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.The officer in charge at theairfield had no idea what to do with unexpected, and unexplained, passengers, and hadpretty much decided to hold them at the base and await orders from above.But then, atZannis's insistence, he'd made a telephone call to Captain Lazareff, which produced apolice car and a driver, who dropped them off at a restaurant in Sofia.There, over plates of lamb and pilaf, accompanied by a bottle of Mastika, Lazareffand Zannis conversed in German, which excluded Byer, who, now back on solid ground,hardly cared.Lazareff inquired politely about the flight, Zannis responded politely that ithad been smooth and easy.Lazareff suggested--still polite, though with a certaintightness at the corners of the mouth--that it would be better if Zannis were to forget he'dseen the plane's cargo."What cargo?""You'll tell your friend there? Whoever he is?""What friend?""Ha-ha-ha!"More Mastika, tasting like anise, and lethal."By the way," Lazareff said, "the situation in Roumania is a little worse than thenewspapers are letting on.We calculate six hundred and eighty thousand troops, maybesixty Wehrmacht divisions, artillery, tanks, all of it.They have to be fed, it isn't cheap, sothey're obviously there for a reason.Probably they're meant to intimidate us or, if itcomes to that, invade.Or maybe they're there to threaten the Serbs, or maybe Greece.Ourresponse, so far, has been to tell Hitler that we're not quite ready to sign his pact.""Not quite ready?""Not quite.We've destroyed the bridges over the Danube.""That would be a message, I'd think.""A tantrum.We've seen the materiel, struts and floats, that can be assembled intopontoon bridges.""I appreciate your telling me," Zannis said."I expect your generals know all about it," Lazareff said."But I think you shouldknow also, Costa, so you can make your own, personal.arrangements.If you see what Imean."From there, they'd moved to lunchtime conversation.And by midafternoon, afterZannis had telephoned Escovil, and with exit visas provided by Lazareff, Zannis andByer were on the train to Salonika.At six-thirty in the evening, Byer was delivered toEscovil at the Pension Bastasini."How did you get here so quickly?" Escovil said,accusation in his voice."It's a long story," Zannis said."For another time.""You didn't travel on the trains," Escovil said.It wasn't a question."You were watching, weren't you.""Of course.So we'll want you to explain.""Later," Zannis said."I'm going to see my family." He was exhausted, at the lastavailable edge of patience.Escovil knew what came next, so left it there and, a brief taxiride later, Melissa came to the door to greet the returning hero.Back at his apartment, the hero was exhausted--threw the mail on the kitchentable, washed his hands, and flopped down on the bed.But then, his mind charged withthe images of the past few days, he realized he was not going to be able to sleep any timesoon, so took off his shoes and socks and covered himself with a blanket.He tried toreturn to Inspector Maigret, waiting on his night table, but memories of the real Parisintruded and the book lay open on his chest while he brooded about them.Uncle Anastaswas a shining example of survival, even prosperity, in an occupied city, but that wasAnastas, who could deal with anything.So could he, come to that, but his family couldn't.According to Lazareff, time was growing short, the Balkans would be overrun, andZannis had to make plans to save his family.Where could they go? How, once he becameinvolved in resistance and likely in hiding, would he support them? The Germans wouldeventually figure out who had shot their SS officer, would they dare to come after him inGreece? Maybe not, but they would be looking for him the day they entered the city.For these problems he had no solutions, so tried Maigret again but couldn'tconcentrate--Madame Cavard was who? Time was running short--so why was he aloneon this bed? What was Demetria doing? In bed herself? In bed with Vasilou? What abastard, the bully he'd heard on the telephone.So, there was also Demetria to save.Whatif he telephoned.?He woke with a start, then turned off the lamp.While he'd slept, Maigret haddisappeared.No, there he was, under the blanket.ESCAPE FROM SALONIKA10 F EBRUARY, 1941.Well before dawn, Costa Zannis woke from a night of bizarre and frighteningdreams.He lay there with his eyes open, supremely grateful that none of it was real andso, fearing that further horrors awaited him if he went back to sleep, forced himself to getout of bed.He washed, dressed for work, let Melissa out the door, and walked down tothe waterfront corniche, to a kafeneion that stayed open all night for the stevedores andsailors of the port [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]