The stars were out by the time Andros, Erin, and Stavros reached the Evrotas River and tied their horses to some fig trees in an orchard along the banks.
Andros looked across the river to Sparta’s neat rows of neoclassical houses that rose up on the other side. Somewhere in town there was an SOE safe house and motor transport to take them to their submarine pickup. All they had to do was cross the river. He stared at the broad, icy waters and tried to picture himself swimming across in pain.
“I suppose we have no choice?” he said.
Stavros said, “You could take the Geraki Road that crosses over into town and try your luck at the German checkpoint.”
Andros looked to Erin, but she was already half naked. He unbuckled his belt. The thought of her was too seductive to resist, however. Against his will, he tried to steal another glimpse of her. But as his gaze floated up, it met hers. She had been watching him, he realized, longing for him, and she didn’t seem embarrassed that he knew it. But to embrace Erin now, if only emotionally, was to admit he had given up on Aphrodite. He wasn’t ready to do that and doubted very much whether Erin would think him a better man if he did. So he stuffed his clothing into his satchel and resolutely waded into the water.
It was even colder than Andros had imagined, but the cold had the therapeutic side effect of numbing the pain in his leg. Soon he could no longer touch the bottom with his feet and panicked. At one moment he thought he heard his mother’s cry in the night wind. But he fixed his eyes on his destination and kept working his limbs, afraid that if he stopped for even a moment, he’d sink to the bottom. The sight of Stavros ahead of him and the knowledge of Erin behind him spurred him on. Swallowing water and choking all the way, he eventually crawled up on the opposite bank of the river, exhausted. Ten minutes later, they were in dry clothes and hopped a low wall, safely on the outskirts of town.
They moved like phantoms past houses and down dark alleys toward the center of town. Stavros grumbled that his cassock was too short to hide his boots. A few dogs who smelled them barked, but by then they were already passing strollers in the streets. Unlike many Greek towns, this one had streets laid out at right angles-all the easier for an armored car to roll up from nowhere and keep the populace in order. Considering they had no papers, the sooner they were in a crowd, the better.
“The big tavernas are just off the platia, if I remember correctly,” said Andros, leading the way.
They walked down Palaiologou Street, one of the two main boulevards lined with palm trees that swayed in the wind, turned onto Evrotou Avenue, and emerged in the platia, the large town square. The evening was alive with crowds of Greeks and Germans strolling about the square and filling up the tavernas.
Theo’s was just across the platia from the town hall and the headquarters of the German garrison. It was an open-fronted building on the square with straw chairs arranged in front under the orange trees. Erin took a seat at one of the open-air tables outside while Andros and Stavros went inside.
The taverna was packed with German soldiers. Andros and Stavros moved confidently through the tables to the counter and asked for Theo. The bartender who stepped up was slight, dark, and visibly irked at being pulled aside on such a busy night. “What do you fellows want?” he asked.
Andros slipped a reichsmark note across the counter. “I’m looking for my friends and would like a cup of tea.”
Theo took the note, saw the words “Yankee Clipper,” and looked up with a start at Andros. Another look at Stavros seemed to send him into shock. “Heh, Nick,” he called to one of his waiters, “two ouzos for these fellows.” He disappeared into the back while a young waiter came with the ouzos.
Andros stole a glance at Stavros, who stiffened with fear beneath his cassock.
“Stavros, what is it?”
“Take a look behind us.”
Andros looked over the big Greek’s shoulder. On the wall above a table of German soldiers playing cards was a WANTED poster with Stavros’s picture, a relic from the witch hunt for Communists under Metaxas. The reward for any information leading to his capture was three hundred thousand drachmas.
“You’re more popular than I thought,” Andros whispered. “Three hundred thousand drachmas. I’m impressed.”
So was one of the Germans, it seemed, because Andros caught him eyeing Stavros over his glass of beer. Andros made sure that the next time the German looked their way, Stavros’s back was turned.
“Face the counter and look straight back into the kitchen,” Andros ordered. Stavros obeyed and asked for a second glass of ouzo. Andros looked over the tables to the platia. Erin was still outside, watching for trouble, when Theo came back.
“Why don’t you two take a stroll around the square and come around the back in five minutes,” Theo instructed them.
Andros replied, “I’ve got another with me who shouldn’t linger outside.”
“Tell both your friends to follow you in,” said Theo, “but in ten minutes.”
When Andros entered the back five minutes later, he was taken upstairs to a room overlooking the platia. Seated at a table was a man with a handlebar mustache, smoking a silver pipe, playing cards with another man who had a submachine gun lying across his knees.
“Gin,” said the man, laying down his cards. He looked up at Andros. The face was different without a priestly beard or SS uniform, but the playful eyes were familiar. Andros recognized none other than Touchstone.