The cop nodded in the direction of a man in plainclothes standing by the open rear doors of the van. Andreas knew him; they’d been together in the police academy.

The odor grew stronger as Andreas approached the van. He struggled not to gag. The man saw Andreas coming and turned to face the van. Andreas stopped next to him and stared inside.

“This tells it all, my friend,” said the man. He was Tinos’ police chief.

Andreas had been wrong. The odor was not what he would remember for the rest of his life. It was this, an image impossible to fully grasp in the abstract or ever forget in its unfathomable reality. Two shapes entwined in chains. Whatever flesh he could see was charred and blackened to the bone.

Neither man spoke for a moment. Andreas quietly said a prayer.

“Amen,” said the police chief. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Me either, and I hope never to again.” Andreas swallowed hard.

“This is one for heavy forensics. I called in for help from Athens, but you beat them here.”

Andreas waved his hand in the direction of the minister. “Yeah, politics takes precedence over police work. Forensics should have been with us on that helicopter. But he didn’t want to wait. They won’t get here for hours.”

“Same old shit, no surprises there.”

Andreas nodded. “So, what do you think?”

“That we’ve got one hell of a problem and nothing to go on. Two victims chained together amid remnants of a Greek flag. Don’t know why the flag didn’t burn.”

“Probably because someone didn’t want it to,” said Andreas.

“And then there’s that cylinder chained to the steering wheel. We probably shouldn’t have gone near it until after the bomb boys had a go at it.”

“Not smart. If this was terrorists, that thing could have been set for another surprise.”

The police chief shrugged. “Sometimes we Greeks are just too curious for our own good.”