The 34th Degree

21

B ack in his quarters at the central cadet barracks, Andros started packing.

All that was left when he was finished was the picture of Aphrodite he kept on his desk. It was a better photograph than the one Prestwick had shown him, taken in happier times. For several minutes he gazed at her angelic face, embittered by the seeds of doubt that Prestwick had managed to sow in his heart.

“I’m coming, my love,” he said, packing the picture and frame into his sack and pulling the strings. “Just like I promised.”

Andros drew out his Colt. 45 automatic and moved to the window overlooking the parade grounds. The grass was golden with the last rays of the setting sun, and the trees cast long, thin shadows. After taking one last look out over the Hudson, he checked the bullets in his clip and rammed the clip home into the Colt’s chamber.

“I’m coming for you, too, Baron von Berg.”