Dimitri stared back. ‘Fair enough. But I’m not, so I’m not worried. Here, have an ouzo.’ He poured them each a drink. ‘ Yamas.’

‘ Yamas.’ The three touched glasses.

‘So, who did you work for?’ asked Andreas. No reason not to try again, especially with Dimitri drinking.

‘Like I said, not telling.’

‘If everyone knows and I can find out, why keep it a secret?’

‘It’s one thing for you to know, another for me to tell you.’

‘You’re one confusing son of a bitch.’

‘Thank you. My wife says the same thing.’ Dimitri laughed.

Andreas shook his head. ‘Okay, then give me your best guess on what happened?’

‘My best is a wild-ass one.’

‘Go for it, you’re local, it’s probably better than ours.’

‘The Russians.’

Andreas didn’t respond. He sensed Dimitri was waiting for a reaction to see where to go next. He’d wait him out.

Dimitri picked up his glass and took another drink. ‘Some say the whole Mount Athos scandal was cooked up by the Russians to embarrass the Greek Church. Yeah, I know all about the Ecumenical Patriarch needing a new home thing. How could I not, living in the midst of all this?’ He took another drink. ‘I also know how upset Vassilis was over that mess. We’d talk sometimes.’

Andreas bet they did.

‘He never said precisely what was bothering him but I could tell he thought things weren’t as they seemed. And, from what I know of the Russians, when “things aren’t as they seem,” they’re my best guess for why.’ Dimitri accentuated the point with his fingers.

‘I think your logic has some Siberia-size gaps,’ said Andreas.

‘Well, let me fill them in. In the 1990s, Cyprus emerged as the number-one destination for Russians and other Eastern Europeans looking for a place to launder suitcases full of cash. Banks thrived on that business, and unimaginable fortunes were made. A lot of ruthless Russian and Eastern European mobsters also set up shop there, driving local hoods back into legitimate businesses or into early graves.’ Dimitri reached for a piece of cucumber.