He kissed her on both cheeks, inhaling deeply her scent at the same time. He had become addicted to her presence, to such an extent that, each time Erica dispatched him for some mission, he would complete it as fast as he could so that he could return to her as soon as possible.
“Everything went according to your wishes”, he informed her immediately. “I bought the club, as you instructed, and made the necessary changes so that it meets our needs. At the same time, one of our transport companies, Travis SA, successfully expanded its operation in Athens, in the most visible manner possible”.
He had smiled again, somewhat guardedly, when he mentioned the name of the company, but Erica did not react, she had no problem with him using his name. Although, during the previous year, Erica had used the element of surprise to defeat her enemies, by now her fame had reached every corner of the planet. Thus, she had expanded her operations in Athens as openly as she could, to let the Ancient she was seeking know that she was coming for him. Fear could force anyone, even a vampire, into making mistakes. The only thing that caused her concern all this time was the fact that she had failed to uncover even a single piece of information about the threat that had Naram-Sin worried. For that, she needed Lucas and in order to secure his help she would have to find that damned sister of his.
She boarded a limousine along with Travis and they headed to their new asset, a club called “Nightflower”. The highway connecting the airport to the city of Athens was deserted at that hour. It was Saturday evening, everyone was already back at their homes from work. The same, however, could not be said about downtown Athens where, as per usual, and despite the financial crisis, traffic was bumper to bumper. They had reached Piraeus Avenue, which would take them straight to the city center and the most celebrated nightlife neighborhood in Athens. Erica was silent as she was looking out the window of the limousine. Both at the city center and Athens in general, an odd balance seemed to hold sway. A short way south of the main palace was Omonia Square, a place crawling with junkies, drug dealers and all manner of criminals. Young people, even children, could be seen lying on the stairs of various buildings, in many cases with syringes limply sticking out of their arms. A mere three hundred yards away was the neighborhood of Gazi, where her new club was located, one of the most fashionable areas of Athens, where young people dressed in smart clothes came to party through the night. Two strikingly different worlds in such close proximity, the two sides of the same coin.
They stopped in front of a beggar who was standing in the middle of the street, next to some traffic lights, beseeching alms. The man, upon seeing the limousine, stumbled towards the car and knocked on the window, on the driver’s side. Seeing no response, he walked a bit further down the car, where Erica was sitting and knocked on the window there, completely unaware of what was lurking inside the vehicle.
“Please… I haven’t eaten in two days”, he croaked.
Erica, if she hadn’t been a vampire, wouldn’t have heard him through the reinforced door of the limousine.
“I’ll tell him to shove off”, said Travis and made to get out of the car.
Erica gestured to stay where he was and lowered the window, so that the beggar could see her. She pierced him with her eyes, trying to read his mind. She had the ability to discern a man’s thoughts if she concentrated hard enough. She managed to bypass the minimal resistances of the beggar’s brain with ease. His mind, his thoughts, were in chaos. An incessant hunger, like an everlasting fire, dominated his mind. The rest were shattered thoughts and memories. Erica let her magic dissipate and returned to her own thoughts. The man standing before her was ruined to such an extent that, even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have helped him. She took a note from her pocket, without even glancing to see what it was, handed it to the man and then raised the window.
Marcos was tired at having to dodge drunkards and groups of people who seemed to blindly walk about that night. His contact had stood him up, so he decided to take a walk around the poor neighborhoods extending behind Gazi. He managed to waste an hour in this way, before returning to the place he was supposed to meet his contact, back in Gazi. On the way there, he came across a kiosk and bought a small chocolate. Some colleagues of his would have bought their fifth packet of cigarettes there, but Marcos, when stressed, craved sugar. Not that others would have known, by looking at him. He was keeping fairly fit, considering the amounts of sweets he consumed. The hours spent at the gym were paying off.
He turned into an alley stretching between two café-bars and moved along, passing before several eateries, before arriving at a small square, across a rock joint. He went and sat on one of the benches there, taking the chocolate from his pocket. He summarily devoured it, glancing at his watch, to show that he was being stood up. Then he got to his feet, walked around the square a couple of times and then returned to the bench.
“Pst!” whispered a voice behind him.
He turned around and saw Christina, his ex, who worked at the Ministry of Finance, hiding in the shadows, next to a post.
“Quit staring, man!” she told him, sharply. “For the life of me, I don’t know why I keep helping you out!” she mumbled, though she remembered that just a year ago she had given him some information which proved crucial in uncovering the hideout of the cultists who were murdering women in Athens.
“It’s because you still fancy me”, said Marcos to the air before him, making sure he didn’t look back.
He needn’t look at her anyhow, as he knew that, at this very moment, she was gracing him with her most cool and irritated look. He heard her sigh.
“I brought you a flash drive with all the info I found at the Ministry on her. I cannot be sure whether I managed to avoid detection, but I owe you, so I guess it doesn’t matter. I could toss it over, but I think you can pick it up from here, when I’m gone. You’ll find it in the trashcan”, she announced and left as quickly as she had come.
Marcos stifled a laugh, patiently waited for a couple of minutes and then walked towards the post behind which Christina had been hiding before. Indeed, there was a trashcan hanging there and, after rifling about for a bit, he found the flash drive she had left for him. He got a wet tissue from his pocket, along with a small tablet and, after wiping down the flash drive, he connected it in his device. In it he discovered a text file named “Erica” and a file containing photographs. He ignored the text file for the time being and concentrated on the photographs. The Greek Ministry of Finance, contrary to popular belief, was fairly well informed on the activities of foreign companies. At any given time, it knew who invested in the country, where, for what reasons and whether the company was legit or not. After all, this was essential in order for the various heads of departments and their political bosses to secure their kickbacks.
All photographs had been taken during nighttime at the storage facilities of a company called Travis SA, which recently had begun operating in Greece and was owned by a woman called Erica. The authorities didn’t know whether that was her real name or what her surname was. The photographs showed works at the facility unloading massive crates from trucks. The crates looked heavy, judging by the fact that each was carried by three men and that, despite the financial crisis, this lady had hired about a dozen men, when other companies employed these many for their entire operations and not just for moving boxes around.
Marcos’ instinct told him that those crates contained drugs. He had already tried to investigate that particular company but, up to that point, he had failed to do anything about it. He had approached almost every judge there was, all of them had refused to issue a warrant and, as if that weren’t enough, the day before his captain had dressed him down for “wasting time on such meaningless cases”. He closed the file containing the photographs and opened the text file. It contained a detailed account of all known movements by Erica, all the companies she had acquired during the last six months, as well as an educated guess concerning her intentions in Greece. None of this was parti
cularly helpful. Marcos had risked Christina’s position at the ministry in vain. He felt his anger threatening to boil over, but he quickly managed to regain his composure. He was determined to unravel this whole case, no matter what. He closed his tablet, put it in the pocket of his coat and headed towards “Nightflower”.
The club was situated mere feet away from similar joints, but in front of its entrance a veritable crowd had gathered, waiting to be allowed in or lounging on the benches the management had placed outside the club. The place was surrounded by a tall wall which, along its base, was planted with purple orchids. A paved path led from the street to the entrance of the courtyard. Inside the wall there was a small garden filled with trees, around the trunks of which tables had been placed to accommodate those wanting to sit outside. At the end of the garden stood the club proper, built entirely of black stone, decorated with dried orchids. Marcos had never seen that place up close before, but he had studied it thoroughly on the internet, in case he would have to visit, as was now the case. Inside the club there was a massive tree and under its branches stood the bar, while staircases around the place led to either to the basement or a small mezzanine. Everything, from the bar stools to the tables and the restrooms were built in such a way as to resemble nature: trees, plants and fake grass covering the floor. The club gave the impression that someone had walked to the middle of a forest and built a modern joint for the enjoyment of the young people of Athens.
Two bouncers were standing at the entrance, in front of the long line of people queuing to be allowed in. Marcos didn’t want to have to show his id but, on the other hand, attempting to gain entrance while unescorted would be an exercise in futility. So, he bypassed those queuing and took out from his coat his police id. One of the bouncers turned to see who was approaching and, before Marcos had the chance to say a word, spoke first.
“Come in, the boss is waiting for you”, said in a perfectly neutral voice, pointing to the way inside.
Marcos felt a fleeting wave of stress threatening to overcome him, but he fought it off. At least, he hoped that he would get answers to his questions. He took a deep breath and followed the bouncer.
The beggar was left standing at the middle of the road, holding the banknote Erica had given him. A group of young men passed by in their car, loudly mocking him, but he paid them no attention. Faster that he seemed capable of moving, he headed towards an abandoned building by the side of the road, an old factory. He went into the derelict structure and leaned with his back against a broken wall.
Still holding the note, he looked at it again, wildly, hungrily. He brought it close to his nose and inhaled deeply. At first, he seemed to relax somewhat, but suddenly he was overtaken by a raking cough. He dropped to his knees in pain and began spiting blood. Enraged, he screamed, crushed the note in his fist and threw it away. His eyes flashed red and felt his rage taking over him once more. This time, he whimpered like a puppy deprived of its mother and run quickly towards the back of the factory. He opened a small circular hatch on a wall and walked in. He was standing inside one of the massive chimneys from the old factories in Gazi, sealed at the top and decorated on its outside with all manner of electrical blinks, illuminating the surrounding area. Where he was standing, though, the only light was that seeping through the hatch. He closed it as best as he could; the locking mechanism had eroded long ago and the door wouldn’t close properly, so he took some stones from the floor beside him and propped the hatch closed with those. Annoyed, he cast one last glance at the sliver of light still intruding, from the holes in the derelict building, and turned his head towards the top of the chimney.
Without wasting time, he placed his hand on the wall and crawled upwards. Like a spider he began climbing expertly towards the top. Within a few seconds he was there, touching his naked feet on the roof. He let his body hang backwards and tried to sleep, like a bat. He huddled as best as he could, only his feet were keeping him glued to the top and soon his mind was flooded by the nightmarish dreams he had been seeing these past years.
The sobs escaping his lips while he was sleeping echoed inside the empty chimney.
Dozens of people were dancing in ecstasy around him, while he was following the bouncer ever deeper inside the club. Marcos was stealing glances around him, but had little time to observe the place in detail. The man opening the way before him pushed aside anyone standing in his path, as if indifferent to their presence, so they were making their way through the crowd fairly quickly. At the middle of the ground floor there was a raised platform on which a pair of professional dancers was performing, wearing nothing but a bathing suit. Nearby stood the bar, where a similarly clad couple served drinks. Around the club there were black leather couches, with disproportionally small tables next to them; several groups of people were sitting there, drinking and emptying one bottle after the other. At the back of the club there were stairs leading to a mezzanine, reserved for the rich and famous. At the foot of the stairs stood a guard, who took over escort duties as the bouncer returned to his post.
The mezzanine was decorated somewhat differently, compared to the rest of the club. In the corner stood a rather smaller bar, serving exclusively the people on this level. Two waitresses moved about systematically, making sure the patrons would not run out of alcohol. The place was furnished with couches, too, though many more and in a greater variety of colors. Each couch was draped by a thin net which, when closed, fully concealed those sitting in there. Over half the couches were closed in this manner, yet his escort led him to the largest of these, which was open and inside sat just one person: the woman known as Erica, whose file Marcos was reading minutes ago.
She was dressed rather scantly. A boldly cut shorts revealed her shapely legs and the tiny shirt left her midriff naked. Marcos caught himself staring at her body. He tried to regain his composure and look her in the eyes, but that only made him realize how beautiful her face was. She had her hair brushed backwards, in a rather voluminous style which gave her an aristocratic appearance, her skin was bright and her face appeared as if crafted by a master painter, while her eyes seemed capable of mesmerizing him.
Marcos did not realize that the man who had escorted him to Erica had left, but gradually he came to understand that the young woman sitting across him was smiling. Something stirred inside; he felt his blood and anger coming to boil. He hated it when people laughed at him. He forced himself approach and ignore the effect she was having on him. He took out his id from his coat and showed it to her.
“Ms. Erica? Police, homicide, my name is…” he began to say, but she cut him off.
“I know your name. Would you mind terribly if we dropped formalities, Mr. Marcos?” she asked him in a sweet and perfectly calm voice, which immediately calmed his anger to an extent.
He tried not to show it, attempted to maintain his professional approach.
“As a matter of fact, I do mind. I would prefer it if we kept this strictly formal. Your men informed me that you had been expecting me. How is that possible, since we had not arranged to meet?” he asked as shortly as possible and suddenly felt that he could ignore her beauty.
He managed to observe her more closely and saw that she was wearing short boots which, despite being all the rage in fashion, were flat and had been stained by mud. He tried to look away, so she wouldn’t see what he had been looking at, but the young woman had already noticed.
“I had some things to do earlier and had no time to change”, she told him and smiled.
Before he had the time to comment, Erica continued:
“Mr. Marcos”, she said, stressing his name, “I had been expecting you because I have people following you. I have studied your file and I do believe you could prove useful”.
Her directness startled him, but he allowed her to proceed:
“You are twenty seven years old, graduated from the Academy at the age of twenty, two years earlier than normal, because you managed in the course of a project undertaken in your studies
to discover the trail of a drug dealer. You then spent three years at drug enforcement, but then requested a transfer to the homicide department. Rumor has it that the transfer was not entirely voluntary on your part. You have a reputation of being untouchable, which is pretty much unheard of in drug enforcement. So, now you’re taking homicide cases, while you have been staying away from cases relating to organize crime, something which, again, I have the suspicion is not your choice. You are letting your colleagues in that department do their… thing. Tell me, what is it that keeps a person like you working in such a corrupt country, instead of seeking greener pastures abroad?”
Her question irritated him, although he had heard it a lot of times in the past, from friends and acquaintances. Perhaps what irritated him mostly was that he had been asking himself that very same question. The corruption of the monarchy dominated all aspects of life, even the work of the police who, on many occasions, were unable to perform their duties properly. He looked at Erica and his instinct told him that he was way out of his depth with this young woman. He managed to track down murderers, he was able to get on their trail when all others failed, up to that point he had not left a single case unsolved and never, ever, had he taken a bribe. On many occasions, while he was working at drug enforcement, various miscreants had tried to slip him a little present or threatened him to look the other way, but this was the first time one of these shady characters asked him why he was doing what he had been doing all these years.