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The Devil's End Game

by William E. Knight

178 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0210; ISBN 1-55369-397-3; US$21.00, C$27.00, EUR17.60, £12.20

Thirty-eight years after the end of World War II, detective Leopold Czernik is hired by a Holocaust survivor to try to track down art works stolen from his family by the Nazis. His investigations lead him into a tangled web of violence, treachery and murder.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book After Mussolini was deposed in July, 1943, the situation in Northern Italy rapidly turned into a chaotic witches' brew. Marshal Badoglio, retired former commander of the Italian Army, formed a new government that signed an Armistice with the Allies, whereupon the German Army poured in to take the Italians' place in the fight against the Allies. Thereafter, although the Germans shipped 600,000 Italians as slave laborers to the Reich, plundered Italy of anything needed by the Nazi war machine and ruthlessly applied the Holocaust in Italy, Mussolini formed a new "Fascist Social Republic" that continued to support the Germans. From then on, both his government and the Germans struggled to maintain order through savage reprisals against growing attacks by Italian partisans. Thirty-eight years later, detective Leopold Czernik, trouble-shooter for big business, is engaged by an Italian Holocaust survivor to track down art works stolen from his family by the Nazis. Czernik's investigations lead him into a tangled web of violence, treachery and murder.

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About the Author William E. Knight was a career United States Foreign Service officer for three decades. His interest in this tormented period stems from his service in Italy as a B-24 bomber copilot during World War II, and his ten years after the war working on Italian-U.S. relations as a career U.s. Foreign Service officer, first in the U.S. Embassy in Rome, and then as the Italian Desk Officer in the Department of State in Washington.

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Excerpt

"During the last two years of World War II, Northern Italy was Hell, and the Devil was in command."
-GIORGIO PASTORE, the "Superkid"

    It was on a warm afternoon in October, 1983 that Leopold Czernik read an item about himself in the Adventurers Club newsletter that caused him to let out a bellow that all but ripped his stitches. He'd been taking the rays on the postage stamp balcony of his Greenwich Village penthouse apartment, half asleep, listlessly sipping his second brandy of the afternoon, and from time to time tearing chunks of his hamburger and dropping them to the Great Dane who patrolled the garden terrace below. He'd gotten into trouble with the dog's owner for doing this, but minutes earlier had seen the neighbor, together with his current squeeze, wheeling two bikes into the apartment elevator, so was confident that the coast was clear. Certainly, the Great Dane had no objections. On the contrary, whenever the supply of chunks slackened, the monster did a little dance, staring up at him and occasionally emitting a deep "Growf" to remind him of his duty.

    The newsletter article read:
    

October 6, 1983
    We are happy to report that member Leopold Czernik, who was so badly mauled in his run-in with the bad guys in Iraq last summer that we feared we had lost him for good, has recovered enough to undertake a sentimental journey to Italy to look up old acquaintances who helped him escape when he was shot down over Northern Italy during World War II. As a matter of fact, Leo was shot down twice, and both times managed to evade capture and make his way back to his unit. He was the only American airman to accomplish this dual feat. Our club has since used his talents (as well as his amazing luck) in various of our own harebrained escapades over the years, but we think this cat has used up more than his quota of lives and should cool it from here on out.

    The bastards!
    "Ernesto!" he roared, bringing on a fit of coughing.
    Ernesto Lichauco emerged from the recesses of the apartment. He was a Filipino graduate student who had helped save Czernik's life during an investigation Czernik had carried out in the Philippines during the reign of Ferdinand Marcos. In recognition of those services, Leo put him up during breaks in his university schedule.
    "Did you bellow?" Ernesto asked. Living with Leo had weaned him of the politesse that had been the fruit of his gentle Philippine upbringing.
    Leo flicked the newsletter in his direction. "Who in God's name gave them that?"
    Ernesto stooped to retrieve the paper and scanned it. "Not me. I didn't know you were thinking of retiring."
    "Get me the phone, will you?"
    Ernesto retrieved a cell phone from an end table and handed it to him. Leo punched in a number and waited until the fruity tones of Alexander Mordaunt Braithwaite, the manager of the Adventurers Club, floated over the airwaves.
    "Your Altitudinence," he said. "Leo Czernik here."
    "Leopold! How good to hear from you. How is your convales-cence progressing?"
    "One day at a time. One kidney, no ankles and half a lung do not a quorum make."
    "Those Iraquis do play rough. What can I do for you?"
    "I'm not wild about the item on me you ran in your bloody newsletter last week."
    "Oops! What was wrong?"
    "In the first place, I'm still not in shape to go back to work. At the same time, I don't like the damned club spreading the word that I'm out of action forever."
    "What can I say? I'm sorry. Do you want me to run a correc-tion?"
    "To hell with that. What I do want is to know who gave it to you in the first place?"
    "Why, it was your Great and Good Friend, little Melissa Dougherty. I assumed she was speaking for you."
    "Well, she wasn't, the twit! Okay. Thanks, Your Lordship." He paused. "Incidentally, if anybody asks, I am still theoretically open for business."
    "At your age? What are you now, sixty?"
    "Sixty-two, but if you're as old as you feel, I'm crowding eighty."
    "Isn't it time you packed in that lunatic career of yours? Considering what you charge, you must be rolling in the stuff by now."
    "The doctors got most of that. Maybe you've forgotten, I had to sell off my boat and condo out on the Island and move in here."
    "Of course I haven't forgotten. You talk as if Greenwich Village were a slum. That apartment of yours is a jewel. Those views!"
    "I'm sick of the damned views," he growled and rang off.

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Catalogue Information

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