Page 15 of Skotos (Of Shadows & Secrets #6)

Will

L askaris 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 us longer 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.”

Laskaris blinked several times, his face suddenly redder and even more sober than when we first arrived. He studied Thomas a moment, then, with a heavy sigh, relented. “Fine. What is it you want to know?”

I didn’t hesitate. “We want to speak with the officer who found the king. Nikos Tzannis.”

A flicker of something—interest, perhaps even unease—passed across Laskaris’s stony face.

“Tzannis,” he repeated as though weighing his options. “He is not an easy young man, but I will have him speak with you. Do not leave this room.”

Without so much as a “thank you for coming,” Laskaris rounded his desk, left the room, and slammed the door behind him. It felt a bit like the jailer slamming shut a row of bars.

“That went well,” Thomas muttered.

I bit back a chuckle. “Did you expect a red carpet? And what was that bit about wagging his dick around?”

“Just calling his bluff.” He shook his head.

“I didn’t come here thinking they would wrap us in hugs and hand us goblets of wine, but I did expect some sense of camaraderie.

We are allies, our countries are growing closer, and we are fellow law enforcement officers.

I didn’t expect to be treated as enemies—”

“He guards the royals. It’s his job to be suspicious. Besides, he probably grills his wife and children over the dinner table. Gets off on it.”

Thomas grunted, then a smile curled his lips. “Do you think he has one of those bright lights like they have in a police interrogation room hanging over his dining room table?”

“Probably one over his bed, too. Bet his wife loves to play cops and robbers.” A snort slipped free. “I bet it squeaks when it swings, too, scaring the shit out of his kids.”

“God save any boy who wants to date his daughter,” Thomas said.

The door opened as I began to laugh.

“Something amusing?” Laskaris growled before stepping around the desk to stand against the wall.

Thomas didn’t miss a beat. “We were discussing the glamor that is your office. It is very, well, un-palace-like. Does the queen know you work in a broom closet?”

I nearly choked on Thomas’s not-so-subtle dig. The man already disliked us. Poking the bear seemed like a terrible way to improve our situation.

But Laskaris grinned. It was something between a sneer and a scowl, but I was fairly certain it held more humor than anger .

“I am a man of action, of simple, utilitarian needs. The royals may have their finery so long as I have my work.”

Before Thomas could rejoin, another man appeared in the doorway.

He wore the ceremonial dress we’d seen on the guards outside the royal entrance, though his helmet was tucked tightly beneath one arm rather than covering his disastrously messy hair.

I supposed that was the danger in making men wear hats all day. The bedhead effect was real.

“This is Lochias Nikos Tzannis, as requested.” Laskaris extended an arm, pointing with his open palm at the young man, then motioned for the guard to sit in the chair behind the desk. “ Lochias , please take a seat.”

“ Lochias ?” Thomas asked.

“His rank. In your military, he would be a sergeant,” Laskaris explained.

Thomas nodded. “Chief, would you mind if we spoke with the Lochias alone?”

Laskaris scowled again, something I was finding him quite adept at. “You may find your questioning rather challenging without my presence. The good Lochias speaks very little English.”

Shit , I thought.

Thomas appeared unfazed.

“Understood,” he said, shifting his gaze from the chief to the sergeant.

“ Lochias Tzannis, I know you have likely told your tale a hundred times by now, but please walk us through the evening of the king’s death, beginning with where you were and what you were doing in the hour before you found him? ”

Tzannis sat rigidly in the chair across from us.

His jaw was square, his brow furrowed, and his fingers sat knotted in his lap like he was bracing for something.

He looked at me and Thomas in turn, then glanced back toward his chief.

I could practically feel his butthole puckering beneath Laskaris’s gaze.

The chief was reputed to be a strong guardsman, but he was a man to be feared, not loved.

Laskaris fired off the question in rapid Greek.

Tzannis responded immediately, and Laskaris translated flatly: “He was stationed at the northwest entrance to the palace gardens with a clear view of the main paths.”

“Did he see anyone go in?” Thomas asked.

Laskaris repeated the question. Another reply.

“He saw the king enter the gardens first. A few minutes later, the queen and the prince followed. They walked together. He says they seemed happy and relaxed.”

I jumped in. “And when did the queen and the prince leave?”

Laskaris translated, then paused to listen.

“They left after about fifteen minutes. The prince was picking flowers. The queen took his hand as they exited. ”

“Did anyone else enter after them?” Thomas asked.

Laskaris asked, waited, then shook his head. “He saw no other guests or staff enter the gardens.”

“And the king?” I asked. “How long was he alone?”

Laskaris relayed the question. Tzannis responded slowly this time.

“He estimates about an hour. Another guard arrived to relieve him for rotation, so he walked his usual patrol circuit around the perimeter of the gardens.”

“What happened then?” Thomas asked.

Tzannis’s eyes narrowed slightly. His voice was quieter this time, and Laskaris leaned in to catch it.

“He found the king near an old cypress tree,” Laskaris said. “He was on his knees, one hand in the grass, the other stretched toward a flowering bush.”

“What kind of flowers?” I asked.

Tzannis blinked in surprise at the question, then responded.

“Blood-red anemones,” Laskaris translated.

Thomas glanced at me. I felt the chill settle into my chest.

“Was the king breathing?” Thomas asked.

“No. His eyes were open, though fixed and unresponsive.”

I asked, “Did you find anything in the garden? Anything unusual? ”

Laskaris narrowed his eyes, staring a moment before translating.

The Lochias shook his head, speaking slowly for the first time.

“He says there was nothing, only the grounds one expects in a garden,” Laskaris said. “Why would you ask that?”

I held the chief’s gaze. “Standard procedure.”

He clearly didn’t believe me.

The chief was a seasoned officer who knew a lie when he heard it.

I hadn’t told an untruth, but I certainly hadn’t revealed what we knew.

That was as good as lying, given the gravity of the situation, but it couldn’t be helped.

Knowledge of the spear etching was known to only a few, and I wasn’t about to change that with a man who resisted our every attempt at helping.

“Was there anyone nearby? Anything at all unusual?” Thomas asked, tearing us away from our visual tug-of-war.

Tzannis gave a slow shake of his head.

“He says no. Nothing. It was quiet. Just like always.”

“And what did the doctors say?” Thomas asked.

Laskaris hesitated for the first time. He didn’t translate for the sergeant, answering himself, “They said it was natural causes. Heart failure, most likely.”

“And you believe that?” I asked .

It looked as though someone had frozen time. Neither Laskaris nor the Lochias blinked. I wasn’t sure they breathed. The air in the room grew even staler, and I wondered—for the briefest moment—if that question might earn us an escort out of the palace, and possibly Greece.

Then Laskaris reached down, patted the Lochias’s shoulder, and said something in Greek. The young man stood, nodded curtly toward us, and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Our questioning had come to an abrupt end.

Thomas began, “Forgive an impertinent question, but—”

Laskaris lifted a palm, then fell into the chair as though the world had somehow offended him.

“My king was in excellent health,” he said, his tone belying a man who’d slept little, and whose heart, hard though it was, still struggled to keep itself together after the loss of his monarch.

“He exercised daily and ate well—as well as any royal, at least. The royal physicians examined him every three months and never found anything amiss.”

Laskaris ran a hand across his stubbly head, then crossed his arms and blew out a heavy sigh.

“So, no, Agent Snead, I do not believe this was a natural death.”

The way he nearly spat the word “agent” left no doubt about what he thought of our cover stories.

For the briefest moment, I wondered if our mission might not be better served with a little honesty about our roles—but that decision was well over my pay grade, especially as we sat across from a foreign officer.

“Poison?” Thomas asked.

“I am a guard, not a police investigator.” Laskaris shrugged.

“Were the king’s lips discolored? His tongue? What about his eyes?” Thomas pressed.

Laskaris looked pained. “No, I did not . . . trouble his person. That is a job better suited for doctors, and they have rendered their conclusion.”

Then he hesitated, his eyes darting to his hands to the framed evacuation route.

We waited.

Finally, he straightened, the steel returning to his eyes. “You will not be permitted audience with any member of the royal family. Will there be anything else?”

Frustrated and resigned, Thomas looked to me.

Then, on a whim, as I stood to leave, “Chief Laskaris, are you familiar with any organization associated with the symbol of an ancient spearhead?”

The chief’s head cocked. “An arrowhead?”

“No, a spearhead, like the kind the ancients wielded. ”

Laskaris thought a moment and then shook his head. “None come to mind, not in Athens, at least. What is this about?”

Thomas quickly stuck out his hand for Laskaris to shake. “Thank you, Chief Laskaris, I believe we are done for the moment. We may have further questions after consulting with Washington.”

“Of course,” Laskaris said, meeting Thomas’s gaze but shooting a sideways glance in my direction. “I will show you out.”