Using a clueless kid would be a clever way for me not to suspect he's actually watching me and reporting on what I'm doing.

And did anyone pay any attention that after I called and left a message for Muller to expect my arrival, I called Beck and told him that I would be out of town overnight in Palermo?

Oh, hell . . . now I am becoming paranoid!

"Calm down, Karlchen," as Father used to tell me. "You must always think thoroughly before acting."

This kid's not capable of babysitting an infant, let alone keeping up with me.

Still, as Felix said when we were in intelligence school: "Even the paranoid have enemies."

He'd laughed, that Felix, but he'd meant it seriously.

Otto suddenly stood on the brakes and downshifted.

Kappler jerked his head to look forward. He saw that a herd of forty or more goats blocked the road. A farmer carrying a long wooden staff was trying, and failing, to hurry them across.

"Sorry," Otto said, then tapped the horn.

The honking caused the animals to run in circles and around the car.

"I'd suggest just running them over," Kappler said, "but I don't think this flimsy little car is much of a match against even those small animals. And we don't want to be stuck out here."

Jesus! Kappler thought. Stuck out here indeed.

My family's very existence is at grave risk and I'm stuck in a joke of a vehicle surrounded by a damn herd of crazed goats?

Otto hit the horn again, impatiently revving the engine.

This time the farmer prodded at the animals with his staff and after a moment managed to part the herd.

Otto shot through the gap.

Okay, think, Oskar. Think!

Getting back to those "extraordinary actions" . . . what am I supposed to do with Mother and Anna? Do I try to get back to Berlin now? Try to prepare them for whatever happens next?

No. Father wrote "if something should happen to me, you will need to take your own extraordinary actions."

And in that case I would be approached by a powerful man, someone who was involved with the family enterprises that Hitler cannot touch.

I wonder if Hitler even knows about them?

I've known about them, known they exist-I even remember Father going to Argentina with Thyssen-but never knew details of exactly what we have there in South America and in the United States.

Father always said that he would tell me "in due time."

And-ach du lieber Gott!-what a "due time" it is!

He shook his head.

I never thought that those properties would one day "constitute the family's entire wealth." It certainly appears to have been a brilliant business strategy, particularly in light of Hitler stealing all we have in Germany.

Yet Thyssen did the same-and it's all utterly worthless to him locked up in a konzentrationslager.

And what the hell will I do if the same happens to Father?

And what if the bastards decide "like father, like son" and throw me in, too, for good measure?

Father writing that he prayed the war will soon end, and that we will soon be together as a family-that read like his last words. Ones in vain, especially considering he said those secret, dangerous tasks that God chose "may not end well for me."

So, what to do? I'm just supposed to wait? For what? And for how long?

That Beck said he thought it was "going to get very interesting very quickly."

Does he know something?

Kappler felt his heart race. And he suddenly realized he had no idea how long he'd been holding his breath, and now found himself making rapid, shallow breaths.

He could hear his father's voice: "Calm down, Karlchen!"

I may never hear my father's voice again. . . .

He turned to look out his side window when he caught his throat tightening and felt his eyes glistening. He did not want the scharfuhrer to see that.

"Everything all right, sir?" Otto Lieber said, glancing at him.

Kappler after a moment cleared his throat, then nodded.

"Just something in my eye," he said. "I'm fine."

Otto Lieber nodded, then quietly returned his attention to the road.

[FOUR].

SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Oskar Kappler reached down for his leather briefcase as he looked at the massive white masonry building that served as the SS's Palermo field office. It had been built in the "four corners" city center-the Quattro Canti Quarter-by the Normans nine centuries earlier. It was four stories high. A dozen stone steps led up to the huge heavy ornate metal door of the main entrance.

Seeing the field office building brought back memories-none of them good-of the times that Kappler had been forced to come to Palermo.

I tried to get those Tabun howitzer munitions lost here, so no one could use them. But that bastard Muller found them-and could have killed us all when he decided that he had plans for them.

As the supervising officer of SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Hans Muller-a high-strung twenty-eight-year-old major who had a violent temper that matched, if not surpassed, that of Adolf Hitler-Kappler was responsible for what Muller did. Or failed to do. And when Kappler wrote up the report detailing Muller's intended use and then loss of the nerve gas, and in it demanded that the reckless Muller be demoted and reassigned, Julius Schrader had squashed it.

"I am going to do you a favor, my friend, and tell you that you really do not want this incident to go any further," Schrader had counseled Kappler as he put the report in his desk drawer. "Remember, someone in Berlin reading this could suggest that blame lay with you for poor training and supervision of Muller. Give him another chance. Just keep a closer eye on him."

Or that blame lay with Juli-and so he left the bastard in his job.

And that left me walking a damn tightrope with the bastard, because Muller knows I do not wield the authority over him that I should.

"Well," Kappler said to Otto, "we got here in one piece. I don't know about you, but first thing I need to do is relieve the pressure on my bladder."

"Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer!" Otto Lieber said, then quickly got out from behind the wheel.

Kappler watched as Lieber then bolted up the stone steps and went inside the building.

I guess he has to go worse than I do.

Kappler squeezed out of the car, swung the car door closed, and casually went up the steps. When he opened the huge metal door, there in the entryway stood Otto Lieber, gesturing to the left, toward a door.

"I've located the gentlemen's facility, sir," Lieber said. "It is through this door and to the right."

You really are that wet behind the ears, aren't you, Otto?

And you're probably convinced that your service just now is as important to winning the war for the Fatherland as is being on the front lines and actually dodging bullets.

"Thank you, but I have been here," he said drily. "If you want to be genuinely useful, see if you can find Sturmbannfuhrer Muller now and let him know I'm here."

"Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer!"

Five minutes later, Kappler reappeared in the entryway and found Otto standing with a young man in uniform.

Oh, for Christ's sake! Another one?

"Heil Hitler!" the young man barked as he stiffly held out his right arm in a Nazi salute. "Scharfuhrer Gunther Burger at your service, sir!"

SS-Scharfuhrer Gunther Burger was almost a mirror image of SS-Scharfuhrer Otto Lieber. Kappler vaguely remembered seeing his name on the field office manning chart, very far down at the bottom.

Kappler looked at Otto, then back at his twin.

"I was expecting to see Sturmbannfuhrer Muller," Kappler said, ignoring the Nazi greeting.

"Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer! The sturmbannfuhrer has asked me to take you directly to the hotel where you will be staying. With the sturmbannfuhrer's compliments, sir."

Is the bastard blatantly ignoring me?

"But where the hell is he? I thought it was clear that he was supposed to be expecting me."

"Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer! And he is. At the Hotel Michelangelo. After we get you checked in."

Burger then gestured somewhat nervously to the door, and added, "It is right around the corner, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer. Just two blocks, sir."

Interesting, Oskar Kappler thought after unpacking his overnight bag and taking a long look out the window of his suite on the top floor of the Hotel Michelango. I don't know what Muller is up to, but it's clear he's trying to make amends with this very nice room.

The suite had a wide view of the harbor. Kappler saw that there were mostly commercial fishing boats moored there. And at the end of one of the T-shaped piers-newly rebuilt, he knew, to replace the pier that had burned when the cargo ship blew up just after off-loading the Tabun-were a pair of Schnellboots.

Still, I don't trust the bastard one bit, he thought as he went into the hall and pulled the door shut.

Coming down the stairs, Kappler saw that Gunther Burger and Otto Lieber were seated on facing couches in the center of the wide tile-floored lobby. They appeared to be conversing with the ease of old friends.

When Burger noticed Kappler coming down the wide stairs, he popped to his feet. Lieber automatically followed suit.

Kappler scanned the lobby. He saw that the cocktail lounge was at the front of the hotel, just off the lobby and beyond a wide arched passageway that had two large potted palms on either side. He walked to the scharfuhrers.

"I have alerted Sturmbannfuhrer Muller that you are here," Burger said. "He said he is coming right away."

"Good," Kappler said, and looked to the lounge. "I'll be in there. Otto, you are free until nine tomorrow morning, when I'll see you right here. Try to stay out of trouble."

Kappler took a seat at a cocktail table in the far corner with a view of the lobby through the arched passageway. The lounge was empty except for two older men drinking at the wooden bar. When they glanced at Kappler as he entered, he thought they looked intelligent and educated-if not exactly thrilled to see an SS uniform-and guessed they might be university professors.

The bartender-a short, fat Sicilian whose coarse skin and hard features made Kappler think he would be better suited as, say, a fishmonger-waddled across the room to him.

When it immediately became clear that the bartender did not speak German or English, Kappler pointed to a wall where a wine advertisement had been tacked up as decoration. It had a sketch of a bottle of red wine.

Kappler pointed to it, said, "Bottiglia rosso," then used his index finger to indicate "one."

The bartender grunted, left, and shortly thereafter waddled back to him carrying a heavy, tall water glass and a bottle of red wine.

As Kappler watched the bartender struggle with the corkscrew in his sausage-shaped fingers, he became more convinced the man wasn't meant to serve drinks. And when he botched the ritual of offering the cork and then a taste of the wine before completely filling the glass-and the man did indeed fill the glass, right to the lip-Kappler really began to suspect something very strange was happening.

The bartender then, without a word, turned with the open bottle and started back for the bar.

Kappler was about to stop him, then looked at the glass and thought, Hell, this should last me quite some time-if I can figure out how to drink it without soaking my uniform.

He had just bent forward to start very carefully sipping at the wine when he noticed someone was entering the lounge. He glanced up and saw two attractive young Sicilian women in tight, revealing dresses.

When he saw that they were leading a man in an SS uniform, he sat up.

Muller!

SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Hans Muller was of medium build with a slight paunch. He had dark eyes that were not necessarily pleasant, puffy cheeks, and thinning black hair that he purposefully had cut to resemble that of Hitler's.

Kappler saw that Muller's hair now was mussed and his tunic not completely buttoned.

It looks like he just pulled it on!

And who are these women?