At the OSS station that morning, Stan Fine had taken Dick Canidy upstairs to the commo room at the villa. There, they looked over the five operators on duty and spoke with them one by one. Two were women. When Canidy got to the last-a tall, intense fellow of maybe twenty-four, with somewhat-shaggy blond hair and unmistakable all-American facial features-he was about to blow his cork from frustration.

Canidy looked at the radio operator, then at Fine, and whispered, "I really do need someone who looks even remotely Italian or Sicilian."

Fine nodded agreeably.

The young man sensed someone was talking about him and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw that it was Captain Fine standing there with some stranger, he immediately removed his earphones and stood up from the radio.

"Sir," he said respectfully.

Fine nodded. "What's your name, son?"

"Jim Fuller," he said. "But call me Tubes, sir. Everyone does."

"Because of the radio?" Canidy put in, curious. "Those tubes?"

Tubes looked at Canidy and said, "It's become that in part. But I got the name from home."

"And home is?"

"California. I got the nickname surfing. When I was ten. Some like to ride on top of a wave, but I love to go under them"-he grinned broadly-"in the tube."

Canidy nodded. "Well...Tubes...inasmuch as I'd like to continue this, if you will excuse me...."

"Yes, sir," Tubes said, sounding somewhat dejected. He started to sit back before his radio set.

"Out of curiosity..." Canidy said suddenly.

"Yes, sir?" Tubes said, standing upright again.

"There's one man at the Sandbox I'm interested in as a radio operator. I don't know the name he's using, but maybe you've worked with him on the air."

Tubes looked at Fine.

"Tell him whatever you know, son," Fine said.

Tubes nodded. "I'll try."

Canidy went on: "This is rough, but it's all I've got right now. It's my impression that he was in some sales job in the States."

"Sales?" Tubes said. "Well, there may be someone else out there who fits that. But Carmine-oh, man, that's all all he talks about. And he has the worst skills of any radioman I've ever heard. It's like he's working the key with a booted foot." he talks about. And he has the worst skills of any radioman I've ever heard. It's like he's working the key with a booted foot."

Canidy was quiet a moment, absorbing that bit of new information.

Shit! Now what?

"Like I said, you could be talking about someone else," Tubes said. "Hard to say. But I can tell you that this Carmine isn't going to make it with a radio."

Canidy nodded. "Thank you, Tubes. I appreciate your expertise."

Tubes smiled. "You're welcome."

Canidy and Fine started for the door.

Then they heard Tubes call across the room.

"You want a good W/T guy," he said, his tone authoritative, "then the guy you want is Tony. He's a kid, with lots of energy, but he's got a great hand. Tony's who I'd pick."

Hank Darmstadter's jeep pulled up with a noisy screech of brakes. He shut off the engine.

Canidy got a good look at the kid in the passenger seat. "Tony" was indeed the excitable one he'd had in Max Corvo's classroom at the Sandbox. He had that unruly shock of wiry jet-black hair that stuck out at odd angles.

The kid was looking at Canidy, smiling, and making the connection, too.

Darmstadter got out. The kid did the same, then followed Darmstadter over to where Canidy stood.

"Major," Darmstadter said.

"Afternoon, sir!" the kid said, his manner excited. "Very nice to see you again. I had some follow-up questions about your lecture-"

"What's your name?" Canidy interrupted.

"Antonio Jones, sir. Tony."

"No, your real name."

The kid looked for guidance to Darmstadter, who motioned with his head Go on, it's okay to tell him. Go on, it's okay to tell him.

"John Craig van der Ploeg, sir," he answered in a chipper tone.

Canidy studied him a moment.

"That's Dutch!" Canidy snapped. "How the hell are you Italian? And stop calling me sir."

Unnerved, John Craig van der Ploeg grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"This look Dutch?" he said, smiling, then let go of the hair and motioned to his olive-skinned face. "This look fair?"

Canidy started at him impatiently. "So, what's your story?"

"I was adopted, sir. Lost my family to La Grippe. La Grippe."

Canidy was about to snap at him again for saying "sir," but then thought, Jesus! The 1918 Spanish flu? That wiped out tens of millions.... Jesus! The 1918 Spanish flu? That wiped out tens of millions....

"I'm sorry," Canidy said, his tone genuine.

John Craig van der Ploeg shrugged, unbothered.

"I was two years old," he said conversationally. "It's ancient history to me. I have no memory of it-or them."

Canidy nodded.

"Do you know the name you were given at birth?" he said.

John Craig van der Ploeg shook his head.

"Well," Canidy said, "we'll have to come up with one that's more appropriate to the mission. Even if it's only a code name."

John Craig van der Ploeg nodded.

"You were told that this mission is one of extreme danger, one you may not survive, and one you cannot discuss with anyone?"

"It's why I volunteered," John Craig van der Ploeg said.

Canidy glanced at the Casabianca, Casabianca, then looked at van der Ploeg. then looked at van der Ploeg.

"Okay, then," Canidy said. "Go grab your gear from the jeep and let's get aboard."

John Craig van der Ploeg looked past Canidy at the boat, then back at Canidy.

"Sir, we're not going by submarine, right?"

Canidy stared at him, not sure that he'd heard right.

"Say that again?"

"I asked if we were going by sub...because I can't."

What the hell?

"Do you want to tell me why?" Canidy said, trying to control his voice. "Or do I have to guess that, too?"

"I am claustrophobic, sir," John Craig van der Ploeg said. "Claustrophobia means-"

"I know what the hell it means!" Canidy flared. He stood there for a moment, staring at the kid, then said, "How did you expect to go behind the lines? The goddamn Germans would send a fucking Mercedes-Benz for you?" He shook his head. "Claustrophobic!" "Claustrophobic!"

"Surface ships I can do, sir," John Craig van der Ploeg said carefully. "Or drop me in by parachute. I don't really like airplanes, but if I'm near a window or an open door I can make do." He paused. "The last thing I'm trying to do is shirk my responsibilities, sir."

Canidy saw Darmstadter nod.

"Coming here," Darmstadter said, "he was more than a bit squeamish in the bird. At one point, I thought he was going to go out the jump door without a parachute. But I just wrote it off to nerves."

Canidy looked from Darmstadter to the kid.

"They didn't tell you about the sub at the Sandbox?" he asked.

John Craig van der Ploeg shook his head.

He said, "And I didn't ask. They teach us not to ask questions. Vincent Scamporino told me there was an important mission that needed a W/T operator and would I be interested in volunteering? I told him that as I'd already volunteered to be at the Sandbox, it followed-"

"Okay, okay," Canidy said impatiently. "I get it." He thought for a moment, and added, "What if I ordered you to go?"

"I could get aboard, sir, but when I lost it inside, well, it probably would not be pleasant for anyone."

Canidy looked furious.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Stop calling me sir!"

John Craig van der Ploeg looked at his feet. "Sorry."

"Now what the hell do I do?" Canidy asked of no one in particular. "We don't have time to get someone else from the Sandbox, if there is is even someone else usable there...." even someone else usable there...."

There was a long moment of silence.

Then John Craig van der Ploeg said, his tone upbeat, "If I may make a suggestion?"

Canidy glared at him.

"I think you may have caused me enough difficulty so far," Canidy said. "But if you're willing to stick your neck out again...."

"I am am willing to do what I can, sir," John Craig van der Ploeg said, somewhat indignantly. "It's why I agreed to follow Corvo and Scamporino here in the first place. If I could swim to where it is you're going, I would." willing to do what I can, sir," John Craig van der Ploeg said, somewhat indignantly. "It's why I agreed to follow Corvo and Scamporino here in the first place. If I could swim to where it is you're going, I would."

Canidy looked him in the eyes.

"Okay, you have my apology. For now. What's your bright idea?"

"Tubes," John Craig van der Ploeg offered brightly.

"'Tubes'?" Canidy repeated.

Then he thought, He means that radio operator? The surfer... He means that radio operator? The surfer...

"The surfer?" Canidy said.

John Craig van der Ploeg nodded enthusiastically.

"Tubes is my commo partner. When we practiced our messages, we got tired of the usual numbing stuff. You know?"

Canidy shook his head. "No. I don't know."

"You know, all the limbering-up exercises," he explained, and demonstrated by wiggling his fingers, then rotating his wrist. "And then there's the pronunciation practice...Alfa-di-DAH; Bravo-DAH-di-di-dit; Charley-DAH-di-DAH-dit..."

The look on Canidy's face was utter disbelief.