Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

“But we already have a senior liaison officer to the National Bands,” she said. “Why send me?”

“Because I believe Stalin has planted a double agent within the ranks of the National Bands,” Churchill told her. “A triple agent, in fact. Somebody who is passing along vital information from the GHQ Middle East to the Germans in Greece, information that betrays the location of our supply drops to non-Communist resistance forces and thus compromises their security to the Gestapo. Apparently, the Communists have discovered it’s cheaper to get the occupying Axis troops to do their dirty work for them. Meanwhile, they make overtures of peace toward us.”

So this was the real reason behind Churchill’s Greek adventure. Erin could see it all now. “You think Colonel Doughty could be a Soviet spy?”

Churchill shook his head. “Who this triple agent is, we don’t know-only that he goes by the code name of the Minotaur.”

“And you want me to find out who this Minotaur is.”

“That’s right,” said Churchill. “And Chris Andros is the key.”

“Andros?” Erin started. “Then you believe he might actually steal the Maranatha text?”

“I have my hopes, Captain,” said Churchill. “But it really doesn’t matter. As much of a coward as we might have made him appear to the Germans, Chris Andros is still the son of General Nicholas Andros. His arrival in Athens will be perceived as a political event of the first order as far as the Greek Resistance is concerned. You can be sure that republicans and Communists alike won’t take too kindly to the homecoming of a royalist.”

“But he’s not a royalist, sir,” Erin corrected. “He told me himself that he hopes Greece would form a republic based on the American model.”

“He’s not a royalist-yet,” said Churchill. “But he will be once he sees that the return of the monarchy is the only platform from which democratic reforms can take root in Greece. In any case, the prevailing perception of Andros is that he’s a chip off his old royalist father’s block. That may smoke out the Minotaur if he takes action. At the very least, if by some good fortune Andros actually comes out of Athens alive, I don’t want him to reach the National Bands base only to have his throat cut.”

Erin understood, and she realized something else. “So the submarine pickup with Prestwick is for me alone.”

“And the Maranatha text, Captain,” added Churchill. “Andros will stay behind to head the National Bands. By the time the Allies come around to liberating Greece, Andros will have earned the favor of the Greek people, thanks to his leadership within the Resistance. Also, as head of Andros Shipping, he will have the instant respect of the international business community and help restore the kingdom of Greece to its rightful place among the economies of Western Europe.”

“You mean democracies, sir, don’t you?”

“That’s right, democracies,” said Churchill. “So you see, I haven’t written Andros off just yet. I have plans for him. Big plans. Plans to give Greece a future and a hope. I made a promise to General Andros and the Greek people. Keeping it is the least we can do for the cradle of Western civilization. Wouldn’t you agree, Theseus?”

“Theseus?” Erin repeated.

“That’s your code name,” said Churchill. “That’s how you’ll identify yourself to all our agents in Greece.”

Erin sat back in her seat. “Isn’t that a rather provocative code name under the circumstances, sir?” she asked incredulously. “I mean, wasn’t Theseus the name of the Athenian prince of Greek mythology who entered the labyrinth and slew the Minotaur?”

“Ah, then you know how the story is supposed to end, Captain,” said Churchill, tossing the stub of his Havana into the ornamental ashtray. “For your sake and Andros’s, see that there are no surprise endings. Remember, the Minotaur will be expecting you.”

P restwick moved out onto his terrace at the Hotel Saint George that morning and took in the spectacular view of the city below. Dazzling white terraces cascaded down the pine-covered hills to the ocean. The palm trees that lined the seafront boulevards swayed in the Mediterranean breeze.

“The French call the city Alger la Blanche -Algiers the White.”

Prestwick turned from the terrace to see Erin standing in the living room. He hadn’t heard her come in. But he certainly didn’t mind. She looked ravishing in her uniform this morning, her earthy brown eyes as warm as ever and her ethereal blond hair catching some of the sunlight. “So I see,” he told her as he stepped back inside. “Quite lovely.”

She seemed to pick up his hint, because the corners of her mouth tightened, and she was formal with him. “The Saint George used to be the personal headquarters of the supreme commander before he moved to that Moorish villa,” she told him. “I trust you approve of your accommodations, Colonel.”

“Who wouldn’t? But I must confess that I was looking forward to a tour of our OSS headquarters at Maison Blanche, not to mention our special training school Club des Pines. I’ve heard much about our demolitions program with that new C-3 explosive the French call plastique. But I’ve been here ten days, and still I’ve seen nothing.” He took a step toward her.

She didn’t back away, but she sounded evasive. “General Eisenhower felt it best that you keep a low profile during your stay here.”

Prestwick took that to mean that he wasn’t welcome here, that he and his bungled Operation Maranatha were an embarrassment that Eisenhower wanted to sweep under some Oriental rug. That didn’t surprise him. Traditional military types rarely appreciated the subtle, more sophisticated work of the OSS. “A low profile, you say?” he asked. “So you’ve just returned from the supreme commander?”

Erin nodded. “Even as we speak, Andros is arriving in Athens.”

It was the first piece of good news he had heard in a long time. A very long time. He stroked his chin and nodded. “That’s fantastic!”

“That’s not all,” said Erin. “Your presence is requested aboard His Majesty’s submarine the Cherub tomorrow. If all goes as planned, I’ll rendezvous with you off the coast of Greece in a few days.”

“Even more fantastic!” Then he saw the champagne bottle in the silver bucket on the table by the wall. “This calls for a celebration, Captain.” Prestwick rubbed his hands together and walked over to the table where the champagne waited. He removed the bottle from the bucket of melted ice and eased out the cork from the bottle.

“I don’t think so,” said Erin. “I need to rest before my parachute drop into Greece tomorrow night.”

“Yes, yes, you do that,” said Prestwick, pouring slowly into two glasses. “In the meantime, however, I propose a toast.”

Erin eyed him. “Is a toast all you’re proposing, Jason?”

Prestwick smiled and handed her a glass. “Think about what we could do before your flight tomorrow, Erin. We could sip cold champagne, share a hot bath, and dance on the rooftop all night long.”

“Or,” she replied, staring down into her champagne, “we could simply save the celebrating until after Andros has accomplished his mission.”

“To Chris Andros, then,” he toasted. “May he retrieve the Maranatha text and find the meaning of the universe.” He raised his glass to his lips and was on the verge of tasting the sweetness of success when she stopped him with her next remark.

“The meaning of the universe?” she asked, a frown on her face. “Is that what you really expect to find?”

He lowered his glass. “No, of course not. I was being facetious. There is no meaning. What’s the matter with you?”