The 34th Degree

DESTROY NOW DESTROY.

“Understood?” asked Donovan, striking a match.

“Wait a minute. Sinon is the name of the defecting Greek captain in Virgil’s version of the Trojan-horse story.”

“Yes, he misleads the Trojans by telling them that the Greeks have sailed away and left the horse behind as an offering to please the gods. Now, please, the match is burning.”

Andros held on to the order. “Why not Menelaus, king of Sparta and Helen’s husband, who won her back from the Trojans?”

“Depends on your point of view,” said Prestwick. “After all, Helen may not have been all that eager to leave Troy or her lover Paris.”

Andros glared at him. “If that’s a thinly veiled allusion to Aphrodite and von Berg in Athens-”

“Really,” said Donovan as the flame descended down the matchstick, “now is not the time to question our nomenclature. Dammit, Andros, just burn the order.”

Andros sighed. He touched the paper to the flame and dropped it in the ashtray on Donovan’s desk.

Donovan let go of the matchstick and blew on his fingertips. “There,” he said, then slid a sheet of paper across his desk to Andros. “One more thing.”

It was an OSS employment contract: The employer shall pay the employee the sum of $150 in the currency of the United States of America each month while said contract is in force…This contract is a voluntary act of the employee undertaken without duress.

Included in the contract was a five-thousand-dollar life insurance policy, to be awarded to anyone Andros designated.

Andros looked up at Donovan. “What is this?”

“A mere technicality.” The OSS chief smiled and handed him a pen. “You know, red tape.”

Andros wrote the name of his beneficiary, signed the contract, and slid the document back to Donovan.

Donovan read it and smiled. “Aphrodite Vasilis. You’re a confident man, Andros.”

Andros looked at Donovan and then at Prestwick. “One of us has to be.”