"Very much so," he said. "It is, in other words, the tracking of assets. But something more. The syndrome part has, as you might expect, a psychological component."

Canidy turned to the board and began writing again.

"First, let me outline this."

He turned and pointed at the young Sicilian American and said, "You mentioned Oberst Lahousen, so I'll use Abt II. But know that all the Abts are structured in this manner. Abt II is a good example, as it was the parent of the Brandenburg units, the ruthless German special ops that took out the partisans in Yugoslavia in '41. These are the type of forces you can expect to fight."

He drew another box at the top of the board, then wrote ABWEHR HQ ABWEHR HQ in it. Under that, he put another box, drew a line linking the two, and in the lower box wrote in it. Under that, he put another box, drew a line linking the two, and in the lower box wrote ABWEHRSTELLEN ABWEHRSTELLEN (" ("ASTS").

"There are some twenty-plus Asts within the Reich," Canidy said as he drew another box, this one under ASTS ASTS, "with a dozen or more in occupied territories. Each Ast has smaller Nebenstellen Nebenstellen"-he wrote that in the new box and added NESTS NESTS-"and these Nests can have even smaller teams that specialize, called Aussenstellen, Aussenstellen, or 'Outstations.'" or 'Outstations.'"

Canidy noticed Corvo and Scamporino nodding, having recognized the terms ASTS ASTS and and NESTS NESTS.

He finished writing all that, and went on: "Then there is the Kriegsorganisation Kriegsorganisation, 'KO' for short, or 'War Organization.' This operates in neutral countries-Switzerland and Sweden, of course, Spain, Turkey, et cetera-with either a diplomatic or commercial cover. It is the Abwehr's overt presence, but the Abwehr does not act against its host. KO serves as a base of operations."

When he finished, he turned to the crowd and said: "All of these have representatives from each of the German services, and all of these, we have found, do not have any true centralized control or direction from above. Therefore, the Abwehr is not always well run. And, occasionally, not well run at all."

There were murmurings.

"Do not misunderstand me," Canidy quickly added. "It is is often effective, and you should not underestimate it. But there are Abwehr weak links." He paused. "Here's where the syndrome kicks in. We have found, as I'm sure you have seen here among the German POWs, that Nazi officers tend to be rather proud of themselves-" often effective, and you should not underestimate it. But there are Abwehr weak links." He paused. "Here's where the syndrome kicks in. We have found, as I'm sure you have seen here among the German POWs, that Nazi officers tend to be rather proud of themselves-"

Someone in the crowd snorted loudly. That caused others to chuckle.

Canidy went on: "A genuine arrogance-"

"Like that goddamn Hitler!" the young Sicilian American interrupted.

Appreciative grunts of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Do I need to tell them to shut the hell up until I'm finished?

He was about to say exactly that when he realized that the outbursts proved that the men now were engaged with the subject. Snapping at them would be the equivalent of him pissing on their fire. So, instead, he embraced it.

"Yes, 'Like that goddamn Hitler,'" Canidy repeated.

Darmstadter saw the young man's face practically light up.

Canidy's good at that, Darmstadter thought, Darmstadter thought, making the guy low on the team feel like he's king. making the guy low on the team feel like he's king.

Canidy went on: "Hitler's arrogance is their example and they mimic it. Now, to feed this arrogance, these officers need power, and the more people they control, then the more power they appear to have-among their men and their superiors."

"The more pins on the map!" the young Sicilian American said suddenly.

"You got it," Canidy said. "And this, you might expect, tends to fuel itself. And competition rises between officers who oversee the spies and their controllers. They think that if, for example, ten agents are good, a hundred has to be ten or more times better. So ignoring whatever talent their recruits may or may not have-or even what loyalty-they fill their ranks with as many men, or women, as possible."

He paused, letting that set in.

"And here's where the payoff comes for us: The Asts and Nests-again, acting independently, without direction from above-recruit and train their own spies, then send them on ops. Ast Berlin could, for example, send agents to, say, Porto Empedocle not knowing that Ast Hamburg and Ast Munich already had agents there. And Hamburg and Munich may not know of the other's existence."

He paused, glanced at the board, then continued: "These agents sent into the field may be without talent, but they are not so stupid as not to recognize this arrogance and and the fact that they can play to it. They feed the officer information-good, bad, indifferent-and the officer adds that to the information from his other agents, then passes it all up the line to impress his superiors. Meanwhile, the agent skims money he's given to pay his sources, demands higher payment for his work, lies about his expenses. His loyalty is only to himself. And, clearly, that loyalty has a price." the fact that they can play to it. They feed the officer information-good, bad, indifferent-and the officer adds that to the information from his other agents, then passes it all up the line to impress his superiors. Meanwhile, the agent skims money he's given to pay his sources, demands higher payment for his work, lies about his expenses. His loyalty is only to himself. And, clearly, that loyalty has a price."

He paused.

"And that, gentlemen, is one of the major weak links of the Abwehr-if not the the weakest link." weakest link."

There were nods of understanding in the crowd.

Pierre, the parachutist, then said, "You're not suggesting that only the Krauts are corrupt, are you?"

Shit, Canidy thought, looking at Pierre. Canidy thought, looking at Pierre. Good question. Good question.

Answer: "Not no but hell, no. We've got our own agents rotten to the core."

Then he wondered: And how much of what I just went over was already perfectly clear to someone here? And how much of what I just went over was already perfectly clear to someone here?

"Oh, no," Canidy said. "You're going to find that on our side, too. It's, unfortunately, human nature."

"Then what's the difference?" Pierre pursued.

Christ, another good question.

Am I being naive about this? And he's seeing right through it?

Because the real answer is: "Not a helluva lot."

But...there is one difference, however small it might be. And sometimes it's the small thing that saves the day.

"Very simple," Canidy said, looking around the crowd, then making a dramatic sweep of the room with his right hand. "We want to fight to win. When you were approached, no one in here volunteered for fear that, if they didn't, they'd be sent to a concentration camp, or shot on the spot, or that their families would be. Right?" want to fight to win. When you were approached, no one in here volunteered for fear that, if they didn't, they'd be sent to a concentration camp, or shot on the spot, or that their families would be. Right?"

He saw a few heads nodding in agreement.

"Now, without a doubt, there are those with ulterior motives, perhaps even someone in this room"-he glanced at one of the men whom he'd earlier made uneasy with his eye contact; the bearded man now busied himself making notes from the blackboard-"but we have ways to weed them out. As my father, and, I'm sure, your fathers, too, said, 'Good always overcomes evil.'"

He let that sink in, then continued: "Now, knowing all I've told you here, and knowing what you're learning here at the Sandbox, there should not be a doubt in your minds that you and I will be successful fighting for the freedom of our countries, for the freedom of our families." He paused for dramatic effect, then, raising his voice, said, "We're going to kick the living hell out of them and win this goddamn war!"

The crowd erupted with hoots and applause.

Canidy looked around the room, smiling.

Jesus, I think that I just may have pulled that off.

Or, as the case would be, I did it pooma.

When in doubt, always wave flag and family in their face.

Canidy glanced at his watch, then held up his hand as a wave good-bye.

"And with that, gentlemen, I have to go."

There was more polite applause as the men got up from their seats.

Canidy walked over to Corvo.

"I'm sure I'll be back sometime soon, Max," he said. "Meantime, keep an eye out for what we discussed."

Because I'm going to take over one of your teams for Sicily. And if I can turn an enemy agent here, so much the better.

"Will do, Dick," Corvo said. He looked at the board, then added, "And thanks for this."

As Scamporino walked up, Corvo said to him, "We need to save what's on the board. Get a picture of it, huh? Or write it down...whatever."

Scamporino nodded. He looked at Canidy and offered his hand.

"Thanks for that lesson. And, particularly, the pep talk. The men needed it more than I realized."

"You're welcome," Canidy said, shaking his hand.

Scamporino turned to Darmstadter, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "See you soon, Hank. Take care."

Then he left the room.

As Canidy started to follow Scamporino to the door, he glanced again at the charcoal scenes from the Bible.

Two thoughts struck him, both concerning his father, the Reverend Dr. George Crater Canidy, headmaster of St. Paul's School in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

First was that he knew that his father would know exactly what they were, right down to citing chapter and verse for each. His father was, of course, expert in such study.

Second, that he had just served as teacher to a class of students, just as his father had done for decades.

Dick Canidy loved his father dearly. Yet he wondered how his father would feel knowing that he was part of an organization using the facility that had once been a boarding school for Catholic boys-not unlike St. Paul's and its sons of devout Episcopalians-for the training of spies and saboteurs and assassins.

"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free," Canidy suddenly remembered. Canidy suddenly remembered. From the Book of John-chapter 8, verse 32. From the Book of John-chapter 8, verse 32.

Like father, like son?

Don't kid yourself, Dick.

Dear ol' Dad, God bless him, would not like this shit one bit.

[TWO].

Darmstadter raised the landing gear and retracted the flaps of the Gooney Bird after their departure from the dirt strip at Dellys. He then pushed the yoke slightly forward, leveling off the plane, and adjusted the throttle back just slightly, settling in on a due easterly course right along the coastline.

The sun was to their back, a little more than an hour from setting and starting to create long shadows across the ground ahead of them. After a few minutes, Darmstadter pointed in an animated fashion at eleven o'clock out the windscreen.

"There they go," he said over the intercom. "Headed for the Sandbox."

Canidy looked out that direction, and saw another C-47. The sunlight set it off in the blue sky.

Canidy saw that it was approaching the western edge of Dellys. Then he saw, in quick succession, eight figures drop from the back of the aircraft-then their parachutes pop open one after another. They floated down, all nicely lit by the sun, and landed somewhat scattered. Then the aircraft disappeared over the ridge, headed in the direction of the dirt strip on the other side.

Canidy looked at Darmstadter and gave a thumbs-up.

Darmstadter nodded, then caused the Gooney Bird to make a slow turn, so that the needle on the compass came to rest on 200 degrees. That would result in a more or less direct vector to the airfield at Algiers.

Canidy went back to looking out the windscreen. Nothing he saw really registered, as he mentally went back over everything that had just happened at the Sandbox.

He was disappointed. He realized-again-that he'd come away from the OSS finishing school with pretty much zip. While the trip had not been a total waste of time-he, of course, had been able to share his talk with the agents there-he desperately had to make some headway of his own here soon....

Suddenly, Darmstadter banked the aircraft. He was turning away from the Algiers airfield, on a course out over the sea.

Canidy looked at him for an answer.

Darmstadter's voice came over the intercom: "Algiers control is routing me out and around the long way. Not the first time it's happened. Damn sure won't be the last."

Canidy nodded, resigned to the fact that that amounted to yet another small delay for him.

He turned to watch the waves, lost in thought.

Everyone back in that room at the Sandbox is fighting to defeat Hitler-if not exactly for the same honorable reasons.

Donovan told me before sending me into Sicily that to a man everyone is working some angle to come out on top after the war.

Just among the damn Frogs there's the Communist Francs-Tireurs et Partisans; the Organization de la Resistance dans l'Armee, followers of Giraud; De Gaulle's Forces Francaise de l'Interieur; and a deadly mix of other warring subfractions.

Christ knows how many we will deal with in Sicily. But clearly the usual suspects. Including my new friends in the Mafia.

What was it Donovan told Hoover? "I know they're Communists, Edgar. That's why I hired them."

Communists, Fascists, mobsters-the Boss isn't afraid of working with anyone to win this damn thing.

But then neither are FDR and Churchill.

Just consider that damned Stalin. His belief that "One man's death is a tragedy, but a million deaths is merely a statistic" doesn't exactly qualify the sonofabitch for sainthood.

Pulling these various factions together-or at least managing them in our own way-is how Donovan expects to do that.

They're really on their own side. That's a given. And most likely why that bearded bastard in the classroom would not look me in the eyes.

But we do have the upper hand. They all need our training and weapons and money. And they all know we can go into every last one of their countries, behind enemy lines, and sabotage anything we don't want them to have-power plants, heavy factories, railroads-just take out the equipment short-term if they cooperate or, if they don't, call in the bombers and blow the hell out of everything.

Just like a certain spook blowing up a munitions supply ship full of nerve gas in Palermo.

Shit....

Canidy looked down. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, then looked again out the windscreen.