Santorini Caesars by Jeffrey Siger Page A

gently shut. “It just might be the last thing he tells me to do that I can agree with.”
    The Brigadier gave a strained chuckle.
    â€œStop being a wiseass and sit down,” said Babis.
    Andreas walked away from where Babis sat toward two pairs of straight back wooden chairs facing each other across an expensive oriental rug. He passed by the chairs and chose a chocolate leather Chesterfield sofa at the far end of the office. Yianni stood by the door.
    â€œI like what you’ve done with the place, Babis. A trifle costly, but as long as it makes you feel more in touch with your roots—”
    â€œWhy are you sitting at the opposite end of the room?” said Babis.
    â€œI’m hoping distance might make my heart grow fonder.”
    The man next to the Brigadier pointed his thumb back over his shoulder at Andreas and said to Babis. “Why do you tolerate a subordinate speaking to you like that?”
    Babis shrugged. “I told you he was difficult. But you wanted him here.”
    â€œAnd who, pray tell, are you?” asked Andreas.
    â€œNone of your business,” said the man without looking his way.
    Andreas waved for Yianni to join him on the couch. “ Kali mera , Brigadier.”
    The Brigadier turned his head and nodded at Andreas. “Good morning, Chief Inspector.”
    As Yianni sat down next to him Andreas said, “It might be easier for us to have this conversation, gentlemen, if you turned your chairs around slightly so we’re not looking at the backs of your heads.”
    The Brigadier stood and rearranged his chair. The other man didn’t budge.
    â€œBy the way, nice dye job,” said Andreas to the back of the man’s head.
    The man flashed Andreas an open palm—the Greek equivalent of the American middle finger—but still did not turn around.
    â€œWho’s he?” whispered Yianni to Andreas.
    Andreas whispered back. “No idea, but someone who thinks he’s important.”
    â€œAnd if he is, you’re not exactly charming him.”
    â€œI’m not worried. I have you for backup.”
    â€œAre you two finished chatting among yourselves?” said Babis.
    Andreas nodded. “We’re just trying to figure out if the red line on the back of mystery man’s jacket collar means it’s Prada or a blood pressure indicator.”
    This time the man in Prada flipped Andreas the middle finger.
    â€œAh, so you’re multilingual,” said Andreas. “I take that to mean you’re from some intelligence branch. Bet you speak Russian too.”
    â€œEnough!” shouted Babis. “We have serious things to discuss.”
    â€œOn that point,” said the Brigadier, “Why don’t we begin with someone telling me why I’m here. More importantly, why is he here?” He pointed at the man next to him.
    â€œPatience, Brigadier. We’ll get to it in due time,” said the man.
    The Brigadier leaned toward the man. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Brigadier in the Hellenic Military and I’m not in the habit of being spoken to that way.”
    The man in Prada leaned in toward the Brigadier. “You exist only because the people say you exist. You serve the people and you shall act as the people decide.”
    â€œI think you should do as he says,” said Babis.
    â€œWith all due respect, Minister, you are not my minister, and you have no authority to order me to do squat.”
    â€œTsk, tsk,” uttered the man. “I would think you’d want to know who murdered your only child.”
    Color rose in the Brigadier’s face and his clenched fist pressed hard on the arm of the chair.
    â€œIt’s getting interesting,” whispered Andreas to Yianni.
    â€œBet the Brigadier decks Prada.”
    â€œSir,” said the Brigadier staring daggers at Prada. “If in the next thirty seconds I don’t get a full explanation of what this is