Canidy looked at it, and, when it showed movement inside, he grinned.

"Thank God for small comforts, huh?"

Fuller shrugged. "I guess."

"Keep an eye on them," Canidy said lightly. "Those two may not stand a chance in hell against the cockroaches in this place."

Fuller didn't respond. And Canidy now realized that he really had not regained all the color in his face. He still looked fairly pale.

"You'll be all right, Tubes," Canidy said. "We all will."

He looked at the pouch.

"So far so good, right, Adolf? Eva?"

Tubes made a small smile.

Canidy reached down to his duffel and began pulling out what Fuller recognized as pieces of a rifle.

As Canidy put the weapon's receiver on his lap, he noticed Tubes was watching with interest.

"Johnny gun," Canidy said. "Officially, Johnson Model of 1941 Light Machine Gun."

"Never seen one."

"Not many have," Canidy said. "Marine Corps reserve officer Melvin Maynard Johnson, Jr.-a Boston attorney-wanted something to beat the Browning Automatic Rifle. So he built this. It's eight pounds lighter than the BAR, and a helluva lot more flexible."

He pulled its barrel out of his duffel, then quickly and effortlessly assembled it to the receiver.

"See?" Canidy said. "Unscrewing the BAR's barrel is such a bitch, it's next to impossible. Leave it to a jarhead to come up with a practical design for the easy swapping of barrels and for general field servicing. Plus, it packs compact."

He reached back into the duffel bag, brought out two curved box magazines and held one up.

"Twenty rounds of thirty-aught-six Springfield, same as the BAR," he said, then smacked the mag into the mount in the left side of the receiver.

"Presto. Ready to go."

He turned and stood the Johnny gun on its butt, leaning its muzzle against the cabinets where they formed a V. V.

"Helluva weapon," Canidy said. "Too bad the bureaucrats killed its chances of mass production."

Fuller nodded, then reached into his duffel, and brought out his British-made Sten 9mm submachine gun and a magazine.

Holding the Sten with its barrel pointed to the ceiling, he fed the magazine into the opening under the receiver, and checked to make sure the breech was clear. Then he slug its strap over his right shoulder, letting the weapon hang there, ready.

"Now what?" Fuller said.

Nola came back into the room. He had a look of worry.

"No one here-" Nola announced, then paused when he saw the long guns.

"That would mean that Tubes's question remains all the more valid," Canidy said.

Nola's face was questioning.

"To wit, now what?" Canidy said.

"I'm not sure," Nola said. "It doesn't appear that anyone has been here for some time."

"No shit," Canidy said and jerked his right thumb toward the sink. "Looks like they may have left in a hurry, too."

Nola glanced in that direction, then looked to be in deep thought.

"So far," Canidy went on, "the only thing we have confirmed is, one, that the cargo ship blew up and, two, that there weren't mass deaths from the nerve gas."

Fuller looked at Canidy.

"Those men who were hung," Fuller said.

Canidy raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?" he said.

"What do you think they were trying to get? I mean, the people who hung them."

"Me," Canidy said.

"You?"

Canidy nodded.

"If they had hung them just to kill them," Canidy explained, "then that's what they would have done. They'd have strung them up, then disposed of them, probably just thrown their bodies to the sharks." He paused. "Hell, not even that. They'd have just made them get on their knees at the end of a pier and put a bullet in the head. Then Then fed them to the hammer-heads and makos, kicking them into the sea if they hadn't fallen in when shot. They're evil fed them to the hammer-heads and makos, kicking them into the sea if they hadn't fallen in when shot. They're evil and and lazy." lazy."

"They," Fuller said. "You keep saying Fuller said. "You keep saying they. they."

"The SS," Nola offered. "Or the OVRA, the Italian secret police."

"It's the SS," Canidy said. "No question."

"Why are they after you?" Fuller said.

"They're looking for whoever blew up the cargo ship."

"You," Fuller said.

Canidy shrugged.

"Yeah. That's what those SS sons of bitches do. That's how they smoke out anyone who's in or supports the Resistance. They'll literally crucify a whole village-slaughter men, women, children-to make them examples of what will happen to anyone else who works against the Nazis. Sometimes, it's not even for the message. Sometimes, it's just pure, unadulterated evil, often in the name of revenge."

Fuller tried to comprehend that. It was clear he had other questions.

And then, after a moment, he asked, "What happened to their eyes?"

"What do you mean?" Canidy said.

"The eyes of the men who were hung," Fuller said. "They were missing, nothing but bloody sockets."

"Birds, probably the seagulls, got them."

Fuller nodded. That he understood. He'd seen seagulls tearing into fish on the beach. They had, at once, disgusted and impressed him by how they got inside the fish-pecking in with their beak through the soft parts of the eyes and the anus.

"Very likely," Canidy added, "that happened after the SS gouged the eyes with a bayonet."

Fuller looked like he might be sick again.

"You going to be all right?" Canidy said.

Fuller nodded meekly.

Canidy went on: "It sends a message, too. 'You don't tell us what you see, what you know, then we will take your ability to see.' Same thing with the mouth."

Fuller narrowed his eyes. Then he shook his head to show that he didn't understand.

"Those shits in the SS," Canidy explained, "they take a special joy in smashing prisoners in the mouth with the butts of their Mausers. They do it till all the teeth are knocked out. Message being: 'You don't talk, then we'll see that you really can't talk.'" He paused. "Of course, the real real message is for those who witness such atrocities: 'Cooperate or this will be you.'" message is for those who witness such atrocities: 'Cooperate or this will be you.'"

Fuller was familiar with the Mauser Karabiner 98k. He had fired one of the bolt-action carbines that the OSS had in Algiers-and painfully recalled the dense wooden stock with its butt plate made of steel. The mental image of that steel striking teeth made him uneasy.

Canidy looked at Fuller and felt obligated to add, "I have to say that it certainly has gotten my attention."

Fuller nodded.

"But," Canidy said finally, "unfortunately for the SS, it's only served to piss me off."

Canidy noticed Fuller's unease and decided that he had said enough on the subject.

Need to get his mind thinking about something else.

"Can you give some thought to getting the radio set up?" Canidy now said to Fuller.

Fuller brightened slightly. He nodded. "Sure."

Canidy looked at Nola.

"Where's a good place, Frank?" He pointed to the ceiling. "Maybe the roof? Is there access?"

"Yes."

"Can anyone-a neighbor up the hill, say-look down on it?"

Nola thought about that, then said, "I don't think so."

"Okay," Canidy said. "But we'll let Tubes determine that."

He looked at the chronograph on his wrist.

"It's now oh-seven-thirty," Canidy said. "The Casabianca Casabianca right now should be waiting on the bottom. Our first opportunity tonight to contact her is twenty-one fifteen. That's just under fourteen hours from now. And the last chance is six hours after that, at oh-three-fifteen. That gives us a lot of time." right now should be waiting on the bottom. Our first opportunity tonight to contact her is twenty-one fifteen. That's just under fourteen hours from now. And the last chance is six hours after that, at oh-three-fifteen. That gives us a lot of time."

"To do what?" Nola said.

"To find out what happened to the Tabun that Professor Rossi said was on the boat. Did it go up in smoke? It does not appear that it did-at least, judging by the fact that the cloud did not cause mass death-so where is it? On the harbor bottom?"

Nola nodded his understanding.

"And then," Canidy said, "we need to find out about the villa with the yellow-fever lab. Or maybe we can do that first and it will lead us to the answer about the gas."

Fuller looked at Canidy and said, "If those fishermen were hung because the SS want to find out who blew up the boat, then wouldn't there be a price on your head?"

"As far as the SS is concerned, yes," Canidy said. "But I'm what's known as an asset. As are you."

"Me?" Fuller said.

Frank Nola cleared his throat.

He explained to Fuller, "My people will not stand for these atrocities-the hangings, the slaughter of that fishing-boat crew. We are a tough people. We can wait for the opportunity to beat these Nazi bastards and their puppets in the OVRA. And you are that opportunity."

Fuller nodded as he absorbed that.

"If we get this gas thing figured out," Canidy added, "we will arm the Resistance with weapons, radios, explosives-"

"Not if, if, my friend," Nola interrupted, my friend," Nola interrupted, "when. "when. And until then, my people will take care of you two." And until then, my people will take care of you two."

Canidy thought, Better, I hope, than they took care of those guys hanging from those nooses. Better, I hope, than they took care of those guys hanging from those nooses.

[ONE].

OSS Whitbey House Station Kent, England 0705 4 April 1943 Charity Hoche rubbed her eyes, then yawned. As she sipped tea from the fine white porcelain china cup and found that it had turned tepid, her stomach growled. She looked at the clock.

Okay, she thought, she thought, one more cup and then I'll head down the hall for something to eat. one more cup and then I'll head down the hall for something to eat.

I've been at this two hours-eight, counting last night-and I don't feel I'm any further along than when I started.

Charity put the cup on its saucer, then reached across her desk and picked up the matching fine white porcelain teapot. With one hand on the teapot handle and the index finger of the other hand holding the teapot lid in place, she refilled the cup.

As the pleasant waft of fresh hot tea from the cup reached her nose, she thought about how acclimated to England she had become-at least, in one way. She almost never drank tea in the States. Yet here, despite the endless supply of coffee that was available-there always seemed to be a pot brewing-she not only had come to drink tea, she had come to drink only tea.