The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [73]
Fool—fool—fool—fool! Madness to do business with Julius Chesney! Madness to fall in love!
Elpis sobbed in the arms of her sallow-faced Palestinian, Yichiel. But Antonis showed no anxiety. He puffed his pipe complacently and stared through the barred door at the rear of the truck.
Ben started to mumble to himself. “I got myself drunk last night.... I must have shot off my mouth....”
The convoy arrived at the outskirts of Athens.
“Where will they take us?” Mike whispered hoarsely.
“Averof Prison,” Ben said. “Get a hold on yourself, matey, they’re all bluff....”
The five captives were taken to a room with walls and floors of stone. Arrayed about them were two dozen brown-shirted Nazis armed with pistols and clubs.
Behind a desk sat Colonel Oberg, the Commandant of Averof Prison. He had a classic Prussian face, complete with monocle. Oberg was annoyed that the Arkadia gang had been hauled in at such an ungodly hour. It had interrupted the orgy with the yawning mistress who sat on the edge of his desk.
His cold eyes took them in one by one. He stopped at Ben Masterton. “You again, Masterton?”
“Just can’t stay away from home, Colonel.”
“Quiet! No buffoonery,” Oberg snapped. He turned to the clerk at the small desk near his own. “Charge Masterton with espionage and sabotage.”
“’ere we go again...”
“Lock him up.”
Four massive Nazis surrounded Masterton and marched him off. “See you later, matey,” he called. “Remember, they’re all bluff....”
The heavy door banged shut after Ben.
The room became quiet.
Oberg slapped his riding crop into an open palm and rocked back and forth in his swivel chair. “I hear we have a Jew here. Step forward, Jew.”
No movement from the four.
“Step forward, Jew, I say!”
Yichiel released Elpis and moved to the desk. Oberg continued rocking in his chair.
“What is your name, Jew?”
“I am a British soldier.”
The rocking stopped. Oberg arose slowly and walked around the desk. He faced Yichiel. The Palestinian returned his cold Prussian stare. He lifted the riding crop under the boy’s nose.
“Your name, Jew?”
“I am a British soldier!”
Oberg raised his arm and slashed the riding crop across Yichiel’s cheek. A streak of blood spurted down his face.
He spit in Oberg’s face.
In an instant a half dozen brownshirts engulfed him under flailing clubs. They smashed him to the stone floor. He rolled over and held his arms over his face as they kicked.
Elpis’ screams tore through him. She knelt beside him and held his head.
“Take him away,” Oberg commanded.
The brownshirts dragged a screaming, kicking, clawing Elpis from her husband. Yichiel crawled to his feet and staggered for the door.
“My, my, aren’t you the little animal,” the Colonel said to Elpis. “Take her to my quarters. Let us see if you make love with such wonderful violence.”
Yichiel rushed across the room. A club cracked on his skull. He slumped unconscious to the floor.
Both of them were removed—Elpis still clawing and fighting her three guards.
“She should be delightful—delightful.”
His mistress looked bored.
The Prussian returned to his chair and resumed his rocking. He pointed the riding crop at Antonis. “Now don’t tell me you are a British soldier, too?”
Antonis stepped forward and answered that he was Antonis, captain of the Arkadia.
“Book him, espionage and sabotage.”
Mike now stood alone in the center of the room.
The Colonel leaned over to the clerk. “What do we have on this fellow?”
“False travel card, pistol, a million drachmas—no previous record here.”
“Your name?”
“Jay Linden.”
“We would like to know more about you, Mr. Linden.”
“Jay Linden, Lance Corporal, number 359195, New Zealand.”
“Go on.”
“As a prisoner of war, that is