16

With a loud and disheartening clank, the metal door slammed shut. They had been told to wait. There wasn’t much choice.

Michelle rolled her eyes in a silent statement on the exasperating absurdity of it all. Khoury maintained a professional coolness. These were Greeks. He knew them. His face betrayed no emotion. No one spoke. Ritter looked around the room. He was more annoyed than apprehensive. The automatic stomach-gnawing fear that would grip perhaps more worldly persons in such a situation did not trouble him. He had had little experience with police. Or police buildings. He could only think this must be drearier than most. There was a definite odor of vomit and a nasty trace of urine. The stone floor was splotchy as though it had not been thoroughly cleaned in weeks, or perhaps months. On one of the gray stone walls was a Greek flag and a creased black-and-white photograph of a well-known Athens political figure who was now president. There was one window, high up on the outside wall, placed so one could not peer out without standing on a bench or chair. The window was barred. Technically, it seemed, the room was not a cell. But to even the most naive observer, it obviously had been used as such many times.

The rough wooden benches were anything but comfortable.

As the minutes ticked by, they became increasingly less so. The colonel would see them in a moment, the man had said. About what? The man couldn’t say. Ritter mentioned something about telephoning the American embassy in Athens. It wouldn’t be necessary, the man explained. They weren’t under arrest. The colonel simply wanted to talk to them. About what? He was sorry, he was busy. The colonel would see them shortly.

The room was cold. The situation, however, was what really made them all shiver. Restless, Khoury leaned over and whispered to Ritter. “I think we are in the hands of Colonel Voko.”

“Who?” replied Ritter also in a whisper. The name seemed strangely familiar.

“Voko, the man they call the hammer. He was a famous guerrilla leader in the war. During the civil strife that followed, he was a nearly legendary government hero in the fight against the Communists. It is said he killed many men. Just as often, he is supposed to have enjoyed it. He is now chief of the Macedonian Gendarmarie.”

Voko. Yes, of course. Voko. The right-wing policeman who had betrayed them during the attack on the train. Could it be the same man? He never actually saw Voko. But Whip had, and hated him. And the others feared him. Ritter didn’t want to alarm Michelle or Khoury. “I wouldn’t recommend his interior decorator,” he said irreverently. “What does he want with us?” If it was the same Voko, he shuddered to think.

Khoury shrugged. “I wouldn’t care to speculate.”

Ritter turned to Michelle and in a whisper repeated what Khoury had told him.

“Hmmm, lucky,” she said softly.

Ritter chuckled. He had to hand it to her. She was cool. But he instinctively sensed this was no laughing matter. He could tell by the way Khoury glared at him.

The minutes dragged by. He looked again at Michelle, who was humming lightly to herself. Khoury stared calmly ahead, as though he was used to waiting for indifferent officials. Ritter looked at the walls, the window, his hands and fingernails, the floor, his shoes, the lone electric light bulb that glimmered dimly above them, a roach exploring one dark corner, the heavy metal door. Maybe the colonel had forgotten them. No, of course he hadn’t. Not a chance. Just softening them up. An old psy-war trick. The colonel wanted to let the message soak in thoroughly before talking to them. Macedonian jails were not exactly the Greek equivalent of Disneyland. Ritter looked for the hundredth time at his watch. They already had been kept waiting over forty-five minutes.

The door squeaked open. It was the heavyset lieutenant with the droopy mustache. “The colonel will see you now.” “He spoke in broken English with the same tone one might expect from the chief of protocol in hell.

They were ushered into an office as remarkable for its plainness as for its grisly power to shock. A large polished wooden desk nearly filled one end opposite the door. No papers on it, just two empty trays and a pen protruding from a black plastic holder. The walls were the same drab gray. The only decoration was an oil painting depicting a public hanging. On the opposite wall a large window looked out over a small courtyard, which seemed to have been the scene of numerous executions. Three chairs stood at attention before the desk and, off to one side, a small table. On the table a human skull bared its teeth.

The room was dominated, however, by the man behind the desk who rose as they entered the room. He was not particularly large, perhaps around five-feet-seven. But in his neatly tailored uniform he was definitely striking. His black hair was slicked back with what Ritter spotted as greasy kid stuff, the kind movie stars wore in the big musicals in the early 1950’s. A black pencil mustache heightened the effect. The man’s eyes glowed with activity. His smile fell heavily on them. It was the kind of smile a hungry snake often affords a trapped mouse.

“Come in,” he said smoothly. “I must apologize for keeping you waiting. We’ve been very busy.” He walked from behind the desk and shook hands with each of them, pausing extra long with Michelle. Ice-cold, she thought. Ice-cold. The colonel returned to his chair behind the desk and signaled them to sit down.

“May I offer you a cup of coffee?” His English was educated, but not polished. His accent was thick, the English of someone who studied for a number of years in school but rarely if ever got abroad.

Khoury nodded for all of them. The colonel pressed a buzzer on his desk.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Colonel Voko, chief of the Macedonian police. It is possible you have heard of me.” In a sweeping gesture he pointed to the painting. Apparently his usual act for first-time visitors. “That painting depicts an important episode from my life and the history of Greece. That was the execution of Andropolous, the infamous Communist revolutionary who tried to destroy Greece in the years from 1945 to 1948. He killed many loyal and good Greeks in the name of Communism, including my brother. It took me three years working night and day to catch him. That was the result. And that,” he said, pointing to the skull, “is all that is left of him.”

Ritter shivered. So Voko had finally killed Andropolous. A Communist perhaps, but a warm and generous man. A lot more man than this slime who had survived.

The colonel paused. Avenging his brother’s death had been the macabre highlight of his life, but not the end of his brutality or killing. “Now I am a simple policeman,” he said unconvincingly, “serving my country and people.” He sucked air in through his teeth.

“Why are we here?” asked Ritter, surprised at how firm his voice sounded.

Voko laughed, a brittle, nearly metallic sound. “Of course. It is not often we have three such interesting tourists in our area. Particularly this time of year. I wanted to meet you.” A note of sarcasm coated his tone.

“We are flattered by the colonel’s attention,” said Khoury calmly. “But it is after midnight. An unusual time for a social call.”

A uniformed young man knocked and entered with a tray of small coffeecups. He served everyone and left.

The three sipped in silence, waiting for Voko to speak again. A dropped pin would have shaken the room.

“Governing Greece these days is not an easy task,” said the colonel softly. “There are many currents and pressures, threats to civil order. Our civil war is, thank God, over. The Communists have been crushed. But our society still has many enemies. These enemies are a threat to the life and progress of the Greek people. One of the difficulties of being a servant of the people is protecting the innocent without harming them. This is not as easy as it might seem. Our enemies are often difficult to detect. They come in many forms. Sometimes they come from outside the country, to spy or steal. Greece, as you know, has a long history of hospitality. Unfortunately, this hospitality has been violated many times. It has made some of us, how do you say, wary. It is not a nice trait, I fear, but I have found it a necessary one.”

The colonel paused. He sipped at his coffee and stared at the three people before him. His carefully programmed smile returned. “I am sure, of course, you do not fall into this category. But frankly, we have received some reports that have raised … questions. Please tell me, what brings you to Greece?”

Khoury spoke. “Miss Simonet is a student. All her adult life has been spent in one university or another. She is currently working on a doctoral thesis about World War II. Her line of studies has touched on the campaigns in Greece, particularly the campaigns of 1941. Miss Simonet and Mr. Ritter are, shall we say, close friends. Mr. Ritter himself is collecting material that he hopes will form the base of a book. He and I have been friends for many years. When he and Michelle said they were going to take a combination study trip and holiday to Greece, they asked me to join them.”

The Colonel sniffed, a blatant gesture of disbelief. He sighed deeply. “I don’t think you fully understand the situation,” he said. “We have been watching you since your arrival in Thessalonica nearly a week ago. It is most unusual for someone to buy a camper in Greece. That alone would not have been enough to arouse our, uh, interest, of course. Foreigners sometimes do crazy but harmless things. But sometimes, not so harmless. Tell me, Mr. Khoury, about your purchase of the shovels and digging equipment.”

“I can explain that,” said Khoury, perhaps a bit too hastily. He had no time to ponder how the colonel knew.

“Please,” said the colonel.

Ritter twisted uneasily in his seat.

“We knew we would be driving into the mountains. It is still spring. Late snowfalls are not unknown. We figured we might need such tools in case the camper got stuck in snow or spring mud.”

“I compliment you on your foresight. But surely not all of the tools you bought, Mr. Khoury. They far exceed what you might need if your camper got stuck. I think they are intended for something else. That’s what we would like to know. Your long drives into the countryside were not exactly normal tourist ventures. And your conversation in Ardhassa revealed more than just an academic interest in the area. What are you after?”

Voko was disturbingly well-informed. It was as uncanny as it was unsettling.

“We’ve already told you, Colonel,” said Ritter. “I don’t see why you find so much trouble believing us. As far as I can see, we’ve done nothing to warrant your hospitality. We’ve not broken the law and we’ve given you no reason to believe we plan to break it. Admittedly, our trip may be a bit more unusual than most, but that is more a compliment to the beauty of your country and the interest it holds for us than anything else.”

The colonel smiled. Like a large cat stalking its prey, he was patient and careful, waiting for the right moment. The verbal crossing of swords amused him to some extent. It was a game he liked and was good at.

“I am flattered by your words, Mr. Ritter. It is true, you’ve done nothing to break the law, yet. But frankly, I need no excuse to ask you to leave the country. Suspicion of intent is more than enough. However, I don’t want to give you a bad impression of Greek hospitality. You are looking for something. Why don’t you tell me what it is? Antiquities? Perhaps I can help you?”

“Colonel, with your permission, I would like to speak with Mr. Ritter privately for a few minutes,” said Khoury. He ignored Ritter’s sudden sharp glance.

Voko arched an eyebrow. He hesitated, a cool smile seeping back onto his face. He sensed he had won. “Of course.” He pressed the buzzer. The uniformed man entered. The colonel instructed him to take Ritter and Khoury back to the waiting room until they signaled a desire to return to the office. “I will have in the meantime the pleasure of getting to know Miss Simonet.”

Michelle looked nervously at Ritter as he walked out with Khoury.

“Elias, are you out of your Greek mind?” There was real anger in Ritter’s voice.

“Easy, Brian,” soothed Khoury. “If we cannot satisfy Voko, he can and undoubtedly will throw us out of here. Or worse. There will be no treasure. It’s already very clear. We can’t escape him.”

“But we’re not going to give it to him.”

“No. We’ve got to make a deal.”

Ritter had been through a similar situation in Barbados. “Another partner, huh?”

“Another partner or no gold for anybody.”

“We need another partner like we need a case of clap. How do we know we can trust him?”

“We don’t and can’t. We’ll have to bring him in on an official government basis. There will have to be a contract, notarized by a prefect.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. But do you have any better ideas?”

“We could protest our innocence and let him throw us out.”

“And then?”

“Come back some other time.” Ritter was fishing. He knew Khoury was right.

“He’d never let us back. He would put our faces and names on alert lists at the borders. The next time one of us appeared, he would be on us like a vulture on a rotten carcass. If you’ll pardon the comparison. I’m afraid we’ve got to deal.”

“Shit!” Ritter pounded a fist against his hand. There was no sense in discussing it any further. They returned to the colonel’s office.

“Come in, gentlemen, come in. Miss Simonet and I were just discussing some of the events of the war. She is indeed very well-informed. Very bright and very beautiful. A rare and most appealing combination.” He bowed his head slightly to Michelle as the two men sat back down in their chairs.

“Well, gentlemen?” It was the colonel’s silkiest voice.

Ritter suddenly knew how it felt for a fly to bounce into an innocent-looking web.

“As I said before, Colonel,” said Khoury, “Miss Simonet is a student. Brian is working on a book. And I am a friend. But you are right, there is more to tell. We are looking for something.”

The colonel leaned forward on his desk expectantly. His hands were clasped in front of him. Michelle looked over at Khoury, obviously distressed at the turn the conversation had taken.

“In 1941, the British Army left behind five boxes filled with gold. We are looking for those boxes,” said Khoury.

“Very interesting,” admitted the colonel. “How do you know about this?”

“Mr. Ritter was here during the war as part of an official mission to recover the gold and turn it over to the partisans. But they didn’t find it then.”

Voko cast a quizzical glance at Ritter.

“You were here during the war?”

“Briefly,” said Ritter, pained that Khoury had mentioned the fact.

“In this area?”

Ritter nodded.

“I don’t believe we met. When were you here?”

“In the fall of 1943. I was wounded,” said Ritter, touching the scar on his temple. “By the time I recovered, they took me back out again. Not a very distinguished record, I’m afraid.”

Voko stared at him, uncertain of the significance of this revelation. He sensed Ritter didn’t want to talk about it. There was something he didn’t want to say. It was not important now. “But, Mr. Ritter, if you didn’t find the gold then, what makes you think you can find it now?”

“One of the men who buried the boxes told a friend of ours, our partner in London. There are currently three partners. We would like to invite you to become the fourth. Whatever we find, we would split four equal ways.”

Crimson flooded the colonel’s face. He leaped up slamming his fist angrily onto the desk. “What do you take me for, a fool? Do you know the penalty for trying to bribe an officer of the Greek police? I could have you all jailed for ten years,” he shouted. “Typical insulting conduct from foreign vultures. Guard!”

The uniformed young man opened the door and ran in.

“Take them out and lock them up,” Voko said. The guard roughly grabbed Ritter by the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. He turned to grab Khoury.

“No, wait,” said the colonel, his voice calming. “Leave them be.” He waved his arm, dismissing the appropriately confused-looking young Greek. He was familiar with the colonel’s tactics.

“Forgive me,” Voko said, sinking into his chair. “I am tired. It is late. I have been working too hard. Sometimes I react too harshly. But this is a serious situation. Those boxes or whatever, they are in Greek soil. They belong to Greece and the Greek people.”

“With all due respect, Colonel,” said Ritter cautiously, “only if the Greek people can find them.”

“You are not in a position to offer such insolence,” said the colonel sourly. He suddenly had little time for subtlety.

“Look at it this way, sir. From your side, it is valid to feel that anything in Greek soil belongs to Greece,” said Ritter. “But if you found oil, you undoubtedly would have to hire foreign oil experts to come to Greece to help you get it out of the ground. That is, in a sense, what we are. We have the expertise to recover the boxes. We know where they are. From that point of view, we deserve to be compensated adequately for our services.”

The colonel looked at them intently. “Twenty-five percent is not a fair share for the people of Greece. We must receive seventy-five percent.”

Ritter and Khoury looked at each other. “Colonel,” said Ritter, continuing to carry the conversation, “for twenty-five percent, I can safely say we would not be interested.” He was surprised at his own boldness. Although the predawn chill had reached his groin, he realized he was sweating. Slight beads of perspiration had appeared on Khoury’s upper lip.

Voko’s eyes narrowed. “I can have you put away in this prison forever. You would never see the sunlight again. You would rot there waiting for your own undistinguished funerals which no one would attend.”

“It is obviously in your power to lock us up, Colonel,” said Ritter. “Whether you could hold us forever is another question. Frankly, I really don’t want to find out. But if you do lock us up, you will never see that gold. And it could well be worth millions.”

The magic word, “millions.” The colonel gradually permitted the smile to return to his face. His voice softened. “Gentlemen, I admire your courage. And I admire Miss Simonet. It would be a shame if you came all this way for nothing. I must agree, throwing you in jail would not solve the problem. Frankly, it would bother my conscience to take years from the life of such a beautiful and charming woman. Let us be friends. Let us agree to a compromise. For the people of Greece, fifty percent. And fifty percent to you as compensation for your efforts. That is my last offer.”

Ritter and Khoury looked at each other. Finally, Ritter twitched his mouth in a signal of resignation. “You drive a very hard bargain, Colonel,” he said. “I guess we have no choice. We accept.”

“A very reasonable decision,” said the colonel. “What do you say, Miss Simonet? We’ve heard nothing from you?”

“I am not a partner in the venture, Colonel. It is up to them to decide.”

“Ahh, Miss Simonet. As gallant as you are beautiful.”

“You realize, Colonel, we must have this in writing, officially notarized by a judge or prefect,” said Khoury.

“Of course, gentlemen. It is not a matter of trust, but a matter of correct procedure. You are absolutely right.” Voko suddenly remembered his watch—still on his wrist. “It is late. I fear I have kept you too long. The lieutenant will take you back to your hotel. We all need some sleep. I will contact the necessary legal experts tomorrow and we will have a document drawn up. When it is finished, I’ll contact you. We can sign it and get things organized. In the meantime, I fear, you will have to remain in your hotel. You are not under arrest, but considering the circumstances, I do not think you would consider it unfair of me to make such a small request. Let me add I am honored to have a former colleague in the fight against the Germans visiting us. We must get together in the next few days and talk about it. But now is not the time. I bid you good night.” He shook hands with Khoury and Ritter and made a show of amorously kissing Michelle’s hand.

As they left the room, Ritter looked again at Andropolous’ skull and realized how tired he was. The skull seemed to be grinning at him.

* * *

The first rays of sunshine began to speed through the gray skies as Michelle turned over, fitting her warm, nude bottom tightly against Ritter’s side.

“Wish Khoury hadn’t mentioned my wartime experience here,” said Ritter.

“Thought something was bothering you.”

“Oh, I don’t suppose it makes all that much difference. But I took part in an attack on a train that involved Greeks from both sides. Voko was one of the leaders of the right-wing group.”

“You knew him?”

“Only of him. Never actually met him. But we regarded him as poison. Anyhow, during the raid on the train, Voko betrayed the left-wing group. They were led by Andropolous, whom I did know. And liked.”

“Who?”

“The guy on the coffee table.”

She sucked in her breath. “How horrible.”

“Yeah. Voko tried to fool the left-wing group into believing the Germans were coming, so he and his boys could collect all the booty from the train for themselves. The leftists caught on quick, and it resulted in a shoot-out that led to the death of the British guy who was with us, and ultimately to the death of my friend Whip.”

“Voko killed him?”

“Not directly. The incident at the train led to the reprisal attack by the leftists on Kilkis where Voko had his headquarters. That’s when Whip was killed by the Greek sniper. Probably a member of the leftist faction.”

She snuggled closer to him. “We are doing business with a very dangerous man,” she said in a strangely detached way.

* * *

“It was our friend and partner the colonel,” said Khoury as he walked back into the bar from the hotel phone. “He is sending someone to take us to the office of the local prefect who has drawn up the document.”

“Is he going to meet us there?”

“The colonel apologizes. He is busy, and says there is no need for him to attend. The signing is strictly a formality. We begin digging tomorrow.”

“Looks as if we are finally going to see what’s in those boxes,” said Ritter. We’ve had it too easy, you know, the thing was too simple to be true. This returns us to reality. It’s nice of course to think what might have been if we hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the good colonel. On the other hand, two months ago, even a seventeen percent share would have seemed very good. It’s all a matter of how you look at it.

“In the Caribbean,” he continued, “one usually expects to pay well over fifty percent to governments, auctioneers, crews, and others. A net take of seventeen percent is impressive by Caribbean standards.”

“I’m glad you’re taking it so philosophically,” Michelle said. “I don’t know why I should feel so badly. I’m not losing anything.”

Within the hour, the escort from Colonel Voko arrived. It was the lieutenant with the droopy mustache. He still reeked of garlic.

“Here’s walrus face,” said Ritter. “I’m surprised he hasn’t asked for a share.”

“Don’t tempt him,” said Michelle. “If Thompson is going to be upset about his seventeen percent, imagine how he would feel about, say, five percent.”

They drove in silence to the office of the perfect, a large stone building that was the center of justice for the region. Entering the office, they all sensed immediately there would be trouble.

The prefect, Christofos Zakros, could only be described as disagreeably fat. His cheeks bulged from an unpleasant face that seemed to have forgotten how to smile.

Introductions were perfunctory. Zakros shook hands quickly with each of them and produced a long one-page document from a folder.

“Sign here,” he said, pointing to the bottom line.

“Don’t you think we ought to read it first?” asked Ritter.

“Not necessary,” said Zakros. “This is the final document, drawn up in accordance with Greek law. Naturally, if you insist …”

“We insist,” said Ritter.

Zakros grumbled and pushed the papers toward them. The document was in Greek.

Khoury began to translate for Ritter and Michelle. “Agreement has been reached between representatives of the Greek government and Elias Khoury and Brian Ritter—it gives our passport numbers, ages, and birthplaces, I see. The hunt for five boxes buried by the British Army in April 1941 is to be conducted on a joint basis between us and a committee of two representing the Greeks. Would you believe, the members of the committee are Colonel Georges Voko, chief of the Macedonian police, and Christofos Zakros, prefect for Kozani. It is agreed the proceeds of the find will be split between us all, the government to get a full fifty percent. K’suchta …” Khoury swore in Arabic. “Look at this.”

“Look at what?” said Ritter.

“I need to interpret this exactly.” He read slowly and carefully, stressing each word. “It says, ‘The excavation is to last not longer than forty-eight hours, unless an obvious necessity exists whereupon the committee can extend said excavation accordingly.’ ”

“I’m not sure we can do it in two days. You saw what it looked like,” said Ritter softly, cupping his hand over his mouth to shield his words from Zakros.

“That’s the point,” answered Khoury quietly. “I suspect they don’t think so either.”

“Please sign,” said Zakros sharply. “My time is short.”

“Mr. Zakros,” said Ritter. “We may not he able to handle the dig in only two days. We hereby request a written guarantee that the committee will automatically extend the length of the search if we request it.”

“That will not be necessary. Sign now, please. I have another appointment.”

“Better sign it,” said Khoury. “We’ll talk to Voko. He wants those boxes pretty badly.”

With a disgusted shake of the head, Ritter signed. Khoury followed. There were four copies. Zakros handed them a countersigned copy, turned and abruptly left the room. He did not bother to shake hands or say good-bye.

“We’ll just have to get the gold out of the ground in two days,” said Ritter in a determined tone.

They returned to the car, and the droopy-mustached lieutenant drove them back to the hotel. Khoury chatted with him in Greek.

As the three walked from the car into the lobby, Khoury said, “I understand it all now.”

“What’s there to understand?” asked Ritter.

“Zakros is Voko’s first cousin.”