Sons of Thunder (36 page)

Sofia shook her head, but Markos didn’t seem to care about her rejection. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, eased her close. His breath fell against her lips.

“Let me kiss you. Please let me kiss you.”

She’d lost her mind, probably back there in Gestapo headquarters, or maybe she’d never had it with Markos. Maybe just being with him made her stop thinking and just feel because, yes, she nodded.

And then he kissed her.

She thought she’d remember his touch, but this Markos tasted different—the desperation absent. Instead, he touched her with a sweetness that could make her weep, a gentleness that moved her into his arms, made her wrap hers around his shoulders, lean into him, and forget.

She was again seventeen, tasting her future on the lips of the man she loved.

She ran her fingertips into the stubble on his cheek even as he deepened his kiss. His hand moved down to her jaw, and finally he made the softest of noises, as if something had broken loose inside him—almost a whimper—“Sofia.”

He backed away from her, a look so fragile on his face that she didn’t even have to see the glisten of his eyes to know he was crying. Then his breath caught—a harsh tumble of emotions from his chest—
and he pulled her to him, burying his face in her shoulder. “Oh, Sofia—I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”

She let herself sink onto his lap, let him wrap his arms around her waist, and held him.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who’d spent the last fifteen years lost.

“Wake up, Sofia.”

She knew the voice, but to find it just above a whisper, in her ear—she lifted her head and it took a moment….

Rose-gold brushed the mandarin roofs of the city, and higher up the mountainside the green spears of cyprus trees poked through the gauze of the early morning. A cool breeze shivered the cedars, shook the olive grove awake.

“Wake up.”

She turned, rooted for a moment by Markos’s stricken look.

“What?”

“I fell asleep—
we
—fell asleep.” His appearance matched the emotion inside her—his hair sweetly tousled, a dark etch of doom to his mouth, eyes that drank her in. Oh, please, she just wanted to lay her head back onto his chest, to sink back into the warm cradle of his embrace.

He pulled her to her feet. “I should go with you—what if—”

“It will be okay.” She pushed on his chest, swayed, and he caught her arm. She let him pull her to himself. Kiss the top of her head.

“Come with me, Sofia. Please.” He held her away from him and put everything he had, it seemed, into his eyes. “I’ll wait for you. Go get your son, your things. We can leave right now. I’ll call for an evac—”

“No!” She cut her tone to a whisper. “No. We can’t—I can’t leave Zoë—and your mother. Your
mother
, Markos.”

He closed his mouth, his eyes darting to the house. Nodded. “Her too. Get her and we’ll leave—”

“Stop, Markos. Stop thinking with your heart and use your head. If I leave, the colonel will hunt for me. No one will be safe. He’ll find the partisans. I can’t leave.”

“But—you didn’t come home last night. He’ll…” Markos shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m not going in there and simply killing him.”

“You’re not that man anymore.”

He closed his eyes. “Sometimes I want to be. It
is
war.”

“This isn’t war. This is Kostas speaking.”

A muscle pulled in his jaw.

“I will take care of the colonel. And—and—” She couldn’t help it. Everything inside her leaped at his words, and hers tumbled out before common sense yanked them back. “I
will
leave with you, Markos.” She palmed his chest, felt his heart banging under it. “As soon as we free this family, come to me. I’ll be ready, with my son. And your mother. Maybe she won’t come, but I will try—and at least you can see her. Or—she can see you.”

He drew in a breath.

“I know you’re afraid of what she might say, but, to use your words, ‘I wish you could see what I see.’ ” She ran her hand down his cheek. Rose up on her toes. Kissed him, lingering there.

He cupped his hands around her upper arms, held her. “I will get you—all of you—out of here. I’ll come up with a plan.”

Of course he would. “Come for me tonight. I’ll be here.”

Then she left him there—and ducked through the gnarled trees to the house.

Only a few chickens bobbed in the yard, a goat bell jingling faintly on the breeze as she went into the house. A bowl of figs sat in the center of the table. She took one, let it pinch off the hunger inside.

Ava’s door was shut—although, most likely, she’d be up soon.

Sofia climbed the stairs and tiptoed down the hall, glancing at the colonel’s door. It too remained closed. Her breath leaked out, just a smidge. She put her hand on her door latch, eased it open. She’d answer his questions later, after seeing Dino, after packing her bag and secreting it under her bed—

Something tumbled to the floor at her feet, bounced into the room, a tiny footstep against the wood. It vanished inside the shadows of the floorboards.

Dino lay curled under his wool blanket. Zoë too, in the opposite bed, her dark hair in a braided rope to her waist. She didn’t move even as the sunlight now crept to the windowsill.

Maybe Sofia could simply slide into bed next to Dino, curl around him, pretend she hadn’t tugged them all into this nightmare.

She kicked the object as she shuffled into the room. It pinged against the floorboards and she bent to pick it up.

Everything turned to ice inside her.

Her hairpin. The one she’d dropped beneath the colonel’s briefcase.

Still bent, like a finger pressing out to accuse her.

She closed her eyes, pressing her hand to her stomach.
Run.

How much did he know? Did he suspect that she’d been after information?
Run.

Did he think her a conspirator with the partisans?

Run.

She turned to Dino, her pulse in her ears. She could simply scoop him up, run with him and his bedclothes to Markos—he was probably
halfway to town, or—or—she knew the partisan hideout. She could go there…

And what? Wait for the Gestapo to find her? To kill them all?

Think. She caught her image in the tarnished mirror. Disheveled, her hair in knots, her dress soiled. She looked like a harlot who had been dragged through the streets.

Up until a few moments ago, she’d felt young again.

Untouched.

Now her hand shook as she dropped the hairpin to her bureau. She unbuttoned the dress, let it puddle at her feet, grabbed up her silk dressing gown, and knotted the sash hard at her waist. Her bones pushed at the silk. Then she picked up the brush, worked it through her hair, her eyes big in the mirror.

Maybe Zoë had found the hairpin—didn’t she sometimes clean his room? Only, hadn’t it been lodged in the door?

She stared at it, as if it might be a grenade and at any moment would explode, devastating the fragile hope she’d knit together.

“Sofia?”

She dropped the brush onto the bureau, jumped. It bounced off, clattered to the floor.

The colonel stood just outside her door, fully dressed in his gray field jacket, with the black shoulder boards, the two oak leaves of the
Oberführer
shiny on his black collar. His oily boots emitted a shine. His low-brimmed hat hid his eyes.

Her gaze dinged off the Mauser pistol clasped onto his wide belt.

“You’re up early,” he said, his voice low.

“I, uh…I’m sorry I didn’t come to you last night. I was very tired.”

He drew in a breath, let it out. Her hand settled on the bureau; the hairpin pricked her finger.

“I understand.” He nodded, made to turn.

“Colonel—”

She wasn’t sure where the voice came from, or why, but it seemed she couldn’t stop it. “Will you—be home tonight?” She didn’t even try to scrape away the fear—it gave her request the flavor of hope.

He smiled, his lips thin. “Yes, of course I will.” He drew his finger down the slope of her face.

She nodded, manufactured a smile.

She could feel Zoë watching her in the darkness.

The colonel dipped his hat, moved away from the door.

“What are you doing?” Zoë hissed, sitting up, holding the covers to herself.

Sofia walked to the door, closed it, leaning against it, even as her breath fled her body. She shook her head, looked at Zoë.

“I—I don’t know. Hoping, I guess.”

Zoë said nothing as Sofia climbed into bed with Dino and pulled his limp body against her trembling bones.

She slept too long, too hard, and awoke with creases on her face. Dino and Zoë were nowhere in sight. The sun played greedy with its light, hid behind the clouds, and swathed the room in gloom as she pulled out a bag and threw into it Dino’s pants, a sweater, two dresses—Markos’s black fishing coat.

Probably she should give it back to Ava. Yes—it belonged to Ava. She took it from the bag, hung it back in the closet. Added instead a sweater, her hairbrush.

Then she rolled it all into a blanket and hid it under the bed.

Not unlike how Markos had done with Uncle Jimmy’s money.

She’d barely bathed, bundled up her hair by the time she heard the colonel’s foot on the door.

Dinner—perhaps she could distract him with—

“Sofia!”

She closed her eyes, pressed her hand to her stomach. Opened the door to his knock. Darkness etched the lines in his face, and with everything inside her, she longed to shrink back, close the door.

Hide. The hairpin lay secreted under her mattress.

“We will go out tonight. Be pretty for me.”

She nodded, her throat scorched. She closed the door, leaned against it. Yes. The colonel liked that—parading her on his arm. And in a gown he’d provided.

She picked the blue one, with dark blue embroidery on the bodice. It had probably belonged to a lovely Jewish woman now in hiding somewhere on the island. It made her skin itch. But she pasted on a smile when he knocked on her door.

She slipped her arm through the colonel’s as she stepped out of the car.
I hoped that maybe I could right what I did.
Markos’s words strummed in her head. Right what
she
did.

She smiled up at the colonel, then at the dark cover of heaven, wanting to pray.

But the thought seemed brazen. She didn’t have the right to pray. Although, desperation seemed a good reason to try—and if Lucien and Markos truly planned on going through with the rescue…

The central square outside the basilica was jammed with people—leathery men wearing their black wool fisherman hats, eating currants, drinking retsina. Women with babies on their hips, others garbed in black or embroidered shawls with gifts to offer before the tall cross the priest had brought out from the church.

The Festival of the Cross. She’d forgotten this day—although, really, she attended Mass about as often as she went fishing.

“Let’s stop,” she said, moving toward the line. “Please.” The colonel’s mouth tightened on the sides, but she ignored him, pulling her shawl up over her head even as she joined the line to venerate.

“What are you doing?” The colonel’s Greek had improved, and he used it now, probably to stave off attention.

Not like the entire city wouldn’t notice her dangerous company.

“It’s the Feast of the Cross,” she said. “I’m honoring the sacrifice of our Lord.” Although her words sounded tinny to her own ears. Still, something about the fervor of the crowd drew her.

Desperation demanded a savior.

However, she noticed, already through the line, dressed in a black shawl—Ava. The woman stood back from the cross, serenity on her face.

Almost like, hope.

Sofia knelt before the cross, made the sign.

Beside her, the colonel did the same. Sofia closed her eyes to it and stayed on her knees a moment longer, clinging to Ava’s words.
Deliver us, O God. Please.

The colonel took her arm. “I’m hungry.”

The tavernas stayed open later on feast nights—mostly due to the twenty-four hours of fasting preceding, and the colonel dragged her to the café Zeus.

A company of his SS compatriots sat at a table, finishing bottles of ouzo. The colonel pulled up two chairs and ordered a plate of moussaka for her, a lamb kebob for himself. A bouzouki player walked the perimeter, a weathered man who hid his derision for his audience with a gap-toothed smile. Bougainvillea twined up the outside of the wooden portico, the wind reaped the scent, and she turned into it, even as the colonel drew her close. He handed her a glass of the white liquor. She smiled, let it burn her lips. Dumped the rest in a climbing rose.

The moussaka roiled in her already sour stomach, and she watched the moon rise over the water, part the ocean in a luminous trail, and despised it for its betrayal. Markos needed the darkness if he hoped to rescue the Jews.

The colonel moved his hand to her knee as the ouzo warmed him. He laughed loud, spoke German so quickly she couldn’t follow. A couple of his fellow officers glanced at her, gave her a reptilian look.

Her gaze landed on a couple at another table, their smiles easy in each others’ eyes. She remembered when she and Markos had been that way—and hid a smile at the future, so close.