Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

“But of course,” said von Berg with an understanding smile. “I’ll get your ring.”

Despite her impeccable glossy exterior, Aphrodite seemed nervous as Andros took her hand and they danced beneath the sparkling lights in the twilight. He caught von Berg watching them before the Baron went up the steps inside the house.

“You have the uniform?” Andros asked her.

“Upstairs, in the lower right-hand drawer of my dresser.”

“Good. And you’ll take care of Hans?”

She nodded. “I’ve already promised him a dance and have been delaying him as long as I can. He’s waiting by the buffet table.”

They turned in a circle, and Andros glimpsed the reproachful Hans, immaculately dressed, impatiently looking at his watch.

“Excellent,” Andros said. “It’s eight-forty-eight, so I should be making my way to your bedroom and be back a little after nine. In and out in just a few minutes.”

“Christos,” said Aphrodite, “I don’t think I can go through with this.”

“Of course you can,” he told her firmly. “Now is not the time for second thoughts.”

“Ludwig knows something’s up. Maybe not about the safe. But he suspects you want to take me away from him.”

“You think he’s a genius because he figured that out?”

“Please, Christos. Don’t do anything foolish.”

“What do you want me to do, Aphrodite? Run away?”

“Yes,” she said. “Forget whatever is inside Ludwig’s safe. Go home tomorrow morning on the Turtle Dove. You’ve brought food to Greece. You’ve freed my brother. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, it’s not.” He was aware that time was slipping away. By now he should have been on his way to the Baron’s study. “I came here on a mission, and I’m going to fulfill it.”

“I’ll get into the safe,” she told him, squeezing his hand with unmistakable determination. “Tell your British friends that I’ll give them what they want after you and Kostas are safely away.”

“And leave you behind?” He groaned inside. “Why the hell do you think I came back to Athens? To see the sights?”

She looked confused, as if she couldn’t believe him. “Just tell me one thing, Christos. Did you love her, or was that business, too?”

He looked into her curious amber eyes and felt his heart miss a beat. He prayed to God she wasn’t talking about Elise.

“The woman in Bern,” she said. “Ludwig showed me pictures of you two.”

“She was a spy, Aphrodite, one of von Berg’s, to test me and my love for you. I hate myself for what I did. But I had to do it.”

“That makes two of us.”

Before he could ask Aphrodite what she meant, Andros saw von Berg standing at the top of the steps. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned.

“May I?” asked Hans.

“Of course.”

Andros handed off Aphrodite, who looked back at him helplessly as Hans led her toward the center of the dancing. Andros walked up the steps to join von Berg. Together they watched Aphrodite and Hans waltz gracefully under the stars.

“Quite a charmer, that Hans,” Andros told the Baron, trying to sound a bit flustered.

“Isn’t he? I’ll have to talk with him about his manners. To think that he would cut in on one of my honored guests.”

“Oh, it’s my own fault. I won’t have a chance down there with Aphrodite. I’ll have a word with her later, if I can find the right time and place. Would you happen to have the ring?”

“Certainly.” Von Berg handed Andros the blue box.

“Thank you,” said Andros. “In the meantime, I think I’ll try some of that fresh fish inside.” With that, he excused himself and went into the house.

T he clock in the hallway by the bar said it was two minutes to nine. Andros walked to an island of food, looked it over for a few seconds, and then went past a sentry up the stairs to Aphrodite’s bedroom, the second door to the right down the corridor. But when he walked in, he found her mother sitting on the bed.

“You!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Andros looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock on the dot. There was no time to have it out with the woman, so he started to take off his tuxedo.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said.

“Why, I’m about to propose to your daughter.”

Her hands came to her face in horror, and she left the room cursing. Andros locked the door behind her and immediately went to the dresser.

The SS dress uniform was tucked away underneath some silk nighties. He quickly slipped into the pants, buttoned up the tunic, and fastened the belt with the German eagle on the buckle. He had to admit it felt good to be in uniform again, even if it was the wrong side’s. He picked up the cap and put it on his head at a slight angle, just the way Hans had it on in the garden.

“Perfect,” he told himself.

It was then that he noticed his picture on the dresser, taken in the States four years ago. How often had Aphrodite looked at it, he thought, the way he had looked at hers at West Point? How did von Berg feel about it, knowing it was up here? Not now, he told himself, and shook off any emotion he was feeling in order to concentrate on the task at hand.

Andros slipped the camera Eliot had given him into the uniform’s pocket, along with Aphrodite’s lighter. Then he parted the curtains and walked out onto the balcony.

It was dark outside, music drifting from the gardens around the corner. He firmly gripped Mrs. Vasilis’s precious mango tree, for years his ladder to Aphrodite’s bedroom, and softly descended to the gardens.

As Andros turned the corner, he could see the black cutout of a sentry on the patio outside the library. It was Peter, smoking a cigarette, pacing impatiently and glancing back and forth between his watch and the gardens, obviously itching to go. Andros was about to step forward when, from behind him, came two dull thuds-mangoes falling to the ground from the shaken tree.

Peter spun around. “Hans, is that you?”

Andros nodded and tapped his watch.

“You’re late,” Peter scolded, and without waiting for a response, he darted off toward the gardens.

Andros watched him leave and took a quick look around. Satisfied that nobody was near, he walked up, pushed his hand against the French door, and felt the catch give way.

T he library was dark as Andros made his way to the bookshelves, careful to avoid running into von Berg’s desk. Fortunately, there was enough glow from the gardens to throw some light on the floor through the windows. Andros moved cautiously but quickly. It would be only a minute or two before Peter saw the real Hans dancing with Aphrodite.

He pushed aside the volumes of Greek dramas and German philosophy and found the metal door to the safe. Following the numbers Touchstone had given him, he turned the dial to the right, to the left, back to the right, and one final turn to the left. He turned the handle. Nothing happened.

He tried it again, and again the handle wouldn’t turn. Then he heard voices in the hallway. Through the slit of light beneath the door, he could see shadows moving on the other side. He held his breath, and after a moment, they passed.

Once more he gave the dial four swift turns. There was a wonderful click, and the handle turned smoothly. He pulled the heavy door, and it opened.

He flicked on his lighter, quickly scanned the contents of the safe, and pulled out three folders. The first was marked FLAMMENSCHWERT, the second LUDWIG VON BERG, and the third HUSKY. He realized he would have to skim them and choose what seemed important enough to photograph.

He opened the FLAMMENSCHWERT folder. In it, he found aerial photos of coastal fortifications, along with maps of minefields and artillery defenses. Also listed were various supply runs of Andros ships under Swiss registry, with their manifests, including metallic uranium from Brazil in crates marked for groundnuts. But he found nothing resembling an ancient text, only a report that was written in neither Greek nor even German but Danish.