there is heavy activity around the Anzio beachhead. So Lieutenant Hamilton and his men will take you up the eastern coast, past the front lines and into Pescara.”

“Why don’t we fly out in one of those Lysanders you have parked outside? Isn’t that what they’re used for?”

“Quite,” Croft said. “But we’ve had some losses recently from Luftwaffe interceptions. We think there may be agents nearby watching our flights take off. We’re taking countermeasures, but we can’t wait for them to take effect. So I asked Hamilton here for a favor.”

“I didn’t know the SOE and the OSS were so chummy,” I said.

“We have to be,” Hamilton said. I decided it was too confusing to call him by two names, and if he wanted to go incognito, that was fine by me. I liked him for it. “We spend as much time fighting the brass as we do the Nazis.”

“The OSS is dependent upon the Royal Navy for shipping,” Croft said. “And when it comes to sharing resources with Americans, who seem to have so much of everything, it brings out the worst in some officers.”

“Same goes for American regular army types,” Hamilton said. “They don’t want to cooperate with the Brits and learn from them, even if they’ve been at this cloak-and-dagger stuff for years. Stupidity knows no boundaries. Guys like Croft and me just want to get things done, so we help each other out.”

“If the Royal Navy isn’t helping you out, what kind of boat are we talking about?” I asked.

“An Italian fifty-foot sailboat with a rebuilt diesel engine. Looks like an ancient wreck, but she’s gotten me home safely every time. Crewed by a dozen Yugoslav Partisans, able seamen, all of them. Damn good fighters, too.”

“Well, Billy,” Big Mike said. “What do you think? They sound like our kinda fellas.”

“I’m game,” I said. “Kaz?”

“I do not like boats,” Kaz said, and downed his vodka.

CHAPTER SIX

It was four in the morning. I stood at the window, watching the stars and the silvery water below. I couldn’t sleep, while everyone else was dead to the world. I could hear Big Mike sawing logs in his room, and watched Kaz thrashing, dreaming of all that had been lost, or at least that was my guess.

I’d slept for a while, and dreamed of horses. Galloping horses with black manes, against green fields and blue skies. They were all around me, and I held out my hands to feel their flanks as they sped past, my fingertips grazing warm, silky hides. The horses slowed and circled me, shaking their heads, frosty plumes of breath pumped from heaving lungs. They came closer, nuzzled me, pushed me forward until I fell against a saddled horse and felt a booted heel in the stirrup. I looked up. It was Diana. Suddenly the sky turned dark as thunder crashed and lightning flashed hot white. The horses reared in terror, large brown eyes wide with fear. As one, the herd turned and galloped away, taking Diana with them, leaving me alone in the field, watching them disappear into the rain and darkness.

I’d awoken, gasping for breath, not knowing where I was, but thinking instantly of Diana and where she was. In prison, but alive. I knew it now. The first time I’d ever seen her, she was on horseback, bringing horses to the safety of her father’s barn as a thunderstorm drew close. It was a message, I was certain. She wasn’t dead. She was waiting, waiting for me to follow where the horses led, and carry her to shelter from the storm.

I felt a calm I hadn’t known in days. I got up, dressed, and waited. Waited for the other dreamers to rise and bring me where I needed to go. I watched the sky until I saw the first faint trace of sunrise edging up from below the horizon. It was time.

One hour later, Kaz and I said our good-byes to Big Mike, and made him promise to take it easy for a while. Croft said he’d watch out for him, and Big Mike, still not quite trusting how things had turned out, said he’d watch Croft for us until we got back. I felt fine on both counts.

Kaz was relieved when he found out the first leg of our trip was not by boat. Croft drove us out to a Halifax from 148 Squadron, already warming up. We stood on the tarmac, prop wash whipping at our clothes as the engines roared. Croft went over the final details while crewmen loaded gear into the belly of the black bomber.

“You’ll have an escort of two Spitfires north to Termoli,” he said. “It will be a quick hop. Hamilton will look after you from here on out. You’ve got your clothing, identity papers, and everything you’ll need for Rome in duffle bags, marked with your name. He’ll take you by sea from Termoli to Pescara. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” I said, shouting to be heard above the din. “You seem to have this well organized, but you’ve missed one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“How the hell do we get out of Rome? Or is that not part of your plan?”

“One step at a time, Lieutenant. Find that murderer first. Someone from SOE will contact you when the time comes to smuggle you out,” Croft said. “Good luck.”

The hatch closed behind me, the metal clang echoing inside the fuselage. The Halifax, converted from bombing to ferrying men and supplies, wasn’t built for comfort. Kaz, Hamilton, and I sat crowded on a narrow bench, surrounded by wooden crates and canvas bags. The aircraft lurched forward and picked up speed, the four engines snarling as they carried the plane out over the water, climbing until Brindisi was nothing but a smear on the horizon. As we headed north, I thought of Diana waiting for release in Rome. I trusted the truth of my dream more than I trusted what I’d been told by Croft and Hamilton. Not that I thought they were lying to me, only that the chances were good they’d been lied to. The OSS had already hidden their involvement from General Eisenhower himself; what else had been hidden from their own junior officers? If Colonel Harding didn’t know the whole story, what had Captain Croft missed?

Diana was alive, I was certain of it. I couldn’t say why-other than because of the dream-but I was. Clandestine organizations like SOE and OSS played fast and loose with the truth-of that I was dead certain. What was waiting for us at the Vatican? Of that I was less sure. A helluva lot less.

“After we land, I’ll brief you on the route in,” Hamilton said, his voice raised against the engine noise and the wind beating against the bomber. “We set sail as soon as it’s dark.”

“I do not like boats,” Kaz said, as he peered out the small Perspex window. “Look, that must be our escort. Four-no, six fighters.” He pointed to small dots in the distance, descending from high cloud cover.

“I thought Croft said two Spitfires,” I said.

“Goddamn!” Hamilton said. “Those aren’t Spitfires.” Faster than I thought possible, the fighters were on us, machine guns chattering, tracers white-hot against the blue sky. The Halifax picked up speed, but outrunning Me- 109s in a lumbering bomber wasn’t in the cards. Rounds hit the wing and the top of the fuselage, shredding the metal and sounding like a thousand stones blasting a tin roof. The Halifax’s machine guns answered, their fire trailing the German planes as they split into two groups. One probably going after the escort, the other coming in for the kill.

We didn’t stand a chance. A single bomber, no matter how many machine guns it has, is no match for fighters. Bombers were meant to fly in defensive boxes, covering each other with their guns. Alone, the fighters would swoop down on us, like a cat batting at a cornered mouse.

“Hang on,” Hamilton said, as the aircraft banked left and began a slow dive, the pilot using gravity to increase our speed. Not a bad idea, until the ground got in the way. I hung on, as Kaz kept his nose pressed to the window, watching the show. Hell, why not? It might be the last one we ever saw.

Two Me-109s came at us from the port side. Their noses were painted bright yellow, the rest of the sleek, deadly plane in dappled camouflage. They were overhead in a second, the noise of machine guns, cannons, and throaty engines incredibly loud. I thought they missed us until I saw one of our engines spew black smoke. In a flash, another fighter was coming in, but this one was a Spitfire, the distinctive spade-shaped wings instantly recognizable, and welcome. But he wasn’t coming to the rescue. He twisted and turned, then dove, trying to shake off two Me-109s on his tail.

The Halifax was vibrating now, the damage we’d taken slowing it, making us even more vulnerable. All of the bomber’s gunners opened up, meaning we were being hit from every direction. Tracer rounds stitched through the plane, leaving blackened and smoking holes of jagged metal. I looked at Kaz and Hamilton, all of us wide-eyed at

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