Even in the dim of darkness, Canidy thought he could see disappointment on Fuller's face.

"Vergine Maria is where we are," Nola went on. "And, from here, is only two kilometers to my cousin's house in Palermo."

"Good," Canidy whispered. "Let's get our gear moved up there."

He then took a tentative sniff of the still air. It had a pleasant, salty smell mixed with the light fragrance of some flowering foliage he did not recognize.

Not a hint of stench of the dead.

"How's Adolf and Eva?" Canidy whispered.

Tubes checked the pouch.

"Active movement," Tubes said, the hint of a smile in his voice. "I think they're procreating."

"You would."

Canidy saw that the folding boats were fairly easy to collapse -Glad I didn't know that offshore, -Glad I didn't know that offshore, he thought-then hide in two of the small caves in the cliff. Certainly not as easy as the rubber raft had been-that one he had deflated with a slice of his Fairbairn, then buried it in a small hole. he thought-then hide in two of the small caves in the cliff. Certainly not as easy as the rubber raft had been-that one he had deflated with a slice of his Fairbairn, then buried it in a small hole.

Farther down the cliff, they hid one of the green suitcase radios by itself in a cave. Moving with one of the cases without being seen was going to be hard enough. And stashing the other provided them with a backup in the event that the other was confiscated, broken, lost-whatever. They could retrieve the hidden case the next night, or even later.

And that took care of the evidence of their arrival. They had no worry about leaving tracks. The pebbles of the shore filled in naturally behind them as they went.

Canidy stood with his black duffel bag, the strap slung over his shoulder. Nola carried a small black leather bag in his left hand, the box of mice in his right. And Fuller, his duffel on his left shoulder, held the other suitcase radio in his right hand. He had tied the pull string of the mice pouch high on his duffel strap, the pouch itself touching his chest.

"Anyone have a cigarette?" Tubes suddenly whispered.

What? Canidy thought. Canidy thought.

He hissed, "You can't light up! You could get us shot by coastwatchers!"

"It's not for me," Tubes whispered casually. "I don't smoke."

He held up the pouch and dangled it by the string in front of Canidy's face.

"Judging by their relaxed state, they would appear postcoital."

Canidy relaxed, then caught himself about to chuckle.

No, not good...Need to focus.

"Knock it off, Tubes!" Canidy whispered, trying to sound angry.

"Right," Tubes said in a mock-English tone.

"I mean it, dammit!" Canidy said.

There was silence, and Canidy guessed that he had hurt Fuller's feelings.

Fuck it. Grow up. We've got a job to do.

"Are we ready?" Canidy said evenly.

"Sure," Fuller whispered, with some ice in his tone.

"Ready," Nola whispered.

On the submarine, Canidy had debated with himself how they should go into town-armed to the teeth, or try to get there as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

They were not at a loss for weapons.

Canidy had his Colt Model 1911 .45 ACP semiautomatic pistol, the Johnson .30-06 light machine gun, and the baby Fairbairn. Fuller carried a.45, too, and a Sten 9mm submachine gun. And Nola was armed with his own personal Walther P38 9mm semiautomatic pistol; he had declined the offer of an automatic weapon since he'd had no experience handling one.

In the end, Canidy had decided that each man should have his pistol close at hand. But the bigger guns could be held as backup, left in the duffels.

His reasoning, after all, was that there would be no firepower needed if they were to find a city full of dead citizens. Or if instead they were to encounter, say, a city overrun with German and Italian troops, they sure as hell were not going to engage in a firefight-not and get out alive.

We're supposed to get in, get the intel, and get the hell out.

And that's exactly what I plan to do.

"Lead the way, Frank," Canidy whispered. "Or tell me the direction and I'll take point."

"I can do it," Nola said and started walking.

After a dozen yards or so, Canidy felt that they were walking up a light grade. A few more yards beyond that, the grade became steeper. Then the path leveled off, and Canidy could see out over the water, the light from the stars reflecting on the surface. There was no visible horizon, and it appeared that the sky and sea had become one.

They began walking southwestward along a dirt path that paralleled the main, two-lane road. On either side of the uneven rocky trail grew hardy, dense shrubs, about chest-high to the men. The growth provided them with some cover. If necessary, they could duck down for total concealment.

There were absolutely no lights to be seen anywhere. Canidy could not determine if that was a good sign or a bad one. Where they walked was not at all populated-they had yet to pass any structure, residence or otherwise-but still he thought that there might be some man-made light somewhere in the distance.

Of course, the absence of such man-made light could mean the absence of man himself.

Off to their right, near the main road, Canidy noticed a low wall constructed of a white stone that showed up well in the dark. It followed alongside the lane, off into the distance as far as his eye could see. And it continued to do so, even after they had walked along for some five or so minutes.

"What's with the wall?" Canidy whispered to Nola.

"What do you mean?"

"The stone wall over by the road. What does it go to?"

"Oh. That is Cimitero dei Rotoli."

"That's what?" Fuller said.

"A monumental cemetery," Nola explained. "Is the size of what would be many, many city blocks, long and wide, and on up the mountainside."

That's massive! Canidy thought. Canidy thought.

Wonder how busy it's been lately?

He was about to suggest that they make a detour and pass through it, looking for any evidence of mass graves. But then he decided that that wasn't necessary. He really wanted to get an eyeball on the harbor.

It should tell me everything I need to know.

Twenty minutes later, they reached the outskirts of a hamlet. The main road cut through its score of low, brightly painted buildings constructed of masonry.

"Palermo?" Fuller said.

Canidy realized that that was the first thing that Tubes had said since he had chastised him.

Then Canidy thought, Not Palermo. Too small. Not Palermo. Too small.

"This is Arenella," Nola announced softly. "We are more than halfway there. Only about another kilometer."

"You okay with your gear, Tubes?" Canidy asked Fuller. "Need to trade, or take a break?"

"I'm fine," Fuller replied. "Thanks."

So he's not pissed anymore, Canidy thought. Canidy thought. Good. Good.

"And Adolf and Eva are still kicking," Fuller added. "I know you'd want to know."

"Thanks," Canidy said.

With Nola still in the lead and Fuller bringing up the rear, they passed Arenella, staying on the path between its outer edge and the seashore.

Canidy kept looking for lights. And kept finding nothing but black night.

But it is-what?-maybe three, four in the morning.

Normal people are asleep at this hour.

Suddenly, Nola made a noisy grunt-and stumbled forward.

Find a nice rock there, Frank?

Canidy whispered, "You okay?"

Then, just ahead of Canidy's feet, there came the painful moaning of a strange man's voice.

Canidy stopped in his tracks. He brought out his pistol as he crouched down beside some shrubs off the trail. He let his duffel slip to the ground.

Seconds later, Canidy heard Fuller coming up the path fast, and, with his left arm, Canidy motioned for Fuller to get behind him.

"Get your penlight," Canidy whispered to Fuller.

More moaning came from the man on the path.

"You okay, Frank?" Canidy called.

Far up the path, a tiny beam of light appeared. It was aimed at the ground; then it illuminated what looked like the box that held the mice.

Faintly, but clearly, Canidy heard Nola's worried tone: "Dammit!"

He must have hauled ass after he fell.

Whatever it is, it scared the shit out of Frank...or still is.

Then it occurred to him that Nola could get in the line of fire.

"Stay put!" Canidy called back. "And stay down!"

Canidy felt a solid tap on his shoulder.

"Here," Fuller said, holding out the penlight.

"Shine it on him," Canidy said, "or whatever it is on the trail."

A moment later, a thin beam of yellow light appeared. It illuminated a tiny spot of shrubs across the path, then found the dirt path and meandered up it. The beam passed countless sun-bleached stones, then one large, dark rock -Christ, that one alone could have tripped me, -Christ, that one alone could have tripped me, Canidy thought-then finally found one of the man's legs, then the other. His pants were filthy. Canidy thought-then finally found one of the man's legs, then the other. His pants were filthy.

Canidy thought, Finally, we find someone...and he's damn near dead. Finally, we find someone...and he's damn near dead.

The yellow beam danced its way up the leg, reached the buttocks, then continued up to the untucked shirttail. From what they had seen so far, the body was short and stout.

"Hit the face," Canidy whispered.

The yellow beam immediately went farther up-too far-first into the shrubs, then backtracked till it found the head.

The man's face was turned away from Canidy and Fuller, looking toward where Nola was laying low. The man appeared to be older, maybe in his fifties, with wavy white hair.

I can't see any signs of skin lesions, Canidy thought, Canidy thought, no real evidence of gas poisoning. no real evidence of gas poisoning.

Maybe he was farther away during the explosion, and what poison reached him is just now showing its signs.

"Check his hands," Canidy said.