‘It won’t work, sir,’ Caccia explained. ‘If she didn’t return, a word from her uncle would bring the whole of the Luftwaffe down on us. She’s got us by the short and curlies. Besides’ – Caccia frowned – ‘she says I’ve got to turn up. Me. Complete with ring and the lot. She wants to be married. In Zuq. I think she wants her friends to know and I don’t think she trusts me. There is one thing—’
Dampier glared at Caccia. ‘Ah! So there’s another angle, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. Extenuating circumstances, you might say. She seems to have the battle order of the whole Italian army. Every division. Every regiment. Every battalion. And she knows exactly where they all are. She doesn’t want to hand us over, see, sir. She wants to help.’
Dampier chewed at his lip for a second before looking up again. ‘How do we know she’s not a German agent?’
In reply, Caccia fished in his pocket and handed over a map. It had come from the kitchen of the Bar Barbieri and it had been cut in half. But it was marked with Italian and German regiments, brigades and divisions and the assembly areas for tanks. Dampier’s eyes widened.
‘Good God,’ he said as the others crowded forward to look. ‘She’s got the lot! Hand me my map, Mr Rafferty, please.’
They placed the two maps side by side. The positions they had discovered with the help of Clutterbuck, Morton, Scarlatti and the chatter of people like Mondi were all there on Rosalba’s map – and there were a great many more besides.
‘It seems genuine.’ Dampier looked at Caccia. ‘And the girl – this girl of yours – she’s got the other half?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Dampier was interested. ‘Well, at least, my lad, I’d say you’ve found yourself a very resourceful and determined young woman.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Caccia admitted ruefully. ‘I think I have.’
‘Is she attractive?’
‘Very beautiful, sir.’
Rafferty was studying the map again. ‘Where did she pick up all this information?’ he asked.
Caccia explained. ‘She said it was dead easy,’ he ended. ‘Some of it came from the girls in the brothels.’
Dampier’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is she one?’
‘Blimey, no, sir!’ Caccia looked alarmed. He had a very formidable mother and could guess what she would have said. ‘Not her! But there aren’t all that many Italian girls left in Zuq, so she knows them all. The Italian soldiers like to talk. They like to show off. I’m Italian, sir, so I know. She says when the attack comes there’s to be no barrage. No warning. The tanks are going through with aircraft overhead to drown their engines and there are going to be trucks fitted with aero engines and propellers to the south to stir up clouds of dust so it’ll look like a panzer attack from that end. They’re going to give our lot a doing. It’s going to be a right old ding-dong. It’s to be a surprise.’
‘It will be too,’ Rafferty observed. ‘To the Italians. If we get this information to the right quarters.’
‘When’s it all to take place?’ Dampier asked.
‘She says Thursday.’
‘That’s what I heard,’ Morton said. ‘So that’s correct.’
‘She got the regimental numbers because her uncle goes into the stores dump to buy army rations. It’s all illegal but it goes on—’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ Dampier said coldly.
‘There’s an Italian sergeant who sells him petrol on the side and he gets to see the indents, the amounts, and where it’s going, and he can tell from the quantities roughly how many vehicles there are.’
Dampier was growing interested and he leaned forward. ‘They seem very anxious to assist us.’
‘She’s very pro-British, sir.’ Caccia’s keen awareness of when a green light was showing told him that Dampier was coming round a little. ‘It was very dangerous, sir. But they’re on our side. Her father was arrested by Mussolini and died in chokey. They want to help.’ He stopped and drew a deep breath. ‘But,’ he ended, ‘they also want me.’
‘Do you want her?’
Caccia considered. Despite the trap he had fallen into, it occurred to him that in Rosalba there was a great deal that was in his mother, who had not only brought up a family of four but had also managed to run the family business when his father had been out enjoying himself. She could well be a treasure.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said firmly. ‘I do.’
Dampier frowned. ‘But what would you do with her afterwards? When we head back? You’d have to leave her behind.’
‘She wants to come with us, sir. She says if she can get to Cairo she can get herself sent to England.’
‘What in God’s name would she do in England?’
‘She’d be all right, sir. Her cousin’s married to a pal of mine.’
Dampier was beginning to see the point at last. ‘I think we’re going to have to take her with us, Mr Rafferty,’ he said slowly. ‘If only for her own safety because, if it got out that she’d supplied us with information, they’d probably shoot her, imprison her at the very least.’ He looked baffled. ‘But what do we do about the wedding?’
Morton interrupted. ‘There are military priests in Zuq,’ he said. ‘Scarlatti would find one. He might even consider a marriage in his diocese romantic. I can arrange everything and attend the wedding service.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘Good officer type, concerned with the welfare of his men. I’m sure you’d approve, sir.’
Dampier gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘And then?’
Morton smiled. ‘Perhaps they could be allowed their luna di miele – their honeymoon – with me picking them up later with the car.’
‘I suppose’ – Dampier was still faintly hopeful – ‘there’s no way we could leave her behind.’
‘No, sir.’ Caccia had finally made up his mind. ‘There isn’t.’
Dampier looked helplessly at Rafferty and flung up his hands. ‘How did I
