Part 32 (1/2)

When it was aboard, the boat headed for the beach in a wide curve.

”I don't know how he's going to like this,” Ferniany said.

”I hadn't planned to ask him,” Canidy snapped. ”Maybe he'll be smart enough not to volunteer an opinion.”

The moment he said it, he was a little sorry. There was something in the chemistry between him and Ferniany that produced dislike without real reason. But that wasn't why he had snapped at him. The reason for that was that Ferniany was close to the truth. ”Saint Peter,” the OSS agent on the fis.h.i.+ng boat, was probably not going to like what he was about to learn. Nor would Stevens and Bruce, and if it got that far, Capt. Dougla.s.s or Colonel Donovan.

The OSS agents on the scene would be annoyed both by having their thunder stolen by a visiting bra.s.s hat and by the extra risk his grandstanding would mean. And Stevens and Bruce would bitterly question his decision to go into Hungary himself. First and foremost was the question of his running the risk of falling into German hands. And right on the heels of that was the equally valid question of whether he could do what had to be done any better than Yachtsman and Saint Peter could do it.

Captain Hughson touched Canidy's arm.

”There's a rock over the water,” he said. ”You can jump from it to the boat.”

He nodded toward it.

”Would you like to take this with you?” Hughson asked, unslinging his Sten submachine gun from his shoulder and offering it to Canidy.

”Have you got another one?”

”Actually,” Hughson said, ”there's a Schmeisser in my cell I've been looking for an excuse to carry.”

”Then thank you, Hughson,” Canidy said, and took the submachine gun from him.

”You will be a good chap, won't you, Major, and make an effort to return the Sten to me, in person?” Hughson said.

”Despite what everybody apparently thinks,” Canidy said, ”I am not not charging foolhardy into the valley of death.” charging foolhardy into the valley of death.”

”No, of course you aren't,” Hughson said. He put out his hand, and Canidy took it.

The boat nosed in to the rock. First Ferniany and then Canidy jumped onto the deck. Immediately, the boat headed offsh.o.r.e.

There were two men in the wheelhouse, both dark-haired and dark-skinned, both needing a shave, and both dressed in dark blue fisherman's trousers and rough brown sweaters. It was only when one of them spoke in English to Ferniany that Canidy had any idea which was the genuine fisherman and which the SOE agent with the code name ”Saint Peter.”

”And what, might one dare inquire, is one supposed to do with this downed, if intrepid, aviator?” Saint Peter asked in an upper-cla.s.s British accent.

Ferniany chuckled. ”Major Canidy, may I introduce Lieutenant J.V.M. Beane-Williams, late of the Household Cavalry?”

”How'd'ja do?” Lt. Beane-Williams said with a smile, offering his hand. ”I hate to put it to you so bluntly, Major, but you have, so to speak, just entered the 'Out' door. England . . . I presume you came from England . . . is in quite the opposite direction.”

Canidy chuckled. He liked this Englishman.

”Hughson tells me that you can put us ash.o.r.e on the mainland,” Canidy said.

”I presume there is a reason?” Saint Peter said.

”Someplace where we can make contact with Mihajlovi's guerrillas,” Canidy said. ”Our ultimate destination is Budapest, and the sooner we can get there, the better.”

”Budapest is rather nasty this time of year,” Saint Peter said. ”Snow and slush, and ever-increasing numbers of the Boches. But I daresay you've already considered that, haven't you?”

Without waiting for a reply, he entered into a conversation with the Yugoslavian captain.

Finally, he turned to Canidy.

”Todor suggests we put you ash.o.r.e at Ploe,” he said. ”He has a first cousin twice removed there. Or did he say a 'second cousin, once removed'? He also asked that I express his practically boundless admiration for your wrist.w.a.tch. ”

Canidy looked at the Yugoslavian captain, who was smiling warmly at him, exposing two gold and two missing teeth.

Then he unstrapped his chronometer and handed it to him.

The Yugoslavian said something, and Saint Peter translated.

”He says, 'Oh, I couldn't.' ”

”Tell him I insist,” Canidy said.

The Yugoslav unstrapped his cheap watch and handed it to Canidy.

”He says,” Saint Peter said, ”that if you insist . . . ”

Canidy chuckled.

”It's sixty miles, or thereabouts, to Ploe,” Saint Peter said. ”If we're not stopped, it should take us four, perhaps four and a half hours.”

”And if we're stopped?”

”Then none of us will get to visit Ploe's many historical and cultural attractions,” Saint Peter said.

X.

1.

CAIRO, EGYPT 1220 HOURS 17 FEBRUARY 1943.

First Lieutenant Hank Darmstadter was riding in the copilot's seat working the radios when Commander John Dolan suddenly reached over and grasped his upper arm in a very tight grip.

Startled, Darmstadter looked at him. Dolan's face was white and beaded with sweat. He seemed to be in pain.

”Indigestion,” Dolan said with a terrible effort. ”There's a bottle of medicine in my briefcase. Get it, will you?”

The first thing Darmstadter remembered, as he hastily unfastened his seat and shoulder harness, was that Dolan had been medically retired from the Navy before the war because of a heart condition.

Jesus, he's having a heart attack!

Dolan's black leather Navy-issue briefcase was on a shelf in the pa.s.sageway between the c.o.c.kpit and the auxiliary fuel tanks that had been installed in the bomb bay. Its contents expanded the accordion folds, and Darmstadter grunted with the effort it took to open the catch and the straps that held it closed.

As he started rummaging through the briefcase, he glanced past the auxiliary fuel tanks into the fuselage. The German girl was looking at him. She had her hair done up in braids, which she had then coiled on the sides of her head. Darmstadter wondered who she was and why getting her and her father out of Germany had been worth all the effort it had cost.