The Angry Hills (21 page)

“Vassili?” her half-frightened voice called.

“Here—by the window.”

A bluish light filtered over the room. Her shadow preceded her toward him. She stood over the bed and their hands touched.

He watched as she raised her arms and whisked off her dress, and his breath deepened unevenly as she stood silent and naked before him.

She bent over him and her hands touched his body softly and her lips brushed his. He reached up and drew her down and he felt the wonder of her body against his. They united, gently, quietly...

He studied her body as she rolled against him with a sleepy, contented sigh. He reached up and turned off the light over the bed and they lay in each other’s arms and looked out at the city.

“I’ll come back for you some day,” he said.

She shook her head slowly. “I love you, Vassili. Let us be grateful for these few hours and not think of something a century from now.”

“It’s so fantastic that this should happen.”

“It is not fantastic. I think I loved you the moment I saw you in the cottage in Kaloghriani. I did not think I was capable of feeling this way again about anyone.”

“That’s funny,” he said. “I guess we’re two of a kind.”

Lisa left his side abruptly and sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him. “A British submarine is coming for you tomorrow night.”

Deathly silence.

The first traces of a new day showed on the hills of Athens. He took her arm and drew her down beside him. “Don’t get dressed yet.”

“All right, darling.”

“I wish I were very eloquent and could tell you...”

“Shhh—shhh... You are like a little boy when you try to speak....”

They sat in front of the garret window having dinner at daybreak. Steaks and wine. Mike loaded his pipe with the last pinch of tobacco he had.

“You know, Vassili, the Germans could soften up the rear ends of their cows a bit.”

“No excuses because you’re a bad cook.”

A feathery cloud formed outside their window and the hills faded from sight.

“This is a good day for...” but Mike cut it short.

“A good day for what, dear?”

“Nothing.”

He was about to say, “A good day for writing.” Somehow he could always write better when the weather was nasty. Just a writer’s quirk, he thought.

She cleared the dishes and they lingered over cups of ersatz coffee. He gazed at the softness which was revealed through her unbuttoned dress front.

He was blind with love for her. Lisa was an enchanted dream and he had wandered into her enchantment.

“Lisa, tell me about yourself....”

“It is not very pleasant....”

“Please...”

All her sadness seemed to return. She looked away from him and through the misted window and her mind drifted into a haunted past....

It had been a good life. Her mother, an Englishwoman of great beauty. Her father, a gentle little man who owned a small prosperous factory. Lisa and her sister had finished their studies at the university and, encouraged by her father’s love of music, she had studied piano at the conservatories in Rome and Paris. Her sister had become a doctor of literature.

A close family... A concert career coming... Just about all the fulfillment one could ask of life. Then, a foolish, heady, whirlwind romance with an ambitious young engineer which ended in marriage. Lisa learned the extent of his ambition after the German occupation. He absconded with the family money, the factory and her two sons.

Her mother, fortunately, did not live to see this happen. Lisa had not believed her gentle father to be a man of great courage, but he showed it at his death in Averof Prison.

“And your sister?”

“She lives with a German officer.”

There was more to Lisa’s story, Mike felt, but he asked no more.

She buttoned her dress and put on her trench coat and beret in front of a small stained mirror.

“There are many arrangements to be made. I will return as early as possible.”

She stopped at the door and turned to him.

“I suppose it was foolish of us to have fallen in love.”

Mike paced the room like a crazy man. It would take all the courage he had to leave her now. He was obsessed with love for her.

Maybe the Underground would let her leave Greece....

Maybe he’d turn the Stergiou list over to them and stay on....

Maybe he’d escape to the hills with her and hide out....

The day became a hell of confusion. How far would he go to keep her?

The wall of doubt closed in tighter.

If only he could accept their few hours of happiness in the same way she had accepted them.

The only thing that was real to Mike was the heartless ticking of the clock and the thought that it would all be over soon.

He knew he would have to pay for this love somehow. He became calm. There was no other way. Somehow, he would find the courage to leave her.

Lisa’s face was pale and filled with worry. “Something has gone wrong, Vassili. The submarine will not be here.”

They clung to each other.

“Dear God! What are we going to do?” she cried.

Lisa pressed herself against Mike. He was exhausted but sleepless. He was dangerously close to the breaking point. Her continued presence sapped the will from him. He drew the blanket over them and turned to look out of the rain-spattered window.

He knew now what he would have to do. Another day—two—three of lingering farewells—impossible... He would keep his appointment with Julius Chesney tomorrow.

Thursday.

Mike had hoped Lisa would be gone. It would have been easier.

The clock read ten past eleven.

He put on his jacket and tucked the pistol into his belt.

“What are you doing, Vassili?”

“I’m going out.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Mike walked toward the door. She blocked his passage.

“Vassili! What is the matter with you?”

“I said I’m going out.”

“Are you insane? The Gestapo will have you within an hour.”

“I can’t take it any more, Lisa...”

“Darling,” she cried, “our people are working day and night! Another few days...”

“Can’t you see what’s happened? Do you want me to disgrace myself? Do you want me to crawl?”

She fell against him. Her fingers worked nervously, grasping and releasing his arms. “It is my fault for wanting you. I’ll go away, if that’s what you want.”

“It will be just as bad that way.”

He whirled her around and bolted through the door.

“Vassili!”

He stopped for an instant at the front door and looked up.

She stood at the top of the circular stairs, her fingers tearing frantically at her clothes. “Vassili! No! No!”

He closed the door behind him.

THIRTEEN

C
ONCORD SQUARE.

Mike stood across the street from the Piccadilly Café. There seemed little activity about. He wondered if he was making a mistake. But it seemed that Lisa was making him do foolish things. He hedged and began to turn back.

“Ah, Jay Linden, right on time. I see you got rid of your two traveling companions.”

Mike wheeled around and looked into the mastiff face of Julius Chesney. A second man, apparently a seaman, stood alongside him.

“Well, let us not stand here on the sidewalk, dear fellow. I believe a noonday nip is in order,” Chesney wheezed. “Come along. I didn’t bring the German army with me. My friend here is Antonis, the captain of the
Arkadia.
”

The three entered the café and found an isolated booth. They ordered
krasi.
Mike studied Antonis, who seemed oblivious as he puffed away on his pipe.

Chesney, talking in whispers, told Mike the
Arkadia
was a small, trim and fast motorboat that carried a crew of three. The ship’s papers would read: Crete, but actual destination would be Cairo. Antonis, Mike was assured, knew the route well, having made two other trips with British escapees. Mike’s sponsor, the man who was going to pay for his passage, was due to join them shortly.

“When do we sail?” Mike asked.

“As soon as we get another escapee to man the boat.”

“Since I saw you last I raised some money. If Antonis and I can handle the boat between us, I’ll buy the passage.”

The leathery old sailor nodded. He reckoned he and Mike could handle the ship.

“Four million drachmas,” Chesney shot out quickly.

“Aren’t you stretching it?”

“You are the one who seems eager to leave.”

“I’ll give you three million if we sail tonight.” Chesney scratched his jowls. “Let me see your money.”

Mike placed his bundle of cash on the table. For the first time, Julius Chesney showed emotion. His fat jowls quivered. His fleshy hand darted over the table. Mike grabbed his wrist.

“You take half now—half when we get underway.” Chesney looked at the money, sighed and withdrew his hand and watched Mike carefully as he counted off a million and a half drachmas. Chesney re-counted the money, his eyes watering.

A small, gray-haired man entered the café and looked around.

“Ah, here comes another three million drachmas,” Chesney said. “Over here, Mr. Cholevas!” he called.

The well-dressed elderly gentleman slipped quietly into the booth and nodded to everyone.

“Jay, meet your sponsor. The benevolent friend of the British, Mr. Apostolos Cholevas.” Cholevas nodded quietly.

Mike was curious about the man. He wondered why he was doing this.

“What good is my money if the Germans take over my country?” Mr. Cholevas stayed long enough to have a half glass of wine and to give the money to Chesney. He wished Mike a good trip and asked if perhaps he’d write after the war. The old gentleman departed with a last request—to be sure to let the British know what was happening in Greece.

Julius Chesney cracked his knuckles, chewed a biscuit and then drew a sheaf of papers from his crumpled suit. He spread them out on the table.
Arkadia:
Destination: Crete. “Do you have identification papers, Linden?”

Mike produced the card and papers that bore the name, Vassili Papadopoulos. “Good—good—this saves me an expense.” Chesney wrote the name on the ship’s papers.

“Now, I believe everything is in order. The gas will be aboard before dark, gentlemen. Antonis, meet me later and I’ll have the clearance papers and the patrol schedules.”

“What about inspection of the boat?” Mike asked.

“My
dear
fellow. Do you cast aspersions on my ability? Ah me, by the time I finish oiling everyone’s palm there is so little left. So many fingers in the pot, and prices are just outrageous these days. Well, Linden, do have a pleasant journey and do read my column when you get to London.”

Chesney shoved his way out of the booth and patted the pocket filled with drachmas affectionately. He extended his hand.

“Do be careful, Michael Morrison,” Chesney said. “It would be extremely regrettable if the Stergiou list were to fall into German hands.”

Mike stood there, dumbstruck, as Julius Chesney waddled from the café.

Part 4

ONE

L
ISA SAT AT THE
far end of the table and looked over at the four pairs of grim eyes fixed on her. The candle on the center of the table cast a dancing shadow on the bare walls of the room.

Three of the men she had known since childhood. Only the strange, stony Dr. Harry Thackery was new to her.

“It was impossible to stop him,” she cried.

Papa-Panos, the priest, his beard now gray... Huge, moon-faced Michalis, the union organizer, who always wore the scowl of an angry lion... Gentle, scholarly Thanassis, the professor at the university...

There was silence as Lisa shook her head and gripped the edge of the table.

Michalis’ hamlike fist pounded on the table and the candle bounced. “Why didn’t you follow him?” he roared.

Lisa did not answer.

“Lisa,” Dr. Thackery said, “you were under orders to kill him in the event something like this happened.

“Do you realize the consequences if he falls into German hands?”

Her mouth was dry. She closed her eyes and licked her parched lips. “I did not know who he was,” she whispered.

“I ask you again, Lisa, why didn’t you follow him?” Michalis repeated.

“Well, Lisa?” Dr. Thackery added.

She sighed and lowered her head. “I was not dressed.”

“Undressed!”

“For goodness’ sake, Michalis, quiet down,” the soft-spoken Thanassis said. “As usual, your voice can be heard in Salonika.”

“I do not hide that I love him!” Lisa cried.

Papa-Panos, the priest, had sat listening quietly. He stroked the end of his beard. At last he spoke in his high-pitched voice that never failed to carry authority. “Thanassis—Michalis—Dr. Thackery—I seriously wonder if all of us are not wrong about this Morrison. Would it not be wise that we all just forget about him?”

“Are you insane, Father?”

“Do not raise your voice to me, Michalis. You are not speaking in a union hall. Suppose Morrison does escape... Suppose he does turn the names over to the British... Have any of you thought what would happen then? It means we will be compelled to act on their information. And, gentlemen, we cannot expect the Germans to sit by idly. They will retaliate in triple measure—of that you can be certain. We can look forward to the slaughter of hundreds of innocents.”

“Bah,” Michalis grumbled. He leaned over the table and pointed his finger almost into Papa-Panos’ beard. “Are we receiving milk and honey from the Germans now? Only yesterday the Nazi butchers massacred a hundred civilians in Crete. If our people do not have guns they will fight back with rocks and sticks. Is it better to die with a gun in your hand or a pitchfork?”

“It is one thing to aid British escapees or to seek food. It is another to signal a mass uprising,” Papa-Panos said. “When the British begin smuggling in arms, they will be used—and who here thinks we can defeat the German army?”

Thanassis interrupted. “As much as I love and respect you, Father, I must agree with Michalis. Passive resistance has proved fruitless. The cities and the hills are angry and our people will fight.”