The 34th Degree

56

T hat evening the Vasilis estate was awash with light. Andros could hear the sound of music and laughter when Nasos stopped the car at the gate.

A German sentry emerged from the guardhouse, built since Andros last saw the estate. In awful Greek, the sentry demanded to see their papers before signaling to another sentry to lift the swing bar.

As they drove through the gate and up the long drive, a nervous Nasos asked, “You’re sure you want to do this?”

For years Andros had dreamed of this night, of seeing Aphrodite, and already his mind cast forward to the moment they would see each other and he would know if she still loved him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, old friend.”

He realized that Aphrodite had been the most influential person in his childhood, next to his father. Perhaps that was because Aphrodite had never compared him to his father; she lavished him with unconditional love and affection. She had changed his life and the way he viewed himself because she didn’t expect him to change or want him to. That was inconceivable to Andros, who felt that love was given to those who earned it. Yes, he thought joyfully, Aphrodite simply loved him for who he was. Her parents, meanwhile, had loved him for what he was-heir to the Andros Shipping dynasty. Every time Andros shook her father’s hand, he could sense Vasilis mentally calculating his family’s future good fortune and adding up the interest. Aphrodite’s mother, an arrogant woman who shared Aphrodite’s beauty but none of her warmth, had expressed her approval with a cool tolerance of the relationship.

Nasos pulled up to the entrance, where two SS footmen in spanking attire welcomed them. A white glove opened the door for Andros, and another directed Nasos to park farther down the drive with the other cars. Andros, dressed in black tie and tuxedo, bade Nasos farewell and went up the steps.

Standing at the top of the steps, greeting their arriving guests, were Aphrodite’s parents, the official hosts of the party. Vasilis, a short, meaty man stuffed into a tight-fitting tuxedo, was enthusiastically pumping hands while his taller wife, in a long, gaudy, bejeweled gown, welcomed them with an artificial, ingratiating smile. Upon seeing Andros, however, their jaws dropped and the blood drained from their faces, as if they had seen a ghost.

Finally, Vasilis found his tongue. “Christos? What are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest of the Baron’s.”

Vasilis and his wife exchanged nervous glances, and Andros thought they might physically bar him from entering the house. “Is Aphrodite here?” he asked.

They didn’t answer but simply stared at him in denial, as if they hoped he would go away. Clearly, Vasilis now considered him a bad investment come due.

Andros, seeing that he wouldn’t get very far with these two, said, “I’ll have a look around,” and left them standing there while he went inside.

In the main hall was a well-stocked bar, toward which Andros gravitated as he took in the surreal spectacle of German and Greek officers, politicians, and other dignitaries strolling about with lavishly dressed girls on their arms. The air seemed unusually carefree, he thought, considering the mixed attendance of victors and vanquished.

At the other end of the bar, he saw Werner, the Gestapo man who had greeted him at the docks that morning. He’s been watching me, Andros realized, ever since I walked through the door. Werner smiled and waved like an old friend and walked over. “Hello!” he said, handing Andros a glass of champagne. “See any familiar faces?”

Andros took a sip from his glass and looked around, indeed recognizing some of the more prominent families in Athens.

Werner said, “Over there is Prime Minister Rallis, talking with Dr. Hermann Neubacher, the Reich’s charge d’affaires in Athens. And in the corner arguing with General Wilhelm Speidel, commander of southern Greece, is General Vecchiarelli, the commander of the Italian Eleventh Army headquartered here. Most of the guests are outside in the garden. Let me show you.”

As they crossed the ballroom and passed the great marble staircase, Andros noted that the hallway that led to the library was roped off and guarded by an orderly in a white dinner jacket.

They walked outside and stood at the top of the marble steps overlooking the garden. A full orchestra filled the air with music, and lavish spreads of food crowded the island buffet tables. Footmen in white dinner jackets carried trays of cocktails to the tables under the colored lights.

“Doesn’t this violate the blackout order?” Andros asked.

Werner laughed. “Once we cut a party short because of a false air-raid warning, but the all-clear sounded soon enough. Besides, nobody’s bombing Athens these days, certainly not the civilian population centers such as Kifissia. For the most part, Baron von Berg is willing to break the rules as long as he is fully apprised of any situations that might disrupt the enjoyment of his guests.”

Andros followed Werner’s gaze to the rooftop and noticed the silhouettes of snipers against the stars. “I see,” said Andros. “And the servants in the white dinner jackets?”

“Waffen SS,” Werner explained. “In addition to sporting the proper attire, each carries a Luger in a hidden shoulder holster. So you see, Herr Andros, you need not worry for your safety.”

“I’m impressed.”

Werner seemed pleased. “Oh, I see Baron von Berg now. The beautiful Vasilis girl sitting next to him, isn’t she somebody you used to know?”

That was when Andros saw her-Aphrodite, seated with Baron von Berg and several other couples at a table at the other end of the garden.

Seeing her made his heart miss a beat. She looked more beautiful than he had imagined possible. Her long jet-black hair was braided and exquisitely piled on top of her head, and she was wearing something Greek girls never wore: a white bare-back summer evening gown, filled to ravishing splendor with her well-proportioned body. The girl he had proposed to in New York had become…a woman.

“Yes, that’s her,” he said at last. “You say the man next to her is Baron von Berg?”

“That’s right.”

Andros took in the Baron’s full military dress uniform, the Knight’s Cross at his throat, with oak leaves and swords for second and third awards. His heart sank. This man didn’t look like a Nazi monster but, rather, the picture of distinction, an officer and a gentleman, everything his father had been and he himself had hoped to become. A man whom Aphrodite could even love.

“Come, Herr Andros,” said Werner. “Allow me to introduce you.”

Andros followed Werner to the table. The lighthearted conversation under way came to an abrupt end upon their appearance. All eyes were on Andros, but his were focused on Aphrodite. She looked at him curiously, not comprehending his presence at first. Then her big amber eyes widened in alarm and darted to von Berg, who rose to his feet as Werner made the introductions.

“Baron von Berg,” Werner announced. “This is Herr Chris Andros.”

“Ah, Herr Andros,” von Berg said in his clear Athenian Greek. “We finally meet.” They shook hands, each sizing up the other.

In Andros’s mind, von Berg came out on top. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of about forty with boyish good looks. Much too tall to have been a U-boat commander, Andros thought. His gold hair swept back from his broad forehead. His clean-shaven cheeks tapered down to a determined chin. On the surface, he looked like a distinguished Englishman: cultured, civilized, with a stiff upper lip. Furthermore, his piercing, aristocratic blue eyes made Andros uneasy; he felt as though the Baron could see right through this whole charade and was merely amusing himself at his expense.

“I believe you and Miss Vasilis are old friends, Herr Andros.”

Andros smiled as he took Aphrodite’s soft, warm hand and kissed it. “A pleasure to see you again, Aphrodite.” He longed for some emotional response from her, but all he saw was terror in her face as she looked at von Berg.

The Baron was delighted. “So you are the son of General Andros,” he said after allowing an uncomfortable minute to pass. “A great leader, your father was. I understand there’s a memorial service for him tomorrow at the cathedral.”

“You’ll be there, Baron von Berg?”

“In better times, I would, Herr Andros. But these days my presence at the memorial of a fallen war hero may not be appreciated by some of your countrymen.”

Andros glanced at Aphrodite, who was less than two feet from him but seemed so far away, and told von Berg, “You seem to get along with everybody here.”

A cold glaze crossed the Baron’s eyes, betraying the smile on his face. Before he could reply, a butler appeared at his side with the news that Berlin was calling on his private line.

“Excuse me, but duty calls,” von Berg apologized. “I’ll be back in a moment. In the meantime, I believe you two have much to catch up on.” He patted Aphrodite on the arm and walked off.

The orchestra struck up a waltz. Andros turned to Aphrodite. Her eyes were big, round, and wet like a doe’s. He held out his hand and smiled. “Shall we dance?”