Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

“You?” he said. “You’re coming to Athens with me?”

“No, but I’ll be close by,” Erin answered. “The SOE chief of Athens himself will be your contact. Brigadier Andrew Eliot. His code name is Touchstone.”

“How will I find him?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Erin. “He’ll find you. He’s a master of disguise. He’ll coordinate clandestine support for your mission and serve as your commanding officer in the field. You just try to get close to Aphrodite.”

“I intend to,” he assured her.

“This might help.” Erin held out a ring box from Tiffany amp; Co. of New York. “It’s the engagement ring you’re going to give to your betrothed.”

Andros opened the box to see a glittering two-carat solitaire set on a gold band. The irony was that the dirty bastards at OSS had gotten it exactly right-it was the same ring he had chosen for Aphrodite. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

“We don’t intend to miss anything,” Erin said. “That’s why we’ve hidden a bug inside the box, courtesy of our wizards in the lab. You’ll carry it at all times. This way Touchstone and his agents might pick up on some clues in your conversations that would otherwise elude you. They’ll also know your whereabouts and perhaps be able to help in case of an emergency.”

“The only emergency I fear is von Berg or the Gestapo finding this bug on me,” Andros replied.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” said Erin. “That engagement ring is of great sentimental value to you, so having it on your person is hardly unusual. Besides, the size of the diamond will most certainly detract attention from the discardable box.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Andros, snapping the box shut and slipping it into his suit pocket. “The greedy Gestapo will keep the ring and throw the box into the trash with my corpse.”

“In any case,” said Prestwick, ignoring Andros’s cynicism, “that ring is your excuse to be alone with Aphrodite, to ask her where von Berg keeps his important papers.”

“Which reminds me,” Andros said. “How will I describe this encrypted text to her? You haven’t even shown me what it looks like.”

“If she knows anything about the text, she’ll know what you’re talking about.” Prestwick sipped his coffee. “What she’ll do about it is another question entirely.”

Prestwick’s guilty-until-proven-innocent attitude toward Aphrodite annoyed Andros. “What if she knows nothing?”

“Oh, she’ll provide you with something,” Prestwick warned. “If not the text itself, or at least its location, then-”

“Then a knife in the back. I heard you before,” said Andros. “Let’s assume true love prevails. What then?”

“Once you obtain the information or the text from Aphrodite, Touchstone will arrange for your escape from Athens the night before that Red Cross ship of yours leaves.”

“Me, Aphrodite, and our families,” Andros insisted. “I’m not leaving without them.”

“Yes.” Prestwick sighed, setting down his cup of coffee. “You, Aphrodite, and your families will escape from Athens and arrive at a secret guerrilla base we’ve established in the Parnon Mountains of the Peloponnese, some miles north of Monemvasia in the province of Laconia. There you’ll hand over whatever you have concerning the text to Miss Whyte. She’ll be the new senior British liaison officer to the

“The EOE?” repeated Andros, looking to Erin.

“The National Bands of Greece,” she explained. “It’s a new resistance force of some two hundred Greek partisans, or andartes, drawn from both the left-wing National Popular Liberation Army and the right-wing republican National Democratic Army. We consider the National Bands to be the most elite unit within the Greek Resistance. These andartes are the commandos who will go after the text once you’ve provided us with its location. That’s if you haven’t already stolen the text itself. They also, we hope, will go on to coordinate the competing resistance groups in the Peloponnese. Their cooperation is vital to the success of any Allied invasion.”

Andros nodded. “But what happens to us?”

“Your mission will be accomplished,” said Prestwick. “A submarine will pick you up the night after you arrive at the secret base. I’ll be on that submarine. Together we’ll arrive in Alexandria and then join the Greek royal family and government in exile in Cairo until Greece is liberated.”

“Which, from what you’ve told me,” said Andros, “could be within weeks.”

T he headquarters of the OSS was hidden inside an anonymous complex of drab brick-and-limestone buildings in the old gasworks part of Washington, D.C. As the black Chevy carrying Andros and Prestwick turned the corner of Twenty-fifth and E streets that Sunday afternoon, Andros could glimpse the Lincoln Memorial a few blocks to the east before they turned again into an unmarked driveway.

General Donovan’s office was in the Q building of the complex. The OSS chief was on the phone when Andros and Prestwick were ushered in. He motioned them to two chairs in front of his desk.

“They just came in,” said Donovan, and hung up. “That was Captain Whyte at the airstrip. She says the plane is ready. She also says that after four days at the Farm, so are you, Chris.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Andros replied. “You’re sure the Swiss will allow this?”

“The Swiss have replied in typically Swiss fashion.” Donovan drew out a telegram from his desk drawer and read from it. “They say they consider your ‘diplomatic mission’ a matter of interest to both Bern and Washington and will be glad to provide you with a visa. But they regretfully add that they cannot guarantee your safe passage into or out of the country.”

“Meaning they aren’t expecting me anytime soon.”

“Not when Switzerland is surrounded entirely by Axis troops in France, Germany, Austria, and Italy.” Donovan put away the Swiss telegram.

“So how do I get in?”

Donovan held up a Pan Am ticket labeled PRIORITY ONE. “We’ve got you on a Clipper flying out of New York tonight for Lisbon.” Andros reached for the ticket, but Donovan pulled it away. “But it won’t be you on that flight.”

Andros sighed in frustration and sat back in his seat. “Of course not.”

Donovan said, “Under normal circumstances, after arriving in Lisbon, you’d hop a Lufthansa to Madrid and Stuttgart, and from Stuttgart board a Swissair to Zurich. But since flights on Lufthansa are no longer possible for American citizens, we’re going to send you three out on a Flying Fortress to Blida, Algiers.”

“Colonel Prestwick and Captain Whyte are coming with me?”

“Only as far as Algiers,” Donovan said. “From there we’ll put you on a Skytrain transport and drop you into Switzerland by parachute during the blackout.”

“A parachute drop,” Andros muttered. “I wish you would have told me. I could have prepared myself mentally.”

“Nonsense,” Prestwick cut in. “According to General Wilby at West Point, you did quite well in paratrooper exercises with the Rangers. As for the drop outside Bern, there’s not another European capital so close to the countryside. You’ll be in the city within a half hour.”

“That’s right,” said Donovan. “An agent code-named Watchmaker will be waiting for you at the designated drop zone. He’ll drive you to a safe house in the city where you’ll spend the night. The next morning you’ll check into the Bellevue Palace Hotel.”

“Just like that, I pop up in Bern? Won’t the Swiss question the circumstances of my arrival?”