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“What do you expect?” he said. “This is war—”

“But,” Kappler interrupted, “you would think that we’re an occupying force. We’re not. These people do not know—or choose not to acknowledge—that we’re fighting on the same side, Juli.”

He let that statement set in, then added: “If you do not agree, then answer this: How do we go about ensuring their allegiance?”

He looked at his friend. When finally there was no answer, only silence, he answered the question himself: “We do it with threats, Juli, with coercion and fear. Just as you and I fear being found not to be in complete and total lockstep with”—he made a wave of disgust with his hand toward the portraits on the wall—“the high party and its ideals.”

Schrader looked at Kappler, then at his coffee cup, and drained it.

“This is complete nonsense,” Schrader said. “I have been given no intelligence that says—”

“Do you really believe that they would tell you that? From what I hear, no one tells the Führer anything that the Führer does not want to hear. His temper is legendary.”

Schrader snorted. “So it is said. I would not wish to have been the unfortunate one who had to report the news last month of von Paulus’s defeat.”

Kappler nodded solemnly.

The Wehrmacht had been dealt a devastating blow by the Russian Red Army. Field Marshal Friedrich von Paulus and his Sixth German Army—strung out too far while battling a wicked Stalingrad winter—had been damn near obliterated.

It was a loss that even now Hitler had not come completely to comprehend—quite possibly could not, considering that people were prone to report that which would keep them alive…not necessarily that which the Führer needed to hear.

“Precisely,” Kappler said. “And apparently that temper is worsening with his misfortunes of war. First, he basically loses North Africa and—worse—refuses to concede it. Now, mere months later, this travesty in Stalingrad. What makes you think he is even thinking of Sicily? Maybe he’s more concerned about Corsica and Sardinia. They’re closer to the mainland. If I were him, I would pull back and protect against mainland invasions closer to home—particularly ones from the east and west—battles that I can win.” He exhaled audibly. “Not save some island.”

He looked at Schrader, who returned the look but said nothing.

Kappler then quietly offered: “You know there have been attempts on Hitler’s life.”

“Rumors,” Schrader snapped.

Kappler nodded and said, “Possibly. But credible ones. He’s weakening.”

Schrader stared at Kappler, looking in his eyes for something that he feared Kappler might be holding back from saying.

Schrader knew the Kapplers were an old family well connected in Dortmund—and thus well connected at high levels in Berlin thanks to Oskar’s industrialist grandfather’s steel mill in Ruhrpott, the Ruhr Valley, supplying critical materials to the war effort—and Kappler could very well h

ave access to quiet information that Schrader never would.

“Only a fool would try to assassinate him,” Schrader finally said, reasonably.

“Only a fool would try and fail.”

Schrader stiffened and with a raised voice said, “You’re not suggesting—?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Juli,” he said evenly. “I am saying, however, that there appear to be real cracks in Hitler’s grand plan. And that wise men make their own plans for different courses of action.”

Schrader walked wordlessly over to the desk, took a deep breath and exhaled, then picked up the carafe from the sterling silver coffee service at the front edge of the desk. He gestured with it, offering Kappler a cup.

“Sure you won’t have some?” he asked, his voice now casual, and after Kappler shook his head Schrader shrugged and poured himself a fresh cup.

“Different courses of action,” Schrader said conversationally. “What does this mean?”

“Just look at what Hitler has sent us to prepare for a possible invasion. Not men, not matériel. No, he has left us Il Duce’s tired army to fight with our own thin forces.”

As Schrader absently stirred three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, he said, “There is no reason we could not get additional reinforcements.”

Kappler made a sour face.

“Come now, Juli. The German forces have only so many men and we’re losing what we have at a growing rate. If Hitler were planning to reinforce Sicily, why would he have us overseeing Sturmbannführer Müller’s work? And let me remind you what that professor from the university in Palermo said: that such weapons do not discriminate. That they are as likely to kill us as they are any enemy.”