Page 27 of Skotos
Will glanced around. “Cozy.”
I eyed the metal desk. “I’ve interrogated people in rooms less grim.”
Will chuckled quietly. There was no telling how many ears the palace had—or which ones reported to whom.
I sat and folded my hands.
Whatever game this was, we were playing it now, and from the looks of it, Christos Laskaris didn’t like to lose.
1. TheEvzonesorEvzonoiwere a type of light infantry unit in the Hellenic Army. Today, they are members of the Presidential Guard, a ceremonial unit that guards the Greek Tomb of the Unknown and Presidential Mansion in Athens.
14
Will
Laskaris was not the sort of man who believed in small talk. There were no greetings, no refreshments, no polite lies about how pleased he was to see us. The moment he returned and the door shut, he sat in the worn chair behind the desk, leaned forward, and steepled his fingers like he was preparing to interrogate two criminals instead of welcoming foreign allies.
“Let us begin,” he said flatly. “Who authorized your presence here?”
I exchanged a glance with Thomas.
The folders we carried had already been vetted, credentials double-checked by three separate palace staffers and a Ministry liaison, but apparently, that wasn’t enough for Laskaris.
“Washington,” I said evenly. “Through your Ministry of Public Order.”
His eyes narrowed. “That answers nothing. Who in your government, specifically, assigned you to this case?”
“Our orders came from the US Embassy,” Thomas said. “We’re under directives to cooperate with your officials. That includes you.”
Laskaris didn’t blink. “Your papers say you are FBI, but you walk and talk like men who have seen war, not bureaucrats who shuffle between files—and most certainly not like policemen. I could smell a policeman a mile away.”
I offered a polite smile. “We learned a lot working domestic counterintelligence.”
A beat of silence passed.
Then two.
The only sound was the low whir of the fan struggling to circulate air thick with suspicion.
Laskaris leaned back in his chair, watching us with his hawk-like stare. “Do not mistake this palace for your embassy. You are here as guests. You are not partners or equals. Guests can be uninvited.”
He let that settle.
I felt Thomas tense beside me as I placed a hand over the folder on my lap.
“We’re here to help you find the truth behind what happened to your king and understand if his death might be connected to a larger plot,” I said, my voice calm. “Nothing more.”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but the chief’s scowl deepened, knitting his hideous forehead together like angry cats about to fight. “What larger plot?”
Thomas leaned forward, as though the walls had ears, and whispered. “Washington does not believe the stories of a peaceful, natural death. Our analysts suspect your king was murdered and his death may be connected to the assassination in France. French authorities are also working under this assumption.”
“The French? Do you honestly believe the DGSE could find its own ass? Even if it used both hands?”
Thomas grinned, a tight, unfriendly thing. “They are quite adept, Chief Laskaris, as are our own people. Your services, had they not been devastated by your most recent . . . troubles, would still only be half as competent.”
Laskaris sat back and folded his arms, his eyes hardening.
Thomas mirrored his pose, taking a deep breath and letting it slowly out of his nose. When he spoke again, his words were careful, deliberate, and carried a weight I hadn’t heard from him in a very long time. “Chief, we are here in good faith out of respect for King Paul and the Greek people. We would like to play nicely, but make no mistake, we are not asking for permission. The international community—led by the United States—will investigate, with or without your consent. It may take uslonger to receive proper access, but your queen and regent will accede to our requests. You may wag your penis about like a sword, but it will never truly be a blade.”
