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They were “almost secret” weapons because Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels already was threatening that the V-1 and V-2—Vergeltungswaffe, or retaliation weapon—would first target London, wiping it out as payback for the Allied bombings that were devastating German cities.

“Before Ike went back to AFHQ last week,” Bruce said, referring to General Dwight D. Eisenhower, comman

der in chief at Allied Forces Headquarters, “he told Donovan and me that he was extremely concerned about the impact, if you will forgive the poor choice of words, of these new bombs.”

“Goebbels is broadcasting that the attacks will begin this coming December,” Stevens said.

Bruce shrugged.

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that that time frame is pure propaganda at this point.”

“But our intel tells us that the first, smaller version of these bombs is being tested.”

The Fieseler Fi-103 had a thirty-foot-long sheet metal fuselage, wooden wings, and a new jet engine that pulsed fifty times a second, creating a buzz sound. The Luftwaffe had flown—and crashed—the first one under its own power in December 1942.

“And that’s what worries Ike. He’s afraid that London under siege—whether six months from now or early next year, which would be far worse—will severely interfere with the cross-channel invasion now set for May.”

In 1942, then–Major General Eisenhower had written the plans for OPERATION ROUNDUP that he tried to get approved as the spring 1943 invasion of northern France. The British, however, wanted nothing to do with it. Prime Minister Winston Churchill favored attacking the Axis through the Mediterranean, what he called “Europe’s soft underbelly.” Now that that was happening—the Allies, having just captured North Africa, expected to have Sicily and Italy taken within a matter of months—additional plans were being hammered out for the invasion of France, this time at the coast of Normandy in spring 1944.

“Ike says keeping secret an operation on the massive scale that they’re planning—they’re building on his Roundup, mobilizing more than a million troops—is a challenge in and of itself. It follows, then, that the actual invasion would be impossible to ramp up and launch from England if London is being leveled at the same time.”

Stevens nodded solemnly.

“Now,” Bruce said, motioning toward the message, “getting back to Allen’s point of connecting why Schwartz has been working for von Braun. Those agriculture fertilizers he mentioned use concentrated amounts of phosphoric acids—”

“As do incendiary bombs,” Stevens interrupted.

“Exactly. And the same plant making chemicals for firebombs can make a high explosive like TNT. So call that Connect One.”

David Bruce then tapped his finger on a manila file folder on his desk.

“And here’s where it gets worse. I had Helene dig out this background on nerve gas that Professor Rossi put together before he left for the States,” he said, referring to the University of Palermo scientist whom Dick Canidy recently had rescued from the SS in Sicily. “Rossi writes that thanks to a Herr Doktor Gerhard Schrader, who developed the industrial process for mass production of T-83, any facility capable of producing such chemicals can easily be converted to produce components for the nerve gas.” He paused, then added, “Thousands of metric tons of it.”

Tabun, code-named T-83, was colorless, mostly odorless, and, as far as chemists were concerned, relatively easy to make. It also was effective. It quickly attacked the central nervous system, causing intense convulsions, restricted breathing—and painful death.

“And thus the possible Connect Two,” Stevens said, meeting Bruce’s eyes as he handed back the sheet. Then, without thinking, he suddenly added, “Canidy called this.”

David Bruce looked at Ed Stevens with a face of resignation.

“Canidy suggested the possibility when Donovan was here,” Bruce clarified.

Stevens said: “What I recall he said was, ‘It’s possible, but is it probable?’”

Bruce looked at him for a long moment.

“Right. None of these bombs can be allowed to strike here, period, no matter what they might carry. Where is he, by the way?”

Captain Helene Dancy came in with a wooden tray that held a pot of coffee and four china mugs.

“Where’s who?” she said as she put the tray on a table beside the couch.

“Canidy,” Stevens and Bruce said almost simultaneously.

“Either on his way to see Stan Fine in Algiers,” she said, reaching for the coffeepot, “or already there. Said he had unfinished business.”

Stevens and Bruce exchanged glances.

“Ed here will pour us the coffee, Helene,” Bruce then ordered, “while you go grab your message pad. We have an urgent for General Donovan.”