ATHENS, GREECE
THE SECURITY LINE IN THE ATHENS AIRPORT WAS MOVING AT a snail’s pace. Basil had told Eva to put the icons in her carry-on bag, but she was afraid that the scanner would show them and they’d attract attention, so she had packed them in her checked bag instead. She wouldn’t be able to relax until she was safely on the ground in America with the suitcase back in her possession. She waited for the security agent to call her forward and stepped through the scanner without incident.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she retrieved her carry-on and her purse and continued down the hallway to wait to clear Passport Control. She glanced over at one of the numerous military police officers standing ramrod straight, the machine gun strapped over his chest and one hand resting on it. She swallowed and took a deep breath.
The line was longer here, and her mind began to wander. She couldn’t imagine what kind of reaction Taylor would have to the news that Eva was alive or how she was going to be able to explain that she’d allowed her beloved child to grieve her loss all these years. The only thing that gave her hope was that Taylor knew about the coins. Maybe Taylor would be able to forgive her, understanding that she really hadn’t had a choice in the matter.
Father Basil had brought Eva up to speed on aspects of Taylor’s life she couldn’t find online. It broke her heart to learn that Warwick had not only been the one to betray Eva but that he had tried to kill Taylor as well. She shivered again at the thought of the hideous violation he’d participated in, allowing that clinic to inject another man’s sperm into her. All these years she had believed that her husband was a good man and that she’d left her daughter with a loving father.
A man behind her pushed forward, and she looked up to see that she was next in line. She had her passport ready and smiled at the man behind the counter when she approached. He gave her a bored look as he held out his hand for her passport and boarding pass, but then took his time examining the passport, looking up at her and back at it several times.
“Your name?” he asked in Greek.
“Eva Parks,” she answered in what she hoped sounded like a calm tone.
Scratching his beard, he stared at the passport again, then held it up to the light. Putting it through the scanner one more time, he frowned and picked up the phone. Eva’s heart began to race. Father Basil had assured her that the credentials were solid. What was she going to do if they figured out her passport was fake?
Minutes later, two armed military policeman came up from behind and stationed themselves on either side of her.
“Please come with us,” the one on her right said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her heart beating wildly.
The other one turned to her and answered. “Passport Control has a few questions before you can board.” He turned to the Passport Control officer and told him to remove her luggage from the plane.
She was led to a side door and ushered down a long hallway with concrete block walls and dim fluorescent lighting. When they reached a steel door, she was led through it and into a small office with a cheap metal desk and two plastic chairs. Over an hour passed slowly as she waited, her shirt damp with perspiration and her heart beating fast. It seemed like the room was getting hotter with every minute and her throat was dry and parched. When was someone going to come and talk to her? She looked at her watch. Her flight would be taking off about now, and there was no chance of her getting onto it.
Finally, the door opened and in walked a short man with salt-and-pepper hair and wearing a wrinkled suit and pilled white shirt. A cell phone was clipped to his belt, and she spotted a handgun in a holster on the other side. Another man followed him in carrying her suitcase; he dropped it on the floor and left. The short man turned to the armed guards. “You can go.” He shut the door and looked at her. It was just the two of them now. “I know from your passport that your name isn’t Eva Parks. Our new scanning system flagged its number. Furthermore, when we cross-referenced your name and birth date we found out something interesting. Guess what?”
She remained silent.
“Eva Parks died in 1995. What is your name and why are you trying to leave Greece using a false passport?”
Her mind raced, but for the moment, she remained silent, looking down at the table.
“Who provided you with this false documentation?”
She continued to stare at the table, trying to figure out how she could get her suitcase out of this room. The coins were the only thing that mattered. She couldn’t have given up her life, her daughter, and her freedom to protect the coins only to have them confiscated by the Greek police and made vulnerable to their enemies.
His fist came down hard on the table. “Are you mute? I’m talking to you. Answer my questions!” Perspiration dotted his forehead.
His anger was getting the better of him. She looked up at him and smiled.
His face turned red, and he leaned in close to her, yelling now. “You’re in serious trouble. If you don’t . . .”
In a flash, Eva reached out and grabbed his hand, surprising him and drawing his attention there. Then with her other hand, she pushed his head with all her might, smashing it into the table. Before he had a chance to recover, she brought up her left elbow, swinging it at the bridge of his nose and knocking him unconscious. She grabbed his phone, pressed his thumb to the screen to unlock it, and punched in Taylor’s phone number. She picked up her suitcase and ran from the room. The phone rang four times and just when she thought it would go to voice mail, she heard a voice on the other end, one she hadn’t heard in too long.
“Hello?”
“Taylor, don’t hang up. This is very important.” Eva’s breath came in bursts as she sprinted down the long hallway back in the direction from which she came. She reached a door marked “lost baggage” and flung it open. The room was mercifully empty, and she fell against the wall, gasping.
“Who is this?”
“I’m calling from Greece.”
“I don’t understand. Who is this?”
There was no time to break it to her gently. “Taylor, this is going to shock you and I’m sorry to have to do it this way. I was trying to fly to the States and see you in person, but they’ve confiscated my passport. It’s me . . . Mom.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, then in an angry voice. “This isn’t funny. How dare you—”
“Taylor, avgolémono kai psomí,” she said, using the code words she and Taylor had come up with years ago in response to a school program encouraging parents to give their children a password in cases of someone claiming to be picking them up on behalf of their parents in any situation.
“How . . . can it . . . Mom?”
“I need you to come to Athens. You have to come and get the coins. I’ll explain when you get here. I’m at the airport, but I don’t know where they’ll take me next. They’re going to arrest me.”
Eva heard footsteps. “Someone’s coming. I have to hide the coins. Please, Taylor. I need your help. There are things I need to tell you.”
She ended the call and ran to the other end of the room, where she crouched behind a large stack of suitcases. She texted Basil on WhatsApp, like he’d shown her, and told him what was happening, asking him to call Taylor and explain things to her. The door opened and the sound of two men speaking filled the room. Their tones didn’t sound urgent, though, and she soon realized they were looking for a piece of luggage someone had come to claim. They began to sort through the bags on the opposite end of the room. It wouldn’t be long before they came upon her. She had to get the icons out of her suitcase and find a place to hide them before she was captured again. She scanned the room frantically and spotted a My Little Pony suitcase. She crawled over to it and opened it, finding a mess of little girl’s clothing and a large teddy bear. She took the icons from her suitcase and placed them under the clothes, zipped it shut, and squeezed it between two larger suitcases, hoping to keep it somewhat hidden. She would have to hope that Taylor would be able to find a way into this room and retrieve it before anyone came to claim it. She rezipped her own suitcase and stood it next to her.
She heard yelling and the door crashed open. She slid to standing, putting both hands up as four armed guards ran toward her, pointing their automatic weapons at her chest. The officer she’d hit stood in front of her, his nose swollen and bloody. He grabbed her wrist roughly, handcuffing her hands in front of her.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
The man narrowed his eyes and pulled her arm, jerking her forward. “You’re coming with me. The police have some questions for you. This time I suggest you talk.”