This is getting more surreal by the moment, he thought. he thought.

I may be getting off the hook by not not taking this kid. taking this kid.

"...and then the practice words, like ones with short sounds, TEE ATE EAT TEA MEAT...and the long ones, CUTE BAKER CHARLIE..."

"Okay! Okay!" Canidy said. "I get it."

Canidy glanced at Darmstadter, who had his hands firmly stuffed in his pant pockets and was finding intense interest in the toes of his shoes. He also was biting on his lower lip.

Canidy made a face of frustration, then looked back at John Craig van der Ploeg.

"There's a point to this tale?" Canidy said. "You realize you're holding up a complete submarine crew and its mission."

"Yes, sir-I mean, sorry. We just wanted to work our hand keys, because I had the Morse code down pretty good from my time in Boy Scouts. My touch typing on the typewriter, too-"

"'In Boy Scouts,'" Canidy parroted drily.

He smiled and puffed out his chest. "Yessir. We were both in Scouts but not in the same troop. Or the same time. Not even in the same state. But, see? That's the point-"

"What's the point?" Canidy said and made a the point?" Canidy said and made a Get on with it Get on with it motion with his hand. motion with his hand.

Canidy, in his peripheral vision, thought he could see Darmstadter, his face flushed and eyes diverted, quivering.

"That's what we did," John Craig van der Ploeg explained. "When we got bored with all that other stuff, Tubes said we could move on, so we went about telling each other about ourselves."

"And?"

"And what I'm trying to say is that Tubes told me he had put in to train at the Sandbox and really wanted to go operational, not just sit in a dark commo room all hours of the day and night." He paused, then added, "He's one helluva radioman, sir."

Canidy stared at him, deep in thought.

He's also the furthest from an Italian or Sicilian that I could possibly get.

He'd stick out in Sicily like a preacher in a whorehouse.

But if we find that the gas did the damage we think it did, then Tubes probably won't be staying, anyway.

Boy Scouts?

Jesus Christ.

But I should be grateful, I guess, because otherwise I right now would have zero other options....

Canidy looked at Darmstadter.

"Go get him, Hank. Take John Craig van der Ploeg here with you. Tell Stan that I want him to take Tubes's place at the radio there and that they're going to be each other's contact."

Darmstadter nodded.

Canidy looked at John Craig van der Ploeg.

"Anything unclear about that?" he said.

"Makes perfect sense," John Craig van der Ploeg said. "Thank you, sir."

Canidy glared at him.

"Hank," Canidy added. "And tell Tubes to get some clothes out of the wardrobe room. Especially a stocking cap-something, anything, to help disguise those California looks."

Canidy was standing in the conn tower with L'Herminier when Darmstadter returned in the jeep with Tubes two hours later.

Canidy was watching crewmen on the deck bringing some type of flattened contraptions to the conn tower. They were five feet long, had a wooden frame, and a fabric skin of canvas.

"What the hell are those, Jean?" Canidy said. "Some kind of boat?"

"Kayaks," L'Herminier said, an element of pride evident in his voice. "You said you didn't like the rubber boat you used last time to get ashore. I took it upon myself to procure these kayaks. They say they are very fast and maneuverable."

Canidy looked dubious. "Who's they? The Eskimos...?"

The jeep stopped at the foot of the gangplank. Crewmen stood at ease on the dock, waiting to cast off the lines of the submarine and retract the plank.

Canidy saw Darmstadter point him out to Tubes, who then waved to Canidy. Canidy caught himself before he almost waved back.

Darmstader helped Tubes get a fat duffel bag's strap slung over his shoulder. Then Darmstadter reached back into the jeep and produced a cardboard box that was large enough to hold a couple of birthday cakes. He handed this to Tubes, then patted him on the back.

As Tubes started up the gangplank, Darmstadter went back to the jeep and brought out two green suitcases.

There're the radios, Canidy thought. Canidy thought.

Darmstadter handed the suitcases over to one of the crewmen, who carried them aboard. Then Darmstadter waved good-bye at the conn tower.

This time, Canidy returned it.

The small tugs nudged the Free French Forces submarine Casabianca Casabianca away from the docks and toward sea. away from the docks and toward sea.

Tubes reached the foot of the ladder that led up the conn tower. He could not climb it with both the duffel strapped over his shoulder and the box in his hands, so he slipped the duffel to the deck. Then he went up the ladder with the box.

At the top, he saluted Canidy and said, "Sir."

Canidy looked at him and said, "Make that your last salute and use of 'sir.' Got it?"

Tubes looked confused.

"Where we're going, either of those could get both of us killed."

Tubes suddenly understood the gravity of that.

"They told me that this was a dangerous mission," he said.

"You can't begin to appreciate the understatement that that is," Canidy said.

Tubes nodded. He held out the box to him.

"What the hell is this?" Canidy said.

Tubes shrugged.

"Professor Rossi said you might need this," he said.

Canidy pulled back the lid of the box just enough to see inside.

"Christ," he said after a moment's thought. "Canaries."

L'Herminier leaned over to look, too.

"Souris!" L'Herminier said. "Not birds. Mice!" L'Herminier said. "Not birds. Mice!"

"Yep," Canidy muttered. "But soon to be the same as canaries in a coal mine...."

[THREE].

OSS Whitbey House Station Kent, England 1155 3 April 1943 "I say we move on to assigning the name," Niven announced. "And I say I'll just do it myself.... I say we call him"-he stared at the ceiling a long moment-"Martin. Major Martin."

"Why Major Martin?" Fleming said, making it a friendly challenge.

"Why not? Has a nice ring to it," Niven replied.

"That may well be true, but we can't bloody well just throw out a name and have it stick," Fleming said, trying to be sensible.

"Also happens to be the name of an unscrupulous chap in Hollywood I wouldn't mind finding bobbing breathless in the sea," Niven added.

There was silence around the table, then Montagu spoke up.

"Actually, Major Martin could work," he said.

Niven gave Fleming a smug smile. Fleming gave Niven the finger.

There were chuckles around the table.

Niven said to no one in particular, "Please, don't encourage him."

There were more chuckles.

Fleming looked at Montagu.

"How is that, Ewen?" he said.

"For the same reason that we selected the rank of major," Montagu explained. "There is no shortage of them. As I just recounted, we picked the Royal Marines because it is known as an elite service from which one could pull a courier for such a critical mission. Being elite makes it comparatively small, and it would not be unusual for many members to be familiar with others. I can name three Martins off the top of my head that I know personally-"

"You're right," Fleming interrupted. "I can think of two myself, though only one is in fact in the Royal Marines. A captain."

"There you have it," Montagu said. "I would expect there to be a long list of Martins in the Royal Marines, and certainly ones with the rank of major. Easy enough to confirm." He looked at Niven. "So there it is: Major Martin. Now, what about a first name, something equally common?"

"Bill," Niven immediately said.

"William," Fleming put in, earning him a mock glare from Niven. Fleming put in, earning him a mock glare from Niven.

"Major William Martin of the Royal Marines," Montagu said, testing the sound of it. "By Jove, I think we do have it. Unless there are any objections?"

No one objected.

"Major William Martin of the Royal Marines it is, then," Montagu said.

"Bill, to his friends," Niven put in and grinned.

Surprising him, Fleming nodded.

"Yes," he said, "let's get into that-his friends, his personal life."

Montagu said, "We know the main documents, the mission-critical ones, will concern the deceit, of course. But, getting to number one"-he motioned toward the Operation Mincemeat sheet-"we need companion papers for the purpose of padding, something that helps explain who Major Martin is."

"The love letters?" Charity said.

Montagu smiled. "It has been discussed that our man-our Major Martin Major Martin-should be newly engaged."

"How charming," the Duchess said. "Love in bloom!"

"Discussed?" Niven put in. "I thought it had been decided, that we agreed on my idea."

"Right on both counts," Fleming said. "Decided and your idea. Now, let's discuss it. Ladies, any immediate thoughts?"

Charity found herself smiling.

I have a thought or two on the subject, but I'm not about to bare my soul!

"Charity?" Fleming said, looking at her. "Penny for your thoughts?"