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“But it also said that not one of them hit close to its target.”

“Moot point. Considering that each one is said to be carrying a one-ton warhead of high explosive—making the total five hundred tons—this may well be akin to horseshoes.”

“Horseshoes?”

“As in: ‘Close only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades.’ And now with aerial torpedoes. Five hundred tons of Amatol blowing up anywhere close to target will serve the purpose of terrorizing London. And, as Ike says, jeopardize the cross-channel invasion.”

After a moment, Stevens added, “Well, we now have a pretty good idea why the Germans are keeping Schwartz’s demise very quiet.”

David Bruce looked at the message again, then tapped it and said, “Hans Oster and Canaris have a long history. Oster is part of Canaris’s Black Orchestra.”

“So then you really think that Dulles is setting up Kappler for ‘extra-legal’ work?” Stevens said.

“What I think is that Dulles knows if Old Man Kappler finds that his family has suddenly disappeared, he damn well might be angry enough to do something like that.”

Stevens considered that, nodded, and said, “I have to admit that I know I would.”

“As would I.”

Bruce looked back at the message, then said: “I don’t need to await word from Wild Bill Donovan. Get an urgent sent to Stanley telling him to message Canidy that this Oskar Kappler is expecting Jupiter to contact him. Canidy is to get Kappler out of sight yesterday, and out of Sicily soonest.”

“I hate to ask this, but dead or alive? Dulles said ‘to safety.’”

Ambassador David K. E. Bruce looked at him a long moment.

“Do you mean what’s the right thing to do?”

Stevens said, “No. I made that mistake one time, and Wild Bill handed me my head. He said, ‘I’m surprised to hear you say that. I thought by now you would have figured out that “the right thing” has absolutely no meaning for the OSS. We do what has to be done, and “right” has absolutely nothing to do with that.’”

Bruce then said: “Which in this case means that Oskar Kappler dead would (a) serve the same purpose as his disappearance—as you said earlier, getting the old man to do what we need—and (b) make the mission much simpler for Canidy.”

“And that is what I figured—”

“But,” Bruce went on, “having a grateful SS officer in our pocket for Operation Husky, one who’s been running intel in Sicily for the last two years, would be extremely valuable, too. So tell him alive if at all possible. But, paraphrasing Robert Burns, should the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men go to hell . . .”

Stevens raised his eyebrows and nodded.

X

[ONE]

Room 801

Hotel Michelangelo

Palermo, Sicily

0725 1 June 1943

Dick Canidy suddenly awoke when he first heard the banging, then, a couple moments later, pounding.

He sat up, groggy, and looked quickly around the room, trying to get his bearings. The early morning sun lit the room. He had on only a bath towel that covered his waist.

Shit. I fell asleep—and deeply.

Who the hell is doing that banging?

Pulling his .45 from under the pillow, he looked at the door and listened.