January 7, 1998, Berlin, Federal Criminal Police Office.
Dr. Wagner looked at the person across from him, his fingers tapping lightly on the table twice.
Strios was thinner than in the photos, with dark circles under his eyes, but his posture was steady, not like an extradited criminal, more like a businessman at a meeting.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Strios nodded.
"Greece couldn't hold me, Germany wants to take their chance."
Wagner didn't respond. He pushed a file to the center of the table.
Strios glanced down. It was a photograph. The dock on Crete Island, his fishing boat, his subordinates, and those eighty barrels of "Black Pearl."
"Five tons," Wagner said, "enough to get you twenty years."
Strios raised his head.
"Dr. Wagner, let's not beat around the bush. What do you want to know?"
Wagner leaned back in his chair.
"Who is your handler?"
Strios laughed.
"Handler? I'm Greek. We don't talk handlers, we talk cooperation."
"Cooperation with whom?"
