The Devil's Pact (2013)

by James Holland

  Francesca was taken aback. She had never known a man to cook.

  ‘Very well,’ she told him, ‘and I will provide wine.’

  ‘You have some?’

  ‘There’s a little left. The Germans drank most of it, but I still have some. They paid for it, but I’d rather have kept it.’

  Everyone had made an effort to smarten up for dinner. In fresh uniforms, shaved and groomed, their transformation was notable.

  ‘This isn’t bad,’ said Macdonald, licking his lips. ‘In fact, what am I saying? It’s nectar, pure nectar.’ He raised his glass. ‘To our hostess. Thank you, Francesca, for letting us invade your home.’

  ‘It has been an unexpected pleasure,’ she said. ‘And thank you to you and the other boys for being so kind to Cara. You are spoiling her, and she likes having you about the place.’

  ‘We’re keeping her entertained, that’s for sure,’ said Tanner. ‘I’ve never really spent much time with children, to be honest, but I’ve enjoyed her company today. It’s been refreshing.’

  ‘Maybe one day you’ll have your own.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’d like children,’ said Masters. ‘I’ve always imagined I’d have four, I don’t know why.’

  ‘I’ve got two already,’ said Howell. ‘They’re rascals, the pair of them.’

  ‘You must miss them,’ said Francesca.

  ‘Oh, I do. I haven’t seen them for two and a half years. They’re growing fast, my wife tells me.’ He sighed, then said, ‘I just hope they recognize me, remember who I am, when I get back.’

  ‘That still seems a long way off, though, doesn’t it?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Masters. ‘Maybe they’ll send us back after this. They might take pity on us and realize we’ve done our bit and that it’s time for some others to do theirs.’

  Tanner ate his stew thoughtfully. He’d not told them they would be going to Italy. He didn’t want them thinking too far ahead yet, not when there was fighting still to be done here, in Sicily.

  ‘It’s funny, though, thinking about after the war,’ said Macdonald. ‘I’ve got my uncle’s estate to run in the Dales, so that’ll be it for me and the Army.’

  ‘And I’ve got the family business outside Ripon,’ said Masters.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘It’s a sawmill. We supply all sorts of timber for houses, fencing, anything, really. A good little business. Been doing well through the war, too.’

  ‘What will you do, Jack?’ asked Macdonald.

  Tanner smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t know. My father was a gamekeeper and I grew up on the land. That’s where I belong. I’ve started to think I’d like a little farm of my own. Whether I’d ever be able to, though, I’m not sure.’

  ‘You’ll leave the Army, then?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. I’ve done enough soldiering. Seen enough killing to last ten lifetimes.’ He looked down, and the men were suddenly quiet. Instantly regretting his words, he turned to Francesca. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Escape,’ she said.

  Later, around 2 a.m. Tanner had been asleep, but something had woken him. He sat up and listened. The sound of a vehicle, a truck, changing gear. Climbing out of bed, he stood by the window and listened again. There it was. A truck, definitely. A big one.

  There was a light tap at the door and Tanner started.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me, Stan,’ whispered Sykes.

  Tanner opened the door. ‘What are trucks doing driving around here at this time of the morning?’

  ‘You ’eard it, then. I’ve seen it too. It’s come up from the valley, heading for the new town by the look of things. I wouldn’t have bothered, only it’s American.’

  ‘American? Here? Bit too far out of the way just to have got lost.’

  ‘Maybe we should have a dekko.’

  ‘Maybe we should.’

  As they slipped out into the square, past their sentries, they could still hear it, rumbling slowly up the hill to the new town away to the south, but then it stopped.

  Quickly, they hurried down through the labyrinth of narrow alleys. As they emerged onto via Vittorio Emanuele, up which they had tramped just a few days earlier, they heard the truck again: a slight rev of the throttle and then its low rumble.

  ‘It’s moving into position,’ said Sykes.

  Following the sound, they crossed to the edge of the town where the old met the new. There before them, built a little way back from the road, was a long, low, two-storey municipal building and drill yard with stores behind.

  ‘It’s the carabiniere barracks,’ whispered Tanner.

  ‘And look!’ said Sykes. The truck was just visible in the faint light of the stars and the moon.

  Keeping to the shadows, they crossed the street and moved around to the edge of the barracks yard. Crouching low, they watched what was going on. The truck had reversed towards a large shed and a group of men were unloading boxes using electric torches to help them. Tanner recognized Camprese, and one of the other Sicilians he had seen at the Municipio.

  ‘Rations,’ said Tanner. ‘I’ll put money on it being American rations.’

  ‘Which they’ll sell on the black market or use to bribe people.’

  ‘Come on, Stan,’ said Tanner. ‘I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?’

  Saturday, 7 August. It was a little after eight a.m., the sun already beating down from a burnished sky, as Tanner, with Masters and Macdonald, walked down the hill towards the Municipio. Camprese, they had been informed by Lavery, had now arrived. Earlier, at around five a.m., Sykes had led a dozen men on a raid on the police barracks. As they had thought, the boxes were rations, several tons of them.

  Wiseman had told him not to get involved – had warned him not to get involved. Yet, as Sykes had pointed out, Camprese was unlikely to be handing out these supplies freely to the townspeople of Motta Sant’Anastasia. Rather, he would be using them to bribe and coerce, or selling them at vastly inflated prices.

  Tanner knew that Sykes was right, and the decision to act had been easy, although he hadn’t taken it lightly. He wished he and Sykes had not heard the truck, but they had, and he could not, would not, turn a blind eye to flagrant black-marketeering. He had always had a clear understanding of what was right and what was wrong; dishonesty and corruption were wrong, and he would always fight them. A man should always stand by his principles, Tanner believed, even if it meant getting himself into trouble. And, by God, it had, numerous times over the years. But he was still alive. He’d stood up to men like Blackstone and Creer and look where they were now: Blackstone rotting at the bottom of the Channel and Creer languishing in the glasshouse. In any case, it was a matter of honour as well as principle. Upsetting the apple-cart with Camprese would, no doubt, cause trouble, but his conscience would be clear. A devil’s pact, he’d called this alliance with the Mafia, and so it was. But he wanted no further part in it.

  At the town hall, they saw Lavery smoking outside, waiting for them.

  ‘Good,’ said Tanner. ‘You’re here. I need you.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Camprese looked up, startled, when Tanner opened the door. ‘Buon giorno, Maggiore,’ he said.

  ‘Tell him this, Lavery,’ said Tanner. ‘This morning we raided the carabiniere barracks and found three tons of US Army rations. Tell him we know he was there and that I would like an explanation.’

  As Lavery relayed this, Camprese’s expression changed. The smile disappeared.

  ‘Come lei permette,’ he exploded, standing up and crashing his hand onto the desk. ‘Non aveve il diritto di fare una cosa del genere. Questo è niente a che fare con le!’

  ‘He says you had no right. It is nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Tell him black-marketeering is illegal under Allied military law.’

  Camprese fumed. He had been giv
en the supplies by an American contact, he told Tanner.

  ‘Who?’ Tanner asked.

  Camprese would not say.

  ‘And what are you going to do with the supplies? Sell them? Selling US military goods is illegal.’

  ‘He says he is mayor of this town, appointed by AMGOT,’ said Lavery. ‘He says you know nothing of running a town, of looking after the people. He says you are a soldier and should stick to being a soldier and keep out of Sicilian affairs.’

  ‘Tell him that he may have been appointed by AMGOT, but this town is still under military jurisdiction, and that while I am here, he is answerable to me.’

  At this Camprese smacked the table again and swore.

  ‘He’s very angry, isn’t he?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘So would you be if you’d just been as badly rumbled,’ said Tanner. He turned to Lavery. ‘Ask him again who provided the truck of rations. We know it was a US Army truck, but I want a name.’

  Lavery repeated the question. ‘He won’t give one,’ said Lavery, after another torrent of Italian. ‘He says he’s a man of honour, that this is no business of ours and that we have no right to meddle in his affairs.’

  ‘That’s all a load of cock-and-bull,’ said Tanner. ‘Tell him we’re confiscating the lot and that we’ll distribute it, for free, to the townspeople. Since he was given it by the Americans, and since he won’t tell us who to return it to, that’s the answer. You can also tell him I don’t think it right that a mayor, a pillar of the community, a man the people of the town should look up to and admire, should be making money out of the misery of the same people it is his duty to look after.’

  Lavery repeated Tanner’s words. Camprese glared at him, muttered something, then spat and sat down petulantly.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Tanner.

  ‘He says you’ve crossed the wrong man, that you have no idea what you’re doing insulting him and his fellow Sicilians.’

  Tanner pushed back his chair, went around the desk and grabbed Camprese by the collar. He pulled the man to his feet, grabbed his crotch and squeezed. Camprese cried out in pain. ‘Listen to me,’ said Tanner. ‘I don’t like bullies and I don’t like cheats, and I don’t give a fig for your pathetic threats. So I’m warning you, don’t ever, ever threaten me again, or I’ll have your nuts boiled quicker than you can say Società d’Onore. Is that clear?’ He squeezed tighter. Camprese nodded, and Tanner dropped him, leaving him collapsed on the floor, gasping and wincing with pain.

  ‘I didn’t know you could speak Italian, Jack,’ said Macdonald, as they left.

  ‘I can’t, but I know what “Società d’Onore” means. And I know what “Mafia” means too.’

  Later, back at the house, Francesca tapped at the office door and came in.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, coming over to him and taking his hands in hers.

  ‘For what?’ he said, surprised.

  ‘For what you did to Camprese.’

  ‘He deserved it. I hate people like him. He’s a bully.’

  A smile flickered on her face. ‘He will be very angry,’ she said, her expression suddenly more serious. ‘You must be careful.’

  ‘I’m not scared of someone like him.’

  ‘It’s not him you need to scared of,’ said Francesca. ‘When you insult and threaten him, you insult and threaten all the Mafia.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare do anything to me.’

  ‘No, Jack, you’re wrong. You don’t understand these people. They’ll kill you, if they can, for what you’ve done to Camprese.’

  24

  Later that Saturday morning, Lieutenant Shopland called in on Tanner. The companies had been brought in to help distribute the rations, but were discovering that none of the townspeople would accept them. Tanner had not expected this. What was it Francesca had called it? A shroud of fear. It was, he reflected, quite some shroud that stopped half-starved people accepting free food.

  ‘All right, Jimmy,’ said Tanner. ‘Get a fifteen-hundredweight, fill it with rations, then meet me outside the town hall.’

  Tanner strode back to the Municipio and found Lavery. ‘Where’s Camprese?’ he said.

  ‘At the bar across the road,’ said Lavery. ‘You’ve heard, then?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tanner, ‘but that’s easily solved. Come on, let’s go and find him.’

  He was in the bar, as Lavery had said, smoking a cigarette and drinking fresh coffee, two commodities that were almost non-existent in this part of Sicily, as Tanner was well aware.

  Seeing Tanner, Camprese smiled and raised his coffee cup. ‘Saluti,’ he said. ‘The people no want food.’

  ‘They’re too scared to take it,’ said Tanner. ‘Scared of what you will do if they accept.’

  Camprese muttered something as he drew on his cigarette.

  ‘He says they’re not scared,’ said Lavery. ‘He says they know their mayor has been insulted and they do not accept the gifts out of respect to him.’

  ‘Which is why he’s going to tell them that it’s perfectly all right if they do accept them.’

  Camprese’s smile disappeared once more.

  ‘And you can tell him,’ added Tanner, ‘that if he doesn’t, I’ll rip his bollocks off this time.’

  Five minutes later, with the truck parked beside the war memorial and with men there to help distribute the load of rations, Camprese spoke from the first-floor balcony of the Municipio.

  ‘Amici,’ he declared to the gathering crowd below, ‘portare questi doni di cibo. Fatelo con la mia benedizione.’ Friends, take these gifts of food. Do so with my blessing.

  ‘There,’ said Tanner, standing behind him with his hand on his Colt .45. ‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

  The following morning, Sunday, 8 August, a message arrived early for Tanner. It was from Wiseman: Know you are heading to front tomorrow. Please meet me today at Enna. Need your help. Please confirm. Lt Col C. Wiseman, US 7th Army.

  Tanner wondered what it was about. Another warning, he guessed.

  A lesson in diplomatic relations.

  ‘Are you going to go?’ asked Sykes, after Tanner had shown it to him.

  ‘I think I should. He came to see me when I asked him to. Why don’t you come with me?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘And we can take Browner and Phyllis too. Just in case Camprese’s got any ideas.’

  An hour later they were on their way, having received instructions from Wiseman to meet him at the Municipio in Enna at noon. With Brown driving, Tanner sat up front with his Beretta across his lap, while Phyllis and Sykes perched behind, Sykes clutching a Bren, a pack of grenades and another of ammunition.

  ‘We don’t need all this, do we?’ said Phyllis. ‘You said it was just an outing, sir.’

  ‘Can’t be too careful, Siff,’ said Tanner. ‘There’s a war on, you know.’

  ‘But there’s no Jerries round here, sir.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Siff,’ said Sykes. ‘There might be a little pocket of hardened Nazis and Fascists who’ve been waiting for just such an opportunity.’

  Phyllis looked at him, wondering whether he was having his leg pulled again, then decided he was. ‘Nah, you’re joshing me, sir.’

  ‘Always be prepared, Siff,’ said Sykes. ‘Weren’t you in the Scouts?’

  ‘No, I never fancied it. I went once but it was really boring. We just sat around tying knots.’

  They sped on out of the town and wound their way down to the N92, the road that bisected the island and which, in forty or so miles, would take them to Enna. With Motta Sant’Anastasia behind them and the Gerbini airfield in sight, Tanner began to feel easier. The sun continued to beat down and he took off his helmet, which was beginning to get ferociously hot, and replaced it with his dress cap, which was lighter and peaked. These were now being phased out, replaced by various berets, tam o’shanters, and the new general-service cap. Tanner hated it, and was determined to keep his dress cap for everyday use as lon
g as he could.

  The road followed the river Dittaino on their left, winding its way gradually higher towards the low mountains ahead. Tanner could not remember which unit was based at Enna, except that it been taken by the US 1st Infantry and remained within Seventh Army’s jurisdiction. They passed nothing, not a single army vehicle. The Americans were using Licata and now Palermo, the British Syracuse and Catania; there was, he supposed, no need to use this road. Occasionally, they saw a mule and cart, and peasants in the fields, harvesting what they could with scythes and rakes.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Browner, ‘this place is bloody backward, isn’t it? No wonder the Eyeties were so bollocks.’

  ‘They weren’t all rubbish,’ said Sykes. ‘Remember the Young Fascists at Wadi Akarit? And some of those paratrooper units – what were they called? The Folgore. They were a pretty tough bunch.’

  ‘All right, but I’m just saying this place is a flippin’ dump, in my book. I know they’ve been bashed about, but there’s no running water, barely any electricity, almost no cars, peasants cutting the wheat with flippin’ scythes. It’s bastard hot, there’s lots of sodding ants and scorpions and mossies. The people look half starved and the towns are run by arseholes like that mayor in Motta. Looks quite pretty on the face of it and old Etna up there is quite a sight, I’ll grant you, but you wouldn’t catch me living here. Not for all the silk in China. And, if I’m honest, I’m quite looking forward to getting home and seeing some grey skies and a bit of bloody rain.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that one up, Browner,’ said Sykes. ‘I was worrying about what you thought of this place, but now I know.’

  Brown laughed. ‘What do you think of it then, sir?’

  ‘I think the whole place is totally doolally,’ said Sykes, and everyone laughed, Tanner included. ‘It’s a mad house.’

  ‘Major Peploe would have liked it, though,’ said Tanner. ‘He’d be visiting all the ruins.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s all right, sir,’ said Brown.

  ‘D’you think he’ll come back?’ asked Phyllis.