The broadcasts, however, were mainly about the weather. Sailors did not waste their time on world events. When that news finally trickled down, however, these sideband channels would probably no longer be safe to use—maybe they weren't now, but he had to take the risk. . . .
He tried a few frequencies and then he got lucky. It was a Greek ham operator, probably having a second cup of strong native coffee and waiting for the traffic in Athens to subside. As are all amateurs, he was delighted to talk. He sounded youthful and enthusiastic, eager to help.
"I read you, Ulysses. You're coming in loud and clear on SSB 432.124 megahertz. This is SV5VMS, Athens. What is your callsign?"
"Don't have a handle," Vance replied into the mike, in Greek. "This is a Mayday."
"I copy." The voice suddenly grew serious. "What is your location?"
He paused a second, wondering what to say. No, he couldn't take a chance. Who knew who else was listening in?
"Don't have that either. What I need is a phone patch to a number in Athens. Can you set it up?"
"No problem," came the confident response, using the international English phrase. Vance tried to imagine what he looked like. Probably mid-twenties, with the swagger acquired by all young Greek men along with their first motor scooter. They wanted to impress you with how wonderful their country was, and they also wanted you to know that they were the biggest stud in all the land. "But whoever you want may be gone to work by now."
"This guy probably won't even be out of bed yet. He's a night owl," Vance replied into the mike. He didn't add that the best thing Dimitri did at night was handle an infrared-mounted H&K MP5. "It's Athens city code and the number is 21776." He knew that Spiros kept a lovely whitewashed house on the western side of town, just out of the major smog centers.
Moments later the patch was through and he had Spiros on the radio. The patch was scratchy and hill of static, but not so much he couldn't hear.