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“Those shits in the SS,” Canidy explained, “they take a special joy in smashing prisoners in the mouth with the butts of their Mausers. They do it till all the teeth are knocked out. Message being: ‘You don’t talk, then we’ll see that you really can’t talk.’” He paused. “Of course, the real message is for those who witness such atrocities: ‘Cooperate or this will be you.’”
Fuller was familiar with the Mauser Karabiner 98k. He had fired one of the bolt-action carbines that the OSS had in Algiers—and painfully recalled the dense wooden stock with its butt plate made of steel. The mental image of that steel striking teeth made him uneasy.
Canidy looked at Fuller and felt obligated to add, “I have to say that it certainly has gotten my attention.”
Fuller nodded.
“But,” Canidy said finally, “unfortunately for the SS, it’s only served to piss me off.”
Canidy noticed Fuller’s unease and decided that he had said enough on the subject.
Need to get his mind thinking about something else.
“Can you give some thought to getting the radio set up?” Canidy now said to Fuller.
Fuller brightened slightly. He nodded. “Sure.”
Canidy looked at Nola.
“Where’s a good place, Frank?” He pointed to the ceiling. “Maybe the roof? Is there access?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone—a neighbor up the hill, say—look down on it?”
Nola thought about that, then said, “I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” Canidy said. “But we’ll let Tubes determine that.”
He looked at the chronograph on his wrist.
“It’s now oh-seven-thirty,” Canidy said. “The Casabianca right now should be waiting on the bottom. Our first opportunity tonight to contact her is twenty-one fifteen. That’s just under fourteen hours from now. And the last chance is six hours after that, at oh-three-fifteen. That gives us a lot of time.”
“To do what?” Nola said.
“To find out what happened to the Tabun that Professor Rossi said was on the boat. Did it go up in smoke? It does not appear that it did—at least, judging by the fact that the cloud did not cause mass death—so where is it? On the harbor bottom?”
Nola nodded his understanding.
“And then,” Canidy said, “we need to find out about the villa with the yellow-fever lab. Or maybe we can do that first and it will lead us to the answer about the gas.”
Fuller looked at Canidy and said, “If those fishermen were hung because the SS want to find out who blew up the boat, then wouldn’t there be a price on your head?”
“As far as the SS is concerned, yes,” Canidy said. “But I’m what’s known as an asset. As are you.”
“Me?” Fuller said.
Frank Nola cleared his throat.
He explained to Fuller, “My people will not stand for these atrocities—the hangings, the slaughter of that fishing-boat crew. We are a tough people. We can wait for the opportunity to beat these Nazi bastards and their puppets in the OVRA. And you are that opportunity.”
Fuller nodded as he absorbed that.
“If we get this gas thing figured out,” Canidy added, “we will arm the Resistance with weapons, radios, explosives—”
“Not if, my friend,” Nola interrupted, “when. And until then, my people will take care of you two.”
Canidy thought, Better, I hope, than they took care of those guys hanging from those nooses.
