(7) Crucia

The yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulled in to a mechanic's garage in downtown Corinth, on a side street filled with accordion music and the laughter of old men on stools outside a wine shop, having their late afternoon social.

The mechanic feigned not to notice the sloppily dressed thug who stepped out from the passenger door of the Beetle and stood waiting, a hand in his coat pocket, for the blond young lady to come around the hood.

In English the thug said to her, "Through that door by the icebox, and all the way down the hall to a pink door. Go on in. I'll be right behind you."

Sally Anne Bern did as she was directed. Her fear had numbed all sentiments regarding everything except survival. She was operating soley on instinct. She could not put together a single coherent thought about her training. Whatever of it had not become a part of her second nature would be of no use to her.

Beyond the pink door was a room bare of all furnishings except a card table, three folding chairs, and a stool in a corner beneath the single small window, locked and curtained, located near the high ceiling. It was a warped water-stained ceiling where a 100-watt lightbulb burned with a naked glare.

In the center of the room stood Christofer Agape. He was texting on a smartphone. Without looking up he said to the thug, "Sit her in the chair," and nodded toward the chair nearest the card table.

On the table was a wine bottle and several glasses.

"Pour her a drink."

Agape put the phone in an inside coat pocket and smiled at the young lady. The thug stood near the door, acting bored.

"What you know?" said Agape in English to the thug.

"She's as raw as a slab of beef. Ain't even popped her cherry in her profession yet. This is her first job. A courier I think she is."

"I know what she is, Darren, she's an operative for a private investigation agency. New, huh? Green behind the ears? Listen," he said to Sally Anne. "You sent a parcel to the Corinthian Blue, from the post office. Don't ask how I know. It was addressed to a guy who is a friend of Grigoris Markos. Don't ask how I know."

He paused to chuckle at the look on the woman's pale face, the glass of wine held forgotten in her nervous hands.

"Listen, Miss Bern. You answer my questions truthfully, or to my satisfaction anyway, and I'll let you live. You won't be hurt. That's all I can promise you. Now, listen. Answer me. What was in the parcel?"

Sally Anne froze for a moment, overcome with a fear that lessened considerably when an idea came to her from the memory of her training in Deception and Compromise.

"It was a report about an assignment," she said. "Some information for the operative."

"Yeah," said the thug. "the guy we saw on the balcony of the Blue."

Agape bit his bottom lip and ran a finger over his white bristly mustache.

"Rolgo?" he asked the woman.

"No, it was the assassin, not Rolgo," she said, breathing deeply and squeezing her trousered knees together.

"Who's the assassin? No, wait on that. What is Rolgo doing with this guy? What's Rolgo's business in Corinth? He's an American. What's he doing in Greece?"

"He's the assassin's contact with the agency. ICS. You've probably heard of them. They've been under contract to the CIA ever since--"

"I don't need a history lesson, Miss Bern. This is about Markos?"

"Indirectly," she said, breathing easy now, her heart rate dropping. But still her face was pale and sweaty. "He's the client. He hired us."

"To kill somebody," Agape said, leaning back on his heels, his hands in his pants pockets. His expression was a mask over an intense curiosity.

"Okay. This assassin. Who is he?"

"His name is Sanguineus."

"Who's he here to kill?"

Sally Anne shifted in her chair, looking down at her glass of red wine. "Berenice Chora," she said.

Christofer Agape walked around the card table, biting his bottom lip. He stopped next to Sally Anne and gazed down at the top of her head.

"Why Berenice Chora?"

"She murdered Pella Markos."

"She was a lawyer who studied law under Mrs Markos. Why would she kill her?"

"We don't know the motive. But our investigators are convinced of her guilt. They believe it was for personal reasons, not for gain."

"And why are you here, Miss Bern? Are you working for the assassin? Or for Rolgo?"

"Well, for both, actually."

Agape stroked his mustache. He teetered back on his heels and let out a long sigh. "What's this assassin's plans?" he asked calmly.

"I don't know, I haven't been with him yet. I've never met him. I've only heard of him."

"Okay. You sit tight and drink your drink. Darren..."

Agape walked toward the door. Darren opened it for him and followed him out into the hall. From the opposite end came the muted whir of a pneumatic drill.

Agape stood leaning a shoulder against the door, hands in pockets and running his tongue over his bottom lip. "I want you to take her to the house. Let her drive. I'll send my boy over to keep an eye on her."

"What about Berenice?"

"I'm not so sure about that. It don't make a lot of sense to me. We know it wasn't Berenice who let the air out of Pella. I'm going to the villa, though, and taking a couple boys with me. Get the ditz and let's go."

Darren swung the door open and followed his boss back into the room.

Sally Anne was gone.

The stool beneath the high small window was lying on its side, a leg broken. The curtain was luffing in the breeze.

Christofer Agape turned to Darren, as if to make a casual remark. He said, "Are you gonna stand there with your thumbs up your ass?"

The sloppy thug hurried out and ran down the hall.