fellows, each one. See, I used to conduct the early Mass in Saint Peter’s. Before dawn it was, and I’d finish up just before the first shift started for the trolleys. So I got to know them, and they me. Now I can go anywhere on a Rome trolley car. I give the driver a wink and he sees through my disguise, lets me ride for free. Plus they know where all the roadblocks and identity checks are.”
“I bet they can spot a tail as well,” I said.
“They have a nose for policemen, sure. Do you want to take the trolley to Piazza Navona tomorrow?”
“The rendezvous has been changed to the Spanish Steps. It would be good to know if anyone’s following me from here. Zlatko must have told Koch all about us by now. It would be a feather in his cap to pick me up, and he’s sure to have a blood feud going with Remke.”
“Still at noon?” O’Flaherty asked in a low voice.
“Yes. But I’d like to get there early and scout around. Koch could be following Remke as well as me.”
“Smart. Let’s hope Colonel Remke is as wary and takes precautions himself. You can wait in the Trinita dei Monti church at the top of the steps, which will give you a good view all around. I’ll fetch you at seven o’clock for breakfast.”
“In disguise, of course,” Nini said.
“To be sure. Only, which one shall it be? I don’t make a very handsome nun, but it’s been done.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
“I don’t make a habit of it,” O’Flaherty said with a wink, finishing off his wine in one gulp.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Kaz had a gun and a girl. I had neither.
Instead I was alone in a darkened room, wishing for sleep, hoping that tomorrow I’d be here to say the same. I’d left Kaz and Nini with Severino, who still hadn’t moved as much as a finger. I’d waited until I heard them drag a bureau against door, then prowled around inside the building, watching for intruders and drawing irritated glances from the nuns who were still up and about. From there, I went outside, turning up my collar against the cold night air. I crossed to the Sacristy and kept to the shadows, eyeing the entrance to Santa Marta. Nobody else was out; no killer was casing the joint.
I gave up on the stakeout and went back to the German College. The bells tolled midnight as I lay alone, thinking of what might happen tomorrow on the Spanish Steps. Or not happen. What if I came back empty-handed? What if, what if, what if? I heard the bells again, once, then twice.
A sharp rap at the door jolted me awake. It was daylight, and Hugh O’Flaherty greeted me in an unlikely getup. If he hadn’t spoken, I might not have known it was him.
“Get dressed, Billy,” he said, barely keeping down a grin. “I’ve letters to deliver.” He was dressed in a postman’s blue uniform and cap, complete with a leather bag bulging with mail. A thick mustache completed the disguise. He tossed me a hat, a gray snap-brim fedora. It was a good fit, and helped shadow my face.
I followed him to the refectory. His bag seemed to curve his body into a slouch, hiding a few inches of his height. We were served coffee and bread fresh from the oven by nuns unsurprised by the outfit.
“One advantage to rising early,” O’Flaherty said, stuffing a piece of warm bread into his mouth. “I’ve been to Mass as well. It feels good to get a head start on the day, don’t you think?”
“It’s better than the day getting a head start on me,” I agreed, as we left for the Santa Marta. “You must have raised a few eyebrows at Mass in that outfit.”
“No one begrudges a letter carrier his worship,” he said. “And folks here have grown used to seeing me in all manner of garb, as you could tell. Monsignor Bruzzone himself joked with me about the nun’s outfit just this morning. That was no tall tale, Billy, but I’ll tell you all about it tonight when I trust we’ll be having a celebration.”
“A celebration. Yes,” I said, trying not to think about it, since that meant thinking about the alternative. When I first heard that Diana had been taken, hundreds of miles and an enemy army had separated us. I never imagined I’d get this close to her, and be able to free her. I couldn’t bear the thought of failure now. What would Diana think of me, I thought, if I left her in chains to be brought to Nazi Germany? What would I think of myself, I wondered, as we made our way to Nini’s room. We announced ourselves, and Kaz pulled the furniture away for us to enter.
“A regular fortress you have here,” O’Flaherty said. “Any change in your guest?”
“I was able to give him some sips of broth earlier,” Nini said. “Sister Cecilia went to the kitchen and said I wasn’t feeling well, and brought the food up. No one suspects Severino is here, I am sure.”
“That’s right,” Kaz said. “It was quiet all night.”
“Good, good,” O’Flaherty said. “Well, collect your armament, Billy, and let’s be off. I’ve sent up my prayer to Saint Gabriel this morning, so I’ve done all I can.”
“Why Saint Gabriel?”
“He’s the patron saint of letter carriers, he is! Come on, have a cheer, my boy. Things will go well, you’ll see. But if things go awry, I’ll be nearby. The offices of Propaganda Fide are in the Piazza di Spagna, which is the square at the bottom of the steps. It’s Vatican territory, so if you need refuge, go there. Follow me when I get off the trolley and I’ll point it out.”
“Thanks for your help, Monsignor. And your prayers,” I said.
“We Irish have to stick together, don’t we? Now let’s be off. The sooner the better.”
“I wish I were going with you,” Kaz said, handing me the Beretta.
“Me too,” I said, pocketing the weapon. “Hold tight, okay?”
“We will be waiting,” Kaz said. “For all of you.”
We left through the Porta Angelica, near the barracks of the Swiss Guard, avoiding most of the German guards. O’Flaherty went first, bent over his bag, sorting his mail. I trailed him by a few steps, hands stuffed into my pockets, shoulders bunched against the cold, trying to look like another Italian out on business or coming from Mass. The key was not to look around, not to betray any of the nervousness I felt with one glance too many at the bored Wehrmacht guards or the plainclothes secret police hovering a few yards behind them.
O’Flaherty was a good actor. He was a convincing mailman, with a delivery around every corner. After twisting through a few side streets and confirming we weren’t being followed, we entered a main thoroughfare, the Via Cola di Rienzo. Traffic was light, mostly military. A trolley car rumbled down the road, and I joined a line at the stop, O’Flaherty right behind me. A hand on my shoulder, a wink to the conductor, and we were aboard.
We changed trolleys twice. From what I knew of Rome from the map I had studied, we were taking the long way around, across the Tiber and then up to the Quirinal Palace, where Mussolini and the king of Italy used to run things. Now Il Duce was up north, under the German thumb, and the king was down south, under Allied thumbs. Both were relics of history, pitiful jokes that history played on this poor, beautiful nation.
The trolley barreled downhill on the Via Sistina, picking up speed. The bell rang for a stop and O’Flaherty motioned for me to follow. On the street, a few shops were open, but only halfheartedly. No customers, not much food to sell. There was a line outside a bakery, and one jewelry store had so many watches in the window, I figured hungry shoppers must have sold them for bread. I kept O’Flaherty in view, which, considering the length of his stride, took some doing. As the street opened into a small piazza, he stopped at the base of an obelisk in the center of the square, adjusting the strap on his mailbag. I stopped and craned my neck, admiring the Virgin Mary standing at the top of the column.
“The building to your right,” he said in a low voice. “See the yellow-and-white flag? That’s Propaganda Fide. Where we plan our missionary work, although there is precious little of that these days.”
“Got it,” I whispered.
“Follow the piazza in the other direction. You’ll be at the base of the Spanish Steps. The church is at the top, to your right. Go gcuire Dia an t-adh ort.”
“I’ll wish you the same, Monsignor, but I’d say God’s already put his luck on you.”
He left me looking up to the Virgin Mary, trying to remember a prayer or two. I got my bearings: Propaganda Fide faced the square at the south end, guarded by Mary on her column. Three stories tall, beige stucco. I knew where I was.
Many of the windows along the way were shuttered tight. This winter of German occupation didn’t make for
