The 34th Degree

46

T he town of Brig slid away as the train Andros was on pulled out of the last station in Switzerland.

Several more chateaus and a castle moved by, and Andros caught a final glimpse of the Weisshorn and Mischabel mountain groups before the track curved toward the Simplon Tunnel, the longest in the world. Halfway through the twelve-mile corridor, under seven thousand feet of alpine mountain, they would cross the frontier between neutral Switzerland and Axis territory, and there would be no turning back.

He felt a sense of exhilaration, the same exhilaration he experienced after his first parachute jump at West Point. To be sure, the Germans in Bern had given him no guarantee of their cooperation, and the risks ahead were even greater. But he had cleared the first hurdle. Tomorrow evening he would make his connection with a ship in Brindisi. He was on his way home.

A few minutes later, there was a sharp rap on the door of his compartment. It was the Swiss porter, and with him was an Italian customs official. They addressed him in English. “Passport, signore.”

Andros felt for the papers in his suit pocket and pulled out his special German diplomatic courier visa.

The Italian examined the passport and eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and fear. “Your destination, signore?”

“Brindisi. I have a trunk with me, too. Do you need to see that?”

“Trunks will be examined when we pull into Domodossola. We are just examining passports and hand luggage now.” The Italian returned his papers. “Grazie, signore.”

The door shut, and Andros settled back comfortably in his compartment. They were fast approaching the mouth of the tunnel, and soon he was swallowed by the darkness.