The Phoenix

‘That she survived the helicopter crash at all would be a miracle,’ Nikkos explained, refilling both their glasses and ordering a second bottle. ‘But the idea that not only did she survive the impact, but that someone saw her, pulled her from those flames, carried her maybe fifty kilometers to the nearest town, and then somehow kept it a secret, for long enough to smuggle her across the world? To me, this sounds like a fable. Like a Greek myth, hm?’ he chuckled, pleased with his own analogy.

Ella sipped her wine in silent contemplation.

‘You know my parents were working to bring the Petridises to justice. When I was still a small child. It was their last mission.’

‘Yes. I know.’ Nikkos looked down at the tablecloth, uncomfortable suddenly.

‘Did you know them?’ Ella asked. ‘They would have been older than you, but not by that much. And if they both came to Greece, perhaps you met?’

‘I never met your father. But I knew your mother,’ Nikkos admitted, clearing his throat. ‘Not well, but … our paths crossed.’

‘What was she like?’

Nikkos looked away. ‘She was a remarkable lady.’

‘Remarkable in what way?’

Ella leaned towards him again, wide-eyed and eager for more, for any details he could spare her, like a starved dog hoping for dropped crumbs from its master’s table. But Nikkos seemed uncharacteristically reticent.

‘Many different ways. She was passionate. She was kind. Highly intelligent, of course.’

‘Well, am I like her? Do you see similarities?’

It was a child’s question, innocently asked, and it sent a pang, that felt an awful lot like guilt, through Nikkos’s heart.

‘I don’t know yet if you are like her,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope you are. You’re going to need your mother’s courage in the weeks ahead, Ella. That much I know.’

The second bottle of wine arrived and Nikkos ignored Ella’s protests, refilling her glass to the brim.

‘Your purpose here, as you know, is as an intelligence-gathering tool. Hopefully your abilities are going to give us the edge on that score. Through you, we hope to find out whether Athena Petridis really is alive, or whether the mark on the boy was some sort of cruel hoax. A stunt, designed to make us and others believe that she is still out there.’

‘But why …?’

Nikkos reached out his hand and placed it over hers. ‘Too many questions,’ he told her, not unkindly. ‘To stay safe and be successful you must concentrate on the job at hand. For now that means forgetting about Athena and focusing only on this man.’

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of newspaper and passed it to Ella. It was taken from the society pages of Eleftherotypia, and it showed a glamorous group in white tie standing in front of the presidential mansion in central Athens. In the center of the group was a handsome, barrel-chested, dark-haired man, who clearly projected his dominance over the others with unspoken yet undeniable signals in his body language, expression and stance.

‘Makis Alexiadis,’ Nikkos said casually. ‘They call him Big Mak. Very famous in Greece.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Ella.

‘That depends who you ask. Some say he’s a successful businessman. Others call him a playboy. This Greek word here,’ he pointed to the photo’s caption, ‘I think you would say in English “influencer”. It means politicians court him. Ordinary people watch him, on social media and on the television, and they copy his ways. His style.’

‘And what do you say about him?’

Nikkos scooped the last of the feta greedily onto his plate.

‘I say,’ he took a leisurely bite, ‘he is a killer. He is a sadist. He is …’ He muttered something in Greek, searching for the right English word. ‘… a blight on this earth. Like a cancer.’ Dropping his voice to a whisper, he leaned forward and continued, stroking Ella’s hair as if he were murm

uring sweet nothings into her ear. ‘For many years, OK, Makis was Spyros Petridis’s number two. Since the crash, he has been number one, the gang’s de-facto leader. Later tonight you will receive an anonymous package at your hotel with more details about him and his operations. But for now I can tell you that one of his “businesses” is kidnapping young children, mostly from the Middle East, and selling them to wealthy Western clients.’

‘Selling them?’

Nikkos nodded.

‘For sex?’

‘Sometimes.’