"Very well," Kappler said, "but I will need to review it before my return to Messina."

Muller seemed to wince as he sipped his steaming coffee.

I bet you'd love to have a little hair of the dog in there.

Then again, for all I know, you do. Gunther served you away from me.

As Muller closed his eyes and rubbed them, he said, "And when would that be? What I mean is, when do you plan to return? You have just arrived here."

"I am not sure at the moment."

Muller grinned as he opened his eyes.

"I trust then that you had a pleasurable evening?" he said.

Kappler met his eyes.

The last you saw me, you bastard, was as I walked up to my room alone.

While you stood in the lobby with both Maria and Lucia.

Did Jimmy Palasota report to you that Lucia shared my room?

Or is it you who has that suite watched?

"I slept well, if that is what you are asking."

"Yes," Muller said. "I'm sure that you did."

Did Lucia say anything?

Of course she did!

Mata Hari and so damn many others have proven one cannot trust women in bed, that anyone could be a spy.

Nietzsche said it: "In revenge and love, women are more barbaric than men."

Still, Lucia did not attempt any "innocent" pillow talk-and even if she had, I do not speak Sicilian and she does not understand German.

He took a sip of his coffee and had a flashback of their night.

Spy or not, what a delight that girl is!

"Muller, can you tell me what information you have gathered concerning the American invasion?"

Muller made a face.

"There is not any information," he said matter-of-factly, "because the invasion will not take place here."

Kappler stared at him, wondering, Is that the alcohol talking? Or just plain arrogance?

Pantelleria, only a hundred kilometers away, actually is being bombed.

I suppose I cannot blame him. Until fire falls from the sky, it must be hard to believe that there's a war going on.

Yet it is a fact that the Americans went into North Africa with enough forces to eventually rout the Afrika Korps. Our intelligence reports show that they captured more than a quarter-million of our troops.

And this shortly after Generalfeldmarschall von Paulus's Sixth Army was embarrassingly surrendered at Stalingrad. What was that? Another million lost?

So it's really no small wonder that there aren't troops massing on this shitty little island.

Muller went on, his tone sarcastic: "It is my understanding that we soon will have the honor of the Panzer Division Hermann Goring-with two battalions and ninety-nine tanks-and the Fifteenth Panzergrenadier Division, with three grenadier infantry regiments and a sixty-tank battalion. And of course our superior Luftwaffe forces." He paused, then added: "Forgive me, but I'll believe that when I see it."

"You will see it," Kappler said automatically, hoping he sounded convincing. "They are beginning to arrive in Messina. We have been promised that by early July there will be one hundred and fifty thousand Italian troops, plus twenty thousand German troops and that many more to support the Luftwaffe."

"Again, I'll believe it when I see it," he said, then drained his coffee cup. "As you may know, last night we were expecting the arrival of a Gigant. It never showed up. When I called out to the airfield this morning, all I got were runaround answers to my questions. The only thing I know for sure is the gottverdammt aircraft is not at the Palermo airfield. The aircraft was supposed to be transporting eighty-eights-packed with the big guns and ammo for our coastal defenses-and I'm betting that it was diverted, that it flew right over us and landed in, probably, Naples. Which is fine with me."

Kappler looked at him silently.

"Let them fight the damn war there," Muller explained. "I'm comfortable here."

Kappler then said, "Did you not get the intelligence report? That there was the bombing of Pantelleria on May eighteenth?"

Muller suddenly laughed, then looked sorry for having done so. He rubbed his temples and said, "Yes, to watch the troopers-especially the Italians-running around here shitting themselves and ready to shoot at anything that moved-usually each other-was rather humorous. After a couple days, they calmed down." He chuckled. "That could be because a lot of them wore themselves out at the Hotel Michelangelo."

"They what?"

Muller nodded. "They were with the women and wine. Our hotel made quite a profit for nearly a week-until the troopers realized not a single bomb had landed anywhere near them."

Kappler grunted.

He said: "What about the intelligence report that states the same May eighteenth bombing of Pantelleria will commence here June seventh?"

This time Muller grunted.

"If one believes everything one hears, then the invasion itself is to take place on that date. We've been monitoring the radio traffic of the Americans and . . ."

"And what?" Kappler said. "You seem very sure of yourself."

Muller locked eyes with him.

"Would you like to know a secret?"

I'm your superior officer, you arrogant bastard!

I have the right to know everything that you do-and more!

"I suppose," Kappler replied, as he went to sip his coffee.

Muller stood, a little too quickly, and wobbled a bit, then motioned for Kappler to follow.

They went up a raw stone stairwell to the top floor of the SS Provisional Headquarters building.

They came to a wooden door that was locked.

"Open up!" Muller called, as he rattled the doorknob.

After a long moment, the sound of the lock turning could be heard. When the door swung open, SS-Scharfuhrer Otto Lieber stood there.

What the hell? Kappler thought.

Otto stepped aside as Muller waved Kappler inside. Otto then closed and locked the door.

Kappler then saw Gunther Burger sitting at a desk in front of what appeared to be a telegraph radio station. He held a headset to his ear.

Those switches and dials are labeled in English!

"An American wireless," Kappler said.

Muller nodded.

"Shortly after the explosions," he began, careful not to reveal anything to the scharfuhrers, "I discovered a spy cell. Intact. We interrogated its operator-an American spy-and were then able to successfully convince his handlers that we were him. That he was us. That . . ."

"I understand. The Americans believe their man still is secretly spying."

"Exactly."

"Why am I just now learning of this, Muller?"

Muller seemed hesitant to answer, and glanced at the scharfuhrers and then at Kappler.

"I will explain later, if that is acceptable."

Kappler didn't respond to that. After a moment, he said, "What happened with the radio operator?"

"I like to believe," Muller began, carefully choosing his words, "that I am faithfully living up to Der Fuhrer's order about how enemy commandos are to be handled."

Immediately executed, Kappler thought.

Or, if interrogation is necessary, immediately after that.

With you, I should have known . . .

"As insurance, I have him locked up," Muller said. "To satisfy Der Fuhrer's order, it is arguable that I continue with his interrogation."

Then you didn't kill? That's a first.

What's the real reason for that?

Muller then looked to Burger.

"Anything, Gunther?"

"We got a contact this morning, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. It was not much but came in very clear and strong. That storm last night must have cleared the air."

"What did they say?"

"Just that they were checking in and would be in touch later with some important questions."

"What did you tell them?"

"That we'd be waiting. And that we'd probably need additional supplies."

Muller grinned.

He looked at Kappler and explained.

"Supplies are our little code word for more bribes."

Muller looked back at Burger.

"Let's give it a little test. When they contact again, Gunther, send a request for an airdrop. Ask for some gold and Italian lire. Tell him"-he looked at Kappler and grinned-"that you're trying to bribe the head SS officer in Messina."

Here he goes again like Goring . . .

[FOUR].

Palermo, Sicily 0915 31 May 1943 Dick Canidy stood watching the midget knock on a heavy metal door.

The man had led him on what seemed a circuitous route from the storage room, taking what clearly were hidden passageways. They occasionally offered glimpses of the public spaces of the whorehouse.

After leaving the storage room, they first passed through a laundry room and then a kitchen. Some workers acknowledged the midget as they passed, but did not seem to pay any particular attention to Canidy.

It's as if Shorty does this on a regular basis.

They had then taken a back hallway, passing a couple of attractive young women. They exchanged greetings with the midget as they passed.

Was one of them the girl who opened the door?