Dhrakakis laughed harshly. ‘He may think he does, but he has serious competition.’
‘You mean the Tzannetakis family? How can they control a drugs operation across the American South when they’re holding down high-profile jobs in Hollywood?’
‘Ach, Lambi,’ the mayor said, using the Englishman’s old cover name, ‘you forget that Greek families raise many children. Luke and Rosa have three younger brothers and they all learned the business from their father.’
‘So you intend to switch to them?’
Dhrakakis stared at him. ‘Do not forget that you are a guest here, Lambi. You have no say in how we make our living. You used to facilitate our dealings with the bureaucrats on the coast and with the Germans, but those days are over.’
Despite the burning of the spirit, Waggoner felt a chill run through his body. What the mayor said was true. His wartime heroics meant nothing any more. He was an old man who had connived at the villagers’ illegal drug production and trading for years, and now there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Do not do anything that could endanger us,’ Dhrakakis said, the soles of his boots clicking across tiles. ‘Good evening.’
David Waggoner watched him strut down the path that led to Kornaria. The mayor was too young to have experienced the fight against the Germans, but he had survived many vendettas and attempts to oust him. His soul was tainted by the violence that lay beneath the surface in mountain villages. The Englishman knew himself well enough to see that his character too had been blemished by the sordid reality of the war — shooting wounded prisoners, driving pathetically equipped gendarmes and ordinary citizens into the fire of the paratroopers, countering the communists’ scheming with summary justice. He was ashamed of it all, but it was far too late to change the way he was.
The former SOE man went into his house and opened a wooden trunk in his study. Among the contents were things that he knew would keep Alex Mavros off his back for the rest of his life.
A sudden rush of blood to the head forced him to stagger to an armchair. Was this it, the end he had seen overtake so many comrades and enemies? The doctors had told him he had anything between a month and six months. He wanted to die in peace, as the sun rose over the east and flooded his terrace for the last time. If throwing Mavros into the pit was the only way to achieve that, he was ready.
TWENTY-TWO
Luke Jannet had one arm round Cara Parks’ neck.
‘Nice to feel your ass against my dick at last,’ he said, grunting. ‘Even if my dick is in agony. I say again, why the fuck did you knee me, Twin Peaks?’
Mavros glanced to the side, checking that Niki was completely out of sight. Roufos struggled in his grip, but with little strength.
‘Whatcha gonna do now, tough guy?’ Cara asked. ‘Cop a feel of my tits?’
‘Tempting, but I’ve got to hold this fine weapon on your friend Mavros.’ He looked over her head. ‘Hey, Scotsman, Greekman, whatever the fuck you are? This here’s a Sig Sauer P239. It’s carrying nine.357 Parabellum rounds. You think that beanpole will stop them blowing you apart?’
Mavros considered that and didn’t feel optimistic. He needed to buy some time. ‘You’re going to shoot Tryfon Roufos to get me? You came up here to see him, didn’t you?’
‘Oh yeah?’ Jannet said, tightening his grip on Cara. ‘What makes you think I wasn’t going to send him straight to hell?’
Mavros felt Roufos stiffen, but he wasn’t convinced the director had come with that in mind. The dealer had seemed to slump in relief when Jannet appeared.
‘Interesting,’ Mavros said enigmatically.
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’
‘That a drug trafficker’s also concerned with antiquities smuggling.’
Jannet glared at Roufos. ‘You been talking, you piece of snake shit?’
The dealer shook his head frantically. ‘No, Luke, no, I-’ He shut up when he saw the even fiercer look on the gunman’s face.
‘Clever,’ Jannet said, grinning at Mavros. ‘Except you’ve now signed everyone else in here’s death warrant. How do you feel about that, dick?’
Mavros smiled as credibly as he could. ‘You think we came here without protection?’ He was hoping Niki would get on her phone and search for Tsifakis’s number, then text for help.
‘Bullshit,’ the director said, squeezing Cara’s left breast. ‘If you had backup, they’d already be here.’
‘You planning on killing the star of your movie, asshole?’ Cara demanded, trying to shake him off.
‘It won’t look like that, darlin’. It’ll look like Mavros here went crazy and took all of you out before he plugged himself.’ Jannet laughed. ‘One of my better storylines. And before you get all uppity, TP, consider this — pumped-up lookers like you are ten a dollar in LA. What, you think you got the job because you can act?’
Mavros kept on with the time-gaining tactic. ‘You into silver coins, Luke?’
The director stared at him blankly. ‘Hell, no. I got enough of those. I’m interested in the really old shit — Minoan axe heads, clay figures, bull’s heads, like in the Iraklion museum. People pay serious top dollar for that.’
‘And our slimy friend here has been helping you get your hands on it.’ He pressed the key against Roufos’s forehead again. ‘He won’t be much use to you without eyes.’
Tryfon Roufos let out a petrified yelp. ‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘do something, Luke. I can get you more Minoan objects, many more.’
The pistol in Jannet’s hand moved around as he tried to lock on to Mavros’s body. ‘You so much as twitch, TP, and you’ll be next,’ he said, his other arm tightening round her neck.
The noise of the door being smashed in was deafening. The top of it caught the director on the shoulder and made him let Cara go. She fell forwards, sprawling on the floor as Mikis’s friends Yannis and Christos forced their way into the suite, the former carrying a thick metal cylinder with handles that he had obviously used as a battering ram. Luke Jannet scrambled to his feet and dived towards the corridor, the pistol still in his hand. The Pig was waiting for him and relieved him of the weapon with a sharp downward movement of his hand.
‘Agh!’ the director screamed. ‘You broke my fucking arm!’
The Cretan grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back into the suite. This time Cara Parks landed her foot between Jannet’s legs, extracting an even higher pitched squeal.
‘Dope-dealing fucker,’ she said, leaning over him, her face suffused with joy. ‘Happy you rubbed up against my ass now?’
Christos put down the ram and pulled her back gently.
Mavros handed Roufos over to Yannis and went to Niki, who was standing behind the sofa.
‘You were on your phone long before I dropped that hint, weren’t you?’ he said, kissing her.
‘I’m not a complete idiot, Alex.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘What next?’
‘Good question.’ Mavros looked at Yannis. ‘We need to get out of here.’
The burly young man nodded. ‘Mr Tsifakis is talking to the hotel owner.’ He sat Roufos down in the armchair as if he was a rag doll. ‘This wanker will be paying for the damages.’
‘Agreed?’ Mavros asked the antiquities dealer.
‘If you leave me alone, agreed.’
‘Oh, I’ll leave you alone — as long as you’re on the night boat to Piraeus.’
Roufos signalled his agreement with a sullen nod.
‘What about this piece of shit?’ Cara demanded, glaring at Luke Jannet.
‘Another customer for the clinic,’ Mavros replied, then switched to Greek. ‘One of you guys can keep an eye on him. I don’t trust the police, at least not till I’ve got to the bottom of his ties with Kornaria.’
They left Tryfon Roufos in his now less-than-private suite, Mavros taking the cardboard file with him. That would slow his business dealings down, though he had no doubt he’d be back to work as soon as he got back to his office in Athens. He also relived him of his mobile phones, as he did with Jannet. Holding people incommunicado was a useful way of finding which rats came out of the sewers to help them, although in the director’s case it was obvious who the first one would be — his sister, Rosie Yellenberg.