The 34th Degree

105

They weaved their way through the minefield in the Gulf of Messenia, a fiendish grin crossing Niko’s face as the boat headed toward the Cape of Koroni and the open sea. The tossing proved too much for Andros, and he retched over the side, convinced that if they didn’t strike a mine, they were going to die one way or another with this daredevil.

As Andros leaned over the splintered railing, the raw feeling of gravel in his throat, it occurred to him that the Minotaur would take whatever precautions necessary to minimize even the most remote risk of losing the microfilm. If such was the case, Eliot would cover his bets by placing his own man on the getaway caique. Andros straightened and turned to see Niko in the wheelhouse with Stavros.

Stavros must have been thinking the same thing, because he picked up the rusted Thompson on the deck and pointed it at Niko. “The British give you this, too?” he asked. “It doesn’t even work.”

The skipper shrugged. “It was too much of a chore to clean every day, and I got tired of it.”

Stavros pointed to several flags visible beneath the pile of ropes in the back of the deck-German, Greek, Egyptian, Turkish. “And those?”

“Depends on which waters I travel.”

“What else did the British do for you?”

“SOE also gave me this,” Niko said, proudly holding up a luminous signal ball. “Works well in the water and will help us with the submarine pickup off Koroni.”

As Niko held up the signal ball with one hand, he reached under the chart table with the other and released a spring catch. A flap fell down, and a Schmeisser machine pistol dropped from its secret compartment into his hand. He raised his arm and pointed it at Andros and Stavros. “The National Liberation Front orders you to hand over the film to me before I throw you out among the mines,” he demanded. “I, Niko, am-”

His throat seemed to catch on this last phrase as a terrible grimace crossed his face. He doubled over to reveal a harpoon rising out of his shoulder like a flagpole and, behind it, Erin holding the gun.

“You, Niko, are too small a fish to kill,” said Erin.

Stavros reached over and grabbed the wounded Niko by his sailor’s shirt. “But you seem to have enough hot air to float.” Stavros pulled the harpoon out of Niko’s shoulder and, in a single fluid motion, hurled him into the sea. In seconds he drifted behind them and disappeared.

Andros moved quickly to man the wheel. “That was quick thinking, Erin.”

“Not quick enough. Look.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Lights appeared on the horizon.

“German motor torpedo boats,” Erin explained. “Looks like they plan to fire at us from a distance. Now what?”

“Now we make for the Cape of Koroni and wait for the signal from the submarine,” he told her, pushing the engine to a full-throttled roar. “And hope those torpedoes don’t catch up with us.”

Suddenly a torpedo struck a mine two hundred yards away, exploding into a giant fireball that lit up the night and exposed them to the Axis ships.

Andros steered a zigzag course and soon had the caique zooming through the waters, bouncing off the waves. With each chop, he winced in pain and feared that his knees would break, or that they’d strike a mine and disintegrate.

“They’re still back there!” shouted Erin. “What do you suggest?”

“We toss a grenade in their direction. The Germans will think we struck a mine and died.”

“I’m ready,” Stavros announced.

Andros turned and started. The kapetanios was holding a grenade in one hand and the pin in the other. “What are you waiting for?”

Stavros hurled the live grenade into the mine-infested waters as the caique peeled away. Twenty seconds later, the grenade blew, detonating a mine. The explosion lit up the Gulf of Messenia, and by the time it dimmed, they were engulfed in darkness.