Alan Furst: Spies of the Balkans

Finally, after two lost days, he went to the Via Egnatia on the third of April. No more than a raised eyebrow from Sibylla. “A certain Englishman has been frantic to reach you,” she told him. “He called and called and then, yesterday morning, he showed up here. Escovil, is that the name? Anyhow, he had a valise with him, and he left you an envelope. On your desk.”

Zannis sat in his chair and stared at it, an oversize yellow envelope, thick paper, you couldn’t buy a more expensive envelope than that, he thought. Still, fancy as it was, only a paper envelope, and, with thumbs and forefingers, you could rip it in half. Sibylla was busy typing something, clackety-clack, what the hell had she found to do as the world came to an end? In his mind, he saw himself as he tore the envelope in two; then he opened it. A single sheet of notepaper, the message handwritten in Greek. “This is for 5 April; you won’t be able to travel after that.” No signature. And what was “this”? The hand of the gods , Zannis said to himself. Because it was a steamship ticket for, of all ships, the Bakir out of Galata, Istanbul, the same tramp steamer that had brought a German spy to Salonika last October. A Turkish ship, the ship of a neutral nation, thus safe from German submarines and bound, at 2100 hours on 5 April, for Alexandria, Egypt.

So now they would have to have the conversation. Zannis, the ticket folded up in the inside pocket of his jacket, walked slowly, as slowly as he could, back to the Lux Palace. It just wasn’t far enough away, not at that moment it wasn’t, and, too soon, he rode the ancient grilled elevator to the sixth floor. At his knock, Demetria swept the door wide and gestured with the hand of a stage magician. Presto! Believe your eyes if you can! She had bought at least two dozen vases, no, more, and filled each of them with flowers, red and yellow, white and blue, anemones, roses, carnations, an entire flower stall it seemed. The air was dense with aroma. “I took two hotel porters to the market,” she said. “And I could have used another. We staggered.”

Enchanting. Well, it was. He touched a finger to the steamship ticket in his pocket, but he couldn’t show it to her now-not when she’d done all this. Demetria circled around him and slid his jacket down his arms. “Come sit with me on the sofa,” she said. “And behold! Demetria’s garden.”

4 April. 7:20 A.M.

Half awake, he reached out for her-he would stroke her awake, and he would do more than that. But he found only a warm place on her side of the bed, so opened one eye halfway. She was all business, getting dressed. “Where are you going?”

“To St. Cyril’s, to the eight o’clock mass.”

“Oh.”

Soon he watched her go out the door, then fell back to a morning doze. But fifteen minutes later, she reappeared, looking grim and disappointed. “What happened?” he said.

“Jammed. Packed solid. I couldn’t even get in the door.”

Finally, at mid-morning, as they lazed around the suite, it was time. He’d let it go for a day, but now the moment had come; she would have only that day and the next-the Bakir was due to sail at nine in the evening-to prepare to leave. She was reading in an easy chair by the window-they’d found other uses for that chair-and he retrieved the ticket from his jacket and laid it on the table by her side.

“What’s that, Costa?”

“Your steamship ticket.”

She was silent for a time, then said, “When?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“What makes you think I’ll use it?”

“You must, Demetria.”

“Oh? And you?”

“I have to stay.”

She stared at the ticket. “I guess I knew it would be this way.”

“What did you intend to do, if the war came here?”

“Stay in Salonika. Even if we lose, and the Germans take the city, it won’t be so bad. They say Paris isn’t bad.”

“This isn’t Paris. To the Germans, it’s closer to Warsaw, and Warsaw is very bad. No food. No coal. But that isn’t the worst of it. You are a very beautiful and desirable woman. When you walk down the street, every man turns his head, and such women are like … like treasure, to an occupying army, and they take treasure.”

“I can dye my hair.”

From Zannis, a very rueful half-smile: as though that would matter .

She thought for a time, started to say something, thought better of it, then changed her mind again. “I thought you would protect me.” From Vasilou, from the world .

“I would try, but …” He left it there, then said, “And they will come after me, they have a score to settle with me, and these people settle their scores. So I will work against them, but I believe I’ll have to go up to one of the mountain villages and fight from there. Not right away, the war could go on for six months, maybe more. Look what we did with the Italians.”

“These are not Italians, Costa.”

“No, they’re not. So …” He nodded toward the ticket. “It isn’t forever. I’ll find you, we’ll be together again, no matter what it takes.”

“I love you, Costa, with all my heart I love you, but I am Greek, and I know what goes on when we fight in the mountains.” She reached out and gripped his hand. “As God wills,” she said, “but I can only hope , to see you again.” She looked away from him, out the window, then down at the floor. Finally, her eyes turned back to his. “I won’t resist,” she said quietly. “I’ll go, go to”-she squinted at the ticket-“to Alexandria. Not Istanbul?”

“The ship is going to Alexandria.”

“Won’t I need a visa?”

“Too late. The Egyptians will give you one when you land; you’ll have to pay for that but they’ll do it.”

She nodded, then let go of him and covered her eyes with her hands, as though she were very tired. “Just fuck this horrible world,” she said.

And then, it all came apart.

They decided that Demetria would repack for the voyage: take what was valuable, then bring the rest out to the house in Kalamaria and say good-bye to her mother. Meanwhile, Zannis had several things to do, and they agreed to meet back at the hotel at three.

Zannis went first to his apartment, to retrieve the Walther-better to carry it, now. The weather had turned to gray skies and drizzling rain, so the ladies were not out on their kitchen chairs, but one of them must have been watching at her window. Upstairs, he wandered around the apartment, coming slowly to understand that all was not as it should be. Had he been robbed? He didn’t think so; he could find nothing missing. Still, the door to the armoire was ajar, had he left it like that? Usually he didn’t. He tried to remember, but that night was a blur; he’d hurried away when Demetria called, so … But then, a chair was pushed up close to the table-a neat and proper position for a chair, but not its usual place.

As he poked around, he heard a hesitant knock at the door. It was one of his neighbors. He asked her in, but she remained on the landing and said, “I just wanted to tell you that some friends of yours came to see you yesterday.”

“They did?”

“Yes. Two men, well dressed; they didn’t look like thieves. We saw them go into the house, and my friend on the first floor wasn’t home, so they must have been … waiting for you. That’s what we decided.”

“How long were they here?”

“An hour? Maybe a little less.”

“Any idea who they were?”

“No, not really. I don’t think they were Greek, though.”

“You … overheard them speak?”

“It’s not that, they didn’t say anything, just … something about them. I’m probably wrong, perhaps they came from Athens.”