Giving her the phone number of the Hotel Imperial, Fleming disconnected.
Making her way downstairs again, she went looking for Sam.
She found him sitting on the lawn. He dug a splinter out of his finger and only glanced at her when she sat down.
“You talk to Fleming?”
“Yes, I did, and it’s not good news. In fact, it’s even worse for you.”
Relating her conversation with Fleming, she told him what she suspected, leaving to the very last moment to say she wanted him to replace Capetti.
“Are you sure you want to confront Pernass? It could be extremely dangerous.”
“Sam, I’m not stupid. The last thing I’m going to do is walk into a trap. But yes, one way or the other, I’d like to confront him. He won’t know what to do if you’re with me.”
Agreeing to discuss it later, she went looking for Capetti. She wasn’t worried about the switch. Capetti hadn’t been all that happy about playing an Italian Count and would probably be relieved rather than offended. She found him in the living room, talking to Gramigna. They were sharing stories about their favorite recipes and what a pain in the arse Italian women could be once they were married and had children.
“I hate to break into a man-cave moment, but we need to talk.”
Capetti glanced at her. “Donta worry, I know. Sam told me.”
“What? How could he possibly tell you? I’ve only just discussed it with him.”
He laughed. “You sure? Or did he allow you to tell him?”
Remembering Sam’s Snow White analogy, she felt herself bristle. The irritating man not only second-guessed her next move… he’d also told Capetti about it. Maybe that’s why Sandro spoke to Gramigna.
“You know he’s taking your place?”
“Is for clothes,” he said, in his stilted English. “He taller than me. Donta worry. I very happy being with Jock and Harry.”
“God Almighty. Is nothing sacred?”
“He was just warning us, Kat,” Gramigna said, pouring another coffee and handing it to her. “Time is short. You’re leaving tomorrow and clothes have to be the right size.” He smiled. “And we’re delighted that Atkins is staying with us. We need him.”
She felt a wave of resentment. Sam would get a piece of her mind about this. Even if he’d second-guessed her next move, it had been a private conversation.
Gramigna must have seen the resentment in her eyes because he patted her on the knee. “It was for your sake, Kat. He knows how worried you are about your stepfather. He thought you might forget all the other little details. If it makes you feel any better, there are three dresses on your bed and a choice of shoes. Try them on and tell me which ones you don’t want. They’re quite expensive.”
“You bought me clothes?”
“Of course I did. You asked me to. There’s also a choice of coats. It’s quite cold in Vienna.”
After this morning’s bloodshed, her call to Fleming and then her worrying conversation with Sam, she’d forgotten all about the clothes they needed Vienna. She should have been planning the mission. Now it was almost upon them, and she hadn’t planned a damn thing. She needed to talk to Sam again, and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Her room was at the top of the house, so she was surprised to find Sam sitting in one of the chairs. She was more interested in the dresses that Gramigna bought. They were lying across the bed, and they weren’t merely any old dresses. They were long, flowing evening dresses and they must have been very expensive. She cast a careful eye over them. Only one was the style of dress she’d feel attractive wearing, a long and flowing dark green dress, made of silk and sequins, and bare at the shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, picking up the dress and studying it.
“I wanted to talk to you. I imagine you’re pretty pissed.”
“Why would I be pissed?” she said, glancing at him. “Only an idiot would expect our private conversations to remain private.”
“Kat,” he said solemnly, “I told Gramigna before you told me. I thought he might want some warning.”
“That’s impossible,” she retorted. “How could you possibly know? Anyway, what if I’d decided to keep the arrangements as they were?’
“You couldn’t, and I knew that. I don’t care how you try to disguise yourself, Uncle Pernass will recognize you. If I’m with you, he won’t betray us. He’s too clever for that. He’ll know we’re up to something. He just won’t know what. I think Fleming’s right. Uncle Pernass is going to kill Hitler. He’s always hated him, and now the Germans are floundering.”
“What do you mean, floundering?”
“Hitler’s running the war from a bunker in Eastern Prussia. He’s not even in Germany. The country’s falling apart. The Germans are losing the war in North Africa, Vichy France is on its knees, and the Americans are about to invade Italy.”
Holding the dress against her, she studied herself in the mirror. “This needs a necklace, and I don’t have one.”
CHAPTER 16
When Kat woke the following morning, she quickly dressed and went downstairs. The living area was deserted. She thought they might be in the garden playing Bocce, she joked to herself. When she went outside, she found everyone standing in the driveway. They were milling around a dark red Mk V Bentley, and the buzz of excitement was almost palpable. Men and their cars, she thought… although she had to admit… it was a beautiful car.
“We can’t drive a brand new Bentley all the way to Vienna,” she said to Kelly.
“I don’t see why not,” he replied, running a loving hand over the bonnet. “If you want a car that never breaks down, this is it.”
“Have you any idea how many bandits are roaming Italy? With this car, we’d be a prime target.”
He laughed. “Ya, a target that blows up in their face.”
She looked around. Gramigna’s men looked as if they’d only now woken up, but Kelly and the team were already in uniform. Capetti even polished his boots.
She went back to the bedroom, unhooked the green dress from the back of the door and folded it into the small leather case that Gramigna provided. She noticed a pistol on the bedside cabinet. A Baby Browning meant for her. It even had a holster. Other than those few things, clean knickers and a toothbrush, there wasn’t much to pack, so minutes later she went downstairs again.
To her surprise, the table set with plates and bowls of salad, one of Gramigna’s men ferried fried eggs and bread from the kitchen, as Capetti poured coffee. Gramigna’s men were giving her team a farewell breakfast.
“Wow. This is really nice, General. Where did you get the eggs?”
“There’s a chicken pen in the orchard. If you were staying tonight, you could have chicken casserole. Burani’s an excellent cook.”
“I know he is. We’re going to miss his cooking.” Changing the subject, “General, thank you for all the dresses. They’re beautiful. I’ve chosen the green one if that’s all right.”
“Absolutely. Whatever you feel comfortable in. By the way, we modified the Browning to 9 mm, so your regular ammunition is suitable.” He held up a hand. “It only holds four rounds, five with one in the chamber.”
She shrugged. “Ya. I doubt my .45 with silencer would fit under this dress.”
“Exactly. I’ve also given one to Sam. At least you can defend yourselves.”
Breakfast was a noisy affair, Gramigna’s men chattering in Italian, Kat’s team either attempting to joining in or talking over them. Kat kept her thoughts to herself, every so often glancing at Sam. She thought about the journey. Gramigna charted a route for her on an old ordnance
survey map. They were to stay in the hills until they reached the outskirts of Bologna, driving on little known single-track roads that skirted the valleys. Then they would follow meandering country lanes, staying away from the main road until they passed Ferrara. Barring bandit attacks, they should be safe once they reached Padova. After that, they were to head north via Udine and Klagenfurt. The whole journey should take about ten hours.
Finding it hard to think above all the noise, she glanced at Sam again. “What are you wearing in Vienna?”
“Ah, wait till you see me,” he said, holding out a hand to examine his fingernails. “The General got me a wonderful Italian tuxedo.”
She got up and went over to the map table. The map Gramigna found was crumpled and torn from years of use, so he’d used a pen to chart their route. Following the line with her finger, she studied the area leading to Bologna. Gramigna’s route followed faint, broken lines which, according to the legend, indicated tracks rather than roads.
“Are these roads?” she asked when he joined her. “They look like mountain trails.”
“When this map was made, they probably were. They’re single-track roads, and you’ll have to be careful. Not all the roads are marked on this map. If you come to a fork, take the turning that looks most used. If you end up on the main road, go back and take the other turning. Rule of thumb, stay in the hills.”
“Which is where the bandits hide.”
“That’s what I came to tell you. If you’re attacked by bandits, tell them you’re with the Resistance. If they still won’t listen…” He formed his fingers into the shape of a gun. “Kill them.” He fired his finger gun and mimicked the recoil a couple of times.
She glanced at the table. Breakfast now over, everyone got up. They were leaving. Putting her hand on Gramigna’s shoulder, she made her way out of the house with him. When they reached the car, she said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done, General, and thanks for your wonderful hospitality.”
He smiled a weatherworn smile. “It’s me who should be thanking you, Major. You came here to help, and you certainly did. They won’t be shipping Jews out of Pisa anymore.”
“Heydrich certainly won’t.” She looked across at Atkins, who was still munching on a piece of bread. “Hey! Behave yourself, Atkins. We’ll see you back in London.”
Atkins asked, “yer not coming back?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say. Vienna’s a complete unknown.” Turning back to Gramigna, she looked at him for a moment and put her arms around him. “Look after yourself, General. And don’t take too many risks. You’re not as young as you were.”
He stifled a laugh. “I’ll look after myself when the Krauts have gone. Stay well, Kat.”
Climbing into the Bentley, she took a last look around and started the engine. The car smelled of leather and freshly peeled oranges, and when she glanced behind her, she saw a box of the fruit on the back shelf. Gramigna again.
“Don’t draw it out, Kat. Just go.”
“I’m going. Is everyone okay?”
Hearing a murmur of assent from behind, she pulled away, Gramigna and his team growing smaller in the rearview mirror, and she couldn’t help feeling that she would never see them again. They became like family, and now they were lost.
Turning left at the end of the drive, she followed the steep lane they’d taken when they ambushed the tanks. They would be continuing on this time, heading for Bologna. The Bentley’s engine was almost silent, only the sound of gears and gravel crunching beneath the tires. As the lane grew steeper, neglected vineyards fell behind, and soon she was driving on the high ridge that overlooked the valley. She felt a pang of loss. It was the same valley she’d seen from her bedroom window, a patchwork of distant vineyards greening the sunlit fields.
Sam must have seen the sadness in her eyes. “We’ll be back, Kat. Maybe when all this is over and Italy’s normal again.”
They were passing the ambush site when they heard the first shot. At first, they thought it must be a farmer shooting rabbits, or scaring birds away from his fruit trees. It couldn’t be bandits. They were still only twenty miles from the villa. The second shot pinged off the roof, and then another shattered one of the wing mirrors. Someone was shooting at them.
“Jesus Christ!” Kat exclaimed. “Are we all armed?”
“Ya got to be kiddin,” Dore replied, peering through the window. “Course we’re armed. Our guns are on the floor.”
“Pick them up,” she cried, steering towards a grassy bank.
Braking to a stop, she climbed out and scanned the road ahead. Two hundred yards away, three men were walking towards her. They were dressed in civilian clothes and carrying rifles. They were in their early twenties, and they looked like the local bullies. She looked behind her. The doors were wide open, the car empty.
She looked at the men again. They were carrying their rifles like farmers, the barrels cradled in the crook of their arms. The looked arrogant and fearless. Stepping away from the car, she held up a hand.
“That’s close enough!” she called, holding up a hand.
The men stopped and grinned at each other. “Tell your friends to come out!” one of the men called in broken German. “We only want the car!”
She remembered Gramigna’s warning. Tell them you’re part of the Resistance. She wore an SS uniform. It was highly unlikely they’d believe her. She wondered if there were more men concealed in the bushes when two more men appeared. They were wearing Italian combat fatigues and armed with Beretta 38s. They were deserters. Walking over to them, she stopped when they were twenty yards away, gazed at them for a moment and shook her head.
“Is this it?” she said, in Italian. “Is this all of you?”
“Maybe,” one of the men said. “Maybe not.”
She gave him a skeptical smile. “Guys, please. If you want to live, I’d piss off if I were you.”
“You think we’re afraid of pretty German Officers,” he replied. “Keys, please.”
Removing her gun from its holster and handing it to him, she waved a hand towards the car. “They’re in the ignition. If you want to steal the car, be my guest. I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.”
“Wait where you want, lady.”
Pocketing her pistol, the man brought his rifle up to the ready, hesitated for a moment and waved the others to follow him. They were halfway to the car when one of the men stopped and aimed his rifle at her. She froze. Even if she hadn’t handed over her pistol, she could never have drawn it in time. A blistering volley of gunfire erupted from the trees, peppering the men with a hail of bullets and killing all five in a matter of seconds.
Waiting until Dore and Stewart appeared, she walked over and retrieved her pistol, still warm from the bandit’s body, and she shuddered as she holstered it. They just killed five Italians who should have been on their side.
CHAPTER 17
They were passing the outskirts of Bologna when the hilly terrain began to level out, and they were forced to drive on regular roads. There was little traffic, so when they reached Ferrara, they joined the main road. To their surprise, there were many tanks, halftracks, and personnel carriers, all heading for Bologna and moving at a snail’s pace. Smoke drifted across the fields, and despondent Italian troops marched in single file. It was a depressing sight. The war in Italy was turning, and you could see it in the soldier’s faces.
With the traffic heading for Padova relatively thin, Kat held the Bentley at 70 kilometers per hour. Twenty minutes later, they were crossing the river. Padova a beautiful old town, with many decorative bridges, ancient statues lined the riverbanks, and every street seemed to end in a piazza. The sort of town you wanted to stroll through, take in the
sights, and stop for coffee at one of the many cafés, a romantic place, full of the sounds and smells of rural Italy.
“Shall we stop?” Kat asked. “I’m sick of the war. I want to wander around and pretend it’s not happening.”
“I don’t see why not,” Kelly said. “You and I need to talk about Vienna.”
“What about Harry and Jock? If someone wants to talk to them, they don’t speak German or Italian.”
“Sandro does. Anyway, they’re SS. Who would want to talk to them?”
“Good point,” she said, twisting around. “What d’you think, guys? Mind if we disappear for an hour?”
“Why not stay together?” Capetti asked. “Is just place to walk.”
“Kat wants to tell me how much she loves me,” Kelly said, grinning at him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dore said. “It’s four in the afternoon.”
Kelly laughed. “Why, d’you have set times in Scotland?”
Finding herself in a vast, cobblestoned piazza, Kat pulled into the curb. “Okay guys, try to stay out of trouble.”
“Ya also have to change your clothes,” Dore said. “Vienna’s only four or five hours away.”
“You’re right, of course.” She’d forgotten about changing her clothes. Kelly would have to change, as well. They couldn’t turn up at the Imperial Hotel dressed in SS uniforms. “We need to book into a hotel, Jock. My hair’s a mess, I need to shower, and I need to do my make-up.”
“This is getting worse,” Stewart said. “First it’s a walk, then it’s a hotel. We’ll soon be staying the night.”
She looked around. On the far side of the Piazza stood a double-fronted hotel with tables and chairs arranged across the sidewalk. Decorative bushes stood on either side of the entrance, and a doorman stood on duty. It was perfect. They could all stay there. Capetti could share a room with Stewart, Kelly with Dore and her on her own.
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