Eisenhower marched to the balustrade of the terrace, staring off to sea. “Good grief, Colonel,” he said, addressing Huntington. “You’re telling us that von Berg is building an atomic bomb below some palace on a Greek island?”
“So it appears, sir.”
“And it appears that he’s hidden this even from Berlin,” Churchill added. “You are supreme commander, General. Any ideas?”
Eisenhower turned to Churchill. “You know damn well what we’re going to do. This is a job for your boys in the RAF. Surgical strike, dawn tomorrow. We’ll make it look like we’re bombing Greece’s coastal defenses, knocking out a key naval station, and softening up our target before the invasion. But I want this so-called Flammenschwert facility taken out, permanently.”
Huntington cleared his throat. “It will take quite a pilot to pull it off, sir.”
“You know as well as I do, Colonel, that there’s only one pilot for this job.”
“Jack MacDonald?”
“Tell him to have his squadron ready for takeoff at midnight.”
“I’m on my way to Blida right now, sir.” Huntington turned to leave through the French doors.
“Oh, and Colonel,” said Churchill, stopping Huntington in his tracks. “Have Captain Safire set a course for Corfu. I want the Cherub to linger off the coast to survey the bomb damage.”
109
The electric motor of the Cherub hummed as Andros made his way along the corridor toward the submarine’s galley. Prestwick was sitting at the table under a dim light, enjoying a cup of tea, when he walked in.
“And how are we feeling, Chris? You slept for hours.”
“Tried to,” Andros replied, taking a seat opposite Prestwick. “And I thought surface vessels were hell. I’d hate to be trapped in this thing if we started filling up with water.”
Prestwick nodded, but both men knew that seasickness wasn’t the foremost concern in Andros’s heart.
“She didn’t believe me, Prestwick,” Andros said after a long pause. “She couldn’t comprehend that I’d actually come back for her. She thought I only wanted information to please some fool like you. Then again, I can’t blame her. My performance, while less than exemplary, met your requirements for my cover.”
“Yes,” Prestwick answered without emotion. “An unfortunate development. Speaking of which, the film you brought us is extraordinary. My God, it’s an intelligence coup. You’re an American hero.”
“A hero?” Andros nodded to acknowledge the alleged distinction, but did so in a way that showed he didn’t really care. “Any reply from Algiers?”
Prestwick sipped his tea. “No response yet about that roll of microfilm. But your family arrived safely in Istanbul aboard the Turtle Dove, along with a rather angry Kostas Vasilis. Right now I suspect they’re en route to Cairo, where they’ll join the Greek government in exile.”
“And Aphrodite?”
Prestwick shook his head. “Who knows? I’m afraid all we can do at this point is wait until we reach Algiers, see what else they’ve learned.”
Andros watched him sip tea. “Why the lies, Prestwick?”
Prestwick paused. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You never expected me to get this far, did you? You thought I’d be caught by the Germans and spill that precious lie you told me about the Allies preparing to invade Greece.”
Prestwick took another sip. “You don’t think we are?”
“I saw the Operation Husky plans in von Berg’s safe. I know it’s Sicily we’re invading.”
Prestwick almost dropped his cup. “I think you’d better elaborate.”
“Relax, Prestwick. Werner acted as if he’d already seen the report and was interested only in the Flammenschwert. My guess is that German intelligence suspects the Husky report is a fraud and has discounted it altogether.”
Prestwick seemed to regain some of his composure. “But you don’t?”
“Not after the lies you told me back at the Farm. It all makes perfect sense now.”
“We never lied to you outright, Chris. We simply led you to believe what you wanted to believe. As for expecting you to fail in your mission, that doesn’t mean we wanted you to fail. We were simply taking into account the realities of the war.”
“Really? And suppose von Berg had caught me after I discovered the Husky plans in his safe? He would have known I was being set up and deduced for himself what it was you were up to.” Andros paused and then asked, “What exactly are you up to, Prestwick?”
Prestwick set down his cup of tea. “Now that you know the secret of the Maranatha text, I don’t suppose it would hurt to let you in on the whole story.”
“The secret of what?”
So Prestwick told him: about the bogus Maranatha microfilm implying an invasion of Greece and how the OSS allowed it to fall into Nazi hands; about the real Maranatha text and how Baron von Berg had beaten them to it at the Monastery of the Taborian Light; and finally, why Andros was recruited to steal the text-not because of his formidable skills as a soldier but because of his relationship with Aphrodite.
When his OSS superior was finished, Andros shook his head in disgust. “Lies, lies, lies, Prestwick. Do you always use innocents to clean up your messes, or am I a special case?”
“Very special, Chris,” said Prestwick. “We sent you in to keep our secret from von Berg, but in the process you’ve discovered his, the Flammenschwert. As for that aerial negative you retrieved from the safe, we fed it through the enlarger. We should have a nice print soon enough.”
“I’d like to take a look.”
“You could, but I don’t see the point,” Prestwick said crisply. “Captain Whyte looked it over already.” He glanced at his watch and took up his cup of tea. “It’s three in the afternoon. We still have several hours until we reach North Africa and face hours of debriefing. Until that time, I suggest you get some more sleep. I’m sure Captain Whyte won’t mind you taking her bunk in the captain’s private cabin now that she’s up and about.”
Andros hesitated. Prestwick put a hand on his shoulder. “Chris, there’s nothing you can do for Aphrodite right now. Maybe when you wake up, we’ll have some news.”
Andros nodded and left.
110
Instead of retiring to the captain’s quarters, Andros made his way to the signals room. It had been converted into a makeshift darkroom. Erin was hunched over the developing tanks when he stepped inside. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him.
“You’re up,” she remarked in surprise, straightening under the safe lights. She was wearing a white polo sweater over a pair of denim overalls that the all-male crew had given her.
“Prestwick said you have something for me to see.”
She hesitated, a disappointed and curious expression crossing her face. She pointed and said, “In the tank.”
Andros looked at the image slowly materializing in the bath of fixing solution. The black-and-white picture of a castle by the sea was like something from a dream or a Hollywood studio set. “Looks like some sort of castle,” he observed.
“The Achillion,” said Erin, pulling the picture out of the solution. “It’s on the island of Corfu. Built in 1890 for Empress Elizabeth of Austria. Later became the summer home of Kaiser Wilhelm II. The Greek government confiscated it in 1914 and let the French turn it into a hospital a couple of years later. That’s what it still is, according to our data. Located about seven miles south of Corfu Town, on the east coast of the island.”
“What is its military significance?”
She clipped the photo to a clothesline to let it drip-dry. “Take a closer look,” she challenged. “See anything else?”
Andros reached for a magnifying glass and went over the photo. “There must be something here,” he insisted, “something important enough for the Jerries to shoot down one of our reconnaissance planes.” So far he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps he was looking in the wrong place. Perhaps what was important wasn’t at the palace at all but somewhere else…