Another minute or two crawled by as Martland stared and frowned, stirring through the mass of time and dates and places. And then, once again, the words caine in a rush.
‘He was a native of Sicily. Let me see. . . Siracusa, a little town on the southe astern tip of the island. We made a beachhead there during the invasion. Scardi knew the place like the seat of his pants. Every road, every footpath, every stone wall. He went in a month or so before the assault, scouted the entire area, radioed information every night. Set up little pockets of resistance to badger Jerry.’
And that was it again. It was as though be were turning a switch in his brain on and off.
‘What was, uh, Gela-Pachino-Calta —,
‘Caltagirone. Towns in southern Sicily. A little triangle. After Sicily fell, Dom Scardi was the civilian liaison between the military government and the locals. Our objective was territory, gentlemen. Geography, not people. The sooner they returned to self-government the better. That’s what Scardi did, helped them get back on their feet. And kept them out of our hair.’
He stopped again, but this time as Sharky started to ask another question he cut him off, There was a touch of anger in his voice when he spoke.
‘They were going to deport him, the Justice Department, did you know that? Undesirable alien, that’s what they said. Well, he acquitted himself admirably. Unless I’m mistaken he became an American citizen after the war.’
Livingston looked at the floor and muttered, ‘Great!’
Sharky ignored him, pressing on. ‘Later on, after Sicily. Scardi went to Italy, didn’t he?’
Another long pause. More frowns, followed by the customary burst of information.
‘He worked with the guerrillas, behind the German lines. They were Communists, of course, been fighting the Germans since the beginning of the war. Totally dis.. organized. Scardi scouted them out, got them supplies, money, medicine. He had an idea to try and bring them all together so they’d be more effective. A dangerous thing to do. He was a civilian involved in espionage. if the Germans had caught him, bang! Would’ve been shot, just like that, on the spot. No ceremony.’ And he stopped and after a few seconds, almost reflectively he repeated the name, ‘Dominic Scardi,’ and it lingered in the dreary room like a mention of the plague and Sharky felt the furies building inside him, thought about Domino and a man, humiliated in death, tossed away in a garbage dump without any face or hands. Dominic Scardi. How could this possibly be the same man who Martland regarded as a hero?
Finally Sharky said, ‘Do you remember something called Opstitch?’
Martland reacted immediately, turning and looking straight at Sharky.
‘I believe that information Is classified, sir,’ be said.
‘Colonel, that was thirty years ago.’
‘Classified nevertheless.’
‘Sir, this is important. We’re investigating a murder case involving people Scardi knew. Anything you give us could be helpful.’
Livingston finally spoke up. ‘It might prevent innocent people from getting hurt,’ he said.
‘Humph,’ Martland said and snorted through his nose. He struggled with the question, balancing it. Then he began to nod vigorously.
‘Bureaucratic folderol 1’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘Bureaucratic folderol. Utter nonsense. No reason really for Opstitch to be classified. It was a snafu. That’s all, plain and simple, a snafu. Opstitch was Operation Stitch, for “a stitch in time”. A bit obvious, of course, but then nobody ever accused the army of being subtle. Stitch was Scardi’s idea. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I’m sure you know very little about the Italian campaign. God knows, few do. The forgotten war. And a bitter one. This was in the autumn of ‘44. The war in Italy had gone badly. Terrible terrain. Incessant rain. Very costly. Every inch paid for dearly. So that fall the Americans and Germans were face to face in the Po Valley. A stalemate. Three months it went on like that, neither side giving up a foot.
‘Scardi had gone on reconnoitre up in the northern section around Lake di Garda. There were dozens of guerrilla outfits up there. The most effective, according to Scardi, was ld by a resistance fighter who called himself La Volte. The Fox. Had a price on his head. Scardi suggested that we provide him with the money and supplies to consolidate all these bands into a single strike force. Hit Jerry from behind while the American and British troops would launch a massive frontal attack at the same time. And it could have worked to break the deadlock. So.. . that was Opstitch.’
Martland stopped and smiled, as though he were proud of himself. He ran his tongue between his teeth and his upper lip, smoothed his moustache with his fingers, and looked back at the painting of Miriam Martland.
‘Did Scardi pull it off?’
‘Oh, no, no, no. No, sir. Scardi got sick. Intestinal malaria I believe was the diagnosis. That was in October. The mission actually was carried off in December. Two weeks before Christmas, as I recall. I was in Rome at the time. A major named Halford took over the assignment. Moody fellow. Killed in the Orient some years ago. He sent a bright young officer named Younger in several times to make arrangements with La Volte. It was Younger who actually took the mission in. But Scardi had nothing to do with it by then. Been back in the States for two or three months.’
‘And what happened?’
Martland drummed on his crop with nervous fingers. His forehead wrinkled and he shook his head in short jabs several times before answering.
‘A disaster. Younger and three men parachuted in. The next night the air force dropped supplies, weapons, and four million dollars in gold bullion. The Germans overran our position, killed Younger and two of his men. The other one was wounded and hid out in an Italian village until it was liberated. After the war Younger and his men were found buried near the lake. The gold was never recovered.’
‘How about this other man, the one that got away? Do you remember his name?’
