Back in Washington, however, he found that it all was somewhat more complicated than that.

The supersecret outfit turned out to be the Office of the Coordinator of Information, run by Colonel William "Wild Bill" Donovan and answerable only to Roosevelt himself. And it needed Canidy for his connections to help smuggle a French mining engineer prized by the Germans-and thus the Americans-out of North Africa.

Then Canidy got really pissed.

Pissed at this supersecret outfit, pissed at having left the AVG, pissed at himself for his options.

Or lack of options.

He had a choice: either agree to this "mission of considerable risk" or, now that he was privy to top secret information, be locked down in a secure institution for "psychiatric evaluation" for an unspecified time-habeas corpus be damned-which was to say, a very long time, at least the duration of the war, in order to keep the information safe. be damned-which was to say, a very long time, at least the duration of the war, in order to keep the information safe.

Canidy, still pissed but smart enough to keep his mouth shut, chose the mission. In due course, he was given the assimilated rank of major and presented with credentials stating that he was in the United States Army Air Corps and another (for when the first did not get him what he needed) stating that he worked for the Office of the Coordinator of Information, which carried a presidential priority.

The mission had turned out to be of considerable risk indeed, not to mention had required cold, ruthless decisions, ones he found himself not necessarily enjoying but perfectly capable of carrying out.

He realized it was a situation not unlike the one he had discovered as a Flying Tiger in China: that he more or less liked what he was doing and he did very well at it.

This was not lost on Donovan and his top spies in what the COI now was called: the Office of Strategic Services. An unusually natural operative, Canidy proved expert at espionage and sabotage and more-at the "strategic services" deemed important to winning the war.

Over time, Canidy was given-which was to say, Wild Bill Donovan had assigned him indirectly at first, then directly-more and more responsibility.

There were missions to nab more engineers and scientists (ones with expertise in nuclear fission, the development and manufacture of jet aircraft, manned and unmanned), missions to smuggle uranite for the Manhattan Project's development of the atom bomb, and missions to modify B-17s into explosive-filled drones that could be flown from England into German assets (submarine pens, plants manufacturing fighter jets, et cetera).

Most recently-within the last month, in New York City-Canidy had found himself dealing with the Mafia in the extraction of Professor Rossi prior to the Allied Forces' early planning of the invasion of Sicily.

It had been the top mafioso himself-one Charles "Lucky" Luciano, in a New York State slam on prostitution and racketeering charges but still the acting "boss of all bosses"-who had directly helped Canidy make connections on and off the island.

Canidy carried in his possession a personal note from Charlie Lucky that asked of anyone so able to please provide Canidy whatever aid possible. It was a carte blanche instrument that Canidy now expected he would desperately need to use to find out about the nerve gas.

And so Fine, in short, understood that Canidy had become "almost" the perfect spy. "Almost," because he'd also become what no spy was supposed to be...indispensable.

"I don't think it's so much what Donovan thinks about all this," Fine began, then reached for the stack of papers before him on the table and fingered down through it until he came to what he was looking for. He pulled out a typewritten sheet, held it out, and went on, "This came back in response to your second message, the sit-rep sent from the Casabianca. Casabianca."

Canidy walked over to the table, took the sheet, and read the decrypted message: [image]

"'By highest authority'?" Canidy quoted. "'Any and every expeditious method'?"

"I'd say the President has taken a personal interest in your discovery," Fine said. "And clearly he's aware of possible obstacles and wants this done quietly."

Canidy grunted.

"So I'm going to have to go back in. And, Stan, I'm going to need help. Help on the island and help in keeping clear of AFHQ."

Fine nodded.

"Both will be a challenge," Fine said. "We've already had some trouble, not counting today's visit from Owen."

"Why both? And what kind of trouble?"

"Help on the island is difficult because basically AFHQ has declared it off-limits. We've been told that we can plan for the invasion, collect intel, but we are not supposed to go there." He paused. "I understand-though not necessarily agree-as to why. Hell, anyone with a map can make a rather well-educated guess what Hitler considers possible in the way of Allied intentions."

"Sure," Canidy said. "He sees that we can go from here into Sicily, then up through Italy. And, alternatively, from here up through southern France. We know he's bracing for a cross-channel invasion of western France, as he's been using forced labor to build defensive positions all along the coast. And then there's an attack from across the Balkans. And, of course, the Red Army has Hitler looking nervously over his shoulder to the east."

Fine sipped his coffee and nodded.

"Hitler just does not know which one when," he said.

"And each one-location and D-Day-is a huge variable by itself," Canidy put in. "Torch was first expected to land in May. Six months is a long time to wait, especially if you're not sure you've got the right spot."

"Exactly," Fine said. "And Hitler cannot defend them all...and wait it out. So the trick is to fool him as to exactly which island and when. Done right, he sends his defenses to where we say, then we take advantage of his weak spots. But if, say, you get caught in Sicily now, Dick, and his intel is telling him that we're amassing troops and ships here and in Tunis, it would be clear we're preparing for an invasion."

Canidy's eyebrows went up. "And next is, as we know, Sicily."

"As of today, right. Never mind what you found there. OSS London is helping our cousins with one very quiet operation that's meant to fool the Germans and Italians into believing that the invasion will be on Sardinia and Greece. Meanwhile, we-OSS Algiers-are supposed to be concentrating on training teams for the French reseau. reseau."

Canidy knew the reseau reseau-for "resistance network"-was in large part the maquis, maquis, young men who refused to be slaves of the German occupation. They had fled into France's woods, where the Allies planned to insert teams and supplies to help them wage guerrilla war. young men who refused to be slaves of the German occupation. They had fled into France's woods, where the Allies planned to insert teams and supplies to help them wage guerrilla war.

"Tell me about the trouble you mentioned," Canidy said.

Fine got up from the table. He walked over to the open French doors, then went through the doorway. Canidy followed him onto the balcony.

"You'll recall Club des Pins, the resort that's down there on the beach?" Fine said, pointing to the western end of the coast that was visible.

"Yeah," Canidy said. "The one that the SOE is using for its finishing school, right?"

Special Operations Executive was the British saboteur and operative arm. The OSS was emulating it, and had named theirs, accordingly, OSS Special Operations.

"Right. The teams are modeled after the OSS teams we have in Corsica."

"We had the reinforcement teams on the sub," Canidy said.

"Of course. So you know each has an officer and three men, a liaison and two radio operators, who report to him." When Canidy nodded, Fine went on: "So the SOE is fine-tuning their people in radio operations, Morse code, encryption, map and compass, hand-to-hand combat. There's even a jump school and a demolitions school."

"Their people? I though we had our guys there, too."

"A handful. We maintain a presence in the interest of 'Allied cooperation.' But for the bulk of our men, it just wasn't working out."

Canidy's expression showed that he was surprised.

Fine explained: "Our guys were being treated-in that fine, subtle English way, but it was there nonetheless-as sort of stepchildren. The training for the Brits' missions always seemed to take precedence and we were left on a space-available basis. 'Sorry, old chap, that was the last spot on the plane. We'll put you top of the queue to jump tomorrow.' And, of course, the next day there was another reason why we got bumped."

"So much for Ike's declaration that we're all in this together."

"I like Eisenhower," Fine said, "and respect him immensely. But you and I know that the OSS must by its very nature operate on a far smaller scale."

Canidy nodded. "We have-what-maybe ten thousand serving in the OSS?"

"I heard almost twelve thousand at last count. Total."

"Okay, call it twelve. And figure half of that number are in Washington."

"Uh-huh. And with his masses, Eisenhower, on the other hand, is too caught up in the big picture to want to worry about us. After seriously stumbling at Kasserine Pass, he wants to prove that the Americans can run the show-'A seamless Allied force able to act as one,' I've heard him say-and in so doing he's both bending over to accommodate our cousins and being damn near deaf to anything that goes against that."

The disaster at Tunisia's Kasserine Pass in the Atlas Mountains had taken place only weeks earlier. Erwin Rommel's Afrika Korps had hammered the hell out of Allied forces made up mostly of the U.S. Army's II Corps. The Germans boldly forced them back fifty miles, while inflicting huge casualties, taking prisoners, and capturing critical materiel, everything from weapons to fuel. Eisenhower eventually struck back successfully, but there was no denying grave mistakes had been made up and down the lines of command.

"And our cousins are taking advantage of that?" Canidy said.

"You know the Brits and their snooty air of superiority. They're brash. It's creating friction for Eisenhower. And it's certainly affecting how they treat the OSS and our intel. They're making the point at AFHQ that if they don't say something exists, that if their far superior intel-gathering services don't know about it, then, ipso facto, ipso facto, it cannot possibly exist." it cannot possibly exist."

"So if us new kids on the block don't get our fair share of instruction," Canidy said, "what do we do?"

"We set up our own finishing school," Fine said.

"Okay. When?"

"Already done."

"Really?"

"You underestimate me, my friend."

Canidy grinned. "That I never would do."

"There's a small place we took over called Dellys, about sixty klicks east of here," Fine explained as he gestured to the right, toward the eastern point of the coast on the horizon. "It's sort of a miniature Algiers, with a port, an ancient casbah, assorted buildings like these"-he gestured at the city below-"just smaller and fewer, and not much else. We've got four or five fishing boats and a dozen or so small rubber boats. With these we practice putting the agents ashore. And we'll use the aircraft to drop agents in."

That got Canidy's attention.

"Aircraft?" he said.

Fine nodded. "We got our hands on a couple C-47s. Darmstadter did. And-"

"Darmstadter?" Canidy said, excited. "He's here? With Gooney Birds? This is getting better by the second."

"Yeah. A week ago he arrived with the aircraft. I've got him on a very very short TDY. He's getting the aircraft squared away; they're out at the airport, someone with them at all times to keep them from disappearing. He brought pilots with him, then the plan is he'll head back to England, back to the Aphrodite Project." short TDY. He's getting the aircraft squared away; they're out at the airport, someone with them at all times to keep them from disappearing. He brought pilots with him, then the plan is he'll head back to England, back to the Aphrodite Project."

Like hell, Canidy thought, visualizing the B-17s being turned into Torpex-filled drones. Canidy thought, visualizing the B-17s being turned into Torpex-filled drones. Not if I decide I need him. Not if I decide I need him.

"Hank's a good guy," Fine went on. "And a decent pilot."

"Agreed." Canidy grinned, and added, "Not as good as me, but then few are, said he with overwhelming modesty."

Fine shook his head, grinned, too, then went on, "And no one knows more than he does about dropping sticks of paratroopers than Hank."

"Agreed again," Canidy said, then thought again about the twin-engine transports. "Can we get more Gooney Birds?"

"Why?"

"Why not? We could call it Canidy Air Corps just to piss off the Brits. And maybe Colonel Pompous."

Fine laughed. When Canidy didn't laugh, too, Fine's expression suddenly changed.

"You're not serious, Dick, are you?"

Canidy made a devious face and shrugged.

"I don't know, Dick," Fine said cautiously. "Everyone is fighting over scraps here. We're lucky to have the two we do."

Canidy put up his hands, chest high, palms outward.

"Okay," he said. "Just asking. I'm trying to get an idea of what we have immediate access to, and what assets I'll have to acquire, shall we say, by other means. If it turns out we need more, I can always play the OSS trump card as a last resort."

"Good thing you're better practiced at theft," Fine said. He was smiling again.

"Who, me?" Canidy said with mock indignation, his hands on his chest. "That's an unjust characterization, Counselor! I'll have you know that I prefer the term 'borrow,' as I always return that which I take...perhaps not in the condition in which it was acquired, but return it nonetheless." He paused. "Unless that proves to be impossible. Then I don't. But my intentions-like my heart, dear sir-are pure."

Fine shook his head in resignation.

Canidy grinned, then with some finality went on: "Okay, so we have some challenges. My immediate one is finding the Stefania Stefania and seeing what they know about the status of Palermo. It's been four days since I blew up the ship; the cleanup has to be well under way. Then I need to find out when the and seeing what they know about the status of Palermo. It's been four days since I blew up the ship; the cleanup has to be well under way. Then I need to find out when the Casabianca Casabianca sets sail again and if I need to get that date moved up. And then, or maybe before, I need to set up an SO team for Sicily, so we can run a sets sail again and if I need to get that date moved up. And then, or maybe before, I need to set up an SO team for Sicily, so we can run a reseau reseau-or whatever the hell the Sicilian word for reseau reseau is." is."

Canidy thought: And keep a low profile so that Ike and his flunky Owen-and anyone else who can bloody well spell AFHQ-don't know what I'm doing. And keep a low profile so that Ike and his flunky Owen-and anyone else who can bloody well spell AFHQ-don't know what I'm doing.

"Get Darmstadter to run you out to Dellys," Stan Fine said. "You may find what you need at our school. Know that Corvo is out there with Scamporinio, Anfuso, and some others."

Canidy had met Max Corvo in Washington, D.C., in '42, shortly after the chief of the OSS Italian Division, Earl Brennan, had recruited the twenty-two-year-old U.S. Army private. Of Sicilian descent, Corvo had strong connections-family, friends, business associates-both in America and Sicily. He spoke Italian as well as Sicilian dialects. Despite his age and rank, he was put in charge of OSS Italy SI (Secret Intelligence) and quickly manned his section with a dozen Sicilian Americans to serve as SI field agents. Victor Anfuso and Vincent Scamporino, both young lawyers, were among his recruits.

Canidy knew that as far as AFHQ was concerned, Corvo and Captain Stanley S. Fine were the official face of the OSS here. Canidy was attached to neither OSS Italy nor OSS Algiers. On paper, he was in charge of the safe house known as OSS Whitbey House, which made him the number three man in OSS London, behind David Bruce and Ed Stevens.

But right now, Canidy worked directly for OSS Washington; he was Wild Bill Donovan's wild card.

Canidy reached into his pocket and pulled out the stamped-metal fob that held the key to the Plymouth.

"On my way," he said.

"You'd be wise to use one of our cars," Fine said reasonably. "Less conspicuous, as I suspect someone is very likely hunting that Plymouth. And Owen, I think, noticed it as he left."

Canidy considered all that a moment, then nodded.

"Dammit, Stan, I hate it that you're always right. Almost Almost always. But you know how much I hate returning something that I just borrowed." always. But you know how much I hate returning something that I just borrowed."

Fine snorted.

"Yeah, I do," he said, "but give me the key, anyway."

Canidy tossed the fob with its key to him.