Nola looked to Antonio and repeated the question for him in Sicilian.
There then came a long involved reply, with input this time from Brother Giacomo, and much gesturing of hands and waving of arms by both brothers. Canidy recognized the name Müller.
“There was a little of everything,” Nola said, now making the same gestures as he spoke to Canidy. “There was mostly cases of food, what I believe is called ‘field rations’ for the soldiers? There was the fuel cans. And there was some crates of ammunitions, ‘bullets’? Müller wanted those off first.”
Canidy considered this, and nodded.
“And,” Canidy said, “all this went into one of your warehouses?”
“Yes,” Nola said. “The one that the Germans have begun to take over.”
“How do you mean?”
“We have two working warehouses,” Nola said. “One is still all ours. The other, the Germans are slowly taking over. As part of our agreement, they allow us to unload their matériel and store it, alongside whatever we have in there. But they have posted armed guards, and we do not have same freedom in that warehouse as we do in the other.”
Canidy thought that over, then looked at Antonio.
“Bullets?”
Antonio nodded.
“Many bullets,” he said. His thick tongue made it sound like buh-lets.
“Is there any way that I could get inside the warehouse?” Canidy said to Antonio, then looked at Nola. “Any way to get past the guards?”
Antonio said something in Sicilian.
Nola shrugged. “Not impossible. The military items, they are very careful about. Not so much everything else of ours. They do not check it closely. Particularly if they are expecting to get a piece of it.”
Canidy thought about that.
“I might need to get in and take a look,” he said.
“Okay,” Nola said.
There was a long moment’s silence. Then Canidy said, “What about the villa?”
“I didn’t ask,” Nola said. “There wasn’t time.”
“Have at it,” Canidy said, waving his arm toward the Budas.
Nola went on for some time in Sicilian. When he was done, the brothers didn’t say a word. They just simply shook their heads.
Nola said something else and their reply was terse.
“As far as they know,” Nola said to Canidy, “there was only one explosion. The ship. No explosion from the villa. And they have not heard of anyone else speaking about any villa exploding.”
So, Canidy thought, the damn thing still is in one piece?
And still full of yellow fever….
“Do they know Whatshisname Cordova?” Canidy said.
Nola spoke to the brothers, and Canidy recognized the names when he said, “Alfredo Cordova,” “Alessandro Paterno,” and “Simone Cesareo.”
The brothers shook their heads.
Shit, Canidy thought. But no real surprise.
Those are Rossi’s people from the university.
Not fishermen from the docks.
“When can I get in the warehouse?” Canidy said to Antonio.
Antonio shrugged and replied in Sicilian.
Nola translated: “Anytime after today.”
Canidy glanced at Fuller, who tried to maintain a stoic face, but Canidy could see uncertainty in his eyes.
Then, out of the blue, Fuller yawned massively, which almost caused Canidy to do the same.
He checked his wristwatch.
We’ve been going almost twenty-four hours—damn near nonstop since we got off the submarine.
We’ve got to be careful not to get so tired that we get sloppy.
Fuller made an apologetic face.
Canidy turned back to Nola and thought about what had just been said.
“Anytime after today?” he repeated.
Antonio stood up. Giacomo did the same.
“Why not today?” Canidy said.
“Buh-lets,” Antonio said by way of explanation, then rattled off something to Nola in Sicilian.
Nola translated: “They’ve got to go to work. They’ve been told to put the crates of bullets from the warehouse aboard a ship that has docked here from Messina.”
“And if I can go into the warehouse tomorrow,” Canidy said after a moment, “then that means they’ll be done with that by tonight.”
Nola nodded.
[FOUR]
Palermo, Sicily 1301 5 April 1943
The two warehouses that Francisco Nola ran his import-export business out of were six blocks up Christoforo Colombo from the office building. When they got to the warehouse that the Germans were not using, Nola went upstairs to its small box of an office that overlooked the floor, brought a pair of binoculars down to Canidy, then went back inside the office.
The warehouses had skylights and each was reasonably well lit by sunlight.
Canidy stood with the binocs to his eyes. He was just inside the great double doors. Fuller was behind him, also out of sight of anyone on the docks, watching the activity at the other warehouse over Canidy’s shoulder.
Under the gaze of the armed guard, Giacomo and Antonio Buda supervised the work of maybe ten longshoremen. The workers hand-carried or wheeled on low manual lifts the crates and other containers. Their steady line went from inside the great double doors out to a staging area on the dock beside the ship. There the cranes on the ship’s deck lifted the matériel up and into the cargo holds.
Canidy looked intently through the glasses at some pallets. They were topped with the Germans’ version of jerry cans, these particular ones painted a sand color.
I could’ve made them with my naked eyes.
They’re damn near identical in looks—and, I’d bet, function—to our jerry cans.
Probably meant for North Africa and never got there in time.
The metal sides were stamped with lettering and Canidy focused in on that:
* * *
WEHRMACHTKANISTEREN. KRAFTSTOFF 20L FEUERGEFÄHRLICH
* * *
Leave it to those tight-ass Krauts to label the obvious.
I sure as hell hope they’re flammable.
Beside the pallets were wooden boxes the size of footlockers. These were labeled: 8MM MAUSER.
Well, those are the rifle rounds.
And then he saw larger wooden crates. These were huge. Two or more of the Mauser boxes of ammo would fit in a single one.
Canidy adjusted the eyepieces of the binocs to get a clearer view. Then he read the stenciled marking: SONDERKART.6LE.F.H.18 T83 10.5CM.
Sonofabitch!
Those certainly are some buh-lets.
Those are fucking 105mm field howitzer rounds!
He took out a pencil and paper and started writing down the stenciled markings. This took some effort, and he had to go back and forth between holding the binocs and writing with the pencil. Then he read back over what he had written and peered again through the glasses to confirm he’d gotten it right.
He looked at Fuller.
“Think you can find your way back to the apartment?”
Fuller pointed to his nose.
“By scent,” he said, grinning.
Canidy looked over at the other warehouse. Antonio Buda was helping wheel a manual lift that carried a crate out through the big doors. Canidy nodded in Buda’s direction and said, “Should I share that with our new friends?”
“We’ll just keep it our little secret,” Fuller said, smiling.
“And you’ll just keep your hands to yourself when you get there.”
“Okay, okay.”
Canidy handed Fuller the paper and Fuller read it:
* * *
TOP SECRET
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE
5APR43 1500
FOR OSS WASHINGTON EYES ONLY GEN DONOVAN; OSS ALGIERS EYES ONLY CAPT FINE.
BEGIN QUOTE
NO ANTACID REPEAT NO ANTACID BURNED OR SUNK IN PORT.
NO KNOWN REPEAT NO KNOWN ANTACID ASHORE.
AMMO FOR SMALL ARMS AND FOR HOWITZERS FOUND. CRATES LABELED 8MM MAUSER AND SONDERKART. 6LE.F.H.18 T83 10.5CM.
AMMO AND FUEL CANS BEING ONLOADED SHIP. DESTINATION UNKNOWN.
MORE TO FOLLOW.
JUPITER
END QUOTE
TOP SECRET
* * *
“When you’re done, after you get the confirmation,” Canidy said, “burn the message.”
“Right.”
“Then get some rest, and I’ll see you there as soon as I can,” Canidy added. “No telling what’s coming next.”
[ONE]
Villa del Archimedes Partanna, Sicily 1720 5 April 1943
Dick Canidy, sound asleep on his back, was startled awake by a loud, high-pitched cry.
As he sat upright, struggling to get his bearings, there was a raucous flapping of wings as a score of seagulls took flight.
Canidy was up about a hundred yards on a ridge of the hillside that overlooked the Villa del Archimedes. The villa was another five hundred yards, give or take, to the northwest.
A cobblestone roadway had been constructed on the ridge, along with a stone wall two feet tall at the lip.
For whatever reason, he’d thought earlier, the goddamn Krauts or Wops took it out of play by taking a chunk of it, probably with more of those 105mm rounds from a field howitzer.
What remained of the wall provided for nice concealment, not to mention a place to fall asleep. And it served as a solid platform for the bipod of Canidy’s Johnson light machine gun.
Now Canidy thought: Dammit! I fell asleep!
Not surprised. I was exhausted.
He watched the birds disappear into the distance.
I probably disappointed those flying rats.
They were hoping for another tasty snack of eyeballs.
He shook his head, trying to shake the numbness he felt.
Jesus! That was a close call!
If I’d slept through till it turned dark…
Canidy had an almost-due-west exposure, which was exactly what he wanted—bright light to help mask the brightness of muzzle flash—but the brilliance of the sunset was forcing him to squint.
If I’d slept past dusk, the damn muzzle flash would’ve looked like a Fourth of July fireworks show….
He looked over the wall and down.
The ridge afforded Canidy one helluva view. In the distance was Cape Gallo, the northernmost point. To the northeast was Mondello, and he could make out the crescent beach where they had landed with the folding kayaks.
And here, below his feet, was Partanna…and the Villa del Archimedes.
Canidy had been looking down with the binoculars, waiting and watching —and snoozing— since he had come back alone from the apartment, where he’d left Frank Nola with Jim Fuller and retrieved the Johnny gun.
Having left the warehouse where the cargo ship was still being loaded, Nola had walked with Canidy the five kilometers to Partanna. There he’d pointed out the hillside to Canidy, somewhat needlessly as the looming rock was as hard to find as an angry zit on the forehead of a teenager.
They had followed the roadway up to where the hole had been blown into it and then sat watching the coarse-stone villa for more than an hour.
Canidy had had the binoculars to his eyes and was studying the big electrical power generator on steel skids that had been put beside the villa. It had a diesel engine with a manufacturer plaque that read MANN. And there was a wooden pallet covered with jerry cans, a few lying on their side, empty.
Ah, the well-labeled Wehrmachtkanisteren kraftstoff, the “armed forces cans” of “fuel.”
And my favorite part: Feuergefahrlich …“flammable.”
Nola tapped Canidy on the shoulder, then pointed out the dust cloud being kicked up on the dirt road by a car approaching the villa.
When the car, a 1940 Alfa-Romeo sedan, had gone through the gate in the stone wall surrounding the villa and pulled to a stop, Canidy trained the glasses on the driver’s door. It opened.
“Well, look at who we have here,” Canidy said.
He handed the binoculars to Nola.
“Is that your sturmbannführer?”
Canidy got his answer when Nola grunted derisively.
“That is Müller,” Nola added needlessly.
“I’ve seen enough,” Canidy said. “Let’s go. I need my Johnny gun.”
The Alfa-Romeo was still at the villa when Canidy had returned alone, but now it was parked for whatever reason near the generator.
Maybe they refueled it while I was gone, Canidy thought.
He looked at the sun and figured he had maybe a half hour till sunset, and that this was the last of the brilliant light before it started turning softer.
He peered through the sights of the Johnny gun and thought, “If you want something done right…”
When fired, the muzzle of the automatic tended to walk upward from left to right. So he put the bead of the tall front sight just to the left and a little below the dozen Wehrmachtkanisteren kraftstoff that were on the pallet beside the generator.
He took in a deep breath, then let out half of it as he squeezed his trigger finger.
The Johnny gun began to bark, the first of the ten-round burst kicking up dirt as it stitched a line of lead toward the generator.
Canidy paused a moment, holding his position and aim, and wondered if he had hit anything other than ground.
Dammit!
He squeezed the trigger again and the Johnny gun responded with another series of bam-bam-bam s until the twenty-round clip was empty.
There were men—Müller’s—running out of the villa now.
Damn diesel is slow to blow.
He pulled the empty magazine from the left side of the weapon.
He put in a fresh one—and one of the Kraut jerry cans exploded.
The men ran back inside the villa.
Not sure that’s a wise decision…
And then another jerry can erupted.
And then four or more went up at once, like a string of firecrackers.
Very loud firecrackers.
The fire from the multiple explosion hit the main fuel tank of the Mann engine. It caught, and that fireball blew off the boards that covered the windows of the villa.
And then the first of the Composition C-2 inside cooked off.
The concussion that followed was so severe that Canidy instinctively ducked behind the low wall, covering his head and ears.
God, I love this job!
[TWO]
Palermo, Sicily 2020 5 April 1943
Canidy had hid in a cave until just after dark before making his way back to the apartment. When he got there, he found only Frank Nola and Jim Fuller.
“Where’s the girl?” he said.
Fuller shrugged.
“She left when Frank and I went upstairs,” Tubes said.
She’s not off telling anyone about us, is she?
“Do we need to worry?” Canidy said. “Is she dependable, Frank?”
“Yes, as good as me.”
Jury’s still out on that one, Frank.
But so far, so good.
He looked at Fuller.
“Messages go out okay, Tubes?”
He nodded.
“But I think you need to see this,” Fuller said.
He held out a handwritten decrypted message.
Canidy read it quickly.
“Great,” he said. “I guess.”
“What?” Nola asked. “Is good news?”
“Fine says that Rossi’s notes state that the Tabun shells are clearly marked. The cases are stenciled with ‘T83’—just as we saw—and the shells themselves are marked ‘GA,’ with a ring of green around the tip.”
“But most of those crates did not have the T83,” Fuller said.
Canidy nodded. “Yeah, there were a bunch of regular howitzer rounds in there. So how the hell are we supposed to get a look in the crates with the T83 designation and confirm the GA and the
green ring?”
Then he smiled.
We don’t have to confirm it.
“What is it?” Fuller said.
“Need to shoot a message to Le Casa,” Canidy said.
He looked at his watch and began thinking out loud: “Not going to make 2115. And, even if I ran, I’d probably miss 2315—”
Fuller figured out what he was doing. “You’re leaving?”
Canidy nodded. “But 0115 would work. Time to get to Mondello, then paddle out. And if I miss that, 0315 is my backup. Meanwhile, there should be plenty of excitement out at what’s left of the villa. Enough for diversion.”
He saw that Fuller and Nola were regarding his ramblings oddly.
“Sorry about that,” Canidy said, then asked Nola: “How are they coming with the loading of that ship?”
“One of the booms broke,” Nola said. “Is taking longer than they wanted.”
“How long?”
“Should be done by dark.”
“It is dark, Frank,” Canidy said.
Nola nodded. “Should be done.”
Canidy shook his head.
I’m not going to miss these intellectual exchanges one bit.
He then took a sheet of flash paper and wrote:
* * *
TOP SECRET
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE
05APR43 2115
FOR NEPTUNE
FROM MERCURY STATION
BEGIN QUOTE
JUPITER HEADED HOME ALONE 06APR 1ST SURFACE.
END QUOTE
TOP SECRET
* * *
He handed the paper to Fuller and said, “Get on the air to Mars—”
“You mean Neptune?”
The Double Agents Page 33