He arrived at Mount Ida at ten o’clock that night. He walked into the cave and collapsed at the feet of two young andartes. After twelve hours of heaving himself through snow, and suffering from hunger and exposure, Lockhart had exhausted himself. He was a husk—empty of any sustenance or joy, almost unable to speak. “Find Manoli,” he said, and then he let blackness overwhelm him.

Manoli arrived two days later. Lockhart was taking a siesta, and had woken to find the big man talking quietly to three other andartes at the far end of the cave. The very sight of his old friend brought a huge smile to Lockhart’s face, although his joy was tempered by what he would have to tell him.

“Manoli!”

Manoli crawled over and clutched Lockhart’s shoulders, kissing him on both cheeks.

“My dear friend,” Manoli said. “You do not know how happy this makes me. I had prayed for your return, and even promised I would remain chaste until the day I married if you turned up alive.”

“In that case I’d have thought you would have wished me dead.”

Manoli mock-sighed.

“I know, but it is the poor women of Crete who will be more deprived.”

“I think they’ll be delighted—they need a rest, I expect.”

Then two men laughed, but a little too loudly and a little too much. They paused, and stayed silent until Manoli asked:

“Who bandaged up your finger?”

Lockhart looked directly at Manoli.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

Manoli shrugged.

“It must be about five o’clock.”

“It’s not cocktail hour yet, but I’m going to make an exception. Is there any raki here?”

“Gregori!” Manoli shouted. “Bring over some raki!”

Little Gregori did as he was told, and was then shooed away by Manoli.

Lockhart took a big swig, coughed, and then swigged again.

“You must keep this a secret, Manoli.”

The Cretan looked back, his face creased in puzzlement. Lockhart resolved to hit Manoli with the straight truth.

“The Germans think they’ve enlisted me as an informer.”

“What?”

“I have done a deal with Dietrich: I will act as informer in return for my life and Anna’s.”

“You’ve done what?” Manoli shouted.

“Shush!”

“You? A collaborator! For my brother’s killer! I don’t believe it! Why?”

“Calm down, Manoli! I’m not really going to be a bloody collaborator! If I was, I wouldn’t be telling you, would I?”

“I still can’t be—”

“Please, just shut up for a few minutes while I explain.”

Manoli quieted down.

“All right, tell me the story then.”

“Good,” said Lockhart. “I’ll start from when we were at the arms dump.”

Lockhart told Manoli the full story. The beatings, the interrogation and the deal—he left nothing out. Afterward, Manoli simply stared at the ground.

“So what are you going to give this Fasshauer on…when is it?”

“I have to see him on Sunday night,” Lockhart replied. “What’s the day today?”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Is there anything coming up we can distract them from?”