Canidy shook his head that he didn't immediately recognize it.

Nola added, "Is also called cilantro."

Canidy nodded.

"One more," Canidy said, "and then I'll stop, before I eat the whole damn bowl."

"You are welcome to the whole damn bowl."

"Thank you but no."

Nola tore off another piece of bread, then piled it so high with the sibesh sibesh that a third of it fell to the deck as he handed it to Canidy. that a third of it fell to the deck as he handed it to Canidy.

Nola shrugged. "I can make more. We have a boatful of fish."

Then Nola reached to the cardboard box that was at his feet and unfolded its flaps. He stuck his hand in and pulled out an opaque-glass one-liter bottle with a paper label that read OLIVE OIL OLIVE OIL. He then produced two slightly grimy jelly jars from the same box, and, using the cuff of his shirtsleeve, wiped out the inside of the jars.

Jesus, we're not going to wash down the fish with a shot of olive oil? Canidy thought. Canidy thought.

Nola took the bottle in one hand and, holding the jars side by side with his other hand-his fingers inside their rims-he began pouring.

Canidy laughed aloud when he saw red wine slosh out, some of the grape splashing on the deck but most making it into the jars.

Nola winked at Canidy. Then he handed one of the jelly jars to him and held up his own in a toast.

His smile quickly faded.

"To killing the Nazi bastards," Nola said.

Canidy looked him in the eyes and saw that he was sincere.

"To killing the Nazi bastards," Canidy repeated, touched his jelly jar to Nola's, and washed down the sibesh sibesh.

[TWO].

OSS Whitbey House Station Kent, England 0655 3 April 1943 "So how did you come about the body, Ewen?" First Lieutenant Robert Jamison, USAAF, said across the breakfast table.

Royal Navy Lieutenant Commander Ewen Montagu looked up from his plate that held a partially eaten, thick grilled ham steak, a mound of scrambled eggs, and slices of panfried potato. He motioned with his finger, asking for a moment to complete the chewing and swallowing of his mouthful of food.

The small breakfast room-fifteen by twenty feet, a quarter the size of the vast dining room nearby-was dim despite the fact that the dark brown, heavy woolen drapes had been pulled back. A gray light from the overcast morning filtered in through the handcrafted glass panes of the wrought-iron casement windows set in the sandstone wall. There was a single swinging door that led to the main kitchen.

Also seated at the table were Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens, First Lieutenant Charity Hoche, Commander Ian Fleming, Major David Niven, and Private Peter Ustinov. They, too, enjoyed their morning meals of ham and egg and potatoes.

A side table held two industrial-sized, restaurant-quality beverage dispensers-one containing coffee and the other hot water-a selection of English teas in square tins, three porcelain teapots, a bowl of sugar, a container of milk, and what was left of a pyramid of a dozen stacked porcelain cups and saucers. On a lone saucer, in a small puddle of cold tea, were four wire-mesh tea strainers and a collection of tea-stained spoons.

Before Montagu was able to reply, Niven, looking to be in some pain, sighed.

"We need a name," Niven said. "We simply can't continue referring to it as 'the body.'" He paused, then dramatically rolled his eyes. "And, my God! I cannot believe I'm discussing such matters over the breakfast table."

He put down his fork and knife, then reached into the front pocket of his pants and produced a small flat tin that contained a dozen or so white tablets. He waved it before the others.

"Would anyone care for an aspirin?" Niven said, politely.

Everyone declined.

"Didn't you already just take some of those?" Fleming said, conversationally.

Niven glared at him through droopy eyes.

"Must you really shout?" Niven said softly. "And for your information, Commander, I take these to thin the blood. They say a daily regimen of one tablet is good for the heart."

"I'd say all those martinis last night should have thinned the blood quite well," Ustinov said.

There were chuckles around the table.

Niven glared at Ustinov.

"Et tu, Brute?" he muttered, then popped two tablets in his mouth and washed them down with hot tea. he muttered, then popped two tablets in his mouth and washed them down with hot tea.

"You're right, of course, about the name," Ewen Montagu said, changing the subject. "We need one. And it must be the right name. But to answer your question directly, Bob, while the war sadly has created a steady supply of bodies-some from battle, some from bombings here, some from everyday natural causes such as old age and disease-none of these worked for our purposes. We needed a military-aged male who, if we were lucky, simply had drowned. But we were having no luck whatsoever."

Montagu sipped his tea, then went on: "Then, if we did find what we needed, there was the matter of taking away the body from hospital or morgue. You cannot do it without questions arising. The paperwork involved alone is quite daunting, particularly when having to deal with the deceased's loved ones. You soon have too many people getting too close to the secret. So while we discreetly inquired about our needs to select administrators we had connections to at hospital and morgue, months passed, and we came up with nothing useful."

"So then what? You had to resort to getting one from the grave?" Jamison said.

"That was considered," Montagu said, "but for many reasons was dismissed, the primary one being we needed a fresh corpse for this ruse to be convincing. Then, last week, I was at my desk in the basement of the Admiralty when I got a call. A man who in December had lost all of his family-his wife had been staying with his parents-to a Luftwaffe bombing had become so despondent that he tried taking his own life by swallowing rat poison. He hadn't died directly from that. Rather, he'd collapsed in the shell of the bombed home, then exposure caused the pneumonia that ultimately did him in."

Niven dramatically put his fork and knife down on his plate with a clank clank.

"I really can't believe we're discussing this over our food," he said, then set about to sip at his tea.

Montagu glanced at Niven, then saw Fleming make a hand motion that said Go on Go on.

Montagu looked back at Jamison and tried to wind up his story: "I put in a call straightaway to Sir Bernard Spilsbury, our distinguished chief pathologist who understands our needs, and explained the new circumstances. He said that it would take a pathologist of his advanced skills to discover the traces of the poison during an autopsy. There were maybe three such in all of Europe-he being one-and certainly none in Spain." Montagu paused and smiled. "Actually, when I inquired Sir Bernard had grunted, then replied, 'Absolutely, unequivocally none.'"

Montagu took another sip of tea and continued: "He said that they would likely find only water in the dead man's lungs, caused by the pneumonia, which would make his death consistent with drowning and/or exposure at sea. Thus, with no family to make inquiries-all the easier for Sir Bernard to have the paperwork 'misplaced'-and the perfect cause of death, we had our man. He's in his early thirties. He's not in good shape, not physically fit at all, which was fine, as he only has to look like a staff officer."

Ustinov tapped Niven on the shoulder. When Niven turned, Ustinov pointed to the ham on Niven's plate.

"I take it you are not going to eat that?" Ustinov said.

Niven's eyes grew wide.

"Have you not even a semblance of decency?" he said. After a moment, he sighed, then pushed the plate toward Ustinov, motioning impatiently for him to take it. "Be my guest. I seem to have lost my appetite."

Ustinov shrugged, then quickly slid the ham steak onto his almost-empty plate and began cutting into it.

"Charity," Fleming said, spearing a nice-sized cut of grilled ham, "my compliments on the marvelous meals. Last night's beef roast and potatoes was a feast for kings. And now this fine breakfast. I have to admit that when I heard we were coming out here, I envisioned we'd be enjoying, as I heard that American radio commercial say over and over, 'two boxes of Kraft Dinner noodles for one ration point.'"

Charity's pleasant laughter filled the room.

"If you'd like some, Ian," she said in an accommodating tone, "we have a stockroom full of those blue boxes of macaroni and cheese. And Spam, too."

Fleming shook his head as he chewed.

Charity smiled and said, "But thank you for the compliment. Bob Jamison here is actually the one responsible for our finer staples at Whitbey House...in fact, is responsible for everything we get here at Whitbey House."

Fleming swallowed, then turned toward Jamison and said, "My most hearty thanks, Robert."

"Not necessary," Jamison replied. "I'm only following the chief's standing orders. Dick Canidy said as long as we were here, and as long as we could procure what we needed, then that's what we would do. Dick always says that an Army marches on its stomach, and those who are well fed are more prone to follow orders for he who feeds them."

There were chuckles around the table.

"Well, then," Fleming said, raising his tea cup, "here's to Canidy."

The swinging door to the kitchen opened and a British woman in her midthirties appeared. She was attractive, pale-skinned and sandy-haired, about five-four and 125 pounds.

"Aha," she announced, looking at the side table. "There are the teapots!"

"Liz," Charity said, "good morning. Come in. Please join us."

Stevens noticed that Niven and Fleming were getting to their feet. He looked to the door, saw who it was, and also stood.

Stevens well knew the history of Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Stanfield, whose tunic bore the insignia of the Imperial General Staff and whose identity card read "Captain the Duchess Stanfield." Whitbey House was her ancestral home.

She had been assigned as liaison officer between the Imperial General Staff and OSS Whitbey House Station. Wild Bill Donovan had been the first to say that that meant she had been sent to spy on the OSS. When Dick Canidy arrived to run the station, he had immediately crossed swords with her-and ended their first meeting by telling Her Grace that she acted as if she had a corncob up her ass.

It had taken some time to get past that friction, but the Duchess had succeeded in convincing everyone that they were indeed fighting on the same side.

"Charity," the Duchess began, then glanced at the others. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the new faces. "Ian! How delightful to see you! And David and Peter! Now, isn't this a frightening surprise!"

"Please, Liz," Niven moaned. "Do you have to shout, too?"

The Duchess looked from Niven to Fleming to Charity, her eyes asking What's that all about? What's that all about?

"It's nothing personal, Liz," Charity said, grinning. "Someone last night had a few tea-many mar-toonies."

The Duchess smiled and looked at Niven. "I'm sure you'll be fine, David," she said warmly. "You always seem to land on your feet."

Fleming went around the table and lightly kissed the Duchess Stanfield on each cheek. Niven, exhibiting great effort, followed suit.

"I'm trying to recall the last time we all were together," the Duchess said. "Wasn't it in the bar at Claridge's right after Christmas?"

"It was," Ian Fleming said. "And while I cannot speak for David, I was more or less behaving myself." He waited for Niven to make the expected face, which Niven did, then went on: "And I'm afraid to ask, but I suppose still no word on the Duke?"

The Duchess shook her head and softly answered, "I'm afraid not. It's been quite some time now since his plane went down. It would appear hopeless. But one never knows for sure when someone is missing, do they? So, I keep my spirits up best I can."

Charity Hoche and Ed Stevens exchanged glances, and Charity was certain they were thinking the same thought: The whereabouts of Ann Chambers. We have to move on that, too. How, we're not sure. But we must. The whereabouts of Ann Chambers. We have to move on that, too. How, we're not sure. But we must.

Ed Stevens cleared his throat and said, "You're just in time, Liz." He turned to Montagu. "Lieutentant Commander Ewen Montagu, may I present Captain the Duchess Stanfield?"

Montagu stepped forward and offered his hand. "I have heard much about you, Duchess. It is an honor. And your home in magnificent."

"Liz, please," she said. "And thank you. I'm grateful Whitbey House is being found to be useful."

Stevens said, "Have you eaten, Liz?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Well, then," Stevens went on, glancing at the table, "everyone would appear to be finished, and I think we can get into the plans of the operation."

Montagu nodded with enthusiasm.

"I should excuse myself?" the Duchess said, looking at Stevens, then at Fleming and Niven and Charity and, finally, Montagu.

Montagu looked ambivalent but was not about to speak before those who were superior.

"I believe that considering where we are," Fleming said, "this is one instance in which having more minds at work far outweighs any concern of too many people knowing about a certain secret operation."

"Agreed," Stevens put in.

"I know I'd like to have another female's perspective, particularly when we get into the writing of the love letters," Charity said.

The Duchess's face was questioning.

"Now there's no way I'm leaving," she said. "I'm intrigued!"

"Well, then, that settles it," Montagu said. "Welcome to Operation Mincemeat, Liz."

She raised an eyebrow at hearing that.

"Thank you," she said. "That is, I hope so."

There were chuckles as Charity pushed a button on the wall behind her. A moment later, two men came through the swinging door. They quickly cleared the table of everything but silverware and the side table of everything but the coffee and tea services.

[THREE].

"Ewen," Lieutentant Ed Stevens began, "I think it would be a good idea if you gave everyone an overview of what has been going on, what has happened up to our coming here with"-he glanced at Major David Niven-"the, ah, about-to-be-named body."

"Very well," the lieutenant commander said and motioned to the Duchess that she was welcome to take his seat.

The Duchess smiled her thanks, poured herself a cup of tea at the side table, then settled into Montagu's chair as he began.