Why did I even think of not staying here?

Simple. Because the clientele seemed to be mostly Krauts-and now the Italian Navy.

Then he looked around the room and then up, along the ceiling.

And because this place is probably one of the bugged ones.

But as long as I keep my head down, eyes open, and mouth shut, I should be fine.

He found a corkscrew, cracked open the bottle of wine, and half-filled one of the glass jars.

He grabbed a fistful of olives and popped a couple in his mouth as he carried the jar of wine over to the window. He saw that he had a clear view of most of Palermo and all of the port-and Civil War Major General John Buford, the Union Army cavalry officer, suddenly came to mind.

He puffed on his cigar and grunted.

"General, we have taken the tactical high ground, have a solid foothold, and the enemy in sight. All is well."

We may be one helluva long way from Gettysburg, General Buford, sir, but battles is battles.

Then he thought: Where the hell are you out there, John Craig?

And Tubes?

And I don't even want to think about that Kappler SS bastard.

He took a healthy gulp of the wine, then could not help but notice that there was only one S-boat at the pier-and I don't want to try to think what that means-and, moored opposite it, there now was an Italian submarine.

The sleek black one-hundred-eighty-foot-long Ascianghi had a complement of nearly forty crew and six officers.

Well, that damn sure explains all the drunk swabbies-shore leave.

No coincidence that rhymes with whore leave.

He then had a sudden need to hit the head-this wine is going right through me-and made a beeline for it.

Fifteen minutes and one lukewarm bath later, he came back into the room with a towel around his waist, poured another half-jar of wine, then went and sat on the bed.

He took a gulp of the wine, put the jar on the side table, and leaned back on the pillow.

Setting priorities, he thought as he closed his eyes, here's what I know . . .

One, find Kappler, then await word as to what I'm supposed to do with the bastard. Killing him-or having it look like the SS or OVR did it-certainly would simplify that. But, failing that . . .

Two, in order to find out what I'm supposed to do with Kappler, I have to find John Craig and/or his suitcase radio to get my messages from Stan and Neptune or . . .

Three, go out and get one of the suitcase radios I stashed. And probably the C-2. And definitely a bottle of that scotch.

He grinned.

Not necessarily in that order of importance.

And then there's the original One and Two-now Four and Five-finding Tubes and Frank, and any Tabun.

Forget verifying the half-million troopers. Even Jimmy Skinny didn't seem to buy that bullshit figure.

Canidy had suddenly caught himself in a huge yawn.

What I don't know is if John Craig got nabbed like Tubes did . . . or if I'll find either of them.

He had yawned again.

Then he had fallen asleep.

And then, nearly eight hours later, the hammering started.

[TWO].

Room 802 Hotel Michelangelo Palermo, Sicily 0725 1 June 1943 SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Oskar Kappler was gently awakened from a deep, contented sleep by soft snoring and warm breath on his chest. He looked down at the naked young woman wrapped in his left arm-and suddenly had extremely conflicting feelings.

Lucia, sound asleep, had her left leg intertwined with Oskar's. She rested her head and left hand on his chest, her fingertips lost in his chest hair and her wavy dark hair. The sensation of her warm body weight rising and falling with his breathing and the peacefulness of her beautiful face made him long for them to be in a far different time and place.

Would such a loving and innocent young woman be selling herself were it not for this damn war?

He inhaled deeply. The aroma of her delicate lilac fragrance mingled with the husky, sensual smell that had come from their repeated couplings-energetic, exhilarating, and ultimately exhausting-over the course of the last two nights.

Then he felt more than a little angry at himself-disgusted, even embarrassed.

I am an intelligent and educated man-yet now I really am acting no better than that bastard Muller.

The first night with a whore I could perhaps excuse to the alcohol and my weakened emotional state.

But now?

Now, I not only willingly went back to bed with a whore, but I went back enthusiastically.

Which means that I shamefully personify what it says in Proverbs 26 . . . and Father never believed that I'd actually read the Bible . . . "As a dog returneth to its vomit, so a fool repeateth his folly."

He looked down and stared at her peaceful, almost angelic face.

But this . . . this is different, is it not?

Lucia has been so wonderful, and being lost in this moment is sublime.

I never want it to stop.

But . . . with a whore?

Am I indeed a fool and this my folly? Am I losing my mind?

God damn this war for destroying so much!

And now what? What about Father? And my family?

Who knows what today will bring?

But at least we have right here and right now. . . .

He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled.

Because of the movement or because she felt his gaze, Lucia slowly opened her warm dark eyes, looked up at him, then made a small sweet smile.

She has the timeless beauty of a goddess.

He smiled back, then leaned down and gently kissed her on the lips.

As he started to pull away, she smoothly moved up a little to keep contact-and they remained with their lips softy locked for minutes that seemed to drift into hours.

Oskar could not recall the last time he had felt like this.

Such peacefulness. Such passion . . .

Then he felt the familiar stir in his groin.

Lucia became aware of the movement that followed, and slowly slid her hand down his belly- And stopped when there suddenly was a knock at the door.

They broke off their kiss, then looked at the door, then at each other. After a moment, there came a heavy banging on the door.

Scheisse! Oskar Kappler thought as he reached to the bedside table and grabbed his Luger. Then he kicked back the bedsheet and pulled on his boxer shorts. As he started for the door, he heard the metallic sound of a key being slid into the lock.

"Was ist das?" he called out just as the door started to swing open.

Lucia screamed as Kappler raised his pistol.

Then Kappler sighed and lowered the weapon when he saw Vito the midget-and, towering behind him, Ernst Beck the Abwehr agent.

[THREE].

Hotel Michelangelo Palermo, Sicily 0750 1 June 1943 Dick Canidy took the steps two at a time as he headed down to find Jimmy Skinny or, failing that, Vito.

Now that I know Shorty is nearby . . .

Canidy had carefully watched through the crack of his door as Vito and an average-looking dark-haired man in a sloppy suit had stood at the door to Room 802.

Canidy had had a sudden urge to ask Vito if he'd seen any of the Budas but knew that it probably wasn't the best time for that conversation-especially with their language barrier.

There clearly had been no adequate response to the first knocks, and Vito had made a fist over his head and was hammering on the door.

A minute later, Vito looked up at the man in the suit, shrugged and made a face, then pulled out a huge ring of keys. He fed one into the door lock, turned the knob, and pushed the door inward.

A woman screamed.

Vito, standing his ground as he pocketed the key ring, exchanged words with whoever had opened the door, then gestured toward the man in the suit, who in turn then made what looked to be gracious gestures of apology.

Both men stood there for a moment without saying another word, then looked at one another, then turned their backs to the door of 801.

Canidy could not figure out what that had been all about, and why they stood there for almost five minutes, impatient, with their arms crossed. He was about to quit watching when a man's arm appeared from inside the room and waved the man with the suit to come in.

Almost immediately after that, a nicely dressed beautiful olive-skinned full-figured young woman with rich wavy dark hair to her shoulders came out into the hall. Canidy saw that her warm dark eyes were sad, and that she was frowning.

Canidy smirked.

As the early Greeks here first said, "Coitus interruptus."

Does Jimmy Skinny issue refunds for that?

Vito nodded at her, then turned and headed for the stairs.

The young woman fluffed her thick hair, glanced sadly back at the door to 802, then followed.

Jimmy Skinny picked up the carafe from the tray that one of the big women from the kitchen had just brought to his office. In addition to stained china mugs, the tray held plates of fried egg, fruit, and pastries. Palasota poured coffee for Canidy, then himself.

"And how did you find your room?" Palasota asked.

"I just followed the stairs past what apparently was at least half the drunken Regia Marina, stuck a key in the door labeled eight-oh-one, and there it was!"

Jimmy Skinny chuckled, then thought about the Royal Italian Navy submariners.