The 34th Degree

95

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.

Across the dark waters of the lagoon and under the pink skies, he could see the shimmering lights of Corfu Town. Somewhere down in those waters was Aphrodite, taking her evening swim.

It was her fault, he decided. She had made him weak, had made him actually care enough for her-a mere woman!-to waste his precious, limited time on Andros when Hitler’s weapons conference was the day after tomorrow. On his birthday, no less. The day he turned forty. The day all his fears-or dreams-would be realized.

Perhaps it was his fault. Perhaps she could detect unconsciously his knowledge that Andros was still running about in the mountains. Once Andros was dead, truly dead, and she had come to terms with that, then she might love him.

Despite his bitterness and dejection, he could not find it within himself to kill her. Her parents, yes. Andros, yes. But Aphrodite? Never. All he could do was hope that she would have a change of heart and learn to love him. To have to rely on hope at all made him despair even more. He didn’t believe in hope. He knew better. He knew that the best indicator of a person’s future behavior was his past behavior. But knowledge be damned! The end of logic was madness, after all. Perhaps Aphrodite was independent enough to change her feelings for him. She had the will. She could find a way. If she wanted to…

“‘Vernunft wird Unsinn / Wohltat Plage,’” he sang quietly, recalling the wistful sentiments of his favorite childhood poet, Goethe. “‘Reason becomes nonsense / Boons afflictions.’”

Aphrodite, he reasoned, was his affliction.