The 34th Degree

61

S till dressed in his stiff three-piece suit from the memorial service, Andros arrived at the Vasilis estate at two and found Baron von Berg in the library, working through some papers. Von Berg was wearing a loose-fitting white sport shirt, slacks, and tennis shoes. The clothes gave the Baron an unhurried air of leisure, as if the only thing on his mind that afternoon, really, was getting in a few sets on the grass court in back before supper.

Von Berg looked up from his desk as Andros was ushered in by the orderly, and gestured him to a seat. He said nothing for a minute while he sorted through a pile of unopened mail.

The library was as Andros remembered it, with walls of books that had never been opened and a set of French doors leading outside to the gardens. If he remembered correctly, the Vasilis family safe was on the sixth shelf of the bookcase behind him. Aphrodite’s father had had it brought over by ship from America. Vasilis alleged it was the same kind of safe favored by Chicago mobsters.

“Paperwork, Herr Andros. It will be the death of me yet.” Von Berg pushed aside the papers and placed his silver letter opener on top of the stack to keep everything in place. “According to our legation in Bern, you offer an interesting business arrangement, to say the least. I have looked over the documents and navicerts you provided. They appear genuine.”

“This surprises you?”

Von Berg smiled. “Not when I consider your financial situation,” he said. “But I am surprised you’re not more particular with your sympathies. I can’t imagine your father would betray the Allies.”

Andros could feel von Berg’s eyes sweep over his suit and reappraise him. His glance seemed to fasten on the monogrammed gold cuff link Andros was fiddling with, the one with a large A embossed in the center.

“My father was a soldier, Baron von Berg,” Andros explained with an air of condescension. “I am a businessman. So are you. Whatever you need, Andros ships can deliver into ports open to both Swiss and German shipping.”

“So you claim, Herr Andros,” said von Berg. “But what happens once these hypothetical consignments arrive in port?”

Andros said, “Once in port, such consignments, if properly handled, could mysteriously disappear from my Swiss ships and find themselves in the holds of German ships or on rail lines going into Germany.”

“And the Swiss police and customs officers would look the other way?”

“The Swiss have appointed port commissioners whose job is to speed up the unloading of consignments and cut red tape,” Andros explained. “When up to seven thousand tons are unloaded daily in Genoa alone, I think a few crates could be missed.”

“For one hundred thousand American dollars.”

“Not a penny less.”

“I see.” Von Berg leaned back in his seat. “And what if the Allies find out you are here talking to me about this? You realize by now dozens of British agents in Athens have reported your arrival.”

Andros flashed a conspiratorial grin. “I’m counting on it,” he said. “You see, I informed the American Legation in Bern that I was coming here. I told them it was on behalf of the Greek government in exile in Cairo to secure the safe passage of Red Cross relief supplies into Athens. Indeed, the ship is on its way and should be here by tomorrow morning. Whether or not you permit it through the counterblockade, the mere gesture on my part should speak for the altruistic intent of my visit. I do have an image to protect after this war ends, with both the Greeks and the Allies, not to mention Aphrodite.”

Von Berg looked surprised. “So you intend to stay in Athens?”

“I wish I could. But I’ll be on that Red Cross ship when it returns to Istanbul on Monday.”

Von Berg smiled in admiration of Andros’s depravity. “You seem to have thought of your way out, Herr Andros.” He drummed his fingers on the leather desktop. “I’ll inform the admiralty to instruct our submarines to let the ship pass; just have your office inform the port authority of its Sunday arrival so that proper distribution channels can be prepared.”

“Thank you,” said Andros. “There is one other thing, though. I’m afraid I didn’t think Aphrodite would react so negatively to my arrival. You see, we were engaged to be married before the war.”

Von Berg nodded. “That is my understanding.”

“And that is still my desire.” Andros pulled out the baby-blue Tiffany amp; Co. box with the hidden bug. He cracked it open to reveal the sparkling diamond.

“Lovely,” murmured von Berg, leaning forward with interest. “So you plan on proposing to her again?”

“Strictly business, mind you,” Andros said, snapping the box shut and pocketing it. “But all in Germany’s best interests. After all, such a wedding could only complement your wonderful benefit concerts and parties here, proving yet again that life is good in the New Order.”

“Such a wedding would also serve the interests of Chris Andros,” von Berg observed with a wry smile. “Following the great Andros tradition, you would use marriage to consolidate the fortunes of two of Athens’s wealthiest families, this time emerging from the war with a combined tobacco and transportation conglomerate that would be, I believe, the largest in Greece.”

“Exactly,” said Andros. “You must remember that, unlike the Germans or most Europeans, the Greeks and Americans have no established aristocracy, no titles that can be passed along at birth. Money, mind you, is the only measure of social status. And without money in America, I would be nothing. Here, however, I am something. Better a rich man in hell than a pauper in heaven, I say.”

“I see, Herr Andros.” Von Berg looked thoroughly disgusted with him, his admiration for depravity obviously ending in matters concerning Aphrodite. Clearly, he considered her to be more than a war trophy. Andros was beginning to fear that she inspired as much devotion from the Baron as she did from himself.

“But first I’d like to ask you a favor regarding this Red Cross affair,” Andros continued.

“Oh? And what is that?”

“After the Turtle Dove arrives tomorrow, I thought a dinner reception not unlike your party last night might be in order for the visiting Red Cross delegation. We could toast the goodwill of the German government.”

Von Berg played along. “But of course.”

“As a gesture of that goodwill, perhaps the German authorities in Greece would consider releasing some of the political prisoners they are holding hostage for impending reprisals. I have in mind the likes of Kostas Vasilis, among others.”

Von Berg frowned. “Kostas Vasilis?”

“If I am to propose to Aphrodite, I need to know nobody is holding her back from making a free decision.”

Andros had thrown down the gauntlet. Von Berg looked him in the eye. All pretense was shed. Business deals and the war itself seemed insignificant compared with Aphrodite. Knowing her free choice in the matter was clearly important to von Berg, whether or not he intended to let her go in the end.

“I see you are confident of your powers of persuasion with Aphrodite,” von Berg told him. “But yes, all your requests will be met.”

“Good.” Andros rose to his feet. “In fact, I think I’ll pay Aphrodite a visit on my way out.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” said von Berg, “but she’s not here this afternoon.”

“She’s not?”

“No. She’s at the Red Cross center, distributing food to the needy.” Von Berg stood up and smiled. “Perhaps tomorrow evening at the reception?”

It would be too late then, Andros realized. “Yes, perhaps tomorrow evening,” he said. “In the meantime, could I ask you one final favor?”

It took some visible effort, but von Berg managed to keep his smile. “Yes?”

“Since I won’t be needing this until the reception,” Andros said, pulling out the ring box, “would you mind keeping it in a safe place?”

“Not at all.” Von Berg took the box. “I’ll keep it locked and under Waffen SS guard. Is that safe enough?”

“Quite.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” said von Berg. “I have a gift for you.”

To Andros’s astonishment, the Baron walked over to the bookcase and removed several tomes from the sixth shelf to reveal the safe door. Von Berg didn’t seem to mind revealing its location to him, rightly assuming that Vasilis couldn’t keep his mobster safe a secret from his children’s friends, what with his boasting.

Von Berg turned the combination with a few deft twists of the wrist and opened a single door, about six inches thick, to reveal a second, double door. He placed the ring box inside and began to search for something else.

“As you may know, Herr Andros, Hitler was impressed by the valor displayed by the Greek army in their brave fight against the Italians and, later, the Germans. So impressed that, after their defeat, he allowed the Greek officers to retain their swords and daggers. A gesture of tremendous respect on his part, considering his disdain for non-Teutons. It seems he regards men like your father as the descendants of Alexander the Great.”

Von Berg turned around and presented to Andros a knife in a sheath.

Andros immediately recognized the embossed A insignia on the handle and realized it was his father’s dagger.

“It was found on Crete after your father’s body was returned to Athens and buried,” von Berg explained. “A Greek partisan apparently lifted it when your father fell, and made good use of it against my countrymen. The initials and special seal on the handle told us who its rightful owner was.”

Andros removed the dagger from its sheath and held it in his hand. It felt heavier than he had remembered, weighed down, perhaps, by his childhood recollections. He could still see his father showing the dagger to him and telling him how someday he, too, would have a dagger when he grew up and became an officer in the Hellenic Royal Army. He remembered falling asleep that night dreaming of future battles against the Turks and even facing Hadji Azrael, the devil himself. But life didn’t turn out the way he or his father had expected. The devil wasn’t Hadji Azrael. He was Baron Ludwig von Berg, a German aristocrat and a general in Hitler’s dreaded SS. The self-styled “good sport” had wiped his father’s blade clean of any blood but couldn’t erase the swirl of suppressed emotions that overwhelmed Andros. He almost felt compelled to plunge the blade into von Berg’s chest, a feeling that the Baron perhaps wished to encourage. But he remembered he was supposed to detest all forms of violence, so he kept his composure. He slid the dagger back into its sheath.

“And what am I supposed to do with this vile weapon?”

“Keep it as a symbol,” von Berg said, escorting him to the door. “To remind you that there is still valor for those who lose.”

He was referring to Aphrodite, Andros realized, and doing so with outrageous presumption. Seething inside, Andros forced a smile as he slipped the sheathed dagger into his breast pocket. He patted the bulge. “An excellent idea,” he told the Baron. “Perhaps this would look nice on the fireplace mantel. His sword is there, you know. That’s where these things belong, on wall displays, not in men’s hands. I feel nervous simply having it on my person.”

“So it seems.” Von Berg frowned. “Perhaps I had you figured differently, Herr Andros.”

“How is that?”

“I thought you were your father’s son.”