Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

“Sparta, probably,” Stavros said. “There’s an SS Death’s Head battalion down there, too. We don’t want to meet them.” He glanced back at the cave. “Still, it would be a pity to allow such a generous cache of arms to fall into their hands…”

They decided to take Sten submachine guns, because they could be broken down into parts small enough to conceal once they reached Sparta. They also packed some plastique. For good measure, Stavros plunged his giant hand into one box and grabbed several grenades like a bunch of grapes, and Andros took a Walther. 38. Erin worked quickly and carefully to lay several charges and fix the Cordtex for simultaneous firing.

When the charges were laid and a time delay was set, the party of three quietly led the horses out of the cave and down the foothills. They heard the explosion an hour later as they emerged at the edge of the plains.

“Put that in your pipe and smoke it,” Stavros huffed.

Andros and Erin exchanged surprised glances and looked at the kapetanios, who sheepishly explained, “Doughty used to say that, and it would always make my brother laugh. Now they’re both laughing together, laughing at those of us who must remain in this godforsaken life…” But he couldn’t finish.

In the distance they could see Sparta, a brightly lit island grid of twentieth-century civilization floating in a dark sea of ancient orchards and olive groves that rolled on under the evening skies. Assured that it was sufficiently dark to cross at a gallop, they mounted their horses and set off at a good pace.

Von Berg was sitting in his study, staring at the portrait of his grandfather King Ludwig II, when Spreicher phoned in from the police station in Sparta to report that Andros had survived the destruction of the secret Greek Resistance base and had eluded the Alpine Corps.

Von Berg, sitting on the edge of Kaiser Wilhelm II’s leather chair, could barely contain his rage. “Idiots! I don’t want him leaving the province!”

“He can’t go back to Monemvasia,” Spreicher said. “And we’re overturning every town and village in Laconia, sir. There’s no way out for him. The Parnon Mountains are behind him and the Taygetos Mountains before him. In between are the Evrotas Valley and our garrison here in Sparta.”

Von Berg said, “What about the Gulf of Laconia? Andros must not reach the water!”

“The waters are mined, and we have motor torpedo boats patrolling the coast,” Spreicher assured him. “It’s only a matter of time. Between air reconnaissance and ground sweeping, I don’t see how much longer he can last.”

“It had better not be too much longer, Standartenfuhrer, for your sake.”

Von Berg slammed the phone down and went to the glass case containing the Maranatha text. He stood there, looking over the ancient parchment, hands behind his back. There was a knock at the door, and Franz escorted Dr. Xaptz into the study.

“Ah, Dr. Xaptz.” Von Berg sat down behind his desk. “Has the Fuhrer’s personal consultant in spiritual matters completed his analysis of the Maranatha text?”

“Yes, Oberstgruppenfuhrer.” The professor looked disheveled and disoriented.

“Well?” the Baron asked. “Do you believe this text to be authentic?”

“In its antiquity, yes,” Dr. Xaptz answered. “But its contents are another story. I’ll have a complete report for you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Von Berg frowned. “That’s the eve of the Fuhrer’s weapons conference. Why so long?”

“You must understand, Oberstgruppenfuhrer. I don’t have the resources here that I have available in Berlin.”

That’s how much you know, Herr Professor, von Berg thought. “You mean you don’t approve of your accommodations?”

“Beautiful as these grounds may be, Oberstgruppenfuhrer, I have been here several days, and still I have yet to see more than my suite and the text here in your study. Even then it is under the eyes of your house staff. Indeed, I have been hindered in my efforts to enlist the aid of others outside the premises, either in person or by phone. As a result, I have been performing the tedious translations and alphanumerical calculations on my own.”

“Then I won’t keep you.” Von Berg gestured to the door. “But I must have the report by tomorrow evening. We leave the next morning for Obersalzberg.”

The professor seemed visibly relieved to hear him speak in the plural. “But of course, Oberstgruppenfuhrer.”

“We don’t wish to disappoint the Fuhrer, do we?” said Von Berg. “Franz, I’d like a word with you.”

Franz waited until Dr. Xaptz was gone and clicked his heels. “At your orders, Oberstgruppenfuhrer.”

“Where is Aphrodite?”

Franz looked confused. “Why, she’s swimming.”

“Swimming? But it’s almost time for supper. Who said she could go swimming?”

“You did, sir.”

“I did?” Von Berg couldn’t remember anything of the sort. “That’s ridiculous. Go call her back in.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What did you say?” Von Berg looked closely at Franz, who stood stiffly at attention.

“I said, yes, sir.” Franz looked thoroughly confused. “Are you feeling well, Oberstgruppenfuhrer?”

Von Berg knew he was hearing things now. He rubbed his temples, which were throbbing in pain. “I seem to have a slight headache.”

“Is there anything I can get you, sir?”

“Yes,” von Berg snapped. “You can get me Aphrodite. I’m going to get some fresh air.”

Franz clicked his heels. “ Zu Befehl, Oberstgruppenfuhrer,” he said, and left.

Von Berg looked up again at the face of his grandfather, King Ludwig II of Bavaria, and the terrible truth sank in.

The voices had returned.

He hadn’t heard them since his childhood days, when his father, Maximilian, was going mad in the sanitarium and Kaiser Wilhelm’s Reich was crumbling all around him. Now they were back, making their murmuring, disturbing presence clear. First, the increasing regularity and intensity of the headaches, which he had previously attributed to his gunshot wound. Then his lapses in memory, such as forgetting that he had killed his field underling Ulrich. Now these imaginary proclamations of his royalty from Franz.

Damn, he thought. He’d hoped he had licked them, these demons from the past, but he realized the discipline, focus, and intensity he had used to keep them at bay had slipped since he fell in love with Aphrodite.

“Yes, some fresh air,” he told himself. “That’s all I need. I’ve been away too long.”

Von Berg stepped outside into the gardens. He wandered past the statues of the dying Achilles and Empress Elizabeth toward the terrace overlooking the Chalikiopoulos Lagoon.

He wondered how his melancholy grandmother had felt whenever she stood here, looking out from this same breathtaking vista. Did it feel like paradise to her, or prison? To him it felt like both, he realized. The Achillion was his retreat, not from the intrigues of the Hapsburg Court, but from Hitler’s Third Reich. Unlike Elizabeth, he wasn’t trapped by an impossible marriage or the knowledge of a forbidden affair and illegitimate child.

Yes, von Berg decided, my grandmother had nowhere to go. But I, I have a destiny to fulfill. And it will ultimately bring me glory or death.

He was terrified of death, because it cast him in the same lot as every other man. And he was not like any other man. He was the rightful king of Bavaria, the only man who could topple Hitler, end this insane war, and bring peace on earth. That a leader destined for such greatness could die before his time was inconceivable to him.

Nothing would jeopardize his ambitions now. Not Aphrodite, nor Andros, nor Himmler, nor the Fuhrer. Nothing would stop him from fulfilling his destiny of becoming Germany’s rightful king and the leader of a united Europe. Hitler’s war had served its purpose: Europe was one. It was time for a new leader and a new world order.