The 34th Degree

104

The port of Kalamata was used by the Italians for shipping supplies between Italy and the Aegean Islands. But at this hour, the streets of the capital of the province of Messenia were deserted as the Italian staff car carrying Andros, Erin, and Stavros rolled through the center of town, passing the Italian garrison on its way toward the beachfront a long mile down.

They stopped behind a warehouse across from the marina. The smell of fish was strong, the mournful wail of a bouzouki from some distant taverna barely audible above the rhythmic creaking of boats in their slips.

“Nice and slow,” said Andros as they proceeded. “Remember, we’re patrolling the piers, just like the others on foot.”

As Erin drove along the quayside, past the strung-up nets and occasional swinging lantern, Andros was aware of several dark vehicles coming up fast on their right. He looked into the side-view mirror, only to be blinded by the headlights of Kubelwagen.

“It’s a trap!” said Stavros, opening fire, trying to knock out the lights.

Erin stepped on the pedal, but more lights appeared at the far end of the harbor. She roared down the quayside and swung a hard left into the second-to-last pier, the Kubelwagen and cars closing in.

She braked to a halt, and they all jumped out and started running. A hundred yards away was the end of the pier, lit by a lantern swinging on a rope. Behind them the Kubelwagen and Gestapo cars were blocked by the Italian staff car. The Germans got out and started shooting.

As they ran down the pier, Andros could hear an engine revving in the water. Soon he saw it-a fishing caique bobbing at the end of the pier. The pier light had been knocked out. A figure popped out of the wheelhouse, aiming a rusted Thompson submachine gun at them as they climbed aboard.

“Your uniforms, I wasn’t too sure,” the skipper said, dropping the formalities when a spray of bullets from the quay showered splinters of wood. “Inside, now!”

They crammed into the wheelhouse, and the surprisingly powerful engine roared to life. The old fishing caique peeled away from the pier at an unbelievably high speed.

“What do you have under there?” asked Stavros, pointing to the engine room.

“Tank engine,” the skipper boasted. “This caique belongs to the British, but I get to keep everything at the end of the war if I’m still afloat.” He switched on the radio to a special frequency to pick up Axis traffic. “We’re not out of this yet. They’ve alerted every patrol boat in the gulf. They will try to cut us off.”

Several German and Italian motor torpedo boats were converging up ahead in the open sea. But they were too late. The engine shot a pitch higher, and the caique cleared the boats trying to close them off, leaving them behind to be swallowed by the darkness.

The skipper said, “They won’t follow us now.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Andros.

“The waters we are in, they are mined. That is why the patrol boats don’t follow us.” The skipper started laughing. “But I, Niko, know the way, I think. If they have not changed things too much.”