The 34th Degree

109

The electric motor of the Cherub hummed as Andros made his way along the corridor toward the submarine’s galley. Prestwick was sitting at the table under a dim light, enjoying a cup of tea, when he walked in.

“And how are we feeling, Chris? You slept for hours.”

“Tried to,” Andros replied, taking a seat opposite Prestwick. “And I thought surface vessels were hell. I’d hate to be trapped in this thing if we started filling up with water.”

Prestwick nodded, but both men knew that seasickness wasn’t the foremost concern in Andros’s heart.

“She didn’t believe me, Prestwick,” Andros said after a long pause. “She couldn’t comprehend that I’d actually come back for her. She thought I only wanted information to please some fool like you. Then again, I can’t blame her. My performance, while less than exemplary, met your requirements for my cover.”

“Yes,” Prestwick answered without emotion. “An unfortunate development. Speaking of which, the film you brought us is extraordinary. My God, it’s an intelligence coup. You’re an American hero.”

“A hero?” Andros nodded to acknowledge the alleged distinction, but did so in a way that showed he didn’t really care. “Any reply from Algiers?”

Prestwick sipped his tea. “No response yet about that roll of microfilm. But your family arrived safely in Istanbul aboard the Turtle Dove, along with a rather angry Kostas Vasilis. Right now I suspect they’re en route to Cairo, where they’ll join the Greek government in exile.”

“And Aphrodite?”

Prestwick shook his head. “Who knows? I’m afraid all we can do at this point is wait until we reach Algiers, see what else they’ve learned.”

Andros watched him sip tea. “Why the lies, Prestwick?”

Prestwick paused. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You never expected me to get this far, did you? You thought I’d be caught by the Germans and spill that precious lie you told me about the Allies preparing to invade Greece.”

Prestwick took another sip. “You don’t think we are?”

“I saw the Operation Husky plans in von Berg’s safe. I know it’s Sicily we’re invading.”

Prestwick almost dropped his cup. “I think you’d better elaborate.”

“Relax, Prestwick. Werner acted as if he’d already seen the report and was interested only in the Flammenschwert. My guess is that German intelligence suspects the Husky report is a fraud and has discounted it altogether.”

Prestwick seemed to regain some of his composure. “But you don’t?”

“Not after the lies you told me back at the Farm. It all makes perfect sense now.”

“We never lied to you outright, Chris. We simply led you to believe what you wanted to believe. As for expecting you to fail in your mission, that doesn’t mean we wanted you to fail. We were simply taking into account the realities of the war.”

“Really? And suppose von Berg had caught me after I discovered the Husky plans in his safe? He would have known I was being set up and deduced for himself what it was you were up to.” Andros paused and then asked, “What exactly are you up to, Prestwick?”

Prestwick set down his cup of tea. “Now that you know the secret of the Maranatha text, I don’t suppose it would hurt to let you in on the whole story.”

“The secret of what?”

So Prestwick told him: about the bogus Maranatha microfilm implying an invasion of Greece and how the OSS allowed it to fall into Nazi hands; about the real Maranatha text and how Baron von Berg had beaten them to it at the Monastery of the Taborian Light; and finally, why Andros was recruited to steal the text-not because of his formidable skills as a soldier but because of his relationship with Aphrodite.

When his OSS superior was finished, Andros shook his head in disgust. “Lies, lies, lies, Prestwick. Do you always use innocents to clean up your messes, or am I a special case?”

“Very special, Chris,” said Prestwick. “We sent you in to keep our secret from von Berg, but in the process you’ve discovered his, the Flammenschwert. As for that aerial negative you retrieved from the safe, we fed it through the enlarger. We should have a nice print soon enough.”

“I’d like to take a look.”

“You could, but I don’t see the point,” Prestwick said crisply. “Captain Whyte looked it over already.” He glanced at his watch and took up his cup of tea. “It’s three in the afternoon. We still have several hours until we reach North Africa and face hours of debriefing. Until that time, I suggest you get some more sleep. I’m sure Captain Whyte won’t mind you taking her bunk in the captain’s private cabin now that she’s up and about.”

Andros hesitated. Prestwick put a hand on his shoulder. “Chris, there’s nothing you can do for Aphrodite right now. Maybe when you wake up, we’ll have some news.”

Andros nodded and left.