Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

They moved like phantoms past houses and down dark alleys toward the center of town. Stavros grumbled that his cassock was too short to hide his boots. A few dogs who smelled them barked, but by then they were already passing strollers in the streets. Unlike many Greek towns, this one had streets laid out at right angles-all the easier for an armored car to roll up from nowhere and keep the populace in order. Considering they had no papers, the sooner they were in a crowd, the better.

“The big tavernas are just off the platia, if I remember correctly,” said Andros, leading the way.

They walked down Palaiologou Street, one of the two main boulevards lined with palm trees that swayed in the wind, turned onto Evrotou Avenue, and emerged in the platia, the large town square. The evening was alive with crowds of Greeks and Germans strolling about the square and filling up the tavernas.

Theo’s was just across the platia from the town hall and the headquarters of the German garrison. It was an open-fronted building on the square with straw chairs arranged in front under the orange trees. Erin took a seat at one of the open-air tables outside while Andros and Stavros went inside.

The taverna was packed with German soldiers. Andros and Stavros moved confidently through the tables to the counter and asked for Theo. The bartender who stepped up was slight, dark, and visibly irked at being pulled aside on such a busy night. “What do you fellows want?” he asked.

Andros slipped a reichsmark note across the counter. “I’m looking for my friends and would like a cup of tea.”

Theo took the note, saw the words “Yankee Clipper,” and looked up with a start at Andros. Another look at Stavros seemed to send him into shock. “Heh, Nick,” he called to one of his waiters, “two ouzos for these fellows.” He disappeared into the back while a young waiter came with the ouzos.

Andros stole a glance at Stavros, who stiffened with fear beneath his cassock.

“Stavros, what is it?”

“Take a look behind us.”

Andros looked over the big Greek’s shoulder. On the wall above a table of German soldiers playing cards was a WANTED poster with Stavros’s picture, a relic from the witch hunt for Communists under Metaxas. The reward for any information leading to his capture was three hundred thousand drachmas.

“You’re more popular than I thought,” Andros whispered. “Three hundred thousand drachmas. I’m impressed.”

So was one of the Germans, it seemed, because Andros caught him eyeing Stavros over his glass of beer. Andros made sure that the next time the German looked their way, Stavros’s back was turned.

“Face the counter and look straight back into the kitchen,” Andros ordered. Stavros obeyed and asked for a second glass of ouzo. Andros looked over the tables to the platia. Erin was still outside, watching for trouble, when Theo came back.

“Why don’t you two take a stroll around the square and come around the back in five minutes,” Theo instructed them.

Andros replied, “I’ve got another with me who shouldn’t linger outside.”

“Tell both your friends to follow you in,” said Theo, “but in ten minutes.”

When Andros entered the back five minutes later, he was taken upstairs to a room overlooking the platia. Seated at a table was a man with a handlebar mustache, smoking a silver pipe, playing cards with another man who had a submachine gun lying across his knees.

“Gin,” said the man, laying down his cards. He looked up at Andros. The face was different without a priestly beard or SS uniform, but the playful eyes were familiar. Andros recognized none other than Touchstone.

“ So good to see you alive,” said Brigadier Andrew Eliot, whose face, Andros concluded, was capable of assuming any shape. “Come, sit down. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“So have the Germans,” Andros replied, taking a seat at the card table.

Eliot nodded to the man across the table with the submachine gun. “Meet Orestes, one of our communications officers. He’s in charge of the station here in Sparta.”

Andros looked at the nondescript fellow, who shared Eliot’s ability to blend into any crowd. “Nice to meet you,” said Andros, and he turned to Eliot. “What’s the word from Athens? Did Aphrodite and my family get out?”

Eliot started shuffling the cards. “Your family left Piraeus safely this morning with Kostas Vasilis aboard the Turtle Dove. Right now they’re en route to Istanbul.”

So far, so good, thought Andros. “And Aphrodite?”

“She’s in better shape than her parents. Von Berg had them executed in the family gardens early this morning.”

Andros flinched at the news. “That goddamn Nazi bastard.” He let his face drop to his hands. “They were his last bargaining chips with Aphrodite. I didn’t think-”

“That the Baron would play his trump card so soon?” said Eliot, dealing him a hand. “Neither did we. Unfortunately, that means he’s using brute force on the girl now. She was last seen boarding the Baron’s plane before it lifted off from Athens. I think we can safely assume he’s not planning on coming back.”

“Where did they go?”

“We were hoping you could tell us. You have the film?”

Before Andros could answer, their host, Theo, came into the room, his anxiety revealing itself through his strained smile. He was followed by Stavros and Erin. Erin took a seat at the table with Eliot. But the kapetanios moved to the window and nervously looked out over the platia. Theo left them and closed the door.

“Your big friend here needn’t worry,” Eliot told Andros. “The Germans have already broken in here once before. When they discovered what we were ‘really up to’-gambling, or so they thought-it put their suspicions at ease. Since that night, I can’t tell you how many times a Kraut has been in that chair you’re sitting in for a good game of rummy. The proceeds of their considerable losses have kept Theo’s bar well stocked.”

Stavros stood by the window. “Tell him about Kalos, Andros.”

“Colonel Kalos of EDES?” asked Eliot. “What about him?”

“He betrayed us, all of us,” Andros said. “The National Bands, EDES, even ELAS.” He explained what had happened.

Eliot swore under his breath. “Colonel Kalos a Communist? That will indeed shake them up in Cairo.” He looked at Stavros. “If it’s true.”

Stavros turned from the window. “I swear to you, it is true.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Then aren’t you on the same side?”

“I am of the mountains; Kalos is a disciple of Moscow’s. Greece is for neither the British nor the Russians; Greece is for the Greeks.”

“We can handle Kalos,” said Eliot. “The hard part will be handling your escape. Orestes, get back to your place and raise Cairo on the set. Tell them the Yankee Clipper is ready to sail. Andros, you cut the cards.”

Andros watched Orestes walk out the door with his submachine gun tucked under his coat. Then he cut the deck. “So what now?”

“The situation is, to say the least, fluid.” Eliot dealt everybody a hand. “Submarine pickup tonight off the Gulf of Messenia. When you leave here, you’ll be dressed as farm laborers, driving a produce truck on an olive and grain run to the port of Kalamata. A small fishing boat will be waiting to take you out to sea and link up with the submarine. Prestwick will be on board, anxious for your information. Now, pick up your hand.”

Andros did as he was told. Inserted among the playing cards was an official identity card that gave him the name Troumboulas. “Where did you get this?”

“Courtesy of a certain gendarme,” Eliot explained.

Stavros, suspicious as ever, asked, “Perhaps a local police chief I know personally?”