The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

While eating breakfast Petros spoke to Bear. “Fancy taking Alysa for a walk? We can talk and won’t be overheard.”

“Using your own child for cover.
Whatever next?” said Bear, attempting to sound serious.

“Indulge me.”

Bear shook his head and stuffed another slice of buttered toast into his mouth.

Maria descended the stairs with Alysa in her arms. “Say good morning, Alysa.” Alysa gurgled and Bear smiled.

“When my girlfriend’s eaten her breakfast, Petros and I will take her out – give you a break.”

“What a good idea.” Maria placed Alysa in her high chair.

“Wrap her up well,” said Petros. “There’s a cold wind blowing from the mountains.”

“Jocelyn’s having a bath,” said Bear. “I’ll tell her we’ll be gone for an hour.”

*  *  *

Bear pushed the buggy as they strolled along the narrow lane.

“Fancy a coffee? Alysa enjoys people watching.”

“PK, what you really mean is – without Maria listening.”

Petros winked but kept walking.

They sat outside in the sunshine, out of the wind. Alysa focused her attention on four kittens playing with a dead gecko.

“Bear, what are your thoughts on recovering these icons?”

“The question is how do we enter the hidden chapel?”

“I hope the bishop will tell us, if we accept.”

“Can we do it?”

“What can I get you?” asked a young, dark haired girl in her twenties.

“Two
Nescafé, black, please,” said Petros. With a smile, she left.

“We need a plan?”

“Forty icons. That’s a lot.”

“We’ll need transport.”

“PK, we need Maria. She knows the island.”

“I’d like it better if my wife wasn’t a part of this.”

The waitress returned. “Two Nescafé, black. Three euros, please.”

Bear handed over a five-euro note and smiled. “Keep the change.”

He waited until she walked away. “I know she’s your wife and you couldn’t stop her last time. The last thing I want is Maria hurt.”

“Think long and hard. This is one of those jobs where I’d prefer the money before my will is read. In order for it to work we must check everything until there’s no doubt.”

Not entirely formed, an idea blossomed. Petros lowered his voice. “We’ll stay for a few weeks. I’m not rushing this collection.”

He looked at his daughter. “Little madam, by the grunts and groans, is filling her nappy.
Time to go.”

*  *  *

They entered the house moments before thunder rumbled.

“Maria, tomorrow I’m going to the north for a couple of days. Any chance you and Jocelyn can come with us? Aunt
Elini and my mum can care for Alysa.”

“Can I come into
Varosha with you?”

Petros frowned. “No. I won’t take the risk.”

“I want to help,” Maria said, irritated. “I could drive and be your lookout.”

He put his arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her full on the lips. The sky rumbled again and a streak of lightening flashed behind the clouds. Spots of rain spattered the windows.

*  *  *

Maria woke early. The late October sunshine flooded the room with golden light. She pulled the covers off Petros. “Get up, sleepy head. We have a busy day in front of us.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

She jumped out of bed. “I’m going for a shower – you feed Alysa.”

Petros gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She hit him with a pillow and fell onto the bed.

“We haven’t got time for this, Maria.”

A loud yell from Alysa confirmed it.

*  *  *

With Bear and Jocelyn in the rear, Maria driving and Petros next to her, they left for Nicosia in
Photis’s truck.

Approaching Nicosia on the motorway, the Turkish national flag painted on the hill on the northern side became visible.

“I hate their flag,” said Maria. “They flaunt their occupation in our faces.”

“There’s nothing you or anyone else can do. One day the United Nations will come up with a plan suitable to both sides,” said Bear. “Until that day, ignore it.”

Maria grimaced. “It’s not your island. You can’t possibly understand.”

“I do understand.”

“Why don’t they return to Turkey?” said Maria.

“The Hilton Hotel, folks.
Time for lunch. I know Bear won’t argue.”

“You’re damn right.”

With lunch finished, they drove to the crossing from the south to northern Cyprus. The Cypriot guards waved when they passed through but the Turks directed them to a car park.

“Okay,” Maria said, “everybody out and
don’t forget your passports.”

The guards dutifully checked them before allowing them through. Another guard directed them to the insurance office where they charged Maria fifteen
euros.

It wasn’t long before Maria swung the truck into the forecourt of the Palm Beach Hotel. The brakes squealed loud enough to wake the dead.

“Home sweet home. I see the fountain still doesn’t work.”

“Déjà vu,” said Petros as he glanced at the drab six-storey building. “We know it’s a crap hotel but it’s handy for
Varosha.”

“Bear always takes me to the best places,” said Jocelyn.

Black storm clouds chased each other across the sky, shrouding a watery sun. Rain spotted the ground.

“We’d better get inside,” said Petros.

Bear entered first and surveyed the foyer. “Nothing’s changed since our last visit,” he commented.

A few holiday-makers lingered in the lobby.

Five minutes elapsed before a young woman appeared. She was small, with shoulder length brown hair and dressed in a good quality dark blue suit.

“Good afternoon. Can I help?”

Petros answered. “We haven’t booked but do you have two double rooms on the top floor?”

She smiled. “Yes we have our best rooms on the top floor. It’s the end of season. At this moment, we have two available.”

Petros nodded. “Thank you. Can we go on the roof?”

“It’s raining. Why get wet?”

“To enjoy the view,” said Petros. “We’ll take the two rooms and I’ll pay by card.”

“Visa or Diners?”

“Visa.”

She took it and when she had processed it she handed it back.
“Your card.”

“What time does the dining room open?” asked Bear.

“Breakfast is from seven to ten. If you require an evening meal my father owns the Sheris. Good food at reasonable prices and excellent service. This is my card. Tell him I sent you and you’ll get a discount.”

“You say the food’s good,” muttered Bear. “My belly thinks my throat’s got a permanent blockage.”

She shrugged and replied, “If you can find better I’ll pay the bill.”

Bear smiled in agreement.
“Can’t say fairer than that.”

They took the lift to the top floor and went to their rooms.

Petros dumped their case on the bed and the mattress sagged.

“We’ll be warm and close tonight. This bed’s well used and abused.” He pulled her to him and kissed her ardently.

With eyes sparkling, she pushed him back onto the bed. “Alysa is with your mum and it’s early.”

They made love with an urgency and afterwards lay wrapped in each other’s arms.

Maria glanced at her watch. “A shower before we go out.”

In the bathroom, mould grew between the once white tiles.

When they were both dressed and ready to go, Petros picked up his camera and accessory bag and locked the door behind them. He banged hard on Bear’s door.

“We’re off up to the roof.”

Bear’s voice resounded through the closed door, “We’ll be up in a minute.”

Holding Maria’s hand, Petros climbed the stairs to the roof. The rain had eased. He lifted his binoculars but it was impossible to picture any detail. Two hundred metres away, a grim black hole enveloped
Varosha.

They were soon joined by Bear and Jocelyn. “Magic film-set for vampires and the creatures of the night,” said Jocelyn, staring towards
Varosha.

“Bear and I have to find a church,” said Petros. “Monsters we can do without.”

“It’s eerie,” said Maria. “Reminds me of the Berlin wall. Once seen never forgotten.”

“You never mentioned you’d been to Berlin,” said Petros.

“A long time ago and ancient history.”

“Why’s that?”

“A man I thought I knew and didn’t. End of story.” 

“It’s the same as last time,” said Bear. “A few more weeds, but that’s it.”

Petros had another look through his binoculars. “Getting in is easy but the lack of light will be a problem. We’ll have to get our night vision up and running pretty smartish. Bear, when’s the full moon?”

“I reckon in six, seven, days.”

Petros stared at the ghost town. “I wonder if the army still patrols.”

From the hotel roof he could see the rusted wire fence that determined the difference between life and death, prosperity and stagnation. South of the fence, the once up-market hotels remained uninviting and derelict. Nothing but the Turkish army
moved in Varosha. Gone were the tourists, young lovers walking hand in hand. To the north, bright lights shone from hotels and green-painted shuttered house windows. Shops displayed their wares on the streets and tourists wandered around, hunting for a bargain that never truly existed. Local men filled the coffee shops smoking cigarettes and debating.

“PK, I know it’s a trivial matter to racing snakes like you, but I need sustenance.”

Petros nodded. “Let’s go and find
The Sheris
before the big man fades away.”

On entering the restaurant Petros stopped and stared. The room was crowded. This was obviously the most popular eating-place in town. Tourists filled more or less every table.

The owner, a balding, bespectacled man, welcomed and guided them to a table for four. Three members of staff scurried around serving, taking orders and clearing tables. The room’s décor, faded from many summer suns, remained clean and tidy.

The main course over, Bear wiped his mouth with a napkin and burped.

“Sorry, but those two lamb shanks were great.”

“With the amount you eat how can you say that?” said Jocelyn

“Dearest, I’m an expert on food, as you are with a glass of plonk.”

When the meal was finished they wandered back to the hotel. The sky overhead was dark, but on the odd occasion the moonlight broke through gaps in the rain clouds, forming bizarre patterns.

“I’m going for a walk,” said Petros. “Anyone want to come?” He led the way and the others followed. The rusty wire fence did not extend onto the beach but a sign in many languages stated, ‘ENTRY FORBIDDEN’. At a steady pace, they strolled. A cursory check confirmed its decayed state and obvious crossing points. They walked for half an hour before stopping.

“Well,” said Petros. “Entry is not a problem. But leaving with a whole load of icons will be an entirely different matter. Tomorrow,
Bear, will you inspect every inch of this fence from beginning to end. You know what info I need.”

“Will do, PK.”

“While you’re away, Jocelyn and I will go shopping,” said Maria.

“Why is it, wherever we go you end up shopping?” Petros asked.

Jocelyn smiled. “It’s what we do best.”

“You’d better believe it,” said Maria.

“Come along,” said Petros. “Time for bed.”

The clouds rumbled and the next storm began.

Chapter Thirteen

Petros and Maria strolled into the dining room holding hands. Bear and Jocelyn were sitting by a window overlooking the gardens.

“Any good?” asked Petros.

Bear’s face lit up. “These sausages are delicious. You can have as many as you want.”

“You don’t need a plate, you need a trough.”

He grunted while he stuffed a sausage wrapped in beef bacon and dripping with egg-
yoke into his mouth.

Maria covered her mouth. “Don’t you two ever stop?” She shook her head, and taking a plate she helped herself to a few slices of toast and a spoonful of marmalade, then joined Bear and Jocelyn. A young man served them coffee.

Petros sipped his. “This tastes like dried mud.”

“Really,” said Bear. “Remember, I’ve tasted your coffee.”

“Shut up. Before I wander along the beach I’m going to find a decent cafe.”

“I always ask for
Nescafé. It’s the same the world over.” Bear stood up and scratched his stomach. “I’ve finished. Let’s meet in our room at around five.”

“I’ll buy a good bottle of wine,” said Jocelyn.

“Unfortunately, it won’t be Cypriot,” said Maria.

“Whatever,” said Petros, “we’ll be
there.”

“I’m ready, Bear,” said Jocelyn.

Maria nodded. “Me too.”

“You sure?” said Petros. “You’ve eaten one slice of toast and a sip of coffee. That’s not enough to feed a scrawny sparrow.”

“PK, it’s enough.”

Petros kissed Maria on the lips.

He turned to Bear who was layering marmalade on a roll. “I’m going to change. I thought you said you were finished eating?”

“It’s a long way to my room.”

*  *  *

Petros returned to his room and changed into his tracksuit and trainers. He left the hotel, jogged down to the beach, and began running, constantly scanning the shoreline where deserted hotels and houses littered the forbidden area. The wet sand along the water’s edge presented a good, firm surface, ideal for running, and the fresh breeze wafting from the east recharged his senses.

Sweat ran over his face and soaked his tracksuit top. After twenty minutes he stopped. His heart pounding like a drum, he turned and ran towards the wire-mesh fence rotting on the sand, and dashed into the nearest building. The dim light of the abandoned hotel foyer gave an eerie ambience; only the ghosts remained. With care, he walked to the entrance, past the bullet holes that scarred the walls. Grass, in large wind-blown clumps, penetrated the asphalt of the car park.

He ran to another abandoned house. Nearby, a diesel engine started. Two metres to his right an armoured car trundled past. It carried four soldiers. Further along the road the vehicle stopped. The crew got out and lit cigarettes.

Petros stood in the shadows, watching this undisciplined bunch amble across a courtyard, pause at the door of the rundown house while the NCO unlocked it.

Strange, thought Petros.
He walked over to the next building which gave him a good view of the house and he could see straight into one of the rooms. Three of the men sat around a crude table. One began dealing cards. The other returned with four opened bottles of beer.

Same, same, he thought. He made himself comfortable on a wooden box and rested his back against the wall. From here he observed the comings and goings. Dead on the hour, one man went out and clambered into the vehicle where he radioed a report, then signed off and returned to the game. Petros could not hear what they said but guessed. As he focussed on the matter in hand, the memory came to him of his first visit into
Varosha and discovering his parents’ house. So much had happened since that day.

At midday the roar of a large lorry confirmed the arrival of the next watch. The new crew repeated the same routine.

Petros focused on the four men but his attention wavered. I need to find the church, he reminded himself. The rain fell in large droplets. The deluge came with such force that the streets became rivers.

Time to leave
, he thought. Once out in the open, water ran from his clothes. The streets were gloomy. Empty buildings, their windows black eye sockets, stared at decay and rejection; where were their owners? Every few minutes he instinctively glanced behind him – an action of practice. He wandered up the narrow roads and back alleys of the empty town but did not stray from good cover.

Birds rose shrieking from a clump of overgrown hibiscus bushes. He jumped. Jesus Christ, my nerves are tight, he thought as he stood in the rain staring at the building in front of him. The description fitted, but is this the bishop's church? To its left, surrounded by a stone wall, was a neglected graveyard. Trees and weeds, their seeds planted by the wind, grew in abundance. He checked his home-drawn map. From his inbuilt sense of direction, it appeared to be the right church. He raced across the muddy road and up the few cracked stone steps that led to the entrance.

What remained of its doors hung from rust-seized hinges. Precision cut and fitted stone formed the main building, a tribute to its ancient builders. Once inside, he removed his thin tracksuit top, wrung out the fabric and wiped the water from his face. Layers of dust covered everything. The walls, at one time decorated with pictures of saints, now exhibited multi-coloured graffiti in Turkish. The army or thieves had removed everything of any value. Rubbish blown by the wind filled every corner.

At the centre of the aisle stood an elaborately carved stone altar.
He walked towards it and ran his fingers over the intricate carvings of Jesus and angels. How the hell did this hunk of stone rise, he wondered. His eyes searched for the secret. A small slot in one side revealed nothing. The bishop knew how it operated, but had yet to tell them.

He glanced at his watch. The late afternoon shadows added to the murk of the persistent rain and the warm wind blowing in from the sea. As the rain hit his face he blinked to clear his vision. Following a pattern he hurried from one muddy street to another, until the sound of an engine starting caused him to withdraw into a ransacked shop.

He controlled his annoyance and checked his map. The patrol drove by, the soldiers more interested in staying dry than any possible intruders. Mind you, he thought, I bet no one ever comes in here.

The J
eep disappeared, leaving water-filled ruts in the road. Petros retraced his steps through the deserted buildings to the beach. Once over the fence he paused. The clouds had grown larger and darker; the gentle breeze of morning had become gale force. He slapped his hands together and started running along the beach.

On a tree-lined avenue he stopped at an empty taverna. The waiter stared at his customer, soaking wet and covered in mud.

Petros could not refrain from smiling. “I fell. Could I please have a strong cup of coffee?”

The man laughed. “Let me get you a cloth to wipe your hands and face.”

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

“For you, I make the best Turkish coffee.”

A young girl placed a bowl of warm water on the table and handed Petros a towel. She waited until he finished.

When the coffee arrived, he sipped it gratefully, enjoying the flavour and aroma.

Back in the hotel, he dumped his clothes into a laundry bag. A piping hot shower revitalised his body, the steam filling his lungs. He dressed casually and lay on the bed, his head falling back on the pillows. In a few moments, his eyes closed and he drifted into sleep.

*  *  *

Bear studied the mid-morning sky littered with broken clouds. He pulled himself into the truck and set the trip meter to zero. From a file he removed a copy of the map of Varosha, aligned the sheet of paper to his present position and marked the start point. He attempted to drive near the fence. Time and again he had to cope with narrow side streets only to find another restricted lane to test his driving skills. He constantly checked his speed ensuring his erratic driving appeared to all and sundry that of a tourist.

The fence had a strange paradox surrounding it. On one side, Turkish families lived their lives and on the other, what had once been a thriving district lay desolate.

Whenever possible he stopped and marked the map with the distance travelled. At gaps in the fence, he noted the trip meter and stopped.

The next downpour lashed the cab’s windows. The drumming on the metal roof and the constant swish of the windscreen wipers made study difficult.

With one hand he scribbled notes on the condition of the fence. He got out and double-checked the weak points next to occupied houses. With a disposable camera, he photographed everything of interest. Damaged or intact? Old or new? How far to the best roads? Each time he wrote a comment.

“Lousy weather,” he muttered as he checked his watch. It was lunch time so he stopped opposite a small cafe.

“Does anyone speak English?” he asked a small middle-aged, dark-haired woman behind the counter.

“I do,” she replied. “My family speak English. We have to, mainly in the summer season. What can I get you? I have a meat pie just removed from the oven. I’ll serve potatoes and vegetables on a side plate.”

“Is it your pie I can smell?”

“I hope so,” she said, smiling.

“Two portions of pie and plenty of potatoes, please. Oh, and a large Nescafé.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

He sat by the window, his face near the glass as he waited until the woman returned with his meal.

“I give you extra helping as you are a big man.”

“I’m on holiday and it’s rained every day. When I get home my friends won’t believe me.”

The woman sat in the opposite chair. “Do you mind if I sit and talk? You are my first customer today and with this weather in all probability my last – apart from the soldiers on guard duty.”

“Be my guest.” He pointed to the fence. “Don’t those hundreds of empty buildings bother you?”

“The rats, cats and snakes bother me.
Empty buildings, no.”

“It can’t be that bad. There appears to be a regiment of soldiers stationed here.” 

Her lashes fluttered. “I hate this place. The government told us a pack of lies. Like idiots we came.”

“Do the soldiers come here to eat?”

“No, they don’t. Well, one does, he drives a jeep most times, collects and gives me their order for the next meal. It works well. I supply breakfast, dinner and supper. They’re nice boys, very polite and just want to go home.”

“Why? Don’t they enjoy an easy posting?”

“One of them told me every duty is mind-numbing. Those poor boys have to patrol empty streets. What for, I ask myself?”

“Politics, I guess. Troops do as they’re told.” He savoured the last chunk of pie. “Delicious. Best meat pie I’ve had in ages.”

She laughed. “You eat well. Have another coffee.”

“Thank you. I will. How much do I owe you?”

“Lira or pounds English?”

“Pounds.”

“Five of your English pounds. I enjoyed the chat.”

Bear removed his wallet, took out a crisp ten-pound note. “This is for you. Great food and you’re a fund of knowledge.”

He waved as he walked across to the truck, whistling. Talking to the woman had given him a lot of information, albeit most merely gossip.

He drove on marking his map. He checked the time. “Not quite five,” he muttered.

The fence ended at ‘No Man’s Land,’ a part patrolled by the United Nations Peace Keepers.

“That might cause a problem,” he mumbled to himself. He jumped from the truck and read NO ENTRY – MINED AREA. He leant against the fence, his eyes travelling along its length and beyond into
Varosha. “I wonder if it’s for real. The answer is stay well away.”

He pulled himself into the truck and returned to the hotel.

*  *  *

The darkening sky and heavy rain made Bear and Jocelyn’s room gloomy. Another weather front hung over the town. He showered, dressed, and settled onto the double bed as Jocelyn did her hair. Content with his lot, he mulled over the collection.

Petros and Maria breezed in without knocking. In her right hand a bottle of red wine and in the other, four glasses. “Sorry we’re late. A glass of wine makes you feel better and
does you the world of good.”

Maria noticed Petros was fidgeting and appeared on edge. She laughed, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “When I returned, my husband lay on the bed, dead to the world.”

“My man was scouring the back streets.”

“Planning is the most important part of any job,” said Bear.

Maria poured the wine. “Yammas.” She sat on the bed next to Petros and sipped hers daintily.

“Maria, tomorrow I have to go into
Varosha to check on something. If for any reason I’m not back by nightfall, you’ll have to inform the authorities.”

“What do I tell them?”

“Say I wanted to take photos of my old house.”