Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

As they crossed the ballroom and passed the great marble staircase, Andros noted that the hallway that led to the library was roped off and guarded by an orderly in a white dinner jacket.

They walked outside and stood at the top of the marble steps overlooking the garden. A full orchestra filled the air with music, and lavish spreads of food crowded the island buffet tables. Footmen in white dinner jackets carried trays of cocktails to the tables under the colored lights.

“Doesn’t this violate the blackout order?” Andros asked.

Werner laughed. “Once we cut a party short because of a false air-raid warning, but the all-clear sounded soon enough. Besides, nobody’s bombing Athens these days, certainly not the civilian population centers such as Kifissia. For the most part, Baron von Berg is willing to break the rules as long as he is fully apprised of any situations that might disrupt the enjoyment of his guests.”

Andros followed Werner’s gaze to the rooftop and noticed the silhouettes of snipers against the stars. “I see,” said Andros. “And the servants in the white dinner jackets?”

“Waffen SS,” Werner explained. “In addition to sporting the proper attire, each carries a Luger in a hidden shoulder holster. So you see, Herr Andros, you need not worry for your safety.”

“I’m impressed.”

Werner seemed pleased. “Oh, I see Baron von Berg now. The beautiful Vasilis girl sitting next to him, isn’t she somebody you used to know?”

That was when Andros saw her-Aphrodite, seated with Baron von Berg and several other couples at a table at the other end of the garden.

Seeing her made his heart miss a beat. She looked more beautiful than he had imagined possible. Her long jet-black hair was braided and exquisitely piled on top of her head, and she was wearing something Greek girls never wore: a white bare-back summer evening gown, filled to ravishing splendor with her well-proportioned body. The girl he had proposed to in New York had become…a woman.

“Yes, that’s her,” he said at last. “You say the man next to her is Baron von Berg?”

“That’s right.”

Andros took in the Baron’s full military dress uniform, the Knight’s Cross at his throat, with oak leaves and swords for second and third awards. His heart sank. This man didn’t look like a Nazi monster but, rather, the picture of distinction, an officer and a gentleman, everything his father had been and he himself had hoped to become. A man whom Aphrodite could even love.

“Come, Herr Andros,” said Werner. “Allow me to introduce you.”

Andros followed Werner to the table. The lighthearted conversation under way came to an abrupt end upon their appearance. All eyes were on Andros, but his were focused on Aphrodite. She looked at him curiously, not comprehending his presence at first. Then her big amber eyes widened in alarm and darted to von Berg, who rose to his feet as Werner made the introductions.

“Baron von Berg,” Werner announced. “This is Herr Chris Andros.”

“Ah, Herr Andros,” von Berg said in his clear Athenian Greek. “We finally meet.” They shook hands, each sizing up the other.

In Andros’s mind, von Berg came out on top. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of about forty with boyish good looks. Much too tall to have been a U-boat commander, Andros thought. His gold hair swept back from his broad forehead. His clean-shaven cheeks tapered down to a determined chin. On the surface, he looked like a distinguished Englishman: cultured, civilized, with a stiff upper lip. Furthermore, his piercing, aristocratic blue eyes made Andros uneasy; he felt as though the Baron could see right through this whole charade and was merely amusing himself at his expense.

“I believe you and Miss Vasilis are old friends, Herr Andros.”

Andros smiled as he took Aphrodite’s soft, warm hand and kissed it. “A pleasure to see you again, Aphrodite.” He longed for some emotional response from her, but all he saw was terror in her face as she looked at von Berg.

The Baron was delighted. “So you are the son of General Andros,” he said after allowing an uncomfortable minute to pass. “A great leader, your father was. I understand there’s a memorial service for him tomorrow at the cathedral.”

“You’ll be there, Baron von Berg?”

“In better times, I would, Herr Andros. But these days my presence at the memorial of a fallen war hero may not be appreciated by some of your countrymen.”

Andros glanced at Aphrodite, who was less than two feet from him but seemed so far away, and told von Berg, “You seem to get along with everybody here.”

A cold glaze crossed the Baron’s eyes, betraying the smile on his face. Before he could reply, a butler appeared at his side with the news that Berlin was calling on his private line.

“Excuse me, but duty calls,” von Berg apologized. “I’ll be back in a moment. In the meantime, I believe you two have much to catch up on.” He patted Aphrodite on the arm and walked off.

The orchestra struck up a waltz. Andros turned to Aphrodite. Her eyes were big, round, and wet like a doe’s. He held out his hand and smiled. “Shall we dance?”

H e cut a dashing figure, and for a moment the sight of Chris Andros in the flesh had left Aphrodite breathless. The same dark, wavy hair. The same handsome face. The same mischievous grin that had won her over when she was a teenager and now made her fear for their lives.

“I’ve missed you, Aphrodite,” he told her as they turned to the music. “It’s been too long.”

His voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact, as if nothing had changed in the years between his marriage proposal to her at the World’s Fair and tonight.

“Four years this summer,” she told him in a cool tone, hoping Chris could comprehend the hell she had been through.

His hazel eyes seemed to be searching for something in hers, something familiar, some sign of the girl he once knew. That girl, she feared, no longer existed, and thus neither did the luster that so captivated him in his youth.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” he apologized. “I would have gotten here sooner, but a funny thing happened on my way to Athens. I think we call it the war. Better late than never, don’t you think?”

She didn’t answer him. She was overwhelmed with shame that he had seen her with Ludwig. Everything she had hoped to hide from him, as futile as that hope might have been, had been exposed.

“That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing,” Chris went on. “I thought the next time I’d see you in white would be at the altar. Are those pearls a gift from the Baron, too?”

Her shame dissolved into rage. He had left her in the cold through no fault of his own, she realized. But he was also the kind of man who could never accept anything but angelic purity from her. Now that that was plainly lost, she feared he would consider her unacceptable. Once a goddess, now a slut. She would rather have him hate her than be disappointed in her-or worse, get himself killed by the Baron.

“You were a fool to come back, Christos.”

“Call me a fool for love, but I’ve come back for you, just like I promised. Now we will be wed before God and married by the archbishop. I’ll make an honest woman out of you yet.”

His eyes seemed to be full of genuine love. But it was too much to believe he had come back to Greece on her account. “I know you, Christos. You’re not here just for me.”

He sighed in exasperation. “All right, then, I’m here to do business with your boyfriend, Ludwig.”

Her heart sank in disappointment. “What sort of business?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, but it would help tremendously if you could tell me where he keeps important documents. I’m looking for an ancient text, in particular. Have you seen anything?”