The bow of the boat dropped dramatically. As the angle grew greater, mugs and papers and anything else not secured slid from tables.

Not ten minutes later, with the Casabianca Casabianca passing through a depth of fifty meters, there came a thunderous boom from far above. It reverberated through the sub. passing through a depth of fifty meters, there came a thunderous boom from far above. It reverberated through the sub.

Canidy had Nola seated on his bunk. Canidy looked at him. His eyes-bright red and wet from crying-were now huge.

"That fishing boat just saved our lives, Frank. They diverted the attention of that patrol boat."

"This day, I vow, I never will forget," Nola had said.

In L'Herminier's office, Canidy said, "Our purpose here, then, is to clarify what happens next-in the next three days, and maybe in the next three months."

He looked at each man, then went on: "One. Our main mission is to find out about the nerve gas. Was it on the boat? Did it do the damage we suspect? I think those questions will very quickly answer themselves.

"Two. Find out what happened with the villa and the yellow fever.

"Three. Assuming we get to three, then we set up Frank and Tubes to stay behind and send intel to OSS Algiers.

"And four. If we can progress to this point, we expand the team and begin building a resistance, the underground. Then sabotage teams from Dellys can come in."

He looked around the room.

"Okay? Any questions?"

"What if nerve gas was there?" Tubes said, his tone more serious than Canidy had ever heard it. "What do we do?"

"This mission was laid on to find out about the gas, period," Canidy said. "If it was used, we get evidence, then get the hell out. If it wasn't used, we try to find out, one, if it was there, and, two, what the plans were for its use, then get the hell out."

Tubes nodded.

"The answers are critical," Canidy continued, "because-and this is me talking, not anything told to me from above-if nerve gas was or will be used, then everything that anyone is doing right now-at AFHQ, in London, wherever-is, basically, wasted effort. Roosevelt said he was against chemical or biological warfare-but would not hesitate to use it in retaliation. And we all know Churchill's take on it; he's for anything that ends the war yesterday."

There was silence for a long moment, then Canidy went on: "So we get in and get the hell out."

"And my part of that," L'Herminier said, "is that after we drop you, we will go out and lay on the bottom. Then between 2100 and 0400 hours we will rise to periscope level and stand by for your signal-either light from shore or via the W/T-at fifteen minutes after every odd hour. If there is not one, we will lay on the bottom a second day, then the next night rise to await your signal at fifteen minutes before every odd hour."

"And if you get nothing after that," Canidy said, "you get the hell out of here, Jean."

L'Herminier nodded solemnly.

"Reluctantly," he said. "But we still will maintain the radio watch each night on the same alternating schedule. And return, if necessary."

"Thank you, Jean."

The submarine was on the surface of the Gulf of Palermo, its decks still slightly awash. The night was clear and quiet, the air cool and still.

Inside the sub, L'Herminier was at the periscope, scanning the immediate area one last time.

At the foot of the conn tower, Dick Canidy stood squirming into dark brown overalls made of a thick cotton fabric that was coated with a stiff, impermeable rubberized material. The outfit had close-fitting, almost-constrictive cuffs at the wrists and ankles. The gloves were of the same construction as the overalls. As was the full hood, the big difference being that it had a heavy rubber mask vulcanized to the rubber-coated cotton fabric. The mask had two thick glass lenses, and a pair of round air filters that protruded down from either side of the chin like two massively swollen moles.

L'Herminier turned the scope over to his executive officer, who continued the scanning, and walked over to Canidy.

"How are you doing?" L'Herminier asked.

"How do you think?" Canidy said, picking up the hood to put it on. "It's hotter than hell in here."

L'Herminier nodded sympathetically.

"That's some spiffy suit-the real cat's meow!" Jim "Tubes" Fuller said.

Canidy looked blankly at Fuller, who was holding the box of mice.

"You like it so much," Canidy said, "it can just as easily be arranged that I hold the box while you go topside."

Tubes smiled.

"Aw, that's all right. You're already in it and all. I wouldn't want to stress out an old man."

Canidy stared at him, then grinned. They both knew they were only a year or so different in age. While Tubes's surfer mentality tended to annoy Canidy, he had found himself starting to like the guy. His laid-back personality certainly eased the gravity of the situation.

Which really isn't all that grave.

This exercise borders on the academic. It's purely precautionary.

The risk of gas poisoning at this point is extremely low.

Yeah, that's right, Dick. Keep telling yourself that.

And keep discounting Rossi's scenario that those munitions are leaching gas from the harbor bottom.

See where that gets you....

Canidy glanced at Frank Nola. He looked extremely emotional, maybe even scared. He remained silent, lost in thought.

Canidy heard L'Herminier's encouraging voice.

"You should have no pressurization problem with the main hatch," the commander said. "The secondary hatch might be a bit stiff. We do not use it hardly at all. I personally tested it, then had one of the crewmen lubricate the moving parts as well as the seal."

Was that for my benefit, Canidy thought skeptically, Canidy thought skeptically, or yours, Cap'n? or yours, Cap'n?

Oh, hell, it is Jean's job to protect the boat and the lives of his crew.

"Thank you, Commander."

Canidy, with some obvious effort in the heavy, stiff suit, clumsily made his way up the conn tower, his heavy leather boots clunking on the U-shaped metal bars welded to its side that served as steps.

When he got past the first round hatch, he sat on its lip and reached down with his right gloved hand.

"Okay, hand 'em to me," he called down. The hood made his voice sound distorted, and he figured what Tubes heard was probably garbled beyond understanding.

Tubes, though, reached into the box and nabbed two mice by the nape of the neck-a male and a female, in case one proved more sensitive to poisoning than the other-and put them in a soft cloth pouch that had a pull-string closure. He tugged the pouch closed.

He held up the pouch, which now wiggled, to Canidy's gloved hand.

"Adolf and Eva coming up," Tubes said.

Behind the mask, Canidy grinned.

"Got 'em," Canidy said.

"Good luck!" Tubes said.

Canidy nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

Then he swung he legs up and inside the hatch opening. Carefully, he put the pouch of mice in a corner behind him, then turned to reach for the hatch door.

The heavy steel door, two feet in diameter and mounted on a hinge, almost closed under its own weight when Canidy started to rotate it downward.

How much lube did that guy use?

The door now covered the hatch, making the small space in the tower completely dark. Working only by feel, Canidy next found the V-shaped iron handle on back side of the door-there was another above his head, on the main hatch door-and he began turning the handle clockwise. This tightened the threaded "nut" that was at the bottom of the V, V, which cinched the door snug to the hatch. which cinched the door snug to the hatch.

Watertight, airtight...and gastight.

Canidy stood. He reached his right hand above him, carefully waving it back and forth in the dark in order to locate the main hatch handle. On the fourth pass, he rapped his knuckles on it. He turned his hand around, grasped the handle, and pulled, turning the handle counterclockwise.

The handle didn't budge.

Shit!

I thought Jean said there'd be no pressurization problem.

He reached up with his left hand, found the other end of the V-handle, then pushed it while pulling again on the right handle. Still no movement. Using the palm of his left hand, he started pounding on the left handle, trying to jar it, while his right hand pulled on the right handle. Suddenly, the left handle moved, causing his left hand to hit the thick metal of the submarine structure.

"Dammit!" he said, aloud, shaking his left hand to try to ease the pain.

He noticed that his voice, muffled by the mask and in the small space of the tower, sounded very strange.

After a moment, he reached up and spun the now-loose V-handle. There then came the sound of air hissing, and Canidy knew that that meant the air he was in was soon to be the air from outside.

No turning back now.

Here goes nothing....

He pushed on the main hatch door and it swung upward on its hinge.

There was some light coming from the stars, and he reached down and found the pouch of mice. He reached up through the opening and put the squirming pouch on the wet deck.

Don't need to let them out.... They can breathe through the top of the pouch, if not through the fabric itself.

They'd probably go overboard if I did let them out.

And then this whole damn thing would really have been an exercise in futility...

Canidy scanned the area as he waited for the mice to stop moving.

He saw nothing through the thick lenses of the mask.

The pouch continued to wiggle.

That's good news.

After some minutes, Canidy got tired of standing in the hatch. He climbed up and out, then sat with his legs crossed, staring down at the pouch.

It stopped moving.

Whoooa! What the hell?

He picked up the pouch and, with great effort due to the thick, stiff gloves, loosened the pull-string closure.

He held it up to one of the thick lenses of his mask and peered inside.

He saw a pair of fuzzy pink noses and a small forest of whiskers looking back.

As best he could tell, the mice were not moving.

He loosened the string some more, tugging at the top of the pouch.

He peered back in-and suddenly Adolf and Eva lunged for their freedom.

Shit!

Canidy next saw them running in circles inside the conn tower.