Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

“Here are your orders,” Whyte said, passing specially marked envelopes to him and Kalos after opening one for herself. “They’re in Greek but encoded in the C cipher,” she added, “so it may take a minute for you to translate. Read them, memorize them, then destroy them.”

“We’re just going to blow another damn bridge,” Stavros muttered, tearing open his envelope. He hated codes and ciphers, in part because he was a poor reader even without the extra burden. He often relied on Michaelis, who had at least some schooling. “I don’t see the reason for…”

But even Michaelis would not understand this message, Stavros realized with a shock, because the code had come from Moscow. Stavros looked up at Captain Whyte and then glanced back at his note, which read: We have discussed the possibility of the day when you would fulfill the mission for which you were originally trained. That day has come. Now that Stalin has dissolved the Comintern, you and your comrades in the Central Committee in Greece will take your orders directly from me. With the liberation of Greece at hand, the British will attempt to install the king and his monarcho-fascist government. They will use Zervas and his EDES swine or the front they call the National Bands of Greece as their means. You will not let that happen. You will assume command of the EOE and will not give up your arms until Greece has popular rule as well as national liberation. Such a democracy leaves no room for any resistance movement other than the National Liberation Front. It alone is the legitimate representation of the Greek people and must be recognized as such. Toward that end, immediately upon destroying this order, you are to kill the following three monarcho-fascists: the agent code-named Theseus; the son of General Andros; and the British liaison officer to the EOE. Fulfill your orders and your transgressions will be forgiven. Fail and you will bear the punishment of all comrades who have renounced their faith.

The Minotaur is in Greece, thought Stavros, trembling at the return of the Soviet agent he hadn’t heard from in so long. Too long, really. He glanced up to see Kalos walking back to the horses. Captain Whyte was smiling at him.

“Have it memorized?” she asked him. “Good. Now burn it.”

Stavros struck a match and touched it to the order. He watched it burn into nothing as he slowly turned the implications over in his mind. He knew he needed to redeem himself before his comrades, but was murder the way to do it? He could understand killing the son of General Andros. But kill Theseus, a woman? Kill Colonel Doughty, their most respected military adviser, and probably destroy any chance of future arms supplies?

This is madness, he thought, and yet the terrifying realization gripped him that if the Minotaur could so manipulate events that a British officer could hand out her own death sentence, he could do anything.

Captain Whyte could see his confusion. “Is there something you don’t understand?” she asked.

“Yes,” Stavros replied, slowly raising his Sten gun and training it on her.

Captain Whyte took in the barrel of the ugly submachine gun and then looked into his eyes. Without even a trace of fear in her voice, she calmly stated, “So, I’ve finally met the Minotaur.”

Stavros, aware that his own voice was trembling, said, “I’m not the Minotaur.”

“You’re not?” she asked.

Unable to bring himself to pull the trigger, Stavros lowered the barrel. “No,” he said, and sighed. “I’m not.”

“I’m disappointed,” she replied.

“So am I,” said Kalos, who stepped forward from the pine trees, pointing one of his pearl-handled Colts at Stavros and the other at Captain Whyte. “She is our enemy, comrade. She has to be stopped, just like Andros must be stopped.”

“You?” said Stavros in disbelief, shocked to discover that the right hand of General Zervas was a Communist. “You are the Minotaur?”

“I answer to him, as do you,” Kalos replied as he moved slowly and deliberately toward him and Captain Whyte. “My orders are to kill you if you should fail in your orders.”

“But killing our British military advisers?” Stavros asked, glancing at Captain Whyte. “How can this possibly advance our cause?”

“She and the colonel were getting suspicious, about to send some damaging reports about me and the Minotaur to the foreign office in Cairo,” Kalos explained, the barrel of his Colt now at the captain’s back. “And I don’t need to remind you, Stavros, that when the liberation comes and the Germans are gone, the British will try to reinstall the king and his monarcho-fascist government. We cannot let that happen.”

Stavros said, “What do you propose?”

Kalos dug the barrel of his Colt into Erin Whyte’s spine until she gasped in pain. “First, that the lovely captain here hand over the microfilm Andros brought from Athens.”

“I don’t have it,” she said.

Kalos pushed harder with his pistol. “I don’t believe you.”

“Andros has it,” she insisted, “back at the base.” She managed to smile. “You’ll just have to overcome half the EOE to get it.”

“You’ll just have to die so I can search you,” Kalos said. “Stavros, kill her. Kill her and restore your honor before the Party. Only then will I consider you worthy to assume the command of the EOE, or what’s left of it after we slaughter the EDES andartes in the camp.”

“And then?” demanded Stavros. “Where does it end?”

“After I deliver the microfilm Andros obtained from the Germans to the Minotaur, I will return to Zervas, kill him, and assume command of EDES, calling you and our comrades in ELAS my sworn enemies.”

Stavros saw everything, this plot the Minotaur was hatching. With Kalos as head of EDES, the National Liberation Front would effectively control its rival organization and consolidate power. “I cannot go along with this deceit.”

“Then your end has come, kapetanios.”

Kalos raised his Colt, but before he could pull the trigger, a voice shouted, “Stop it!” Michaelis emerged from behind the trees with a Thompson submachine gun shaking in his hands. “Put your gun down, Colonel.”

Kalos smiled contemptuously and replied, “No, boy, you put your gun down, or the captain here gets a bullet in her back.” He turned her toward Michaelis, making her a human shield.

Erin shouted, “Be careful, Michaelis!”

Stavros could see the confusion on his younger brother’s face as he began to waver. “Don’t do it, Michaelis.”

“Too late,” said Kalos, and his other Colt came around from behind Erin and exploded three times.

“Michaelis!” cried Stavros.

Before Michaelis could lift the heavy barrel of the Thompson to return the fire, the bullets had punched three holes across his chest, blowing him back several feet to the ground.

“No!” Stavros dropped his Sten gun and ran over to the limp, bullet-ridden body and held his brother’s head in his arms. When he looked helplessly into the eyes that had once been so full of light and life, he saw only his own horrified face. He set his brother’s head back down on a pillow of dust and turned angrily toward Kalos.

“I’m going to kill you!” he vowed when an explosion of machine-gun fire sent Kalos running into the woods for cover, leaving Stavros and Erin in the clearing as a column of gray-green uniforms and rimless helmets emerged from the trees.

Erin, thinking fast, picked up the Sten gun from the ground and unloaded a full clip at the SS paratroopers, killing several and pushing the rest back behind the trees. “What are you waiting for?” she shouted.

Stavros was staring at his brother’s corpse, unable to leave. He felt her take his hand and drag him away. “We’ve got to get back to the base and warn Andros and the others!” she cried as a shower of bullets descended on them.