The Double Agents

by W. E. B Griffin

  Jamison suddenly heard what he just said, and added, “Charity, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  Charity Hoche let out a deep belly laugh.

  “I believe,” she said, “having just heard enough hocus-pocus shrink talk, that the good Dr. Freud would have something to say about your little slip.”

  Jamison smiled, relieved that she was taking no offense.

  Charity looked at Jamison a long moment, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Bob. I’m grateful.”

  She turned back to her martini.

  My God, he thought, she’s in her cups.

  He saw her ample chest rise, then fall, with a sigh.

  Make that in her double-D cups.

  What a beautiful woman—physically and emotionally.

  Charity drained her drink, put the glass on the bar, then said, “I must visit the ladies’ facilities. Have them make me another, please. And when my flyboy lands…”

  Jamison was smiling and nodding.

  “My seat is his seat,” he said.

  [THREE]

  Palermo, Sicily 0930 5 April 1943

  Dick Canidy was having difficulty concentrating on the mission and he knew that made for a dangerous situation.

  He and Jim “Tubes” Fuller were backtracking, following in reverse the path through Palermo that they had taken with Frank Nola to reach the apartment home of Nola’s cousin.

  They were headed for an area near the warehouses on the northern end of the port.

  This isn’t the time to think about Ann.

  But I just can’t help it.

  After Fuller had come into the kitchen and damn near drooled all over Andrea Buda, Canidy had said that it was time to go see the Buda brothers. He decided that it was better that Nola should go first, separately, and that Canidy and Fuller would follow.

  After some discussion between Andrea and Nola in Sicilian, it was agreed that she would lay low there in the apartment. Then Nola left.

  Canidy and Fuller went back upstairs to stash the long guns and secure the W/T radio station.

  Nola had shown them the makeshift door that had been cut in the floor of the upstairs bedroom. It was under the thick, woven-hemp mat that lay between the beds. When the mat was pulled away and the door removed, there was access to the dead space between the joists. These long joists supported both the floor of the second level and the ceiling of the first floor. They found that with a light forcing, the suitcase would fit snugly between them.

  There had been room in the dead space also for the Johnny gun and the Sten, but when Nola suggested putting them in there Canidy had said no. He wanted to get to them more readily and planned to simply camouflage them by wrapping each in clothing, then putting the Sten in the closet upstairs and the Johnny in a corner of the downstairs hall closet that was under the foot of the stairway.

  Tubes was sitting on the floor at the table holding the W/T set.

  He put one of the headphone ear cups to his left ear and quickly tapped out code to Algiers Station that Mercury Station was going off the air in five minutes. He then threw the toggle switch on the Bakelite faceplate to RECEIVE. With the one can still held to his ear, he awaited confirmation while watching Canidy pull a sweater and an overcoat from the closet.

  Suddenly, Fuller said, “What in the world?”

  He sat erect and quickly pulled the cups over both of his ears.

  Canidy turned to see what was going on.

  Fuller was quickly handwriting the incoming message.

  After a moment, he turned away from the radio and held up the paper.

  “This was sent out in the open,” Fuller said, pulling off the cans.

  “What the hell is it, Tubes?” Canidy said.

  “For you. No encryption, but it’s in some code.”

  Canidy walked over and took the sheet of paper.

  * * *

  URGENT

  UNRESTRICTED

  05APR43

  FOR JUPITER

  BEGIN QUOTE

  EXCELLENT NEWS, EXCELLENCY.

  YOUR GODDESS HAS RETURNED TO YOUR CASTLE.

  END QUOTE

  CAESAR

  * * *

  “Who’s Caesar?” Fuller said.

  He looked at Canidy, who had turned his back to him and was looking out the bedroom window.

  Fuller wasn’t certain but he thought he saw Canidy’s body shake. And then he heard Canidy clear his throat as Canidy looked at the message again.

  “I’ll explain later,” Canidy said after a moment in an odd, strained tone. “Acknowledge receipt, then take it down.”

  Fuller nodded, and put the cans back on his ears.

  At least now I can think about Ann without choking up, Canidy thought as he and Fuller came to the railway station they had passed earlier.

  He found himself smiling.

  And smile about her.

  But I need to pay attention to what’s here and now.

  I’m anxious, I know.

  And with so many things that can go wrong, I have to keep my nerves controlled and my attention focused.

  Canidy and Fuller then walked north a few blocks and found Quinta Casa street, then took it downhill toward the port.

  There were more people out on the streets and in every piazza. But their mood was somber; despite the clear sunny sky, it seemed a dark cloud hung heavily over them.

  Small wonder, Canidy thought.

  A couple ripe bodies swinging by the neck in the bright sun can cause that kind of oppressive effect.

  Canidy and Fuller tried to blend in. They wore the civilian clothing from the OSS villa in Algiers. Fuller had on a woolen stocking cap; Canidy had insisted he cover the bright blond hair that would stand out among the darker tones of the Sicilians. They kept their gaze downward, avoiding eye contact. And they stayed silent.

  As they passed an alleyway, Canidy tapped Fuller on the shoulder and motioned toward it.

  They wound their way back into the alley, and when Canidy saw that they were far enough out of sight and earshot of the street they stopped.

  “What is it?” Fuller said.

  “I meant to mention this earlier but either forgot or, when I remembered, we weren’t alone.”

  Fuller raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Look, Tubes, I’ve got to be brutally honest with you. I don’t know how safe this situation is.” He paused. “More to the point, I should say, I don’t know how off-the-deep-end dangerous this situation is.”

  Fuller reached into an outer pocket of his coat. He pulled out the pouch with the squirming mice in it.

  “So far, Adolf and Eva say we’re good.”

  “No, Tubes. Not about the gas, though that’s still unanswered. Only thing we know about that is that there weren’t mass casualties. There’re no signs of deaths by gas. And the people we see don’t exhibit any signs of being sick from it.”

  “Then what?” Fuller said, carefully returning the pouch to his pocket.

  “For all I know, Tubes, we could be walking into an ambush, a setup, something that could fuck us up no end. While our luck with these Guinea sons of bitches has held so far, I do not trust them any farther than I can throw them.”

  Fuller nodded as he absorbed that.

  “And you’re thinking now—?”

  “I don’t know,” Canidy interrupted. “That’s what I’m telling you. My gut says Nola is more or less on the level with us—as long as it meets his needs. But these new guys…We’re about to add two new unknowns. For all we know, they could be trying to fuck over Frank and he doesn’t even know it.”

  Fuller nodded.

  “And, if not them, then others,” Canidy said.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Well, we have to move forward. Otherwise, coming here was a waste of time.”

  “Not a complete waste…” Fuller grinned.

  “Try to think with your big head, Tubes,” Canidy said. “If these goons even susp
ect you’re having carnal thoughts about their baby sister, that makeshift gallows could get awfully crowded.”

  Fuller made a face. “Okay, okay, I get your point. So what now, then?”

  “We need a code word for my contingency plan.”

  “What’s the contingency?”

  “Take this next meeting as an example. We’re talking with the Buda brothers and Nola. And we determine that, despite their profound oaths of being our loyal agents, the bastards are working for the Krauts…Pins on the Map, right?…”

  Fuller nodded.

  “…and about to burn us. So, one or both of us says the code word, calmly in conversation, then we both silently count to ten—and then we blow away every last one of the two-timing sons of bitches.”

  Fuller’s eyes were wide.

  “Severe case of lead poisoning?” he said. “That certainly is a definitive contingency plan.”

  “Beats hell out of the alternative,” Canidy said.

  “Which is?”

  “Not having one and getting the shit shot out of us,” Canidy said pointedly. “Or strung up for the seagulls’ entertainment. You wanted to go operational, Tubes. This is what you get. I don’t know about you, but I damn sure plan on going home alive.”

  And the sooner, the better, now that I know my goddess is in my castle.

  Fuller nodded slowly, then said: “Fins.”

  “What?”

  “That’s our contingency plan’s code word. Fins.”

  “I’m guessing, as in a surfboard’s?” Canidy said drily.

  “No. Like a shark’s.”

  They came to where Quinta Casa made a T with the intersection of Christoforo Colombo, the street that ran parallel to the northern section of the port.

  The horrid smell was not there, and Canidy noticed that the wind had shifted, a fresh breeze was coming in off the sea.

  As Canidy started to lead Fuller to the right, he automatically glanced to the left, checking for traffic.

  He did a double take and stopped.

  Fuller almost ran into the back of him.

  “What?” Fuller whispered, then looked to where Canidy stared as if he’d seen a ghost.

  Four blocks up, moored to the dock next to some warehouses, was a ninety-foot cargo vessel. It was under the armed guard of four sailors from the Regina Marina.

  The rusty, utilitarian vessel looked very much like the one that Canidy had blown up—a small main cabin at the bow, and the rest of the topside a long, flat deck with large hatches and a pair of tall booms.

  And, to the best of his memory, it had not been docked in the port of Palermo earlier that morning.

  I damn sure would’ve seen it sitting there, he thought, even as I was distracted by those poor bastards swinging on the gallows.

  “Does it mean anything?” Fuller said.

  “Hell if I know.”

  Two blocks down Christoforo Colombo, the single-story brick building that bore the address that Frank Nola had given Canidy looked barely habitable. Canidy wondered if it was the right place.

  Did Frank fuck this up?

  And now Tubes and I have to go back to the apartment and wait for however long it’ll take him to show up so we can start the whole process all over again?

  Jesus….

  Canidy stood to the side of the heavy wooden door, using the masonry wall for protection, and leaned over to knock. After a couple of minutes, and a second series of louder knocks, there came from the other side of the door the metallic sound of latches being undone.

  The door cracked open, and, when Canidy looked, he saw Nola’s pronounced nose.

  Frank Nola waved Canidy and Fuller inside, opening the door enough for them to just pass through. Then he swung it shut with a slam and secured the latches.

  Apparently, Canidy realized as he looked around the dimly lit main room, the place was somewhat habitable.

  It’s set up about half and half…half office, half landfill.

  A pair of desks piled high with paper were pushed together back-to-back in the middle of the room, a wooden office chair at each. There was a row of five battered, wooden filing cabinets against the near wall. And the rest of the room was random clutter—half-eaten German ration boxes, empty wine bottles, upturned wooden cases, overflowing cans of trash.

  Canidy looked at Nola, who motioned toward a door on the far side of the room and said: “This way. And hurry. We do not have much time. The brothers have to get back to work at the warehouse.”

  At the doorway, Nola stopped and nodded toward the next room.

  “In here, Dick,” he said.

  Canidy looked at him.

  “Why don’t you go ahead, Frank? You know the fucking way.”

  Nola frowned.

  “Just being polite,” Nola said, sounding hurt.

  “After you, Frank,” Canidy said.

  When Nola had started through the doorway, Canidy glanced at Fuller, who shrugged.

  The next room was another office, a smaller one, with a single desk, a wooden chair behind it, and a wooden bench against the wall.

  The brothers Buda were seated on the bench. Each had been reading a different section of a newspaper and now looked up at the strangers, Canidy and Fuller, who followed Nola inside.

  The Budas were about thirty years old, maybe five foot five and two hundred pounds. The dirty overalls they wore fit tightly, the cotton fabric stretched and defining the rolls of fat of their midsection. They had an olive skin, but their face and neck and hands were coarse from long exposure to wind and sea and sun.

  Their mop haircuts looked to have been done by placing a small bowl on the head and then trimming any hair that stuck out with dull scissors.

  Or maybe hacked with a single-edged knife, Canidy thought.

  Jesus, they look like they couldn’t possibly be smart enough to read a newspaper.

  And no way in hell could they share the same mother as Andrea.

  Nola said something to them in Sicilian as he motioned to Canidy.

  Great. They don’t speak English, either.

  All Canidy could recognize from Nola’s rapid-fire introduction was “Antonio,” “Giacomo,” and what he thought was the word for “friend”—amico.

  From under fat, heavy eyelids, the brother Budas’s deep-set eyes stared without emotion or recognition at Canidy.

  Calm down, guys.

  Your enthusiasm is over the top.

  “Frank,” Canidy said evenly, “by any chance did you explain to Tweedle-Fucking-Dee and-Dum here what we’re trying to accomplish?”

  Canidy heard Fuller chuckle behind him. He also noticed some response in the brothers’ expressions to that crack.

  Well, maybe you bastards do understand English.

  “Yes,” Nola said. “And they are willing to help. You must understand that they’re upset about what happened at the port.”

  And they’re pissed at me?

  I hope you didn’t tell them I blew up the boat, Frank.

  Otherwise, ol’ Tubes is behind me with an itchy trigger finger on his .45 and about to yell, “Fins! Motherfucking fins!”

  “Yeah, let’s talk about that,” Canidy said.

  He looked at the brothers and added: “Who did that hanging?”

  Nola began to translate. Canidy held up his hand for him to stop.

  “Let them answer the damn question,” Canidy said.

  The brothers remained silent. Then the one on the left spoke in Sicilian.

  Nola translated: “Antonio says they understand some English but cannot speak it well.”

  Bullshit, Canidy thought. But no need to call them on it right now.

  “What about who strung up the fishermen?” he said.

  “The SS,” Nola said. “I asked them that earlier, before you came. Sturmbannführer Müller’s men, on his orders. Müller himself was at the pier when they were”—he searched for the appropriate words—“put there.”

  Nola looked at the Budas, then went on: �
�Antonio said three SS officers from Messina arrived the next day. One was an obersturmbannführer . He stayed for only a few hours, had angry words with Müller, then left.”

  Canidy nodded but was not sure what to make of that.

  “Did you ask about the nerve gas, Frank?” Canidy went on, still looking at the brothers.

  “Yes.”

  “And?” Canidy said, turning to Nola. “Jesus, don’t make me pull this out of you like a bad tooth.”

  “And,” Nola went on, “they said that they know nothing about any poison gas.”

  “Did they say if they knew anything about what was aboard the cargo ship that blew up?” Canidy said.

  Nola turned to the brothers and asked the question in Sicilian.

  There was some discussion, first with Nola, then between the brothers, then again with Nola.

  “They say,” Nola finally explained, “Sturmbannführer Müller ordered the ship unloaded of all contents. They got everything off except the last of the canisters of fuel. They were to get that remaining gas off the next day, but then…”

  What? Canidy thought. Just gas was on it?

  He said to Nola, “There was only fuel in the cargo hold when the ship went up?”

  Canidy saw that Tweedledee —Or is Antonio Tweedledum?— nodded.

  “Only fuel, nothing else?” Canidy said, looking directly at Antonio.

  “Sí,” Antonio replied.

  Nola said, “He said yes.”

  Canidy glared at Nola.

  “No shit, Frank…I know what sí means.”

  Fuller chuckled again.

  Canidy looked back to Antonio.

  “What did you take off of the ship? And where did it go?”

  Nola answered, “It went in the warehouse.”

  “But what was it, is my question,” Canidy said.