blooded frame-up; he had been a party to it. He could go to the President of the Court and
tell him what had happened: what Chotas had promised. But would they believe him?
Would they take his word against the word of Napoleon Chotas? It really didn’t matter,
Stavros thought bitterly. After this he would be finished as a lawyer. No one would ever
hire him again. Someone spoke his name and he turned and Chotas was standing there
saying, “If you’re free tomorrow, why don’t you come and have lunch with me, Frederick?
I’d like you to meet my partners. I think you have a very promising future.”
Over Chotas’ shoulder, Frederick Stavros could see the President of the Court exiting
through the door that led to his private chambers. Now would be the time to talk to him, to
explain what had happened. Stavros turned back to Napoleon Chotas, his mind still filled
with the horror of what this man had done, and he heard himself saying, “That’s very kind
of you, sir. What would be a convenient time…?”
By Greek law executions take place on the little island of Ageana, an hour out of the
port of Piraeus. A special government boat transports condemned prisoners to the island. A
series of small gray cliffs leads to the harbor itself and high on a hill is a lighthouse built
on an outcropping of rock. The prison on Ageana is on the north side of the island, out of
sight of the little harbor where excursion boats regularly disgorge excited tourists for an
hour or two of shopping and sightseeing before sailing on to the next island. The prison is
not on the sightseeing schedule, and no one approaches it except on official business.
It was 4:00 A.M. on a Saturday morning. Noelle’s execution was scheduled to take
place at 6:00 A.M.
They had brought Noelle her favorite dress to wear, a wine-red, brushed-wool Dior,
and matching red suede shoes. She had all new silk handstitched lingerie and a white jabot
of Venetian lace for her throat. Constantin Demiris had sent Noelle’s regular hairdresser to
do her hair. It was as though Noelle were preparing to go to a party.
Intellectually Noelle knew that there would be no last-minute reprieve, that in a little
while her body was going to be brutally violated and her blood spilled upon the ground.
And yet emotionally she could not keen from hoping that Constantin Demiris would make
a miracle and spare her life. It would not even have to be a miracle—it only needed a
phone call, a word, a wave of his golden hand. If he spared her now, she would make it up
to him. She would do anything. If she could only see him, she would tell him she would
never look at another man, that she would devote herself to making him happy for the rest
of his life. But she knew that it would do no good to beg. If Demiris came to her, yes. If
she had to go to him, no.
There were still two hours.
Larry Douglas was in another part of the prison. Since his conviction, his mail had
increased tenfold. Letters poured in from women in all parts of the world, and the warden,
who considered himself a sophisticated man, was shocked by some of them.