balding, pleasant-faced man in his late fifties, with warmdark eyes, and relatively fluent in English but certainly not comfortable with the language. His first words upon rising from his desk and indicating a chair in front of it for Converse contradicted Joel’s previous impression.
“I apologize for what might have appeared as a
callous
statement on my part regarding Mr. Halliday. However, it
was
most unfortunate, and I don’t know how else to phrase it. And it is difficult, sir, to grieve for a man one never knew.”
“I was out of line. Forget it, please.”
“You are most kind, but I am afraid I cannot forget the arrangements—mandated by Mr. Halliday and his associate here on Mykonos. I must have your passport and the letter, if you please?”
“Who is he?” asked Joel, reaching into his jacket pocket for his passport billfold; it contained the letter. “The associate, I mean.”
“You are an attorney, sir, and surely you are aware that the information you desire cannot be given to you until the barriers—have been leaped, as it were. At least, I think that’s right.”
“It’ll do. I just thought I’d try.” He took out his passport and the letter, handing them to the banker.
Laskaris picked up his telephone and pressed a button. He spoke in Greek and apparently asked for someone. Within seconds the door opened and a stunning bronzed, dark-haired woman entered and walked gracefully over to the desk. She raised her downcast eyes and glanced at Joel, who knew the banker was watching him closely. A sign from Converse, another glance—from him directed at Laskaris—and introductions would be forthcoming, accommodation tacitly promised, and a conceivably significant piece of information would be entered in a banker’s file. Joel offered no such sign; he wanted no such entry. A man did not pick up half a million dollars for nodding his head, and then look for a bonus. It did not signify stability; it signified something else.
Inconsequential banter about flights, customs and the general deterioration of travel covered the next ten minutes, at which time his passport and the letter were returned—not by the striking, dark-haired woman but by a young, balletic blond Adonis. The pleasant-faced Laskaris was not missing a trick; he was perfectly willing to supply one, whichever route his wealthy visitor required.
Converse looked into the Greek’s warm eyes, thensmiled, the smile developing into quiet laughter. Laskaris smiled back and shrugged, dismissing the beachboy.
“I am chief manager of this branch, sir,” he said as the door closed, “but I do not set the policies for the entire bank. This is, after all, Mykonos.”
“And a great deal of money passes through here,” added Joel. “Which one did you bet on?”
“Neither,” replied Laskaris, shaking his head. “Only on exactly what you did. You’d be a fool otherwise, and I do not think you are a fool. In addition to being chief manager on the waterfront, I am also an excellent judge of character.”
“Is that why you were chosen as the intermediary?”
“No, that is not the reason. I am a friend of Mr. Halliday’s associate here on the island. His name is Beale, incidentally. Dr. Edward Beale.… You see, everything is in order.”
“A doctor?” asked Converse, leaning forward and accepting his passport and the letter. “He’s a doctor?”
“Not a medical man, however,” clarified Laskaris. “He’s a scholar, a retired professor of history from the United States. He has an adequate pension and he moved here from Rhodes several months ago. A most interesting man, most knowledgeable. I handle his financial affairs—in which he is not very knowledgeable, but still interesting.” The banker smiled again, shrugging.
“I hope so,” said Joel. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
“That is not my concern, sir. Shall we get to the disposition of the funds? How and where would you care to have them paid?”
“A
“I apologize for what might have appeared as a
callous
statement on my part regarding Mr. Halliday. However, it
was
most unfortunate, and I don’t know how else to phrase it. And it is difficult, sir, to grieve for a man one never knew.”
“I was out of line. Forget it, please.”
“You are most kind, but I am afraid I cannot forget the arrangements—mandated by Mr. Halliday and his associate here on Mykonos. I must have your passport and the letter, if you please?”
“Who is he?” asked Joel, reaching into his jacket pocket for his passport billfold; it contained the letter. “The associate, I mean.”
“You are an attorney, sir, and surely you are aware that the information you desire cannot be given to you until the barriers—have been leaped, as it were. At least, I think that’s right.”
“It’ll do. I just thought I’d try.” He took out his passport and the letter, handing them to the banker.
Laskaris picked up his telephone and pressed a button. He spoke in Greek and apparently asked for someone. Within seconds the door opened and a stunning bronzed, dark-haired woman entered and walked gracefully over to the desk. She raised her downcast eyes and glanced at Joel, who knew the banker was watching him closely. A sign from Converse, another glance—from him directed at Laskaris—and introductions would be forthcoming, accommodation tacitly promised, and a conceivably significant piece of information would be entered in a banker’s file. Joel offered no such sign; he wanted no such entry. A man did not pick up half a million dollars for nodding his head, and then look for a bonus. It did not signify stability; it signified something else.
Inconsequential banter about flights, customs and the general deterioration of travel covered the next ten minutes, at which time his passport and the letter were returned—not by the striking, dark-haired woman but by a young, balletic blond Adonis. The pleasant-faced Laskaris was not missing a trick; he was perfectly willing to supply one, whichever route his wealthy visitor required.
Converse looked into the Greek’s warm eyes, thensmiled, the smile developing into quiet laughter. Laskaris smiled back and shrugged, dismissing the beachboy.
“I am chief manager of this branch, sir,” he said as the door closed, “but I do not set the policies for the entire bank. This is, after all, Mykonos.”
“And a great deal of money passes through here,” added Joel. “Which one did you bet on?”
“Neither,” replied Laskaris, shaking his head. “Only on exactly what you did. You’d be a fool otherwise, and I do not think you are a fool. In addition to being chief manager on the waterfront, I am also an excellent judge of character.”
“Is that why you were chosen as the intermediary?”
“No, that is not the reason. I am a friend of Mr. Halliday’s associate here on the island. His name is Beale, incidentally. Dr. Edward Beale.… You see, everything is in order.”
“A doctor?” asked Converse, leaning forward and accepting his passport and the letter. “He’s a doctor?”
“Not a medical man, however,” clarified Laskaris. “He’s a scholar, a retired professor of history from the United States. He has an adequate pension and he moved here from Rhodes several months ago. A most interesting man, most knowledgeable. I handle his financial affairs—in which he is not very knowledgeable, but still interesting.” The banker smiled again, shrugging.
“I hope so,” said Joel. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
“That is not my concern, sir. Shall we get to the disposition of the funds? How and where would you care to have them paid?”
“A
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