A Deadly Twist, Jeffrey Siger [top business books of all time TXT] 📗

Tonight, the Colonel was far away from all that glitz and glamour. He sat in a restaurant in a nondescript, middle-class eastern suburb of Athens, virtually equidistant from downtown Athens, its port town of Rafina, and Venizelos International Airport.

“A convenient place for a meeting,” said the one who’d arranged it.

The Colonel leaned back in his chair and yawned. The conversation had been as boring as the meal. Everything about the place was mediocre, from its tired, thirty-year-old decor to the hookers at the bar, and the ruddy-faced, pudgy man sitting across the table from him who had yet to say why their mutual business acquaintance thought they should meet.

“Am I keeping you awake, Colonel?”

“Barely.”

Ruddy Face smiled. “How do you like my place?”

The Colonel leaned forward. It was long past time to get down to business. “If this is your joint, why don’t you just tell me why you wanted to meet? You sure as hell don’t need my services to run this operation.”

“You’re right, it’s a dump.” Ruddy Face paused. “But I have plans.”

“What sort of plans?”

“I’m buying a club on the islands. It’s going to be first-class in every way.” He nodded toward the bar. “Including the girls.”

“Which island?”

“One you control.”

“Control is a mighty big word.”

Ruddy Face smiled. “Let’s just say, I don’t like the idea of getting involved in a business where my investment isn’t secure.”

“That’s prudent of you.”

“Can you help me?”

“If you’re asking for security, the answer is yes.”

“I’m talking about protection for all aspects of my business.”

The Colonel shrugged. “It’s all a matter of price. You tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you what it will cost you.”

“I hear you’re pricey.”

“You heard right. But I make sure things run smoothly.”

“How do you do that?”

“I don’t have competitors stirring things up, jockeying for business. I maintain order among the chaos.”

“They might see things differently.”

“If by they you mean competitors, there are no they on my island. I’m the only game in town.”

“I get your point,” said the man. “I’m sure we’ll come to terms.”

“If you want to open a club where I’m in business, I’m sure we will.”

The Colonel declined an offer of coffee, and the two men agreed to talk again once Ruddy Face had a better idea of what he might need from the Colonel.

He walked the Colonel to the front door, shook his hand, thanked him for coming, and wished him safe travels. “Kalo taxidhi.”

But the Colonel only made it as far as the front door of his Mercedes.

* * *

Greece’s General Police Headquarters, better known as GADA, sat close by the heart of Athens’s bustle, next door to a major hospital, down the block from Greece’s Supreme Court, and across the street from the stadium of one of Greece’s most popular soccer teams. GADA’s Special Crimes Unit, charged with investigating potential corruption and other matters of national concern—at least those that piqued the interest of its Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis—occupied the eastern side of the fourth floor.

Andreas had been at his desk since shortly after sunrise. With two early-rising young children at home, it wasn’t unusual for him to flee the morning domestic chaos for the relative calm of tracking down bad actors. His wife, Lila, never seemed to mind when he abandoned her to the ruckus, undoubtedly because she rightly considered him an active accessory to their children’s early-morning mischief.

It wasn’t as if he were leaving his wife alone to deal with their son and daughter; she did have a housekeeper and nanny to help, a decidedly suspicious luxury on an honest cop’s salary. But all of that, and more, had come with his marriage to the daughter of one of Greece’s most respected and wealthiest families. He appreciated his good fortune and considered himself a lucky man.

Too bad he couldn’t say the same thing for the guy plastered all over the morning news headlines: RETIRED POLICE COLONEL STAVROS AKTIPIS ASSASSINATED. That summed up virtually everything the various news stations had to report on the shooting, though they tried their best to spice up their coverage with references to corruption allegations that had haunted the victim.

All the allegations preceded Andreas’s time as chief of Special Crimes, but he’d heard the stories and much more about the Colonel. Instinctively, Andreas believed the victim had been corrupt, for the system far too often brought temptations to one in his position. Yet, if Andreas pursued every case of official corruption brought to his attention, he’d need all the offices in the building to house his staff—not to mention an unimaginable number of additional prosecutors.

Compounding all of that, innovative criminal types from around the world kept introducing new schemes and methods into Greece that added to his caseload. Overwhelmed as his unit was, and Greece a decade into a crippling economic crisis, he knew he’d be wasting his time asking for more support from the government. That left Andreas with little choice but to pursue the most egregious offenders, hoping to make an example of them in a manner that discouraged others from doing the same.

What happened last night to the Colonel, he knew, would be headed straight for his desk, in a file marked NASTY in all-red letters. The Colonel had been murdered for a reason, and it wasn’t robbery. His wallet, filled with euros, and an expensive watch were untouched. Three quick bullets to the back of his head as he stood at his car door. No witnesses, and no terrorists claiming credit for the killing. At least none so far.

Andreas held a remote in his right hand, surfing through local news coverage on the wall-mounted TV screen to his right, while drumming the fingers of his left hand on his desktop. He looked at his watch. Detective Yianni Kouros should be at the scene by now. Andreas had called him at home as soon as he’d heard the early morning news. Yianni had been his right-hand man since their days together on Mykonos, back when Andreas was the island’s police