The Oracle (10 page)

Karamanlis wrote down the name in a notebook. ‘Malidis, you said. I’ll see what I can find out about him. I’ll call you back if I need more information. But why not the Kifissìa district police?’

‘I don’t imagine they’ll be able to take the case. The chief of police is being investigated for his position regarding the . . . evacuation of the Polytechnic. That’s why I’ve called you.’

‘You did the right thing, Doctor. Thank you. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight to you, Captain.’

Karamanlis buzzed the switchboard immediately. ‘Get me the Head of the Antiquities and Fine Arts Service. It’s at Kleomenis Ikonomou.’

‘Captain, the offices will have closed hours ago.’

‘Then look for him at home, dammit! Get his name from the Minister of Education. Do I have to tell you how to blow your nose?’

‘But there won’t be anyone left at the Ministry of Education except for custodians.’

‘Get the director-general out of bed, dammit, and see what he knows about an inspector named Harvatis. Yeah, that’s right, Periklis Harvatis. And a guy named Aristotelis Malidis. No, I have no idea whether he worked for them. That’s it, good boy. Call me back when you’ve found out something.’

Karamanlis grabbed his sandwich and started chewing again in no better a mood, downing it with a little mineral water. He felt somehow that this weird story might get him out of some trouble. Goddamned meddler, that Bogdanos, and dangerous to boot. He wanted to find out more about him, discreetly, as soon as this mess blew over. He had some friends at the Ministry of Defence. The telephone rang again: ‘Well, what did you find out?’

‘No, nothing yet, Captain. I’m calling about something else. There’s a young man here, a foreigner, who insists in speaking with the headquarters chief. He says it’s urgent and extremely important.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘He says it’s Norman Shields.’

‘Shields, you said? S-H-I-E-L-D-S?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Let him through. I’ll see him immediately.’

‘F
OLLOW ME
, M
R
S
HIELDS.
Colonel Norton is waiting for you in his office.’ The official led him down the deserted halls of the United States embassy until they reached a door marked ‘Cultural Attaché’. He knocked.

‘Come in!’ said a voice from inside.

‘Mr James Henry Shields for you, Colonel.’

‘Come right in, Shields, sit down. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. So, how did things go?’

‘Goddamn it, Colonel, this was not our agreement! You’ve cornered me into a horrible position. I won’t have it. There’s a limit to everything – certain principles must be respected, blast it. We are not criminals. How could you ever have thought of working with that swine Karamanlis!’

Colonel Norton abruptly changed the cordial expression with which he had welcomed his guest. ‘Shields. Careful what you say or I’ll have my men throw you out of here, no questions asked. You agreed to collaborate with us, and we needed certain information. If you have that information, you can give it to me and get the fuck out of here. I’m sick of your whining. If you don’t like this job, go join the boy scouts and stop exasperating me.’

Shields regained his customary composure: ‘Fine, Colonel, then you’d like to know how things went? First of all, Karamanlis got absolutely nowhere and knows as much now as he did before. In return, he committed such a monstrosity that if it leaks we are all fucked to hell, you and me included. And now I hope you have the balls to listen to what happened, because I threw up my guts before coming here to make this report.’

Norton lowered his gaze, embarrassed and at a loss to imagine what had so disturbed a man like James Henry Shields, former SAS officer and British Intelligence agent, detached to Greece during the civil war and later to Vietnam and Cambodia during the worst years of guerrilla warfare.

‘I’
M
C
APTAIN
K
ARAMANLIS
. Please sit down. What can I do for you?’

Norman Shields’s eyes were puffy and rimmed with black circles, as if he hadn’t slept in days. The shirt he was wearing was filthy at the collar and cuffs and his trousers were crumpled and baggy at the knees. He had a hard time talking, as if his search for just the right words was a hopeless endeavour.

‘Captain, sir,’ he said, ‘listen to me well, because I’m offering you the chance to become fabulously rich in just one hour’s time.’

Karamanlis glanced up with a quizzical expression, as though he doubted that the person he had before him was in his right mind. Norman read his thoughts.

‘I can prove what I’m about to say. You can check on it while I wait here.’

‘And what have I done to deserve such a magnificent opportunity?’

Norman continued his speech as though he’d rehearsed it, paying no attention to Karamanlis. ‘Saturday night a priceless Mycenaean vase of pure gold was hidden in a secret place here in Athens. The object does not appear in any publication, and no one knows of its existence. It was certainly unearthed during a recent excavation, but that’s all I can say.’

Karamanlis was suddenly intent: ‘Continue. I’m listening.’

‘Free my friends – Claudio Setti, Heleni Kaloudis and Michel Charrier as well, if he’s here – and I’ll tell you where you can find it. You can remove it easily from where it is, and I’ll arrange to get it to Sotheby’s in London for you. You can make a million dollars. Seems like a fair exchange.’

Karamanlis started at the mention of such a sum, but assumed his best expression of honest civil servant, although his unshaven beard and bristly moustache must have hinted at his unsettled state of mind. ‘I will ignore the implications of what you have just said, for the moment. What does interest me is turning this archaeological treasure which belongs to the past of our country over to the Antiquities and Fine Arts Service. As far as your friends are concerned, I do not have the power to liberate anyone, especially anyone who still has to account to the law, but if I remember well,’ he continued, pretending to consult a file, ‘they were brought in for a simple check, and I’m sure they’ll be released quite soon.’

‘I want them out now or I won’t tell you a thing.’

‘Watch what you say; I could have you arrested.’

‘Just you try. The British embassy knows I’m here,’ Norman lied. ‘My father is in charge of diplomatic affairs.’

‘The only thing I can guarantee is that we will cut through the red tape and have them out by, let’s say, tomorrow. Naturally, if you refuse to give me the information you are in possession of, I may be forced to prolong the term of precautionary imprisonment . . .’

‘You’re mistaken if you think I’ll give you any information without precise guarantees.’

‘I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to trust me. You tell me where that object is and tomorrow morning you’ll see your friends. I can guarantee it.’

‘Tomorrow morning?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The vase is at the National Archaeological Museum.’

‘What a good hiding place. You see, in this case your problems are solved. The museum is protected by an alarm system and no one can get in until tomorrow morning. If you don’t see your friends by then, you can advise the director and have him take the vase, if you have qualms about me.’

‘Then I’ll tell you where it is tomorrow morning.’

‘Impossible. I’ll be leaving the city for several days. You have to tell me now.’

‘All right. But don’t you dare try to screw me, or I’ll find a way to make you pay for it.’

Karamanlis didn’t reply to his provocation.

‘The vase is hidden in the corner cabinet of the storehouse, the second door on the left of the basement corridor. It’s in a drum of sawdust. Remember, Karamanlis, that if you don’t keep up your end of the deal, you’ll be sorry.’ He got up and went to the door.

‘I don’t believe a word of your intentions to turn it over to the Fine Arts,’ he said before leaving. ‘In any case, I’ll keep my promise. If you let my friends out I’ll arrange for you to sell the piece and make the amount I’ve mentioned. If you want to handle it yourself, I have nothing against that. I’ll be around for a few days; you can find me at the British school of archaeology. After that I’m leaving, and I’ll never set foot in this wretched country again.’

He raced out to the street, stopped the first taxi he saw and jumped in.

‘Where to?’ asked the driver. Norman gave him his address and, as the cab took off, looked back towards police headquarters. He imagined his friends being held prisoner in some dark corner of that gloomy building. If he’d played his cards right, their suffering would soon be over. And yet a doubt began to take seed, becoming more of a conviction with each passing hour. How could the police have got wind of Claudio’s apartment in the Plaka, when no one but he knew they were there? And what had happened to Michel? There was only one explanation for his disappearance. The police had arrested him and forced him to talk. Poor Michel.

Ten minutes later, Karamanlis left the building as well and got into a patrol car headed towards Omonia Square. The director of Antiquities had been found in a restaurant in the centre and was waiting for Karamanlis to join him for coffee.

Athens, National Archaeological Museum, 18 November, 11.40 p.m.

T
HE ENIGMATIC SPLENDOUR
of the Mycenaean kings glowed in the torch beam, their austere faces eternal captives of the gleaming gold. The silent chambers of the great museum rang with the slow footsteps of the chief custodian, Kostas Tsountas, doing his rounds, just like every night, in the faint light of the safety switches. The same walk, every night, from the Mycenaeans to the kouroi to the Cycladic art and then, last, through the room with the ceramics and frescoes of Santorini.

The beam of light caressed the lovely marble shapes and the custodian felt perfectly at home in the atmosphere, in a dimension quite unreal yet somehow close and familiar.

He had spent his whole life amidst these creatures of stone, of gold and of bronze, and he felt he could nearly hear them breathing in the solitude of the night. He captured them in the darkness, one by one, with his torch. During the day, they were nothing but inanimate objects, offering themselves up to the hurried consideration of organized tour groups trotting behind their guides in a hum of different languages. But they came alive for him at night.

His routine took him up to the second floor and the enormous vase of Dipylon with the funeral procession that stretched around its belly, figures frozen in geometric grief. Kostas Tsountas was at an age when he had begun to ask himself who would weep for him when his time came. He checked his watch before returning to his guard station. Twenty to twelve; at midnight his shift would be over.

He heard the telephone ring: a huge, sudden noise that made him startle. Who could it be at this hour? He hurried towards the entrance and managed to pick up the receiver before the ringing stopped. ‘Hello?’ he said, catching his breath.

‘This is Ari Malidis, who am I speaking with?’

‘Ari? What do you want at this time of night? It’s me, Kostas.’

‘Kostas, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I have a problem.’

‘What is it? It had better not be too complicated; I’m off in fifteen minutes.’

‘Listen, I’ve been going through the inventory for the dig and I’ve realized that there’s an important piece missing. If the director checks up on me tomorrow morning I’m in big trouble. You know how finicky he is. The fact is that poor Professor Harvatis didn’t have a chance to put things in order; you know he died suddenly, and I’m trying to fix things. Please, Kostas, let me in so I can put a piece back in the storeroom.’

‘You’re crazy, Ari. After the museum’s closed no one can come in.’

‘Kostas, for the love of God, it’s a jewel, very small and very precious. It’s been in my house for three days; if the director finds out there’ll be hell to pay. Please, it won’t take me long. Do me this favour. Just two minutes; enough time to put it back with the other finds from the dig.’

Tsountas fell into a perplexed silence. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you in this time, but if it should ever happen again, it’s your problem. I don’t want trouble.’

‘Thanks, Kostas. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

‘Sooner. If not you’ll have to convince the guy on the second shift, who’s new on the job. He won’t open up even if you cry.’

‘I’ll be there right away. I’ll knock three times on the back door.’

‘All right, but get moving.’

He put down the receiver and took a bunch of keys to disconnect the alarm in the eastern section of the museum. ‘Some people just don’t have any common sense,’ he grumbled to himself. ‘How could he ask me for such a favour? I could lose my job, dammit.’ On the other hand, Ari wasn’t a bad guy, he was an honest man, and had seemed really worried.

He waited ten minutes, then crossed the Cycladic room and went towards the offices. He disconnected the alarm and soon heard the three knocks at the door and a voice, ‘It’s Ari, let me in, please.’

‘Get in here, and hurry. I have to turn the alarm back on in five minutes. Try to be out of here by then.’