The 34th Degree

72

T he clock in the hallway by the bar said it was two minutes to nine. Andros walked to an island of food, looked it over for a few seconds, and then went past a sentry up the stairs to Aphrodite’s bedroom, the second door to the right down the corridor. But when he walked in, he found her mother sitting on the bed.

“You!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Andros looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock on the dot. There was no time to have it out with the woman, so he started to take off his tuxedo.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said.

“Why, I’m about to propose to your daughter.”

Her hands came to her face in horror, and she left the room cursing. Andros locked the door behind her and immediately went to the dresser.

The SS dress uniform was tucked away underneath some silk nighties. He quickly slipped into the pants, buttoned up the tunic, and fastened the belt with the German eagle on the buckle. He had to admit it felt good to be in uniform again, even if it was the wrong side’s. He picked up the cap and put it on his head at a slight angle, just the way Hans had it on in the garden.

“Perfect,” he told himself.

It was then that he noticed his picture on the dresser, taken in the States four years ago. How often had Aphrodite looked at it, he thought, the way he had looked at hers at West Point? How did von Berg feel about it, knowing it was up here? Not now, he told himself, and shook off any emotion he was feeling in order to concentrate on the task at hand.

Andros slipped the camera Eliot had given him into the uniform’s pocket, along with Aphrodite’s lighter. Then he parted the curtains and walked out onto the balcony.

It was dark outside, music drifting from the gardens around the corner. He firmly gripped Mrs. Vasilis’s precious mango tree, for years his ladder to Aphrodite’s bedroom, and softly descended to the gardens.

As Andros turned the corner, he could see the black cutout of a sentry on the patio outside the library. It was Peter, smoking a cigarette, pacing impatiently and glancing back and forth between his watch and the gardens, obviously itching to go. Andros was about to step forward when, from behind him, came two dull thuds-mangoes falling to the ground from the shaken tree.

Peter spun around. “Hans, is that you?”

Andros nodded and tapped his watch.

“You’re late,” Peter scolded, and without waiting for a response, he darted off toward the gardens.

Andros watched him leave and took a quick look around. Satisfied that nobody was near, he walked up, pushed his hand against the French door, and felt the catch give way.