LITMIR.BIZ

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would take place and, an unknown quantity of dead men later, Sicily would be in Allied hands. The Germans had lost the war, so much was obvious, so why didn’t everyone simply get off at the next stop?

      The door to Eisenhower’s office opened and General George Patton walked across the hall. He wore field cap and heavy military greatcoat, his hands pushed deep into its pockets as if cold.

      As Carter moved out of the shadows, Patton paused. ‘Are you Carter?’

      ‘That’s right, sir.’

      Patton stood there looking him over, a slight frown on his face. For a moment, it was as if he was about to speak; then he thought better of it, turned, and walked out without another word.

      The telephone buzzed, Cusak picked it up. ‘Yes, General?’ He smiled briefly at Carter. ‘He’ll see you now, Major.’

      The room was dark, the only light the table lamp on the desk where Eisenhower sat working on a file in a haze of cigarette smoke. He glanced up as Carter entered and put down his pen.

      ‘You know, one thing they omitted to tell us when I was a cadet at West Point was the amount of paperwork that went into being Commander-in-Chief.’

      ‘If they did, maybe nobody would want the job, General.’

      ‘Exactly,’ Eisenhower grinned briefly and was then all business. ‘There’s a Flying Fortress leaving Bone Airfield two hours from now, destination Prestwick in Scotland. From there, you’ll fly straight on to Washington by the first available plane, Priority One. You should be there, with any luck, by early evening tomorrow. Captain Cusak will give you your documentation on the way out.’

      ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.’

      ‘Of course you don’t,’ Eisenhower replied. ‘You don’t know what the hell I’m talking about so I’ll tell you. I liked what you said about the Sicilian situation. It made sense, particularly the bit about this man Antonia Luca and the effect he could have on the campaign if he was found and brought in on our side.’

      ‘I see, sir.’

      ‘I’ve spoken on the matter to the President during our phone call earlier this evening. He agrees that anything that can help save the lives of our boys is worth trying. To that end, I want you to proceed to this penitentiary at Great Meadow to discuss further with Luciano the whole question of Mafia involvement in the invasion.’ He passed a buff envelope across. ‘There’s your authority, in my name, to act in any way you see fit in this matter. It makes you answerable only to me and requires all personnel, military or civil, without distinction of rank, to assist you in any way you see fit. There will be a similar document waiting for you in Washington countersigned by the President.’

      Carter stared down at the envelope, bewildered. ‘To do what, General?’

      ‘How in the hell do I know?’ Eisenhower said. ‘Talk to the man. See what he has to say. Yank him right out of that damn prison if you have to. You’ve got the power. Now, are you going to use it or aren’t you?’

      Carter, filled with an excitement he had not known in years, slipped the envelope into one of his tunic pockets and buttoned it carefully.

      ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

      ‘Good.’ Eisenhower nodded. ‘Another thing. I’ve arranged a promotion to full colonel for you. Only temporary, of course, but it should give you some extra muscle along the way.’

      He turned before Carter could reply and switched on a lamp that illuminated the map of Sicily. He stood looking at it for a while and spoke without turning round. ‘Are you surprised that I’m willing to have dealings with people like Luciano?’

      ‘Frankly, sir, I think I’ve got well past being surprised at anything.’

      ‘The Nazis have plundered and raped Europe, murdered millions of people. The stories that are beginning to emerge about their treatment of the Jews are past belief and I’m of German stock myself. Have you any idea how that feels?’

      ‘I think so, sir,’ Carter said.

      ‘Oh, no, you haven’t,’ Eisenhower shook his head. ‘To beat these people, Major, finish them once and for all, root and branch, I’d shake hands with the Devil himself if it were necessary.’

      5

      On his twentieth lap of the exercise yard at Great Meadow, Luciano increased his speed, running fast and free, the best moment of the day when there was an infinite possibility to things. Then, as usual, the north wall got in the way and he had to slow down.

      He walked back through a scattering of other prisoners, acknowledging a greeting here and there, to his usual spot in a corner by the landing where Franco waited with a towel.

      ‘You’re getting better each day, Mr Luciano,’ Franco said.

      He had the look of a professional wrestler and the build to go with it, a New York Sicilian who had killed many times on behalf of the Mafia and was serving a double life sentence for murder.

      Luciano caught the towel as Franco threw it. ‘You reach my age, you got to keep in shape. Did you get that book from the library?’

      ‘I sure did, Mr Luciano.’

      He passed it across, an English translation of The City of God by St Augustine. Luciano sat on the step and examined it with a conscious pleasure.

      He was forty-six, a dark, handsome, saturnine man of medium height. The lid drooped slightly over the left eye, relic of an old wound. In spite of the drab prison uniform he was a man to be looked at twice, and not just because of the authority and self-sufficiency that were plainly indicated in the face. There was also that perpetual slight smile of contempt directed at the world in general.

      Franco said, ‘Excuse me, Mr Luciano, but there’s a kid here called Walton from D block. He needs a favour.’

      Luciano looked up. Walton was a tall, gangling young man of twenty-one or two with flat brown hair and arms that were too long for his shirt.

      ‘What’s he in for?’ Luciano asked softly.

      ‘One to three. Liquor store hold-up. No previous.’

      ‘Okay, let’s see what he wants.’

      Franco nodded to the boy, gave Luciano a cigarette and lit it for him. ‘Okay, speak your piece.’

      Walton stood there, twisting his cap in his hand nervously. ‘Mr Luciano, they say you can do anything.’

      ‘Except sprout wings and fly out of this place.’ Luciano smiled softly. ‘What’s to do, boy?’

      ‘It’s like this, Mr Luciano. I’ve only been here two months and my wife, Carrie … well, she’s on her own now and she’s only a kid. Eighteen is all.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘There’s a detective from the eighth precinct called O’Hara. He was one of the guys who pulled me in. He knows she’s on her own and he’s been pressuring her. You know what I mean?’

      Luciano looked him over calmly for a long moment then nodded. ‘Okay. Detective O’Hara, eighth precinct. It’s taken care of.’ He returned to his book.

      The boy said, ‘Maybe I can do you a favour some time, Mr Luciano.’

      Franco said, ‘You will, kid. Now get out of here.’

      As the boy turned away, Luciano looked up. ‘Is it true that liquor store heist was your first job?’

      Walton nodded. ‘That’s right, Mr Luciano.’

      ‘And one to three was the best your lawyer could do? He should have got you probation.’

      ‘I didn’t really have no lawyer, not a real one,’ Walton said ‘Just a man the court appointed. He only spoke to me the once. Said the thing to do was plead guilty

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