"So the brothers could've been lost with the father," Canidy said solemnly.

Nola looked at him. It took Nola a moment to comprehend what he was saying.

"Oh, no," Nola said. "The two brothers worked in the warehouses."

Nola said something in Sicilian to the girl. Canidy recognized it as a question, and saw that, when she nodded and spoke her answer, her face brightened.

"She said they're alive. They were the ones who told her to stay at Rossi's sisters and keep using Rossi's clothes."

"Does she know where they are?"

Nola spoke to her. Canidy could tell from the tone that it was a question.

She answered.

"Near the warehouses," Nola said.

Why do I have to pull the information out of Frank?

Is it conditioning from omerta? omerta?

Or is he just that damn dense?

Jesus!

"Well, then, we have our first place to go," Canidy said in a somewhat-sarcastic tone.

He felt the flash paper in his pocket.

"After we take care of something," Canidy added. "You need to see this, Frank. Come with me upstairs."

Nola spoke to Andrea and she started to stand.

I don't want her seeing the radio, Canidy thought. Canidy thought.

"She waits here, dammit!" he flared.

Andrea did not need that translated. She immediately sat back down.

Canidy noticed that her eyes were questioning, but it appeared that his outburst neither upset nor offended her.

Tough girl...or a not very bright one?

"Grazie," Canidy said, hoping that his thanks sounded sincere despite his lack of a smile. Canidy said, hoping that his thanks sounded sincere despite his lack of a smile.

"Tell her we'll be right back," Canidy said and began walking out of the kitchen. He heard Nola translating, as he reached the foot of the stairs.

[THREE].

OSS Whitbey House Station Kent, England 1145 4 April 1943 Private Peter Ustinov was at the wheel of the dark green British Humber light ambulance as it rolled to a stop at a service entrance at the rear of Whitbey House. The ambulance's bold red cross on the large white square painted on its side panel and rear doors was bright against the gloom of the rainy day.

First Lieutenant Robert Jamison stood waiting beside the service entrance's pair of heavy wooden doors.

Ustinov ground the stubborn transmission into its reverse gear and let out on the clutch. The truck zigzagged as it slowly moved backward, the front wheels cutting hard left, then hard right. Then Ustinov hit the brakes hard.

Jamison stepped over so get a better view of the cab. He found the befuddled face of Ustinov, having difficulty seeing anything behind him, staring into the rain mist on the glass of the rearview mirror.

"C'mon back!" Jamison coaxed.

He held up his hands and began making signals to guide him.

Ustinov revved the engine, and the truck again began to slowly roll toward the doors.

"A little right," Jamison called. "C'mon, that's it.... Now straight.... C'mon back straight two meters...one meter.... And whoa whoa!"

The ambulance jerked to a stop and its engine died.

Ustinov had dumped the clutch.

Ustinov climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.

"Nice work," Jamison said.

"Maybe for a blind man," Ustinov said, smiling. "My thanks for your aid."

He looked around.

"Have you seen the motor transport chaps?" Ustinov went on. "I said I wasn't going to lift that Major Martin in his casing by myself."

"I sent them inside," Jamison said, motioning with his right thumb toward the service-entrance doors, "to close the case."

"We have a pair of petrol jerry cans in here," Ustinov said, patting the palm of his hand twice on the shell of the ambulance. "At least one could stand being topped off."

"Okay, we can handle that in a bit," Jamison said. He nodded at the doors. "Let's get out of this rain, go see how close we are to getting your show on the road."

Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens, First Lieutenant Robert Jamison, First Lieutenant Charity Hoche, Major David Niven, Commander Ian Fleming, and Lieutenant Commander Ewen Montagu had spent most of the morning pulling together the last of the pieces of the puzzle that had become known as Major William Martin, Royal Marines.

The six-foot-six metal container containing the major's frozen body had been brought out of the cellar and up to the well-lit workshop near the rear service entrance. Still closed, the container rested on the stone floor, next to a wooden worktable.

On the table was a somewhat-scuffed, nearly new British-government-issue courier's briefcase. It had a metal handle, a special metal hoop for the secure attachment of a handcuff, and two heavy metal combination locks. The locks were open, the lid raised. Next to the briefcase was a six-foot length of stainless steel cable with small loops at either end. And, next to that, the pair of handcuffs.

Ewen Montagu, his back leaning against the wooden worktable, held various papers in his left hand. In his right there was a single sheet, which he was admiring.

Ed Stevens stood next to the opened briefcase, watching Montagu.

"This is very well done," Montagu said, moving the paper back and forth as he held it to the light. "Nice patina and well-worn creases. Excellent forgery."

"The guys who do our documents are the best," Jamison said.

Stevens put in, "Just don't ask where we get the talent."

"Where?" Montagu said.

"I told you not to ask," Stevens said, smiling.

"Prison," Niven said. "I heard they're felons serving time for the outrage against the government of having printed their own spending money and you pulled them out for your own, devious purposes."

"Our own, devious purposes," Stevens said evenly, still smiling. own, devious purposes," Stevens said evenly, still smiling.

"Personally, I find it a brilliant use of talent that otherwise would be wasted," Niven said and looked at Fleming. "Much like Ian's contributions with Major Martin here."

There were chuckles.

"I am ignoring you, Niven," Fleming said drily.

Montagu took another sheet and began examining it. This one was a jeweler's invoice-marked UNPAID UNPAID-to Major Martin, for a single-diamond engagement ring.

"Well done," he said, then looked at another sheet, adding: "I think we were wise to go this route with Martin's ID."

Niven reached out, asking to see it.

Montagu passed it to him and said, "Ian and I made the executive decision that at this point it'd have been a genuine pain in the posterior to come up with a permanent Combined Operations HQ identification card. For starters, it would have been difficult making it look appropriately aged."

He produced his own ID, which was well worn, its plastic edges beginning to separate and its face cloudy with scratches.

"And so we chose to use a temporary replacement ID," he added.

"Besides," Fleming added, "being the forgetful type, it would be within reason that our dear major could have lost the permanent ID."

"Looks quite official," Niven said, then suddenly added: "Dear God! They put the bloody date on this as March thirty-first!"

Montagu smiled. "Precisely."

"It means he didn't renew," Niven pressed.

"Give the major a break," Fleming said, grinning. "He's in love!"

"But the ID is expired!" Niven said, looking at them as if they had gone mad.

"Precisely," Montagu repeated. "Poor chap is absentminded."

After a long moment, there was a slow look of understanding on Niven's face. He sighed.

"Of course," he then said. "Well done."

Charity Hoche pointed to the table. Martin's dog tags-what the Brits called "identity discs on braces"-were next to some jewelry.

"The Saint Christopher and the silver crucifix there," she said. "They're nice touches. Any reason why both?"

Montagu nodded. "I believe both really quote makes unquote Martin a Roman Catholic. And with those Spaniards being the devout believers they are, the fact that Martin is anointed could very well be what keeps them from performing an autopsy. Why abuse the sacred holy body of the deceased when it's clear the poor chap simply drowned?"

Charity nodded.

"And the snapshot of the lovely 'Pam,'" Jamison said. "Where did it come from?"

"The Duchess," Charity said. "It's some third cousin of Liz, twice or thrice removed. She offered it."

Montagu began putting the items in the briefcase.

There was a blank sheet of bond on the table next to the briefcase, and as every item was added to Major Martin, Montagu added it to an itemized inventory list.

When he finished, he had written:

MOST SECRET.

NOT FOR DUPLICATION.

PERSONAL EFFECTS OF:.

MARTIN, WILLIAM, MAJOR, ROYAL MARINES.

1. Identity discs (2) "Major W. MARTIN, R.M., R/C" attached to braces 2. Silver cross on silver chain around neck 3. Watch, wrist 4. Briefcase, containing: a. Photograph of fiancee b. Letters from fiancee (2) c. Letter top, torn d. Letter from Father e. Letter from Father to McKenna & Co.

f. Letter from McKenna & Co.

g. Letter from Lloyds Bank.

h. Bill from Naval and Military Club, receipted i. Bill from engagement ring j. Book of stamps (2 used) k. St. Christopher plaque l. Invitation to Cabaret Club m. C.C.O. pass n. Admiralty ID card o. Key ring with keys (3) to flat p.5 note (#227C45827) q.1 notes (#X34D527008, #W21D029293, #X66D443119) r. 1 half-crown, 2 shillings, 2 sixpences

"And," Montagu said, looking up, "as he will have everything of value in the secure briefcase-which, of course, will be attached bodily to him by way of the cable and cuffs-it would be logical to include some cash."

There was an awkward silence, then Fleming said lightly, "You're the movie star, Niven. Out with it!"

Niven glared at him, then said, "Very well. But as I am an unemployed unemployed actor, I expect to be reimbursed." actor, I expect to be reimbursed."

He dug into his pant pocket and came out with some British currency: paper bills folded inside a monogrammed silver money clip and an assortment of coins.