Kristikos were handling his disappearance. Masking genuine emotion wasn’t something many people could pull off effectively. Were they distressed? Relieved? Anxious? Gabe planned to use whatever vibes he picked up like a barometer reading to assess the overall situation.
Later that night, he’d do a SITREP with the others and compare notes.
Massive black metal gates mounted on stone pillars kept him from getting far once he turned off the road. Gabe lowered the driver’s side window and spoke into the mounted speaker, flashing his credentials toward the nearest camera as well.
“Gabriel Michaels.”
“Welcome, Commander Michaels. Your presence is expected. Please proceed,” said a smooth, accented voice. The familiar address felt comfortable, like a broken-in pair of boots. It was an interesting choice, however, given he was officially retired from active service. Was it a subtle way of letting him know they’d done their research? Or simply a sign of respect? Either way, he wasn’t about to correct them.
The gates swung slowly inward, and he moved the vehicle forward. A quick check in the rearview mirror showed the black bars closing behind him. The private drive was long, flanked on either side by tall trees. A telltale glint in the foliage every now and then confirmed Gabe’s suspicions that additional cameras were tracking his progress. He wouldn’t have been surprised if more than just cameras were mounted in those trees. From a security perspective, it made a lot of sense. Legit or not, Christos Kristikos was worth millions, if not more.
Eventually, manicured lawns came into view, an expanse of jewel-like green. “So, this is what it’s like to be filthy rich,” Gabe murmured. Statuaries, fountains, and perfectly trimmed hedges abounded, meant to awe and impress. It was nice, in a showy, controlling kind of way, but as far as he was concerned, raw, wild nature was more appealing.
He pulled into the circular drive where a man dressed in a black suit awaited him. Fifty to sixty years old and distinguished-looking with peppered silvery hair, the man stood stiff and straight. His face was a mask, but his nearly-black eyes were sharp and assessing. He flicked those eyes downward toward Fred, who was now sporting his official vest, and the man’s lips turned downward in a hint of disapproval. Wisely, he refrained from commenting.
“Commander Michaels.” The man’s voice was smooth and cultured like the one at the gate. “I am Gregory Daskalakis. I oversee the management of Mr. Kristikos’s estate.”
Gabe nodded in acknowledgement. Daskalakis didn’t extend his hand. Neither did he.
“Let us proceed to my office and we can discuss how I may be of assistance.”
Daskalakis turned and led the way up a small set of marble steps and through a series of Corinthian-style columns to a set of arched doors. They passed through a grand foyer, which Gabe estimated to be larger than his two-room cabin, and turned right.
The room they entered was spacious, the massive fireplace and floor-to-ceiling shelving more indicative of an ivy-league law library than an estate manager’s office. Dark, polished wood and deep, rich draperies and upholstery gave the place a heavy, imposing feel. It spoke of power and wealth and privilege.
“Please, have a seat,” Daskalakis said, indicating one of the chairs facing a large, intricately carved desk. Daskalakis moved behind the monstrosity. Gabe sat down and removed a small pen and notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. Fred sat beside him, his eyes and ears alert.
Daskalakis folded his hands on the desk in front of him, his back ramrod-straight and his demeanor all business. Gabe noted his smooth hands and perfectly manicured nails. His expression was appropriately somber, his tone, professional. “Tell me, Commander, how I may assist you with this terrible business.”
“I’d like to interview the staff and have a look around.”
A slight, cold smile, which didn’t reach Daskalakis’s eyes, played on his lips. “Several representatives from your foreign affairs department have already spoken with the staff, Commander, and I can assure you, we have conducted a complete search of the house and grounds.”
“I’ve read the reports,” Gabe assured him with a chilly smile of his own, resisting the urge to state the obvious: if any of that had been useful, he wouldn’t be sitting in Daskalakis’s office.
“Let’s start by you telling me what happened the night Christos Kristikos disappeared.”
The smile was gone. Daskalakis’s answer was smooth and precise. Rehearsed. “I have no firsthand knowledge of the events that occurred that evening. I was here, in my office, working, then retired to my rooms.”
“When did you become aware of Mr. Kristikos’s absence?”
“The next morning, when I took papers requiring his signature to his private quarters.”
“And yet, Foreign Affairs didn’t become aware of the situation for several more days. Why is that?”
A slight frown, a measured blink. “I saw no reason to contact them. Mr. Kristikos often leaves for days at a time.”
“Without telling you?”
“I report to Mr. Kristikos, Commander, not the other way around. If there is something pertaining to the estate that requires my knowledge, I am informed.”
“It’s strictly an employer-employee relationship, then.”
Daskalakis sat back slightly. “Perhaps more than that,” he said thoughtfully. “I have worked for the Kristikos family for many years, as did my father before me, and his father before him. However, I do not use that familiarity to overstep my bounds. I am sorry I cannot be of more assistance.”
It was a clear signal the interview had gone about as far as it was going to go. Gabe was certain Daskalakis wasn’t being entirely truthful, just as he was certain the man wasn’t going to reveal anything of importance at this early stage of the game. Gabe took a few moments to scribble in his notebook, making the estate manager wait until he was finished before responding.
“I appreciate your time,” he said, rising to his feet. Beside him, Fred did the same. “I’d like to speak with the head of estate security next.” Gabe looked down at his notebook, though he had already committed staff names and duties to memory. “Sander Argyros.”
Daskalakis picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button. “Commander Michaels would like to have a word with you.” Daskalakis then said something briefly in Greek, then replaced the receiver. “Your associate, Mr. Dawson is with him now. I’ll take you to him.”