Sharky's Machine

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Printed in England by Clays Ltd, St Ives pie

ISBN 07515 1369 5

Warner Books

A Division of

Little, Brown and Company (UK)

Brettenham House

Lancaster Place

London WC2E 7EN

For my wife, Candy, with love and affection always

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To these special people for their love, encouragement, and support before and during the writing of Sharky:

to my mother and father; to my children, Cathy, Bill, Stan, Melissa, and Temple; to Carol, Temp. and Julie; to my dear friends, Marilyn and Michael Parver, Carole Jackowitz, Mardie and Michael Rothschild, Leon and Judy Walters, DeeDee Cheraton and Ira Yerkes, Arden Zinn, and Larry and Davida Krantz for ‘The Nosh’; to three generous and indulgent editors from the past, Al Wilson, Howard Cayton, and especially Jim Townsend; to Delacorte’s Helen Meyer, a legendary woman; and my new friends, Ross Claiborne and Bill Grose for their dazzling enthusiasm; to my editor, Linda Grey, whose warmth and kindness made it easy and whose brilliance made it better; but znost of all, to my dynamic and unerring agent, and devoted friend, Freya Manston, who made it all come true.

Our deeds will travel with us from afar,

And what we have been makes us what we are.

GEORGE ELIOT

PROLOGUE

Chapter One

NORTHERN ITALY, 1944

It had been dark less than an hour when Younger and the two sergeants finished loading their equipment on the three mules and prepared to head north towards Torbole and the rendezvous with La Volte. The young captain was excited, his eyes flashing as they smeared boot black on their faces. He was like a football player just before the first whistle blows, charged up, fiery with nervous energy. Harry Younger was perfect for this kind of cloak and dagger stuff; it was like a game to him. You could almost bear the adrenalin pumping through his veins. When they had the mules ready, Younger took out his map one more time and spread it on the side of an ammo box strapped to the flank of one of the miles and held his flashlight close to it. He went over the details once more and everybody nodded. The paisanos stood back from the group and smoked American cigarettes and said nothing.

When he was finished, Younger smacked his hands together and then ran one band through his crew cut several times and pulled his cap down over his head. Then he took Corrigon by the arm and led him away from the group, off by himself.

‘How ya doin’, buddy-boy?’ he asked Corrigon.

‘Four-o,’ Corrigon said, but there was an edge in his voice.

‘Sure you’re okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, fine, sir.’

‘You’re not gonna choke up on me, are you, chum?’

Corrigon smiled. ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he said.

‘That’s m’boy. Look, it’s a piece of cake, Corrigon. I’ve done this, shit, half a dozen times. You been in here for two days, right? Not a sign of a fuckin’ Kraut anywhere around. Don’t think about what might go wrong, think about how simple it’s gonna be.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Corrigon said. Will you knock off the pep