His neighbor was standing in the hallway in a robe and slippers. “Do you know what time it is?” he asked indignantly. “You told me…”
Rizzoli handed him the hundred-dollar bill. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said apologetically. “I won’t be long.”
The man swallowed, his indignation gone. “That’s all right. It must be important for someone to wake people up at four o’clock in the morning.”
Rizzoli walked into the room across the hall and picked up the phone. “Rizzoli.”
A voice said, “You have a problem, Mr. Rizzoli.”
“Who is this?”
“Spyros Lambrou asked me to call you.”
“Oh.” He felt a sudden sense of alarm. “What’s the problem?”
“It concerns Constantin Demiris.”
“What about him?”
“One of his tankers, the Thele, is in Marseilles. It’s tied up at the pier in the Bassin de la Grande Joliette.”
“So?”
“We’ve learned that Mr. Demiris has ordered the ship diverted to Athens. It will be docking there Sunday morning, and sailing Sunday night. Constantin Demiris plans to be on it when it sails.”
“What?”
“He’s running.”
“But he and I have a…”
“Mr. Lambrou said to tell you that Demiris is planning to hide out in the United States until he can find a way to get rid of you.”
The sneaky son of a bitch! “I see. Thank Mr. Lambrou for me. Tell him thanks very much.”
“It’s his pleasure.”
Rizzoli replaced the receiver.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Rizzoli?”
“What? Yeah. Everything is great.” And it was.
The more Rizzoli thought about the phone call, the more pleased he was. He had Constantin Demiris running scared. That would make it a lot easier to handle him. Sunday. He had two days in which to lay his plans. Rizzoli knew he had to be careful. He was being followed wherever he went. Fucking Keystone Kops, Rizzoli thought contemptuously. When the time comes, I’ll dump them.
Early the following morning, Rizzoli walked to a public telephone booth on Kifissias Street and dialed the number of the Athens State Museum.
In the reflection in the glass, Rizzoli could see a man pretending to look in a shop window, and across the street another man in a conversation with a flower vendor. The two men were part of the surveillance team that was covering him. Good luck to you, Rizzoli thought.
“Office of the curator. Can I help you?”
“Victor? It’s Tony.”
“Is anything wrong?” There was sudden panic in Korontzis’s voice.
“No,” Rizzoli said soothingly. “Everything’s fine. Victor, you know that pretty vase with the red figures on it?”
“The Ka amphora.”
“Yeah. I’m going to pick it up tonight.”
There was a long pause. “Tonight? I…I don’t know, Tony.” Korontzis’s voice was trembling. “If anything should go wrong…”
“Okay, pal, forget it. I was trying to do you a favor. You just tell Sal Prizzi you don’t have the money, and let him do whatever…”
“No, Tony. Wait. I…I…” There was another pause. “All right.”
“You sure it’s all right, Victor? Because if you don’t want to do it, just say so, and I’ll head back to the States, where I don’t have problems like this. I don’t need all this aggravation, you know. I can…”
“No, no. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Tony. Really I do. Tonight will be fine.”
“Okay, then. When the museum closes, all you have to do is substitute a copy for the real vase.”
“The guards check all packages out of here.”
“So what? Are the guards some kind of art experts?”
“No. Of course not, but…”
“All right, Victor, listen to me. You just get a bill of sale for one of the copies and stick it with the original in a paper bag. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I…I understand. Where will we meet?”
“We’re not going to meet. Leave the museum at six o’clock. There will be a taxi in front. Have the package with you. Tell the driver to take you to Hotel Grande Bretagne. Tell him to wait for you. Leave the package in the cab. Go into the hotel bar and have a drink. After that, go home.”
“But the package…”
“Don’t worry. It will be taken care of.”