That was Lockhart’s Achilles’ heel—how was he going to supply Dietrich with captives? He couldn’t just call his bluff and hand over a few suspected collaborators as the Cretans did from time to time. No, some real andartes would have to get captured, but he knew that was impossible. Nobody would volunteer—it would be suicide. He would just have to deal with that problem when it came to it. Until then, he would feed Dietrich with a lot of bogus information and give him the occasional nugget of gold to keep him happy. The andartes should benefit overall, as through Lockhart they could ensure the Germans were distracted when they most wanted them to be.

The questioning started in earnest the next day, although this time it was without violence. Fasshauer, sitting next to Lockhart’s bed, seemed almost apologetic and contrite. No doubt Dietrich had ordered him to wear kid gloves. Lockhart was careful not to surrender information too readily, and occasionally he allowed Fasshauer to threaten him with a return to the cells or another broken finger.

Fasshauer appeared to accept Lockhart’s story that he was a regular soldier. He was less convinced by Lockhart’s ignorance of the andartes, saying that he would have to do better. By and large, Lockhart stated the obvious, things that the Germans probably already knew or had surmised. Yes, there was a transmitter, but it was always moved around. Who looked after it? Lockhart had no idea, all he knew was the codename “Minotaur”—a complete lie, but Fasshauer was scribbling it all down. How many andartes were there? Thousands, replied Lockhart, another lie. Better to exaggerate, get them worried. How often were parachute drops carried out? No idea, Oberleutnant, I’m not supposed to know. When was the next drop? Again, no idea. Who was the leader of the band he was with? Lockhart was prepared for that, and used another fictitious codename—“Theseus.” Were you in contact with any of the Cretan members of the dig at Knossos? No. How about Manoli Pentaris, didn’t he work with you at Knossos? He did, but Lockhart hadn’t seen him since he left Crete ten years ago. And they had had no contact since? Apart from the odd letter before the war, none at all—why, what had Manoli done? He was a leading terrorist, replied Fasshauer. Lockhart acted surprised, saying that he thought Manoli was more interested in girls than guns.

The questioning about Manoli shook Lockhart. The Germans obviously had a relatively capable network of informers. When—if—he saw Manoli again, he would have to ensure that Manoli let nobody else know about Lockhart’s double-dealing. If an informer found that Lockhart was attempting to dupe the Germans, he would be done for, as would Anna. Fool, Lockhart, fool. This game was too dangerous and far too complex. But there was no going back now. If he killed himself, then the Germans would be sure to let the andartes know that Lockhart had told all and was preparing to be an informer. He didn’t want to leave such a reputation over Anna and Amy’s heads. He had to find Manoli, at the very least to tell him what had happened.