cooperation and said, if they preferred, he’d not mention his visit to their captain. They looked at each other and, in Greek chorus fashion, nodded and said, ‘Thank you.’
Andreas walked back to his car imagining what he’d doto anyone under his command that let himself be bullied into opening up his office. No telling what could happen. He touched the item in his pant pocket that he’d purchased less than an hour before in the shop. Well, not really the same item, but one just like it. Someone might even switch crosses on you, he thought.
The first thing Maggie saw on her desk that morning was a sealed envelope wrapped in red ribbon with a scribbled note:
Please transcribe ASAP
.
Only you are to do it, and only you are to know. There are two voices on the tape, one is still unidentified and the other belongs to the person who made me do this to you. xox, Yianni.
She smiled. They were good kids. Dedicated cops, too. Not many like them. She put aside the things on her desk, opened the envelope, and took out the tape. There wasn’t a decent software program for converting Greek speech into the written word, so she did it the old fashioned way: she put the tape into her transcription machine, adjusted her headphones to minimize damage to her permanent, and hit the foot pedal to start things off.
Maggie could type as fast as they spoke, and once she caught the rhythm of their voices it was easy. She was breezing along listening to the other man’s scholarly description of ancient church intrigues and enjoying every minute of it. She was deeply religious and more aware than most of church history. She quickly realized that the other manwas someone who truly knew what he was talking about. She also noticed something familiar about his voice. Probably, she thought, because she’d heard the subject discussed many times before.
The man was five minutes or so into his thinking on modern theological problems confronting the church when she screamed, ‘
Kalogeros Giorgos! I can’t believe it’s you
.’
Maggie transcribed the rest of the tape in rigid, concentrated silence. Nothing in life surprised her anymore, but she prayed he wasn’t involved. Not all sacred cows should fall to slaughter. Certainly not this one, she prayed.
Kouros looked at what the abbot had e-mailed as being all his information on the three unaccounted-for monks. It was about as helpful as saying, ‘Huey, Dewey, and Louie live in Disney World.’ Maybe less so. All were from a monastery on Mount Athos that was among the poorest, least developed, and strictest there. Its monks prided themselves on rigorous discipline and endless prayer. They slept on wooden plank benches without mattresses, and regarded as far too liberal a neighbor monastery well known for its strict interpretation of all things and the inscription ‘Orthodoxy or Death’ over its entranceway.
They had no television, no Internet, no telephone, and barely communicated with the outside world. The only way to make contact was by mail or to show up on their doorstep and literally pray for them to let you in. Kouros sighed. He saw a pilgrimage in his future.
Kouros decided to take a crack at something more within his control and ran a check on the Patmos police captain.It came back clean except for a number of citizen complaints that his personality bordered on asshole - coming from the dark side. No surprise there. But an otherwise clean record didn’t necessarily mean anything more than he was careful. Some of the dirtiest cops he knew looked terrific on paper. They’d pull more quality arrests than any other cops in their jurisdiction. Of course they did, because they were paid by their bad-guy partners not just to protect them, but to shut down their competitors through tip-offs. It was a double hit for crooked cops: glory for the collar, cash for the protection. Still, there was nothing to suggest this Patmos cop was dirty. It would require an undercover operation in
Andreas walked back to his car imagining what he’d doto anyone under his command that let himself be bullied into opening up his office. No telling what could happen. He touched the item in his pant pocket that he’d purchased less than an hour before in the shop. Well, not really the same item, but one just like it. Someone might even switch crosses on you, he thought.
The first thing Maggie saw on her desk that morning was a sealed envelope wrapped in red ribbon with a scribbled note:
Please transcribe ASAP
.
Only you are to do it, and only you are to know. There are two voices on the tape, one is still unidentified and the other belongs to the person who made me do this to you. xox, Yianni.
She smiled. They were good kids. Dedicated cops, too. Not many like them. She put aside the things on her desk, opened the envelope, and took out the tape. There wasn’t a decent software program for converting Greek speech into the written word, so she did it the old fashioned way: she put the tape into her transcription machine, adjusted her headphones to minimize damage to her permanent, and hit the foot pedal to start things off.
Maggie could type as fast as they spoke, and once she caught the rhythm of their voices it was easy. She was breezing along listening to the other man’s scholarly description of ancient church intrigues and enjoying every minute of it. She was deeply religious and more aware than most of church history. She quickly realized that the other manwas someone who truly knew what he was talking about. She also noticed something familiar about his voice. Probably, she thought, because she’d heard the subject discussed many times before.
The man was five minutes or so into his thinking on modern theological problems confronting the church when she screamed, ‘
Kalogeros Giorgos! I can’t believe it’s you
.’
Maggie transcribed the rest of the tape in rigid, concentrated silence. Nothing in life surprised her anymore, but she prayed he wasn’t involved. Not all sacred cows should fall to slaughter. Certainly not this one, she prayed.
Kouros looked at what the abbot had e-mailed as being all his information on the three unaccounted-for monks. It was about as helpful as saying, ‘Huey, Dewey, and Louie live in Disney World.’ Maybe less so. All were from a monastery on Mount Athos that was among the poorest, least developed, and strictest there. Its monks prided themselves on rigorous discipline and endless prayer. They slept on wooden plank benches without mattresses, and regarded as far too liberal a neighbor monastery well known for its strict interpretation of all things and the inscription ‘Orthodoxy or Death’ over its entranceway.
They had no television, no Internet, no telephone, and barely communicated with the outside world. The only way to make contact was by mail or to show up on their doorstep and literally pray for them to let you in. Kouros sighed. He saw a pilgrimage in his future.
Kouros decided to take a crack at something more within his control and ran a check on the Patmos police captain.It came back clean except for a number of citizen complaints that his personality bordered on asshole - coming from the dark side. No surprise there. But an otherwise clean record didn’t necessarily mean anything more than he was careful. Some of the dirtiest cops he knew looked terrific on paper. They’d pull more quality arrests than any other cops in their jurisdiction. Of course they did, because they were paid by their bad-guy partners not just to protect them, but to shut down their competitors through tip-offs. It was a double hit for crooked cops: glory for the collar, cash for the protection. Still, there was nothing to suggest this Patmos cop was dirty. It would require an undercover operation in
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