ADV GELA-PACHINO-CALTAGIRONE, JULY,
43-MARCH 44. TRNSFD FIRENZE, ITALY, JNT,
MI/OSS OPSTITCH (TSEC), MARCH, 44-OCT 44.
RET US OCT SERV TERM OCT 21, 44. SKID,
‘Not too much,’ Weinstock said.
But Livingston was staring at the first line, his eyes bright with excitement. There it was. The name.
Angelo Dominic Scardi.
And what a name it was.
‘Shit, all we need’s right here on this first line,’ he said. ‘Angelo Scardi. Does that ring your bell, Sharky?’
‘No. Should it?’
‘Angel the Undertaker,’ Livingston said. ‘This guy was a top button for Genovese, Luciano, Costello, all the biggies. When Valachi spilled his guts to the Senate, Scardi’s name popped up all over the place. Then a couple of years later who should turn up doin’ the same number Valachi did for the Feds? Angelo Scardi.’
‘What happened to him?’ Sharky said.
‘He died of cancer about six months after testifying.’
‘How convenient,’ Sharky said. ‘And would you like to make a little bet that Howard Burns turned up in Nebraska just about that time?’
‘No bet. It fits, man. It fits like a glove.’ He turned his attention back to the report. ‘How the hell can anybody read the rest of this shit?’
Weinstock took the sheet from him. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘Let me translate for you. It says this Seardi was born in Siracusa, Sicily, in 1916. Came to the U.S. in 1935. In june, 1943, he volunteered as civilian liaison adviser to the Sicilian invasion forces and then worked with the Army in the GelaPachino-Caltagirone sector until March 1944. He was transferred to Firenze, Italy, and attached to a joint Military Intelligence—OSS operation — something called Opstitch — until be returned to the States in October ‘44. Service was term mated the same month.’
‘What the hell was he doing over there?’ Sharky said.
‘Beats the hell outa me,’ Weinstock said. ‘That’s the year I was born.’
‘Arch?’
‘All I remember is that he was a number one hitman for the Cosa Nostra and he blew the whistle on them.’
‘But it fits, damn it, it fits!’ Sharky said.
‘What’s so important about this guy if he’s been dead for seven or eight years?’ Weinstock asked.
‘Jerry, when this is all over, I’ll come out and we’ll spend a night at the noncom club on me and I’ll tell you the whole story. How about this Opstitch, what would that be?’
‘That translates Operation Stitch. With the OSS involved it was probably some cloak and dagger number. TSEC means it’s classified secret.’
‘You mean it’s still classified after thirty years?’
‘Could have been a royal fuck-tip of some kind. Nobody in the army wants to admit a screw-up, so they just keep the lid on. Or maybe they just never got around to declassifying it. You know the goddamn army.’
‘Who cares?’ Livingston said. ‘We got the name, that’s what’s important.’
‘It could relate, Arch. How could we find out about this, Jerry?’
‘Forget it. You got to go through the Adjutant General in Washington and probably the CIA to bust it out. That could be a lifetime project.’
‘Somebody must remember something about it,’ Sharky said.
‘We’re pushing for time, Shark,’ Livingston reminded him.
‘I know, but as long as we’re here, why not check it out?’
‘He’s havin’ another hunch attack, if you ask me,’ Weinstock said.
‘C’mon, Jerry, this is headquarters for the whole Third Army. Think! There’s probably a dozen guys on this base could help us.’
‘See,’ Weinstock said, ‘a goddamn bulldog. He gets something by the ass and he won’t let it go.’
Weinstock stroked his chin for a few moments. ‘Well, your best bet, I guess, is General Bourke. Hardy W. Bourke himself. He was in Italy during the war. If he don’t know, maybe he knows where you can find out.’
‘Can you call him, ask if he’ll see us?’
‘When, right now?’
Sharky patted him on the cheek. ‘Jerry, we’re fighting the clock. You’re a goddamn prince.’
Weinstock leered back at him. ‘No, you’re the goddamn prince, Sharky, ‘cause this little operation here this morning is gonna cost you one gallon of Chivas Regal.’
Sharky nodded. ‘Do it.’
Weinstock grinned. ‘Don’t have to call him. You’ll find him out on the golf course.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I
