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She smiled and turned and left.

Stevens walked over to the desk and picked up a mug of coffee and a folder.

“I got an Eyes Only from Colonel Donovan via Chief Ellis that said you were coming, and that Donovan wanted me to pull any intel the SI Italy desk here had on your Professor Rossi.”

Stevens handed over the brown folder that had come up from the Secret Intelligence branch in the building’s basement.

Canidy flipped it open and saw that it held only a few sheets of paper.

“Not much there,” Stevens said, “but what we do have is fresh. Rossi, for example, was seen just last week at the University of Palermo.”

Palermo? Canidy thought. That’s the north side of Sicily. Francisco Nola’s people are in Porto Empedocle, on the south side. Not that you couldn’t get between the two by boat. But that might be like saying you can get from New York to London by boat—complete with the damned Germans trying to sink you….

“Does Bruce know about this?” Canidy asked.

Stevens shook his head.

“The boss made it clear only you—and I—had the need to know.”

Canidy raised his eyebrows.

“That wasn’t my idea, Ed.”

“I know, Dick. You shouldn’t sweat it. It’s not the first op that’s been kept supersecret—and I suspect that it won’t be the last.”

Canidy nodded.

Not telling Bruce about the mission to nab Professor Dyer immediately comes to mind, he t

hought.

He looked at the folder and said, “Eisenhower will throw a fit if he finds out.”

General Dwight David Eisenhower was Supreme Commander Allied Expeditionary Force, who had just enjoyed enormous success leading the Allies’ amphibious landing in North Africa—OPERATION TORCH—and looked to repeat that with the taking of Sicily and Italy—OPERATION HUSKY.

Stevens nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, so be it. The boss has his reasons. Ike can play the game, too.”

“Which reminds me,” Stevens said. “A word to the wise, my friend. Steer clear of Lieutenant Colonel Owen.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Warren J. Owen. He’s one of Ike’s gatekeepers at AFHQ in Algiers. On the fast track. Ivy League fellow—Hahvard ’36—who smokes cigars for the pretense, not because he likes them. And drinks—or at least talks about drinking—expensive wines, ones you’ve never heard of. You know the type.”

Canidy made a sour face and nodded.

“Worse,” Stevens went on, “he has a remarkable knack of bullshitting out both sides of his mouth. Trouble is, I think he really believes what he says.”

Canidy chuckled.

He said, “Reminds me of Turkish officers. When one solemnly tells you, ‘It is no problem,’ what he means is it’s not a problem for him.”

Now Stevens chuckled.

After a moment, Stevens added, “And if all that wasn’t bad enough, this Owen is a ticket puncher.”

Canidy shook his head.