The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [69]
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
LISA 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