After the first week he had grown tired of waiting at the hotel and the only telephone call he had made to the offices of the exiled government had resulted in a curt explanation that he was to remain where he was and wait. So Andreas had decided to explore the city and the day before he had wandered into the Club de Chasse and approached the bar. He ordered a beer and took a seat close to the small fountain in the courtyard. There was an old copy of The Times and he picked it up to practise reading English. He had not been sitting long when he heard a discreet cough and looked up to see a dapper man in tennis flannels smiling at him.
‘I say, do you mind if I sit here?’
Andreas glanced round at the other empty seats and tables meaningfully. The other man flicked a tendril of brown hair back as he waited for a reply.
‘Of course, please do.’
‘Thank you, old boy. Most kind.’ The man slipped into a chair opposite and Andreas became aware that he was being scrutinised in a generally amiable manner. Still, he did not care for it and looked up from the newspaper with an arched eyebrow.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Your accent is Greek, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you might be the chap I’m looking for. Lieutenant Katarides?’
Andreas nodded. ‘That’s right.’
The man leaned forward and held out his hand to shake. ‘Then I’m terribly glad to make your aquaintance. I’m John Huntley. Johnny to my friends. Look here, do you mind if we talk in Greek? It’s just that there’s rather too many foreign fellows in Cairo these days. Yourself excepted!’ He laughed briefly, then continued in fluent, if not quite mellifluous, Greek. ‘I’m actually the reason you have been asked to come to Cairo.’
Andreas looked at him closely. A more English-looking individual it was hard to conceive. In addition to his attire he had the fair complexion and neatly cut hair so typical of the young officers seen everywhere in the city. There was also the air of earnest enthusiasm that Andreas had noticed in so many of the type. It was hard to decide on his age. The man might have been anything between twenty-five and forty. If it was a masquerade then it was certainly a fine performance. All the same, he decided to exercise caution.
‘I’m not sure I understand you.’
‘Oh, of course. Very sensible of you. Look here, Katarides, I would not dream of putting you on the spot like this, so I’ll give you my card and you can clear things with your chaps in the Greek government in exile. They’ll vouch for me. The reason you’re here is that I have an interesting proposition for you. Something I think you’ll quite like actually. If you decide you are interested then do call on me at the address on the card. Shall we say eleven tomorrow?’ he asked and then shook Andreas’s hand once again and rose to leave without waiting for confirmation. ‘I’ll see you on the morrow then!’
He turned to stroll back across the courtyard. Andreas looked down at the small business card that had been so neatly pressed into his palm. He read the name and the address, then finished his beer and went to find the nearest telephone.
That had been less than a day ago, and now Andreas heard footsteps approaching the anteroom and sat up expectantly as a thin man in glasses and wearing army shirt and shorts appeared from the end of the corridor and nodded a greeting.
‘Colonel Huntley will see you now, sir.’
‘Colonel Huntley?’ This was the first that Andreas had heard of his rank, even after the telephone call to his superior in the optimistically titled Admiralty Office of the government in exile. He had just confirmed that the British had approached the Greek officials to ask if there were any officers who were familiar with the Ionian islands and who could be spared for special duties. In view of the fact that Andreas had been born and raised on Lefkas his name had been put forward.
‘Yes, sir. Please follow me.’
They went down the corridor and passed a few open doors that led into empty offices. Some were sparsely furnished, with paperwork out on the desks, but there was little sign of any other life. They came to a closed door on the side of the building overlooking the Nile and Andreas’s escort stopped and rapped the door frame.
‘Come!’
He twisted the door handle and stood aside to usher Andreas in. It was a large office nearly ten metres long and half as wide, with large windows taking full advantage of the view. The shutters had been swung back and light flooded in, washing the interior in a warm glow. There were three desks, two piled with papers and one bare desk behind which sat the man Andreas had met the day before. He stood up and offered the same smile as he held out his hand.
‘Ah, Lieutenant Katarides, good of you to come,’ he said as if welcoming an unexpected guest. ‘Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee please, sir.’
Huntley looked up towards the man standing outside in the corridor. ‘Watkins, two coffees, if you would be so kind.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly saluted and turned to stride back down the corridor. The Englishman sat down and winced, then opened a drawer and took out a small bottle of tablets and unscrewed the cap before tapping two into a glass of water. At once the tablets fizzed into life and turned the water opaque. Huntley downed it quickly and began speaking in Greek.
‘Perils of spending too much time drinking with the chaps from the brigade. Anyway, I thought we’d have a little chat. Find out a bit about each other before discussing any weightier matters.’
‘I was told that I was being considered for some kind of special duties, sir.’
‘Ah, yes, quite. We’ll come to that in good time. First I need to find out a bit more about what kind of a man you are. I already know a little through official channels.’ He paused and tapped a thin file lying in front of him. It bore the crest of the Royal Hellenic Navy. ‘You have a good record, and your former commanding officer speaks highly of you. I was particularly taken by the account of your rearguard action in the hills above Sivota. Reads like a Boys’ Own adventure novel. Terribly exciting!’
Andreas recalled the fear that had gripped him that day, as well as the loss of his comrades. But there had also been a fleeting moment of euphoria at the height of the action. He regarded the Englishman steadily.
‘I did what was necessary, sir.’
‘No doubt, but you displayed a certain dash, which is the kind of quality I am interested in. Aside from that you are commended for you navigating skills and professionalism. It’s clear that you could go far in the service of your country. But not necessarily just through the navy. There are many ways in which a good man can further the cause against the Hun and his Italian tail-coaters.’
The orderly returned and set the steaming cups down on the desk before leaving and closing the door behind him.
Huntley slid the file to one side and rested his elbows on the table as he stared at Andreas. ‘So much for the official account. Aside from that, I know that you can hold your drink, that you have a decent grasp of English, that you get on well with people and that you can be discreet about your beliefs and the things that you observe. Like that incident at the Kit Cat Club with Brigadier Sims and his lady friend.’
Andreas shifted uncomfortably as he recalled the night he and Paddy had spent at the garish club aboard a boat moored on the Nile. They had stumbled across the senior officer in question loudly fornicating up against a wall. After a brief exchange of pleasantries they had passed on and the noisy liaison had resumed. Paddy had explained that Sims had a senior staff post and that if any word of his loose morals and indiscreet behaviour in a city teeming with enemy agents slipped out then the man’s career was finished. So Andreas had not repeated what he had witnessed. And at once his eyes widened in realisation.
‘You’ve had someone watching me since the moment I reached Cairo . . .’
‘Well, from the moment you checked into The Continental at least.’
‘Lieutenant Leigh Fermor?’
‘That’s right. Only known him briefl
y but Paddy’s a good man. I asked him to take you on and see what kind of a fellow you are. As it happens he also speaks very highly of you, so I wouldn’t feel too chippy about him. Leigh Fermor is a fine judge of character and you wouldn’t be here now if he had not vouched for your qualities.’ Huntley stroked his jaw. ‘I imagine I will be making good use of that young man in due course. But that’s work for another day. You are what interests me right now, Lieutenant Katarides. I know about your father, I’ve even read some of his poems, in Greek. He strikes me as something of a radical, politically speaking. Would you say that’s the case?’
‘My father’s politics are his own affair.’
‘Yes, that’s true to an extent, but one can’t help imbibing a certain view of the world from one’s parents, wouldn’t you agree? Take me, for instance. My father was a soldier before me and my mother is the daughter of an earl. Consequently, conservative ideology flows through my veins, I would die for king and country, in that order, and if a socialist turned up on my doorstep I’d set the dogs on him. Now you, on the other hand, are the son of a radical. Worse than that, a poet. Don’t get me wrong, I love good poetry, I just question the romantic ideals of those who would rather take up a pen than a sword. Nothing quite as romantic as fighting for a good cause, I’d say. What?’ He laughed and then, when Andreas did not join in, his expression became serious.
‘So tell me, young Katarides, are you a republican, like your father?’
‘I believe that monarchy has become an anachronism, yes.’
‘And are you a socialist?’
‘I believe in the rights of the people. But I have never considered myself to be a socialist. The only cause on my mind is the need to fight to free my homeland from the oppression it is suffering under the Nazis. I have heard rumours that thousands of Greeks have died of hunger over the winter because the fascists have stolen all our food for their soldiers.’
‘They are not rumours, I’m afraid, but fact. And the deaths have not been in the thousands, but the hundreds of thousands as far as we can make out. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.’
Andreas felt a cold sense of despair weigh down his heart. ‘So many?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I must do something. Anything to strike at those murderers.’
‘Of course you must. The question is, what is the most use you can be to your people and the wider cause? That is where I come in. Or, to be more accurate, the organisation I represent. I don’t suppose you have heard of Force 133?’
Andreas shook his head.
‘Good. That’s as it should be. We don’t like others to be aware of our people, let alone advertise the existence of the organisation. First I have a question for you. Do you have any moral qualms about committing murder?’
Andreas could not help looking surprised at the question and puffed his cheeks before he responded. ‘That depends on who I am required to murder.’
‘But in principle you would do it if the reason was right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. It may come to committing murder and I do like to forewarn those upon whose shoulders such an onerous duty might be placed. Now we’ve established that, let me tell you a little more. Force 133 is the cover name for our office here in Cairo. We are part of something called the Special Operations Executive. All very hush-hush, but the gist of it is that we have been tasked with placing highly motivated men into enemy occupied territory to harass the other side as effectively as we can. The more troops we tie down, the less we have to face on the battlefield, the more likely it is that we bring forward our victory over the enemy. Do you see? Jolly good.’
‘And where do I come into this, sir?’
‘Since we’re getting on so famously, please call me Johnny. All right?’ Huntley took a cautious sip from his cup and made an appreciative noise. ‘Ah, Watkins makes a fine cup of coffee . . . Now, to cases. We recently landed a small team on your home island. An officer and a radioman to be precise. Together with some weapons and kit for the andartes. However, the officer was injured during a disagreement with one of the local kapetans and had to be evacuated. We would like to send in a replacement and who could be better than a Greek officer? Better still, an officer who knows the ground and the people. If you accept then your job will be to coordinate the resistance and take the war to the Italian garrison. I want you to make them feel like they are living under the shadow of a knife. Every time they leave their barracks they will fear that every street corner, every rock, every tree on the island is concealing a member of the resistance lining them up for a shot. Inevitably they will call in more men, better men, in order to take you on. I’ll warn you now, Andreas, when that happens the conflict is going to get very dangerous and bloody indeed and there’s every chance that you will be killed, or captured, tortured and then shot.’ He leaned back in his chair and regarded the young Greek shrewdly. ‘It is normal to give a chap a chance to think it over, but that’s not how we operate in SOE. We need our people to be decisive. So, I’ll require your answer now. Are you prepared to be trained by us and infiltrated on to Lefkas to fight the enemy? Yes or no?’
Thoughts tumbled through Andreas’s head as he hurriedly considered the offer. Here was the chance to escape the tedium of Alexandria, to fight the enemy, to avenge the suffering they had visited on his country and his people. And also a chance to go home. To see Eleni once again. To protect her.
‘Yes.’
Huntley grinned. ‘That’s what I knew you’d say. Welcome to the Special Operations Executive. We’ll start your training as soon as we can. You’ll be returning to Lefkas as soon as you are ready.’
Huntley stood up and stuck out his hand again. Andreas smiled as they shook on it. ‘What now?’
‘You go back to your hotel. Paddy’s arranged to take you out to celebrate. The real work begins tomorrow. Good luck and God go with you, Andreas Katarides.’
Chapter Nineteen
Near Haifa, Palestine
‘Narkover’, as the special school was known by its staff and students, was referred to in official documents as ‘Establishment ME102’. In keeping with the secret nature of what went on there, the nomenclature was meaningless, functioning only to hide its true purpose. The school was in a large white building set in sprawling grounds on the slopes of Mount Carmel. Barbed wire had been set up along the boundary wall to deter the curious or malicious and two military policemen manned the barrier at the main gate. They checked the papers of those who came and went but had no more idea about what went on within ME102 than anyone else who lived nearby. Occasionally the sound of gunfire or the loud thud of an explosion disturbed the peace but since it was wartime such noises were to be expected and so the inmates of the Special Operations Executive’s school for saboteurs provoked little more than passing curiosity from those beyond the walls.
Colonel Huntley had been true to his word and Andreas was plucked from his hotel in Cairo and flown to Palestine to begin his training two days after he had accepted the offer to join the organisation. He was assured that his absence would be squared with the Greek government in exile and his personal effects would eventually be forwarded from his quarters in Alexandria.
On arrival Andreas found the school appeared more like a hotel than a military base. The rooms were clean and comfortable, there was a well-stocked bar and the mess was staffed by good cooks with ready access to the best ingredients that could be obtained. Unusually, there was no distinction between officers and other ranks, or indeed civilians, and all ate at the same tables and drank together without deference to rank. Besides the British contingent there were others from France, Italy, Yugoslavia and Greece, the last group being second in size to the British. Andreas felt some comfort at training alongside fellow countrymen but the instruction was nearly always in English and he often had to translate for some of the others with a less ready grasp of the alien tongue.
At the same time, the British trainees were keen to perfect their Greek in
order to attempt to pass as natives when they were eventually deployed to Crete, the other islands and the mainland. Their chief difficulty was that someone in the hierarchy of the SOE had decided that knowledge of ancient Greek would serve as excellent preparation for learning the modern language. Andreas found himself wincing at the consequences and wondered what his countrymen would make of these finely educated Englishmen descending upon them and attempting to converse with Homeric idioms and rhythm.
The comfortable surroundings of Narkover belied the hard work that was demanded of the students. They were woken before dawn to stumble into the pallid light to do an hour’s fitness training before breakfast. After that the learning began. Every possibly relevant skill was taught by experts in their fields. On the first day Andreas and the other new recruits were taken to the courtyard to begin basic weapons training. One corner of the courtyard had been covered with rush mats and a powerfully built man with a finely trimmed moustache was waiting for his class. He stood erect as he twirled a double-edged dagger and regarded his trainees with a practised eye.
‘Come on, you lazy lot! Them as is keen gets fell in previous! Move yourselves!’
The class hurried over and formed up around the mats. When the last was ready, the instructor drew a breath and began, loudly.
‘Welcome, gentlemen. I ’ave the honour of introducing you to the art of killing quietly with a blade.’
He flipped the knife in his hand and offered the blade to the nearest recruit, a shepherd from Crete, who took the weapon and examined it curiously as the instructor continued addressing them.
‘It is a skill that is often overlooked in this day and age, sadly. However, for the type of fighting the SOE has in mind, it is a fundamental requirement. You will most likely ’ave occasion to dispose of a troublesome sentry in the course of your trade. Some of you, especially the young gentlemen who ’ave joined us from posh schools, like young Master Moss there, may find the idea of cutting a man’s throat distasteful. I tell you now, you ’ad better get used to the nasty little gurgle and splutter of surprise that cannot find its way out of a cut throat. It’s a messy business, but this is war, not sport, and the object of the school is to teach you the necessary lethal and efficient methods required to carry out your job. Do you all understand?’
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