His mother was in a life jacket, her arms wrapped around him as they floated in a sea of fire, bodies everywhere, some swallowed up by the burning oil from the sinking ocean liner in the distance. As the crest of a wave lifted them up, his mother’s tired arms loosened, and the wave parted them forever, her screams of “Christos! Christos!” fading in the darkness of night. For Chris, there were no words he could form, only a helpless cry as he turned in his bed, soaked with sweat, aware of another presence.
“Better to enter the kingdom of God with one leg than to have two and be thrown into hell.”
Andros blinked his eyes open to see two eyes, alive with light and compassion, looking down at him. Then a sharp pain shot up his leg, and he shivered.
The voice said, “You have both of them, don’t worry.”
Andros felt for his leg, but another wave of darkness washed over him. He groaned in agony. A pair of soft, soothing lips kissed him gently on the mouth, and he reopened his eyes.
It was Erin, her face shining like that of an angel in the shaft of sunlight falling through a crack in the roof of what seemed to be a cave.
Andros groaned. “How long?”
“You were out for a couple of hours,” she told him. “Good thing we found you and got that shrapnel out. Either infection would have set in, or the Nazis would have found you. Looks like that microfilm of yours is more significant than we thought.”
Andros was fully awake now, his nausea gone. Only the pain in his leg remained. He looked down to see his thigh wrapped in bloodied strips of linen. His thigh and nothing more. His pants had been removed.
“I was changing the dressing when you woke up,” she explained. “It’s not like I haven’t seen a man before.”
Andros held up his hand to tell her that was enough, thank you. He propped himself up and had a look around, careful to avoid making eye contact with Erin. He was in a small cave, which he was sharing with three horses and a cache of weapons, several dozen Sten guns, ammunition, grenades, and what looked like four hundred pounds of plastic high explosive in quarter-pound bars wrapped in cellophane.
“You’ll have to excuse the accommodations, but it was the best we could do under the circumstances,” Erin said. “This is one of several storage facilities the EOE has in these parts.”
Andros saw daylight at the entrance to the cave, which was screened by a forest of pine trees. “Where are we, exactly?”
“No-man’s-land,” Erin explained as she prepared the new dressing. “Somewhere between Free Greece and the German zone.”
Andros remembered the destruction of the base, the carnage, Doughty. “Free Greece?” he repeated hoarsely. “Our camp was blown!”
“You managed to survive,” Erin replied, carefully peeling the old wrap from his thigh.
The pain came back with a vengeance. “Oh, God,” he gasped. “It kills.”
“Not if you sit still.” She started to apply the new wrap to his thigh.
Andros grimaced as soon as the dressing touched his skin. But his attention was diverted to the distant roar of a low-flying aircraft somewhere outside the cave.
“Reconnaissance plane,” Erin explained. “Searching the hills and valleys for us. Probably in radio contact with ground forces. We’re going to have to stay put and keep quiet until dusk.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Andros replied, feeling another wave of pain coming on as Erin wrapped the new dressing.
“This might hurt a little,” Erin said, applying more pressure.
Andros started to protest, but Erin once again fixed her mouth to his and muffled his cries while her firm hands held his body steady on the outside. He was surprised to find himself responding to her touch, and if Aphrodite weren’t foremost in his thoughts, he might have been disappointed when the pain finally subsided and Erin let him go.
Andros gasped for breath. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “Kiss me or kill me?”
“Kill you if you don’t shut up,” she whispered. “We can’t be found out. We have to make sure that microfilm gets to the Allies.”
Andros said, “And how are we going to do that?”
“We’re going to make that submarine pickup tonight, while we still have a window of opportunity,” said Erin with impressive determination. “That is, if you’re up to it.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then it’s only a matter of time before von Berg’s goons get us,” Erin said.
“I guess I’d rather live with the pain than let von Berg put me out of my misery.”
“I’m glad you see it that way.” Erin opened a crate of clothing and found a pair of baggy trousers. “Here, try these.” She tossed them into the air, and he caught them with one hand.
“Turn around,” he told her.
She shrugged and turned her back toward him. “I’ve seen everything you’ve got, Andros. Besides, you might need some help.”
“You’ve helped me enough already, Captain.”
Two painful minutes later, he had slipped the pants on. But when he tried to stand up on his wounded leg, an electric jolt shot up his body. He leaned against the rock for support. Erin was at his side instantly.
“Are you okay?” she asked, looking intensely concerned.
“I’ll manage,” he told her. “So where’s the submarine pickup?”
“Off the coast of Kalamata.”
From where Erin had placed them, that was all the way over in the neighboring province of Messenia, on the other side of the Taygetos range. He laughed in despair. “We’ll never make it in time. Not on horseback.”
“That’s why we’re going to Sparta,” Erin replied. “There’s an SOE safe house waiting for us there, along with false papers and motor transport. Then we’ll drive like the devil up through the Taygetos Pass and down to Kalamata.”
Sparta. You must get to Sparta. There’s a taverna in the square called Theo’s. Ask for the Yankee Clipper. The barman knows… Those were Doughty’s last words. Andros said, “That safe house wouldn’t be Theo’s taverna, would it?”
“As a matter of fact, it would,” Erin replied, a puzzled look crossing her face.
“Doughty told me before he died,” Andros explained as he considered Erin’s plan to go to Sparta. The ancient city and present-day capital of Laconia lay at the bottom of the fertile Evrotas Valley, the formidable Taygetos mountain range rising up behind it. “You realize, don’t you, that to even get there we first have to cross the Evrotas plains in the open?”
“Fortunately, the sun sets early behind the Taygetos, so we should have the cover of darkness by the time we cross the plains.”
“And then we somehow sneak in and out under the noses of the German garrison?” Andros shook his head. “There’s no way.”
“It’s the only way,” Erin insisted, “and the one they’d least expect.”
As Erin was speaking, Andros heard the crunch of boots on pebbles outside. He shot her a worried glance. A black figure filled the circle of light in the mouth of the cave, holding a Sten gun. The hulking giant stepped forward into a shaft of sunlight, and Andros saw that it was the ELAS kapetanios, Stavros.
“It’s okay, Chris,” said Erin. “It was Stavros who found you in a creek and brought you here.”
The picture of a stream in the country came to his mind and then faded. Andros nodded. The big Greek sat down on a crate of plastic explosives. “The noose grows tighter and tighter around our necks,” he reported. “It’s only a matter of time before we join my brother in the grave.”
Andros looked at Stavros and then at Erin. “Michaelis is dead?”
“Kalos did it,” said Stavros. “He murdered my brother.”
“I suppose this means you’ll wage a personal civil war with EDES?”
“Kalos is ELAS,” corrected Stavros. “He is not what he seems.” The big kapetanios began to weep for his lost brother.
Andros glanced at Erin, who confirmed the story with a sad nod. “It happened just before we were ambushed by SS paratroopers,” she said.
Erin then told Andros about Churchill’s hunch about a Soviet mole within the Greek Resistance; her mission to discover the identity of the Minotaur; and what had happened with Kalos before von Berg’s Death’s Head battalion attacked.
When Andros had heard it all, he shook his head. “That ought to shake up Zervas and the Middle East GHQ. But if Kalos isn’t the Minotaur, who is?”
“Maybe our station in Sparta will know,” she said.
“Sparta?” asked Stavros. “What’s in Sparta besides Germans and collaborators?”
“A safe house, a wireless, British agents who can get us to Kalamata in time for our submarine pickup,” said Erin. “You coming with us?”
“I told you,” said Stavros, “Sparta is crawling with Germans and collaborators. One look at me and I’ll be hanged.”
“I’m afraid if you’re seen at all, it will be the end of you,” Erin replied. “I’m sure that Colonel Kalos, if he’s still alive, has already reported your demise and wouldn’t take too kindly to having you seen walking around. Of course, you could go north to your headquarters and try your luck with Saraphis, Siantos, Velouchiotis, and the rest of your ELAS comrades at Petrouli. That’s if you can make it that far and if they don’t hang you anyway. This way, at least there’s hope. You might even be able to clear the name of ELAS by exposing Kalos.”
Stavros considered his options. “You are quite convincing, Captain Whyte,” he told her. “Okay, we go.”
“The trick will be convincing those we run into in Sparta that we’re peasants,” said Erin, returning to the open crate of clothing. “Our uniforms will attract more than a little attention once we cross the Evrotas River and enter town. So I suggest you slip into something more convincing while I wait outside.”
Andros waited until she left before he joined Stavros in rummaging through the rags. Unfortunately, the only thing large enough for Stavros was a big black cassock.
“A priest?” said the kapetanios. “I won’t do it.”
“It will have to do,” said Andros. “Anything less would give you away.”
“Hurry up,” called Erin, walking in. Her voice was flat, her face tense. “We have more company. Bring me some field glasses, Stavros, and let’s take a look.”
Stavros picked up a pair of field glasses and walked out with Erin. Andros, now fully alert, followed close behind, dragging himself across the rocky floor of the cave to the entrance. They hid in the shadows as the low hum of an airplane buzzed overhead.
Andros could see it over the treetops, a Nazi seaplane flying in low over the valley, the glint of bright sunlight bouncing off its wings.
“An old-fashioned Savoia-Marchetti,” Erin observed through the field glasses.
Andros squinted and followed the plane out to sea. “For us?”
“More likely on his way to scour the sea for our submarine.”
“A bad sign,” said Stavros. “We better hide in the cave until dusk.”
“I don’t think so,” Erin said, handing Stavros the field glasses. “Look down there.”
Stavros had a look. “I see what you mean,” he said, and passed the glasses along to Andros.
Andros raised the glasses and adjusted the focus. Beyond their screen of trees, German troops jumped into view. They were about three miles away, making their way in columns along the opposite side of the ravine. They had a number of mules in each column; these seemed to be carrying mortars and heavy machine guns as well as the usual camp equipment.
“Alpine Corps. Good mountaineers,” he reported after spotting their green uniforms. “Where did they come from?”
“Sparta, probably,” Stavros said. “There’s an SS Death’s Head battalion down there, too. We don’t want to meet them.” He glanced back at the cave. “Still, it would be a pity to allow such a generous cache of arms to fall into their hands…”
They decided to take Sten submachine guns, because they could be broken down into parts small enough to conceal once they reached Sparta. They also packed some plastique. For good measure, Stavros plunged his giant hand into one box and grabbed several grenades like a bunch of grapes, and Andros took a Walther. 38. Erin worked quickly and carefully to lay several charges and fix the Cordtex for simultaneous firing.
When the charges were laid and a time delay was set, the party of three quietly led the horses out of the cave and down the foothills. They heard the explosion an hour later as they emerged at the edge of the plains.
“Put that in your pipe and smoke it,” Stavros huffed.
Andros and Erin exchanged surprised glances and looked at the kapetanios, who sheepishly explained, “Doughty used to say that, and it would always make my brother laugh. Now they’re both laughing together, laughing at those of us who must remain in this godforsaken life…” But he couldn’t finish.
In the distance they could see Sparta, a brightly lit island grid of twentieth-century civilization floating in a dark sea of ancient orchards and olive groves that rolled on under the evening skies. Assured that it was sufficiently dark to cross at a gallop, they mounted their horses and set off at a good pace.