The 34th Degree

52

A ndros got in and found himself sitting next to a young man not much older than he was. The man’s smooth, pale features and almost white hair contrasted sharply with his dark suit. For a moment Andros thought his narrow eyes seemed to change color in the darkness of the cab, shifting from blue to gray to brown and then back to blue.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Herr Andros.” His tone was oily. “My name is Werner. Jurgen Werner. I am an emissary of Baron Ludwig von Berg, your host. I am your escort to your family estate in Kifissia.”

Werner extended his cold, clammy hand, and when Andros clasped it, a shiver raced up his arm. If this Werner was the kind of henchman von Berg surrounded himself with, Andros wondered what the Baron himself was like.

Then the door shut next to him, and the Mercedes started moving. “I wasn’t expecting such a grand reception,” Andros said.

“For your own protection, I assure you,” Werner replied. “The Communists, they are everywhere, especially on the docks.”

Andros glanced back at the shrinking port and could see Tsatsos and Karapis standing at the rail of the Independence, watching the motorcade leave the Piraeus district. Andros felt like he was six years old, returning from another day in Piraeus with his grandfather to the family’s estate in Kifissia and having to endure the city sights in between. Once again he was catching a glimpse of how the majority lived, from the privileged comfort of a mobile observatory.

Athens had changed little since he last saw it six years before, except that it seemed grimier and even more disorganized under the occupation. The walls were littered with RAF slogans, old war posters, and various anti-Nazi graffiti. The Greek war cry, “Aera,” was chalked up everywhere in red and green. It meant “wind,” as in “sweep them away like the wind.”

The spirit of resistance was alive, Andros could see, though the flesh was weak. The back alleys revealed passing glimpses of barefoot children in rags picking through garbage heaps for scraps of food. If they could stay alive just a little longer, Andros thought, just until the liberation…

“I must say, Herr Werner,” Andros observed, “your troops have given new meaning to the ‘ruins of Athens.’”

“The German army did not come to Greece as an enemy but as a friend,” Werner insisted, “to oust the British parasites who had been invited here by the criminal government of the Fourth of August. What you see is the destruction that plagued all of Greece during the British occupation.”

“The British occupation”? thought Andros. Werner did have a way with words.

They were approaching Constitution Square. There was the old, aristocratic Hotel Grande Bretagne, host to so many of his childhood dances with Aphrodite. Now it was the headquarters for the German authorities. To their right was the Parliament building, useless since 1936, when Metaxas dissolved Parliament after the king had given him free rein. Andros remembered the furor surrounding the military crackdown. At least those were Greek troops in the city then. Now there were Axis sentries posted against the building’s yellow walls and Axis tanks parked on its ramparts.

“I need not remind you, Herr Andros,” Werner continued, “that the Germans helped Greece in her war of independence more than the British. What is now the Parliament was the original palace of Greece’s first king, Otto, brother of King Ludwig of Bavaria.”

What Werner failed to mention, thought Andros with a smile, was that the Greeks of Otto’s day had kicked the seventeen-year-old monarch out.

Werner sighed. “If only King Otto’s architects from Munich had proceeded with their plans for wide, straight thoroughfares, this could have been a great modern city. But the Greeks of his day complained they would bake on those boulevards without shade, and the shopkeepers would lose business on their little streets. As it is, the city is nothing but a labyrinth of twisting alleys and slums.”

“Must make it difficult for you to track anybody down,” Andros mused. “And so much easier to hide.”

Werner had opened his mouth to reply when shouts came from the university. Andros looked out the window to his left and saw a motorized Axis column, four abreast, charging down University Street. He turned to Werner, who looked ahead stiffly.

“Unfortunately, Herr Andros, Communist-inspired elements remain unfriendly to the New Order and have yet to embrace the great ideals of national socialism. They disguise themselves as student demonstrators and insist on inciting riots and disturbing the public. The Italian carabinieri often must disperse them with bullets.”

“Good riddance,” said Andros, deciding now was the time to play the snob. “But don’t such actions put a damper on the social life here?”

“Not at all,” Werner replied, visibly pleased with the turn in his guest’s attitude. “Baron von Berg sees to that.”

“Baron von Berg,” repeated Andros. “Yes, you must tell me more about him. All they told me in Bern was that he is some sort of liaison to Swiss industry for Germany.”

“Not just a liaison but a great German industrialist. And a friend of the Greek people, a true philhellene.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. His family has enjoyed a long friendship with the Greek people. I know his grandfather funded quite a few archaeological excavations on Crete. These days the Baron sponsors music festivals at the Euripides Theater and a number of charity events.”

“How generous of him.”

“The proceeds, you may be interested to know, go to Red Cross efforts to help villages terrorized by the Communists in the mountains.”

“I can’t wait to meet the gentleman.”

“Indeed. Tonight he’s throwing a little party and requests the honor of your presence.” Werner handed Andros a formal invitation signed by Baron Ludwig von Berg.

“I recognize this address.” Andros showed his anger when he looked up at the smiling Werner. “This is the Vasilis estate.”

“Why, yes, the Vasilis family ran into financial troubles with the war. The Baron, recognizing the architectural value of their estate, is leasing it from them temporarily and overseeing its restoration. The family still lives there.”

“How kind of him,” said Andros, pocketing the invitation. “I’d be delighted to come.”