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 Müller.
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.
“I hear they’re pretty lousy at sea, but they do drink like fish when on land. And they’re not shy with the girls. We’re doing a very good business. Still, I will be glad to see all the Fascist bastards run out of town and good ol’ GIs filling the streets. And my beds.”
Canidy looked past where Palasota was standing and noticed that the two Thompson submachine guns still stood in the corner. But with them was a Johnson LMG.
So Socks Lanza sent some of the Johnny guns here, too.
Nothing surprises me anymore. . . .
“Look, I’ve got a curious problem,” Canidy said. “A new—”
The door suddenly swung open, and Vito appeared. He rattled off something in Sicilian—Did he just say Müller?—and then Canidy saw Palasota’s face change.
Jimmy Skinny replied in Sicilian, then switched back to English and told Canidy, “This should not take long. Help yourself to the food. I’ll have more sent.”
[FOUR]
Room 802
Hotel Michelangelo
Palermo, Sicily
0750 1 June 1943
Sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his pants, SS-Obersturmbannführer Oskar Kappler looked up at German Trade Ministry Director Ernst Beck.
“You found me . . . here?”
Beck grunted. “It is our job to have such information. You told me you were coming overnight to Palermo. You don’t think that this is my first time here, or to the hotel?” He paused. “Or to have business with Jimmy Skinny?”
Kappler considered that, then nodded.
Of course. You’re an Abwehr agent.
Get your damn head clear, Oskar . . .
Beck then grinned.
“You need not worry about me mentioning the . . . girl.”
“I wasn’t,” Kappler lied.
Beck then said, “I have been here because we have a fairly healthy dossier on your man Hans Müller. It’s important to keep an eye on the dangerous ones. Especially those who can be coerced.”
Kappler looked at him but didn’t reply.
He pulled on a T-shirt and yawned.
“Those details can wait,” Beck said, reaching into his jacket and coming out with a folded thin sheet of paper. “This takes absolute priority.”
Kappler’s pulse began to race as he took the sheet and immediately recognized the now-familiar routing head:
* * *
HIGHEST SECRECY
TO—
SS-OBERSTURMBANNFUHRER OSKAR KAPPLER
SS PROVISIONAL HEADQUARTERS SICILY
THROUGH—
H
ERR ERNST BECK, DIRECTOR
GERMAN TRADE MINISTRY, MESSINA, SICILY
BEGIN MESSAGE
MAY 31ST, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 1943
DEAR OSKAR,
AS I FIRST WROTE, MY KARLCHEN, THE TIME HAS NOW COME TO PERFORM EXTRAORDINARY TASKS THAT OUR ALMIGHTY GOD HAS CHOSEN FOR ME.
WHILE THESE ARE DANGEROUS, I HAVE EVERY CONVICTION THAT I WILL BE SUCCESSFUL AND THAT OUR FAMILY SOON SHALL BE TOGETHER AGAIN.
FOR THAT TO HAPPEN, IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU AND YOUR MOTHER AND SISTER IMMEDIATELY PUT YOURSELVES IN THE CAPABLE HANDS OF AGENTS ACTING ON MY BEHALF WHO WILL SEE YOU TO SAFETY.
AS YOU READ THIS, AMERICAN AGENTS ARE IN THE PROCESS OF TAKING YOUR MOTHER AND SISTER INTO SAFE HIDING. KNOW THAT, WITH THE GESTAPO KEEPING REGULAR TRACK OF THEM, YOU PROBABLY HAVE A WINDOW OF 24 TO 36 HOURS BEFORE THE GESTAPO DECIDES THAT THEY ARE MISSING AND/OR ON THE RUN AND SENDS A MESSAGE TO SICILY ORDERING YOUR ARREST.
THIS IS THE REASON IT IS CRITICAL THAT YOU MAKE YOURSELF AVAILABLE TO THE AGENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
IF YOU FAIL, THEN WE ALL FAIL. AND AFTER OUR ARREST AND INTERROGATION, I DO NOT BELIEVE WE WILL BE ALLOWED THE LUXURY OF FRITZ THYSSEN -- THAT IS TO SAY, SPENDING THE REST OF THE WAR IN A KONZENTRATIONSLAGER -- BUT INSTEAD FACE SUMMARY EXECUTION.
THE AGENT WHO WILL ASSIST YOU HAS THE CODE NAME JUPITER.
YOU WILL EVENTUALLY BE REUNITED WITH YOUR MOTHER AND SISTER, THEN APPROACHED BY THE POWERFUL AMERICAN GENTLEMAN WHO HAS UNIQUE KNOWLEDGE OF OUR KAPPLER FAMILY BUSINESSES AND INVESTMENTS IN THE AMERICAS THAT I TOLD YOU NOW CONSTITUTE OUR FAMILY’S ENTIRE WEALTH.
IT IS IMPORTANT YOU ASSUME CONTROL OF THESE UNTIL SUCH TIME AS I CAN JOIN YOU. AS YOU KNOW, OUR COMPANIES EMPLOY MANY PEOPLE AND THEY ARE COUNTING ON US, NOW AND AFTER THIS MADNESS ENDS.
I PRAY WE ALL SEE EACH OTHER SOON. GODSPEED.
YOUR FATHER
END MESSAGE
HIGHEST SECRECY
* * *
“You have read the letter and are satisfied that you understand its content?” Beck said.
Satisfied?
Perhaps terrified is a more appropriate word. . . .
Oskar Kappler did not trust his voice to speak at first.
He cleared his throat, then said, “Jawohl.”
Ernst Beck held out his hand.
After a moment’s confusion, Kappler put the message in it.
Beck then went over to the side table and took the box of matches from the ashtray, struck one, and, holding the thin paper over the ashtray, put the tip of the flame to the paper. He let go of it just as it went up in a flash.
Oskar Kappler’s mind began to race.
There is no telling how much time I have—when did that twenty-four-hour clock start?
And how am I supposed to find this Jupiter? Just go sit in my office at Messina and wait for the phone to ring?
Or wait for the gottverdammt Gestapo to come arrest me first?
And . . . what do I do about Lucia?
You fool—you do absolutely nothing with your folly!
Beck turned to him and could see that he was mentally distressed.
“I know this is difficult, Oskar. I am here to help, including now getting you to connect with this Jupiter.” He glanced at his watch. “I believe that I need to return to Messina. Would you like a ride?”
XI
[ONE]
Hotel Michelangelo
Palermo, Sicily
0905 1 June 1943
Dick Canidy had just finished eating the last of four eggs that had been on the plate and was draining his coffee mug to wash it down when there was a knock on Jimmy Skinny’s office door—and it immediately swung open.
Canidy turned to see what he almost instantly realized was probably the same view that whoever was in Room 802 had seen an hour earlier.
Vito the midget stood there with a man in a suit towering behind him.
Jesus, Shorty! Is this all you do all day?
By the way, your boss ain’t here. . . .
Vito hesitated entering, looking somewhat surprised to see only Canidy in the office. He finally walked in and motioned for the man in the suit to follow.
Canidy, now getting a better view, sized up the man. He noticed he had a white rose in the lapel of his rumpled two-piece suit.
What the hell is that supposed to signify? Anything?
He was around five-nine and 190, maybe thirty years old, and with gentle Germanic features. His longish thin dark hair framed a somewhat friendly but inquisitive face. As his eyes met Canidy’s, Canidy nodded once but said nothing as he turned his attention to refilling his coffee mug.
Vito then said something to Canidy. Canidy had absolutely no idea what exactly it was, but it clearly had the tone of an order.
Canidy looked at him and shrugged.
Vito motioned impatiently at Canidy, then pointed to the door and said, “Prego.”
Oh! Well, Shorty, since you’ve told me “please,” then sure.
Go take a rolling fuck at a miniature doughnut.
Canidy shook his head, pointed to the ground, and firmly said, “I wait for Jimmy.”
The man in the suit looked at him as if he now understood that Canidy was here to get one of Jimmy Skinny’s girls.
And I don’t know who the hell you are, but (a) that ain’t happening and (b) even if it were, it’d be none of your damn business.
Vito made a face, then walked over and motioned for Canidy to bend down so he could say something in his ear.
Now what? Are you joking?
Impatiently, Vito motioned again.
Jesus, all right! All right!
Canidy shook his head in disbelief as he bent over.
Vito whispered, “Andrea.”
As Canidy quickly carried his coffee toward the door, passing the man in the suit, he graciously gestured for him to help himself to what items remained on the tray.
* * *
Vito led Canidy down a back stairwell to a room with a locked metal door. He knocked on it, said something that also sounded like an order but, surprising Canidy, did not attempt to automatically enter. After a moment, he understood why.
The sound of locks turning could be heard, and then the door opened. Andrea Buda stood in the opening, and hurriedly motioned for Canidy to enter.
As Vito wordlessly went back to the stairwell, Andrea closed the metal door behind them, then threw the locks.
“Hello,” she said, smiled, and motioned for him to follow.
* * *
Andrea led Canidy past a row of olive drab cots, then around a wall formed by stacked boxes of condoms. He then saw John Craig struggling to stand from behind a small metal desk—the wireless was set up on it—then grab a pair of wooden crutches and lean on them. His right foot was neatly bandaged.
“Damn I’m glad to see you,” Canidy said. “Now I’m going to kick your ass from here to Messina and back for making me think you got grabbed like Tubes.”
John Craig made a face.
“Sorry, Dick. I did not do that on purpose.”
Canidy gestured at the foot and crutches.
“You getting better, Gimpy? You’re mobile.”
“A little.”
Canidy noticed that John Craig not only appeared freshly bathed, but his clothes were clean.
And getting taken care of, are you?
Better not let Tubes find out Andrea does this for all the American radio operators. . . .
“So just where the hell did you disappear to?” Canidy said.
“After you left, Andrea refused to stay in that wrecked house, especially with Mariano’s body. She went and got one of her brothers, who I eventually figured out was Antonio. When Antonio saw Mariano, he went and brought back his brother and a pickup truck that reeked of fish. After a lot of emotional drama, and them swearing he would get a decent burial, they put Mariano, wrapped in more sheets, in the back of the truck. An hour later, they were back, and then we—well, they—loaded everything in the truck and brought u
s here.”
I was back there in two hours. Must have just missed them.
“What is this?” Canidy said. “It looks like a makeshift infirmary.”
John Craig nodded.
“Something like that. It’s Andrea’s office. I set up the station in here, then since I couldn’t find you and it was dark and we had the truck, I got them to drive out to where you said you’d stashed the gear. It took a little time, but I eventually found one bundle, in a rock outcropping just as you’d described.”
John Craig gestured to a corner of the room. Canidy saw one of the suitcases and a duffel and a wooden crate that held a hundred pounds of C-2 plastic explosive.
“So, we have something to work with,” he said, as he reached back to the desk and picked up his transcription pad. “Which is good because these came in this morning.”
As John Craig handed Canidy the messages, he said, “Apparently the delay in Corsica didn’t happen. Neptune is en route.”
Canidy read that message, thought for a moment, then flipped to the next.
After a moment, he said, “So now I’m ordered to get this Kappler to Algiers yesterday, and get him there alive.”
John Craig nodded.
“Well,” Canidy went on, “the timing for that should be about perfect. It’ll take Neptune two, three days to get here, in which time good ol’ Jupiter should be able to make contact with Kappler.”
Canidy flipped to the next page, found it blank, then handed back the message pad.
“Any word from Mercury Station?” Canidy said.
“Not one. And I’ve had the Radio Direction Finder ready to go.”
Standing near John Craig, Andrea leaned against the desk and pointed to the chair.
“Stay off foot,” she said.
John Craig exchanged glances with Canidy and shrugged sheepishly. “She’s been taking really good care of me.”
“I can tell.”
Canidy then walked over to their pile of gear that John Craig had brought, dug through it for a moment, then said, “Aha!”
The Spymasters: A Men at War Novel Page 32
