The 34th Degree

29

T he next morning Andros found Prestwick in the study with a stocky, gray-haired man of about sixty. They were looking over some papers and sipping coffee when he walked in.

“Chris Andros, this is General Bill Donovan, head of OSS,” Prestwick began, dispensing with the first-name rule. “He was kind enough to break away from his office to join us this morning.”

“Anything to meet the son of General Andros.” Donovan quickly extended a hand and looked at Andros with unusually bright blue eyes. “Met your father while touring the Balkans in ’forty-one, just before the Germans invaded Greece.”

“Really?” Andros was genuinely interested as they sat down around the coffee table, Donovan and Prestwick on the couch, he on a chair. Andros knew “Wild Bill” primarily as a millionaire Wall Street lawyer and former attorney general. But he was also aware that the Hoover Republican was a hero of the Great War and the only American to have won the Congressional Medal of Honor, the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Distinguished Service Medal-the nation’s three highest military decorations. As a result, he immediately commanded more respect from Andros than Prestwick had.

“A great leader, your father was,” Donovan continued. “Spoke fondly, if sadly, of you. But he’d be proud to see you now.”

“Would he?” asked Andros, self-conscious about his suit and the mention of his father.

“Hell, yes,” said Donovan, studying Andros’s physique. “If anything, you’ve become too fit since you’ve last worn those clothes. That won’t do. Prestwick, have a tailor alter them for young Andros here.”

Prestwick mumbled something as he scribbled a note to himself.

“We don’t want you looking too firm when the Germans consider your request,” Donovan explained, offering him some coffee and a Danish.

Andros declined. “What request is that, General?”

“Why, the request you’re about to present to the Germans, telling them you want to go back to Greece.”

“What? You want me to let the Germans know I’m coming?”

“Didn’t Prestwick tell you?”

Prestwick cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten to that part yet, General.”

Andros stared at the two men incredulously. “I’m supposed to simply hand myself over to the Nazis? This is insane. I thought-”

“That we’d somehow sneak you into Greece by boat or parachute drop?” Donovan shook his head. “Normally, if we were simply dropping you off in the mountains to link up with the Greek partisans, that’s what we’d do. But you’re too well-known in Athens and could be spotted if we tried to slip you in covertly. Have you heard of a Major Tsigantes?”

Andros nodded. “A well-known republican in the Greek army.”

“Too well-known,” Donovan said. “Last September the Allied GHQ-Middle East slipped him into Athens on a secret mission. He was to contact political and military leaders in order to organize a non-Communist resistance movement. But he was betrayed by an informer and killed in a gunfight with Italian carabinieri in his hideout.”

“I see.”

“Besides,” Prestwick added, “such covert infiltration would defeat the purpose of the cover you’ve gone to such great lengths to establish with the girl. According to your letters and every other piece of information the Germans have on you, you’ve been attending Harvard all this time.”

Donovan nodded. “Perfect for when you approach the German Legation in Bern.”

“Switzerland now?” Andros leaned back in his chair, waiting to hear what was next.

“You’ll be going there on a humanitarian mission to secure the safe passage of Red Cross food and medical supplies to the suffering people of Greece,” Donovan explained. “The International Committee of the Red Cross, after all, is based in neutral Switzerland. And it remains an association of private citizens entrusted by governments with official missions.”

“What exactly is my official mission?”

“You simply want to approach the German Legation in Bern and request that the Germans lift their counterblockade so Andros ships can bring relief supplies into the port of Athens. Of course, in order to personally oversee their distribution, you’ll insist on being in Athens yourself as a neutral Red Cross observer.”

It sounded too simple to Andros. “What makes you think the Germans could possibly go for this?”

“They’ve done it before,” said Donovan. “The famine in Athens during the first winter of occupation was so desperate that the Greek government in exile in Cairo was able to persuade both the British and German authorities to lift their respective blockades and allow relief supplies to be shipped in via Turkey. Under the agreement, an International Red Cross administration was set up in Greece, staffed by Swiss and Swedes, which distributed Canadian and American wheat shipped into Greece with safe passage guaranteed by all belligerents.”

“But that was over a year ago.”

“Famine is still a reality in Greece,” Donovan insisted. “The metropolitan of Athens, Archbishop Damaskinos, has been on the backs of the Germans for quite a while to allow more supplies in. The military authorities support him because they still fear disease spreading from the civilian population.”

Andros frowned. “More important to you, I suspect, is that this gesture of mine is sure to attract the attention of Baron von Berg.”

“He can hardly refuse such a gift, considering how good he’ll look in the eyes of the Greeks in general and Aphrodite in particular. As a baron, he fancies himself a statesman, a member of the elite, anything but one of Himmler’s SS swine.” Donovan stood up and paced the floor. “We couldn’t dream up anything better. As Chris Andros, you have a natural entree into the same circles of Athens society that surround Baron von Berg. Furthermore, Aphrodite Vasilis is a high-profile member of the Greek Red Cross. Nobody would question your perfectly understandable motivation to meet with your fiancee.”

Andros brooded over the proposal. “I’m not comfortable using the Red Cross as a cover,” he said. “Aphrodite has devoted herself entirely to its humanitarian aims. I don’t want to jeopardize her work or that of others.”

“Merely a public excuse to get you into Athens and provide a context within which you can meet Baron von Berg,” Donovan said. “Operation Trojan Horse, that’s what we’ve dubbed your mission.”

“Clever,” said Andros. “But let’s say I get all the way to Switzerland. Let’s say the Germans approve the shipment of relief supplies. What good is it if von Berg doesn’t allow me into Athens to oversee their distribution? What then?”

Donovan exchanged glances with Prestwick. “There are worse places to wait out the war than Bern,” Donovan pointed out. “But as you said yourself, we think the good baron will intervene on your behalf. He obviously knows about you and the letters that Aphrodite has written to you. Unless hers are totally fraudulent-and there seems no reason to believe so-then he knows her heart is with you. We think he’d be eager to meet you.”

“I think he’d be eager to put a bullet in my head and get me out of the way,” Andros said.

“Von Berg isn’t like that, Andros. He is a keen competitor. He would want to meet you out of curiosity-and beat you as a man before Aphrodite. He can’t win her affection by killing. He has to beat you some other way. Furthermore, he has the unique authority to permit this venture,” Donovan said. “Aren’t you eager to meet him?”

“I’m eager to put a bullet in his head.”

“Well, the Greeks already did that in ’forty-two, Andros. He miraculously survived, with the help of a metal plate in his skull.”

Prestwick said, “Besides, you won’t have a gun. That would tip them off that you’re up to mischief. There must be nothing military about your manner.”

“Then I’m defenseless!”

“Not true,” said Donovan. “The least we can do is give you a sporting chance. That’s why we’ve flown in Captain Whyte from the Scottish Highlands. Teaches the silent killing course at SOE’s special training school at Lochailort.”