The 34th Degree

31

“ O f course you might have to kill her. Before she kills you.”

Prestwick took another bite of the apple pie Gertrude had baked as they sat in the library after dinner. Andros wasn’t hungry.

“She’s a wild card, Chris,” Prestwick continued. “She’s lived with this man a year now and has a brother in a German camp. She may have turned, for all we know. Who knows how she’ll react to your arrival? One whisper to the Baron, and your fate will be sealed. She could be the key to unlocking the whereabouts of the text-or a knife in your back.”

“You’re wrong, Jason. She won’t betray me.”

Prestwick put his fork down and looked at Andros. “How can you be so sure? When was the last time you were in Greece? The entire country has changed quite a bit under the occupation, and not just Aphrodite. Old alliances have disintegrated, and new political winds have swept Greece. The debate these days is no longer between the royalists and republicans; everybody wants to abolish the monarchy. The brewings of civil war are under way between the two most important resistance groups, the right-wing republican army of General Napoleon Zervas and the left-wing army of the National Liberation Front. If they’re not killing Germans, they’re killing each other. Personally, I find this fratricide revolting. You, however, might find it life-threatening, if you’re not careful.”

“So what are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you that you can trust no one, including your beloved Aphrodite.” Prestwick helped himself to some coffee.

“So you’re saying I’m all alone.”

“Not entirely,” Prestwick replied, stirring his cup. “Ah, Miss Whyte.”

Erin walked into the library wearing a neat blue suit and white blouse. “Captain Whyte to you, Colonel,” she reminded Prestwick as she took a seat next to him opposite Andros and smiled. “Hello, Chris.”

Her hair was wet and her legs longer than Andros had remembered. He could only conclude that neither military nor civilian clothing could safely contain her figure.

“You?” he said. “You’re coming to Athens with me?”

“No, but I’ll be close by,” Erin answered. “The SOE chief of Athens himself will be your contact. Brigadier Andrew Eliot. His code name is Touchstone.”

“How will I find him?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Erin. “He’ll find you. He’s a master of disguise. He’ll coordinate clandestine support for your mission and serve as your commanding officer in the field. You just try to get close to Aphrodite.”

“I intend to,” he assured her.

“This might help.” Erin held out a ring box from Tiffany amp; Co. of New York. “It’s the engagement ring you’re going to give to your betrothed.”

Andros opened the box to see a glittering two-carat solitaire set on a gold band. The irony was that the dirty bastards at OSS had gotten it exactly right-it was the same ring he had chosen for Aphrodite. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

“We don’t intend to miss anything,” Erin said. “That’s why we’ve hidden a bug inside the box, courtesy of our wizards in the lab. You’ll carry it at all times. This way Touchstone and his agents might pick up on some clues in your conversations that would otherwise elude you. They’ll also know your whereabouts and perhaps be able to help in case of an emergency.”

“The only emergency I fear is von Berg or the Gestapo finding this bug on me,” Andros replied.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” said Erin. “That engagement ring is of great sentimental value to you, so having it on your person is hardly unusual. Besides, the size of the diamond will most certainly detract attention from the discardable box.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Andros, snapping the box shut and slipping it into his suit pocket. “The greedy Gestapo will keep the ring and throw the box into the trash with my corpse.”

“In any case,” said Prestwick, ignoring Andros’s cynicism, “that ring is your excuse to be alone with Aphrodite, to ask her where von Berg keeps his important papers.”

“Which reminds me,” Andros said. “How will I describe this encrypted text to her? You haven’t even shown me what it looks like.”

“If she knows anything about the text, she’ll know what you’re talking about.” Prestwick sipped his coffee. “What she’ll do about it is another question entirely.”

Prestwick’s guilty-until-proven-innocent attitude toward Aphrodite annoyed Andros. “What if she knows nothing?”

“Oh, she’ll provide you with something,” Prestwick warned. “If not the text itself, or at least its location, then-”

“Then a knife in the back. I heard you before,” said Andros. “Let’s assume true love prevails. What then?”

“Once you obtain the information or the text from Aphrodite, Touchstone will arrange for your escape from Athens the night before that Red Cross ship of yours leaves.”

“Me, Aphrodite, and our families,” Andros insisted. “I’m not leaving without them.”

“Yes.” Prestwick sighed, setting down his cup of coffee. “You, Aphrodite, and your families will escape from Athens and arrive at a secret guerrilla base we’ve established in the Parnon Mountains of the Peloponnese, some miles north of Monemvasia in the province of Laconia. There you’ll hand over whatever you have concerning the text to Miss Whyte. She’ll be the new senior British liaison officer to the