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.
95
Von Berg was sitting in his study, staring at the portrait of his grandfather King Ludwig II, when Spreicher phoned in from the police station in Sparta to report that Andros had survived the destruction of the secret Greek Resistance base and had eluded the Alpine Corps.
Von Berg, sitting on the edge of Kaiser Wilhelm II’s leather chair, could barely contain his rage. “Idiots! I don’t want him leaving the province!”
“He can’t go back to Monemvasia,” Spreicher said. “And we’re overturning every town and village in Laconia, sir. There’s no way out for him. The Parnon Mountains are behind him and the Taygetos Mountains before him. In between are the Evrotas Valley and our garrison here in Sparta.”
Von Berg said, “What about the Gulf of Laconia? Andros must not reach the water!”
“The waters are mined, and we have motor torpedo boats patrolling the coast,” Spreicher assured him. “It’s only a matter of time. Between air reconnaissance and ground sweeping, I don’t see how much longer he can last.”
“It had better not be too much longer, Standartenfuhrer, for your sake.”
Von Berg slammed the phone down and went to the glass case containing the Maranatha text. He stood there, looking over the ancient parchment, hands behind his back. There was a knock at the door, and Franz escorted Dr. Xaptz into the study.
“Ah, Dr. Xaptz.” Von Berg sat down behind his desk. “Has the Fuhrer’s personal consultant in spiritual matters completed his analysis of the Maranatha text?”
“Yes, Oberstgruppenfuhrer.” The professor looked disheveled and disoriented.
“Well?” the Baron asked. “Do you believe this text to be authentic?”
“In its antiquity, yes,” Dr. Xaptz answered. “But its contents are another story. I’ll have a complete report for you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Von Berg frowned. “That’s the eve of the Fuhrer’s weapons conference. Why so long?”
“You must understand, Oberstgruppenfuhrer. I don’t have the resources here that I have available in Berlin.”
That’s how much you know, Herr Professor, von Berg thought. “You mean you don’t approve of your accommodations?”
“Beautiful as these grounds may be, Oberstgruppenfuhrer, I have been here several days, and still I have yet to see more than my suite and the text here in your study. Even then it is under the eyes of your house staff. Indeed, I have been hindered in my efforts to enlist the aid of others outside the premises, either in person or by phone. As a result, I have been performing the tedious translations and alphanumerical calculations on my own.”
“Then I won’t keep you.” Von Berg gestured to the door. “But I must have the report by tomorrow evening. We leave the next morning for Obersalzberg.”
The professor seemed visibly relieved to hear him speak in the plural. “But of course, Oberstgruppenfuhrer.”
“We don’t wish to disappoint the Fuhrer, do we?” said Von Berg. “Franz, I’d like a word with you.”
Franz waited until Dr. Xaptz was gone and clicked his heels. “At your orders, Oberstgruppenfuhrer.”
“Where is Aphrodite?”
Franz looked confused. “Why, she’s swimming.”
“Swimming? But it’s almost time for supper. Who said she could go swimming?”
“You did, sir.”
“I did?” Von Berg couldn’t remember anything of the sort. “That’s ridiculous. Go call her back in.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What did you say?” Von Berg looked closely at Franz, who stood stiffly at attention.
“I said, yes, sir.” Franz looked thoroughly confused. “Are you feeling well, Oberstgruppenfuhrer?”
Von Berg knew he was hearing things now. He rubbed his temples, which were throbbing in pain. “I seem to have a slight headache.”
“Is there anything I can get you, sir?”