The Angry Hills (8 page)

Mike arose and preceded Mosley into the woods until they were isolated from the beach. Mosley produced a pistol and leveled it on Mike as he leaned against a tree. His haggard face cracked into a smile.

“Touché,”
Mosley said with a mock salute of his pistol. “Your little drunk act was quite convincing, I must say. Threw us all off for a while.” Mosley lit a cigarette.
“Touché
again on the merry chase.”

Mike was silent. His eyes narrowed in hatred. He waited for Mosley to relax for only a second.

“You’ll be interested to know that I got through the lines last night after the surrender. I had a phone chat with our mutual friend, Konrad Heilser, in Athens. He was quite overwhelmed with joy that you hadn’t departed from this pleasant little country.”

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” Mike said quietly.

“Kill you? Oh, dear, no. Herr Heilser has such a lovely reception planned for you in Athens. I believe you have a bit of information he’d like. I do hope our car for Athens won’t be late...” Mosley sighed. “Soon as the business of hauling your friends off to a prison camp is cleared we’ll be underway.”

“What are they going to do with me?”

“Do? Depends on you, old boy. You know, I have disagreed with Konrad about his messy methods of extracting information, but I will say this for him—he does get excellent results. By the bye, Morrison, would you give me the name of that splendid tobacco I smoked with you? I must send to America for some....”

“You Nazi son of a bitch,” Mike said.

“I say, you are a bad loser, Morrison,” Mosley shrugged. “You know how it is in this business.”

“You Nazi son of a bitch.”

“Better save the endearments for Herr Heilser, Mosley said, smiling.

A sharp crack of a pistol report sounded.

An odd expression came over Mosley’s face. His pistol spun around on his finger. His hand opened and the pistol dropped to the ground. Mosley wavered. He took a step toward Mike—another... His knees buckled and he fell to the ground and rolled over at Mike’s feet. Mosley kicked and twitched. Then he lay still. His mouth fell open, the expression of amazement still in his dead eyes.

TWELVE

E
VERY MUSCLE IN
M
ORRISON’S
body tightened.

He stood over the prostrate body of Jack Mosley and stared down on it, wild-eyed.

A man stepped from behind a tree a few feet away. He was a little man, only five feet tall and he wore horn-rimmed glasses and there was a smoking pistol in his hand.

The little man stooped quickly and went through Mosley’s pockets. Then he rolled the body over to a small clump of underbrush. He picked up Mosley’s pistol and shoved it into Mike’s hand.

“Hide this under your belt,” he said.

Mike continued to stare at the body.

The little man shook Mike, then took him by the arm. “Come on, man,” he said, “we’ve got to get out of here.” Mike, still dazed, was half-dragged through the woods. They circled about and approached the troops on the beach. The men were stacking their rifles for confiscation.

Mike slumped down on the sand and shook his head.

“We are in luck,” the little man said. “No one heard the shot.”

Mike looked up to the little man standing over him. At this point he wouldn’t have trusted his own mother. The little man slipped down beside him and talked in half-whispers. Mike clamped his mouth shut.

“My name is Soutar. Major Howe-Wilken, may his soul rest in peace, was my partner.”

Mike tried to comprehend what Soutar was saying, but one strange thought kept running through his mind. He had been running away from this man, positive he was working with Jack Mosley. Perhaps he and Mosley had staged a fake death scene in the woods to deceive Mike. No, it couldn’t be. Mike saw the blood gush from Mosley’s mouth.

“Morrison, this is no time to play coy. We’ve got high plannin’ to do.”

Mike kept his silence.

“See that road there. In a few minutes German troops will be comin’ down it. They have a prison camp already staked out at Corinth.”

“All right, be quiet then. Hold your tongue. Konrad Heilser will find you in two days. See if you can stay quiet with him. Look, Morrison, the Germans have burned down over a hundred villages. They’ve been killin’ off civilians like flies. It’s going to be brutal when they find they’ve bagged a brigade of Palestine Jews.”

The man who called himself Soutar lit a cigarette. “Don’t be a fool. I’d’ve killed you along with Jack Mosley if I thought for a moment you weren’t the right sort. I heard what you said to Mosley.”

Maybe the pistol is full of blanks, Mike thought. It seemed futile to resist him. He knew his name, who he was. Anyhow, he was certainly done for one way or another if this Soutar was a German agent.

His heart pounded. He opened his lips, still uncertain. “All right,” Mike said. “I’m Morrison and I’m an American citizen. I’ve had it—I want out of this mess. I was sucked into it and I want out.”

“That,” Soutar said with an impish smile, “poses a bit of a problem. You may as well face up—you’re in this up to your neck.”

“Why?” Mike demanded. “Why?”

“Like it or not. You know, Morrison, sometimes we have little to say with the turns of our lives.”

Mike pawed at the sand, feeling more confidence in Soutar now. The little man was right—Mike knew it. There comes a time when a man is forced to say to himself, “This is the way things are—try to make the best of it.” He had to accept the fact once that Ellie was dead—that he’d never see her again. There are certain things that can’t be fought with mere will power.

“All right,” Mike whispered, “I’m in.”

As they sat and waited for the German round-up, little Soutar related his story in his thick Scottish burr.

When the German army invaded Greece and Yugoslavia, he and Major Howe-Wilken were sent to Athens to get the Stergiou list. From the moment they landed they knew that the enemy had got wind of their plans. This was later confirmed when Soutar discovered that Zervos, a government clerk, had suspected and sold the information to the Germans.

Soutar and Howe-Wilken avoided making contact with Stergiou. They arranged, instead, to have the list passed to Morrison. Then they made their move as a cover to exclude Morrison from any suspicion.

Howe-Wilken went to Stergiou’s home and Soutar set out to find a plane from Athens. Soutar, knowing he was being followed, spent most of the day leading his shadows up and down Athens and finally shook them to make his rendezvous with Howe-Wilken. When Howe-Wilken did not show up Soutar went to Stergiou’s home. It was too late to get a military escort as the British were already withdrawing.

Soutar arrived at Petraki, 17, only a few minutes after Mike had run out in a drunken stupor. Howe-Wilken lived long enough to relay the fact that Morrison still had the list and hoped he would go to the Tatoi airdome.

The rest was known to Mike. Soutar lost contact at the airdrome during the raid—traced Mike to the train—lost him and continued his search in the retreating B.E.F.

“Of course I was at disadvantage,” Soutar said, “never having seen you or knowing exactly what you looked like. But then your good friend Mosley solved the problem for me.”

“Exactly who is Mosley?”

“Well, he had a half dozen aliases. Actually, he was an Oxford-trained German agent. He worked hand in glove with Heilser.”

“This Heilser—I take it he is top dog...”

“Ah, Konrad. I’ve met him twice before. Norway first—then France. Crack man. Brutal—persistent. He’ll hunt us down if he has to look behind every tree and rock in Greece. It’s going to be no picnic, Morrison.”

“Go on...”

“Not much more to it,” Soutar said. “When I saw Mosley on the train I knew he was searchin’ you out. Instead of lookin’ for you I watched Mosley in hopes he’d lead me to you. He did.”

Mike grinned. “Can’t help but laugh a little at the way I’ve been trying to get away from you....”

“Very good for a newcomer, Morrison, very good. But you’ve got a lot of learnin’ to do. The list—you have it...?”

“I learn fast. I memorized it and tore it up.” Mike paused. “The Stergiou list—what does it mean?”

“Well, you might as well know. Fotis Stergiou, may God rest his soul, was one of the best-known barristers in Greece. When the Italians invaded Greece last winter, Stergiou contacted many officials in the Greek Government and posed a proposition to them. They were to turn collaborators if occupation became imminent. Seventeen men agreed to this. They are now working for the Germans as far as the world at large is concerned. All of them are in important positions—there are two or three cabinet ministers among them. Actually, of course, they are working for us. Waiting for us to contact them.”

Soutar ground out his cigarette and looked off to the horizon.

“No man on the Stergiou list knows who the next one is. Each man works separately.”

“Why?”

“In case the Germans find one out, they won’t be able to bag the entire lot. We will still have the rest of them working.”

“And you say the Germans got wind through a Greek traitor?”

“Yes—Zervos is his name. And from what I understand, he’s as slimy as Heilser.”

Mike remained quiet for several moments. He had seen the onslaught—the power of German arms. It seemed such a futile gesture. “These men—these seventeen men—what can they hope to do against what we have just seen?”

“Do?” Soutar said. “You are naïve, Morrison. Many a war has been won or lost in our business. Among them, they’ll have access to secret documents—they’ll know every move the Germans plan in this theatre—they’ll know every submarine operating from a Greek port—they’ll know every troop and gun they have. Do? I’ll tell you what they’ll do. This war will take a turn, one day—mark my words. And when it does the Undergrounds in Greece and the occupied countries will handcuff twenty-five German divisions and keep them from fighting at the fronts.”

Mike whistled. “I guess it is more important than a secret formula.”

“What?”

“Nothing—just thinking out loud.”

“When the day of reckoning comes these seventeen men must be vindicated. They must not die as traitors. You are the only living soul who knows who they are.”

Then Soutar grabbed Mike’s hand. “Quiet,” he ordered.

A lone German soldier edged cautiously down the road onto the beach and stood before thousands of his enemy. The British stared curiously at the foe they saw face to face for the first time.

“The names,” Soutar whispered, “tell them to me.”

Mike smiled. “Not on your sweet life.”

“No time for that, dammit,” Soutar said.

“I just figure you’ll work a little harder at keeping me alive and getting out of Greece, Mr. Soutar.”

“You do learn fast,” Soutar sighed. “We’ll argue about it later.”

The German soldier barked an order in a half-frightened tone. The humiliated, embittered men of the late British Expeditionary Force fell into formations, grumbling.

Soutar’s all-knowing attitude did much to calm Mike. The two, the tall husky American and the little Scotsman moved into one of the lines.

“What do we do?” Mike asked.

“With any luck at all we won’t be shaken down again till we reach Corinth. Drop your passport and any identification first chance you get.”

“What happens after we get to Corinth?”

“We’re not going to Corinth, mon. We’re going to jump the prison train.”

Mike remembered the ground whistling by him on another recent train ride. He didn’t like the idea.

The line began to move out toward Kalámai. German troops appeared, bayonets fixed, and fell in on both sides of the British.

“Stay close to me,” Soutar whispered. “If we get separated you are to contact Dr. Harry Thackery at the American Archaeology Society in Athens.”

“Dr. Thackery—American Archaeology Society,” Mike repeated.

Soutar shoved a hefty roll of drachmas into Mike’s pocket.

The line reached the outskirts of Kalámai. The living dead of Kalámai stood in the streets and wept as the living dead of the B.E.F. marched sullenly through. The dead horse still lay in the square.

A halt was called at the half-wrecked train depot. German officers took over counting off the British in groups of eighty. The efficient enemy had already repaired the rail lines and a long line of cattle cars waited.

Soutar felt Mike’s tenseness. He spoke to him softly and punched him in the ribs lightly and winked through his horn-rimmed glasses.

Crowds of Greeks gathered around the depot and wailed. The guards stretched out in an angry line to keep them separated from the prisoners.

A little girl pushed past the guards and walked toward Mike and Soutar’s group. She held a loaf of bread in her hands. A guard curtly ordered her to stop. The British yelled for the child to go back. She kept coming—the bread outstretched for the hungry soldiers. Another order to halt... She moved on. The guard lowered his rifle...

Soutar grabbed Mike’s arm to control him. “Turn your head—don’t look.”

Mike flinched as the shot echoed through the depot. British soldiers in screaming anger broke for the guard. Bayonets and clubs smashed them back into line. The loaf of bread rolled to a stop at Mike’s feet. Soutar picked it up. “The least we can do—is eat it,” he said.

The door to a cattle car was flung open.

“Quickly,” Soutar whispered, “jump in the car first. Get up to the left front side. There’s a small opening near the top.” He nearly threw Mike into the car and scrambled in on his heels. In a second a flood of men poured in after them.

The door banged shut and they found themselves in semidarkness. They heard the ponderous bolt lock them in. They heard the guards climb to the top of the car to mount sentry posts.

Mike and Soutar were pinned in the corner by the crush of men around them. “Hold this position at all costs,” Soutar whispered. The train jerked into motion, flinging them into a tangle of arms and legs.

Southern Greece is hot. Especially so from the inside of a cattle car. There was a stink of cattle, soon combined with a stink of sweat. An outbreak of vomiting started. It was impossible to move more than a hand or a foot. They were packed tight.... Everyone stood—to sit meant to be crushed to death. Sweat poured from them and they became parched from thirst and their bellies rumbled with hunger.