Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

Andros gasped for breath. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “Kiss me or kill me?”

“Kill you if you don’t shut up,” she whispered. “We can’t be found out. We have to make sure that microfilm gets to the Allies.”

Andros said, “And how are we going to do that?”

“We’re going to make that submarine pickup tonight, while we still have a window of opportunity,” said Erin with impressive determination. “That is, if you’re up to it.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then it’s only a matter of time before von Berg’s goons get us,” Erin said.

“I guess I’d rather live with the pain than let von Berg put me out of my misery.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.” Erin opened a crate of clothing and found a pair of baggy trousers. “Here, try these.” She tossed them into the air, and he caught them with one hand.

“Turn around,” he told her.

She shrugged and turned her back toward him. “I’ve seen everything you’ve got, Andros. Besides, you might need some help.”

“You’ve helped me enough already, Captain.”

Two painful minutes later, he had slipped the pants on. But when he tried to stand up on his wounded leg, an electric jolt shot up his body. He leaned against the rock for support. Erin was at his side instantly.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking intensely concerned.

“I’ll manage,” he told her. “So where’s the submarine pickup?”

“Off the coast of Kalamata.”

From where Erin had placed them, that was all the way over in the neighboring province of Messenia, on the other side of the Taygetos range. He laughed in despair. “We’ll never make it in time. Not on horseback.”

“That’s why we’re going to Sparta,” Erin replied. “There’s an SOE safe house waiting for us there, along with false papers and motor transport. Then we’ll drive like the devil up through the Taygetos Pass and down to Kalamata.”

Sparta. You must get to Sparta. There’s a taverna in the square called Theo’s. Ask for the Yankee Clipper. The barman knows… Those were Doughty’s last words. Andros said, “That safe house wouldn’t be Theo’s taverna, would it?”

“As a matter of fact, it would,” Erin replied, a puzzled look crossing her face.

“Doughty told me before he died,” Andros explained as he considered Erin’s plan to go to Sparta. The ancient city and present-day capital of Laconia lay at the bottom of the fertile Evrotas Valley, the formidable Taygetos mountain range rising up behind it. “You realize, don’t you, that to even get there we first have to cross the Evrotas plains in the open?”

“Fortunately, the sun sets early behind the Taygetos, so we should have the cover of darkness by the time we cross the plains.”

“And then we somehow sneak in and out under the noses of the German garrison?” Andros shook his head. “There’s no way.”

“It’s the only way,” Erin insisted, “and the one they’d least expect.”

As Erin was speaking, Andros heard the crunch of boots on pebbles outside. He shot her a worried glance. A black figure filled the circle of light in the mouth of the cave, holding a Sten gun. The hulking giant stepped forward into a shaft of sunlight, and Andros saw that it was the ELAS kapetanios, Stavros.

“It’s okay, Chris,” said Erin. “It was Stavros who found you in a creek and brought you here.”

The picture of a stream in the country came to his mind and then faded. Andros nodded. The big Greek sat down on a crate of plastic explosives. “The noose grows tighter and tighter around our necks,” he reported. “It’s only a matter of time before we join my brother in the grave.”

Andros looked at Stavros and then at Erin. “Michaelis is dead?”

“Kalos did it,” said Stavros. “He murdered my brother.”

“I suppose this means you’ll wage a personal civil war with EDES?”

“Kalos is ELAS,” corrected Stavros. “He is not what he seems.” The big kapetanios began to weep for his lost brother.

Andros glanced at Erin, who confirmed the story with a sad nod. “It happened just before we were ambushed by SS paratroopers,” she said.

Erin then told Andros about Churchill’s hunch about a Soviet mole within the Greek Resistance; her mission to discover the identity of the Minotaur; and what had happened with Kalos before von Berg’s Death’s Head battalion attacked.

When Andros had heard it all, he shook his head. “That ought to shake up Zervas and the Middle East GHQ. But if Kalos isn’t the Minotaur, who is?”

“Maybe our station in Sparta will know,” she said.

“Sparta?” asked Stavros. “What’s in Sparta besides Germans and collaborators?”

“A safe house, a wireless, British agents who can get us to Kalamata in time for our submarine pickup,” said Erin. “You coming with us?”

“I told you,” said Stavros, “Sparta is crawling with Germans and collaborators. One look at me and I’ll be hanged.”

“I’m afraid if you’re seen at all, it will be the end of you,” Erin replied. “I’m sure that Colonel Kalos, if he’s still alive, has already reported your demise and wouldn’t take too kindly to having you seen walking around. Of course, you could go north to your headquarters and try your luck with Saraphis, Siantos, Velouchiotis, and the rest of your ELAS comrades at Petrouli. That’s if you can make it that far and if they don’t hang you anyway. This way, at least there’s hope. You might even be able to clear the name of ELAS by exposing Kalos.”

Stavros considered his options. “You are quite convincing, Captain Whyte,” he told her. “Okay, we go.”

“The trick will be convincing those we run into in Sparta that we’re peasants,” said Erin, returning to the open crate of clothing. “Our uniforms will attract more than a little attention once we cross the Evrotas River and enter town. So I suggest you slip into something more convincing while I wait outside.”

Andros waited until she left before he joined Stavros in rummaging through the rags. Unfortunately, the only thing large enough for Stavros was a big black cassock.

“A priest?” said the kapetanios. “I won’t do it.”

“It will have to do,” said Andros. “Anything less would give you away.”

“Hurry up,” called Erin, walking in. Her voice was flat, her face tense. “We have more company. Bring me some field glasses, Stavros, and let’s take a look.”

Stavros picked up a pair of field glasses and walked out with Erin. Andros, now fully alert, followed close behind, dragging himself across the rocky floor of the cave to the entrance. They hid in the shadows as the low hum of an airplane buzzed overhead.

Andros could see it over the treetops, a Nazi seaplane flying in low over the valley, the glint of bright sunlight bouncing off its wings.

“An old-fashioned Savoia-Marchetti,” Erin observed through the field glasses.

Andros squinted and followed the plane out to sea. “For us?”

“More likely on his way to scour the sea for our submarine.”

“A bad sign,” said Stavros. “We better hide in the cave until dusk.”

“I don’t think so,” Erin said, handing Stavros the field glasses. “Look down there.”

Stavros had a look. “I see what you mean,” he said, and passed the glasses along to Andros.

Andros raised the glasses and adjusted the focus. Beyond their screen of trees, German troops jumped into view. They were about three miles away, making their way in columns along the opposite side of the ravine. They had a number of mules in each column; these seemed to be carrying mortars and heavy machine guns as well as the usual camp equipment.

“Alpine Corps. Good mountaineers,” he reported after spotting their green uniforms. “Where did they come from?”