KAPPLER INDUSTRIES, HOWEVER, DID LOSE FIVE OF OUR SEVEN OPERATIONS THERE. IN DUE COURSE, I WILL SHARE MORE DETAILS ON THIS, BUT FOR NOW THE DAMAGE IS DONE AND BEING DEALT WITH AS EXPEDITIOUSLY AS POSSIBLE.

THIRD, AND I THINK PERHAPS MOST IMPORTANT, YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT I HAVE BEEN ASKED TO PERFORM SOME EXTRAORDINARY TASKS. THESE ARE ONES THAT I DEVOUTLY BELIEVE OUR ALMIGHTY GOD HAS CHOSEN FOR ME TO DO. AND I HAVE AGREED TO DO SO.

BECAUSE THEY ARE OF THE HIGHEST SECRECY, I KNOW THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THAT THEY ARE DANGEROUS, AND MAY NOT END WELL FOR ME.

I AM SHARING THIS WITH YOU NOW BECAUSE IF SOMETHING SHOULD HAPPEN TO ME, YOU WILL NEED TO TAKE YOUR OWN EXTRAORDINARY ACTIONS. ONES TO SAVE YOURSELF FROM A POSSIBLE SIMILAR FATE BUT ALSO ONES TO SAVE YOUR MOTHER AND SISTER.

TO THIS END, YOU WILL BE APPROACHED BY A GENTLEMAN OF POWERFUL RESOURCES WHO FROM THE START HAS HELPED ME WITH ALL OUR FAMILY BUSINESSES AND INVESTMENTS IN THE AMERICAS. THESE NOW CONSTITUTE OUR FAMILY'S ENTIRE WEALTH, AS ALL KAPPLER INDUSTRIES IN GERMANY HAVE BEEN OR ARE ABOUT TO BE NATIONALIZED. THIS IS THE SAME THAT BORMANN HAS DONE WITH FRITZ THYSSEN, WHO YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND GORING PRESENTLY IS MOVING FROM A BERLIN ASYLUM TO A KONZENTRATIONSLAGER.

YOU WILL KNOW THIS GENTLEMAN IS LEGITIMATE IN THE SAME MANNER AS YOU KNOW THIS MESSAGE YOU NOW READ IS LEGITIMATE.

I CLEARLY APPRECIATE THAT THIS SUDDENLY PLACES AN UNFAIR BURDEN ON YOUR SHOULDERS, BUT KNOWING YOUR FINE CHARACTER THERE IS NO QUESTION IN MY MIND THAT YOU UNDERSTAND SUCH DESPERATE TIMES REQUIRE SUCH GREAT SACRIFICES.

LASTLY, AND SADLY, I AM AWARE AND ASHAMED THAT I HAVE BEEN REMISS ALL YOUR LIFE IN SAYING THIS ENOUGH TO YOU, BUT PLEASE KNOW HOW VERY PROUD OF YOU I AM, MY SON, AND THAT I LOVE YOU.

PRAY WITH ME THAT THIS WAR SOON ENDS, BEFORE MORE MINDLESS HARM IS DONE, AND THAT WE ALL WILL AGAIN BE TOGETHER AS A FAMILY.

STAY STRONG. MAY GOD BLESS YOU.

YOUR FATHER.

END MESSAGE.

HIGHEST SECRECY.

Kappler, his eyes beginning to water, felt his throat constrict.

He looked out across the piazza and drained his coffee.

"I'm sorry," Ernst Beck said softly.

Kappler looked at him.

"Yes," Beck said, "I of course read the letter. It's my job. But know that I am under orders to provide you with whatever you need."

"My father," Kappler said, "he is working with the Abwehr?"

Beck nodded.

"That is all I know," he added, then nodded at the message. "But considering the urgency I was instructed to get that to you, something tells me this is all going to get very interesting very quickly."

[TWO].

Latitude 37 Degrees 15 Seconds North Longitude 4 Degrees 13 Seconds East Over the Mediterranean Sea, North of Tigzirt, Algeria 1820 30 May 1943 Stepping slowly away from the flight deck-the only lights burning on the aircraft were on the control panel, and these had been dimmed as low as possible-Dick Canidy moved in the dark toward the bulkhead door. He glanced up at the astrodome, the clear Plexiglas bubble used for celestial navigation. Some-not much-natural light was coming through it from the twinkling blanket of stars and the sliver of a crescent moon. He then heard the droning of the Twin Wasps grow slightly louder and at the same time felt the angle of the aircraft nose up. Hank Darmstadter had started his slow ascent, headed for eight thousand feet.

Canidy went through the bulkhead door and closed it behind him.

It was noisier than hell in the back. The aircraft's walls weren't insulated, of course, and he essentially was standing between-and within feet of-both engines, albeit separated by the thin skin of aluminum alloy that was the fuselage. The trooper door aft had been removed, and the slipstream was howling at the opening.

The temperature at Dellys had been just above ninety when they had taken off, and the salty-smelling sea air in the plane was still humid and hot. That would soon change as they gained altitude. The temperature of air dropped five-plus degrees with every thousand feet of elevation. Reaching eight thousand feet, they would lose forty or so degrees. Chilly, but not unbearable, especially considering everyone was wearing an extra layer of clothing-black coveralls.

Standing at the bulkhead, Canidy strained to make out shapes.

It's damn-near darker back here, if that's possible.

After grabbing a rib of the fuselage for balance, he took a step forward-and immediately tripped.

Damn it!

He caught himself, then looked around trying to see what his boot had found.

While the folding metal seats lining either side of the fuselage were capable of holding twenty-eight parachutists, Canidy knew there were only two people in the back of the C-47-and he'd just found one of them.

Twenty-four-year-old Second Lieutenant Jeffrey Kauffman was the beefy copilot-he stood six-foot-two, 230-who would relieve Darmstadter after serving as jumpmaster and making sure Canidy and van der Ploeg had safely exited the aircraft over the LZ.

Kauffman was now curled up against the foot of the bulkhead, lying on a woolen blanket and resting his head on one of the four big black duffel bags stacked there under the cargo netting. He was in the process of bending his knees, pulling his feet closer to him-That's what I hit, his feet-but otherwise not paying any attention to Canidy.

Smart guy-getting some shut-eye while he can.

Sorry to disturb your slumber.

Canidy looked at the bags of gear, with parachutes attached, and that brought back the memory of earlier in the day, when he found out what John Craig van der Ploeg planned to bring.

While Dick Canidy and Stan Fine remained at the teak table on the villa balcony and went over last-minute details concerning who to message about the mission into Sicily-and more importantly who the hell not to message-John Craig van der Ploeg had gone downstairs and begun pulling together what gear to take.

He had been there an hour by the time Dick Canidy entered the vast storeroom and found him in a far corner.

John Craig was looking at a sheet of paper with a neatly hand-printed list. Near his feet were four well-worn Italian leather suitcases. All were open and empty. A variety of clothing and gear was spread out on the floor around the suitcases.

"What the hell is this?" Canidy said.

"The suitcases?" John Craig said. "Francisco Nola's fishing boats have been smuggling families here from Sicily. We bought their suitcases-and what clothes they would sell us-so that we'd blend in when we went there."

"No . . . what the hell is all this?"

"What do you mean?" John Craig said, holding up the sheet of paper. "This is what we always did in Boy Scouts before a trip. We made a packing list, then laid out everything before packing, checking it off the list as we went."

Canidy looked at him-Jesus! We're not going to Camp Two Teepee to roast marshmallows-then walked over to where everything was spread out.

In front of one suitcase, John Craig had put a mess kit, two bath towels, a package of handkerchiefs, a toilet kit-and his clothes.

Canidy reached down and counted six pairs of socks, six boxer shorts, six T-shirts, six outer shirts, and six pairs of pants.

How the hell long is he planning on staying?

He then looked at what was next to the second suitcase. There was an olive drab canvas musette bag and, beside it, a web belt and harness and a Colt .45 ACP pistol and two extra magazines with two boxes-a hundred rounds-of full metal jacket ball ammo. And there was a blackjack. And gold Swiss coins and what looked to Canidy to be some of the OSS "aged" Italian paper currency.

"That's fifty thousand dollars in gold," John Craig offered. "And another hundred grand in lire."

In front of the third suitcase there was another towel, a raincoat, and a sleeping bag. Next to this was a second .45 with two extra magazines and two boxes of ammo, a first-aid kit, a canteen, a compass, a flashlight, a gas mask, a dozen K rations, and finally a pack of playing cards and a box of Hershey chocolate bars.

"What?" Canidy said. "No marshmallows and graham crackers?"

John Craig's eyes brightened.

"To make s'mores! We have any?"

Canidy grunted.

"That was a fucking joke," he said, then swept his hand in the direction of all that was on the floor. "Much like all this."

Canidy walked over to the suitcases and glanced at each of them.

"The radios are in which ones?"

Van der Ploeg pointed to the first and third suitcases.

Canidy went to the first one, reached in, and after a moment found the false bottom. He then carefully removed it, revealing three black boxes. The transmitter and receiver of the SSTR-1 wireless telegraphy set were nearly identical black boxes, each about ten inches long and four inches wide and tall. They had black Bakelite faceplates with an assortment of knobs, dials, and toggle switches. Each weighed five pounds; the similar-sized box that was the power supply weighed ten.

He pointed at the third suitcase and said, "Same in there?"

"Exactly."

"You tested them?"

John Craig nodded. "Touch them."

Canidy did.

"They're still warm," he said.

"They just came down from the commo room."

Canidy made a satisfied face, then put the false bottom back in place.

He turned his attention to what was in front of the suitcase.

"Everything we take is going to fit in two suitcases. Got it?"

John Craig didn't look convinced.

Canidy reached down and grabbed four pairs of pants and four shirts, then tossed them in the nearby corner.

"What?" John Craig said.

Canidy looked over his shoulder and said, "Were you planning on visiting-or moving to Sicily?"

Then Canidy did the same with the four T-shirts, four pairs of socks, the handkerchiefs, and one of the towels. Finally, he threw out the sleeping bag and gas mask and mess kit.

Canidy then walked over and scanned the items on the shelving. He took a quick inventory and then pulled four cartons of Camel unfiltered cigarettes from one section. He tossed two cartons in each of the suitcases that had a W/T.

"I didn't think you smoked cigarettes," John Craig said, visibly surprised.

"I don't. Those are for what's known as bribery. They're worth their weight in gold in most places."

Canidy looked back to the shelving and pulled more packages off and tossed them in the suitcase.

"Women's hosiery?" John Craig said.

"Even better than gold. Especially if you're interested in getting laid."

John Craig looked as if he might blush.

Canidy then went to the cases of Haig & Haig and pulled out two bottles.

He carried them over to the musette bag.

"Wrap these bottles in those towels of yours-and anything else that will protect them-and put them in this bag. Do not pack them in a suitcase. As much as I'd hate to have a bottle break when we jump, I'd hate even more for the scotch to ruin the radios."

"Got it," John Craig said, and noted that on his list.

Canidy pointed to a stack of wooden crates.

"That's C-2 plastic explosive," he said, then added mock-seriously: "Unlike your boxer shorts-which may well be explosive-you can never have enough C-2. That's taught in my throat-cutting and sabotage school; I'm deeply disappointed that you failed to absorb such a critical point."

John Craig avoided eye contact as he wrote "C-2" on his list.

Canidy said: "Grab two crates, plus primers and det cord."