The 34th Degree

115

The stars were still out when Andros came up the ladder onto the bridge. The cool spray of salt water slapped his face as he took in a deep breath and exhaled. Dead ahead was the island of Corfu, sleeping on the dark, brooding surface of the Ionian Sea.

Also on the bridge, with his back to Andros, was Captain Safire, scanning the shoreline with his night glasses while he smoked his pipe. “A gem she is tonight,” he said to himself, “sparkling on a velvet cloth for only God and us to admire.”

“From a safe distance, anyway,” said Andros.

Safire lowered his glasses and turned, surprised to see him alone. “Where’s Prestwick?”

“Resting. This is all a bit too much for him.” Andros looked at his watch. “Ten after two, Captain. Dawn is only a few hours away, and I have to reach shore before daybreak.” He raised the pistol slightly so Safire could see it. “I’ll need a dinghy to get across. Do you suppose you could produce one for me?”

“And if I don’t?” Safire dared.

“I’ll light up the sky with one of the flares I found in your compartment. Enough to attract the attention of nearby night fighters and torpedo boats.”

Safire spoke into his piping down to the control room. “I need a dinghy up here.”

“That’s it?” Andros asked. “No questions?”

Safire smiled reflectively. “When I was off the coast of Spain a few weeks ago, in another submarine, the captain had me and the other junior officers bring up a mysterious six-foot canister the rest of the crew believed contained optical instruments. We knew this was only a cover, that the canister contained a secret weather-reporting buoy. You can imagine our surprise when we opened it and found a frozen corpse, courtesy of our dirty-tricks specialists at SOE.”

“Major Martin?” asked Andros, remembering what he had seen in von Berg’s Husky file.

“The same,” Safire replied. “As you can see, our men have learned not to ask too many questions. Your request is par for this war.”

The hatch on the trim foredeck below the bridge opened, and two ratings emerged with an inflatable dinghy. Andros watched them work while Safire smoked his pipe.

“Who is this young lady who inspires you to kill yourself?” Safire asked.

Andros told him, “She was my fiancee before the war.”

“And the Baron has her captive?”

Andros nodded. “Aphrodite Vasilis.”

“Vasilis?” Safire removed his pipe from his mouth and stared at it. “As in Vasilis Tobacco?”

“The same,” Andros replied. “Von Berg had her parents executed.”

“Now, that is a pity.”

Andros watched the ratings lower the dinghy into the water. “Not as much as sitting here and watching her die at the hands of those whom she risked everything to help.”

Andros went over the side and descended the ladder to the circular hull. The dinghy was already in the water, held by the ratings. Andros dropped in.

“The water is a bit choppy,” called Safire from the bridge. “You ever try this before?”

“There’s a first time for everything, Captain. Thanks for the lift.”

“Let it never be said that Captain Safire stood in the way of true love.”

Safire ordered the ratings to release the lines and watched the tide pull the rubber dinghy away from the Cherub and in toward the island. Andros reached for the oars and started to row.

As the tiny dinghy drifted off into the darkness, Safire saluted from the conning tower. “I hope she’s worth it, Andros,” he said quietly, “for all our sakes.”