A Harvest of Secrets(62)

“No. I don’t see. I don’t understand! How can a person be so evil? A man of God? He holds the host in his hands. Christ’s body! He gives confession!”

“Lots of priests are with Il Duce. The Vatican is with him. Maybe your good priest was drinking with the SS that day. Maybe he went there for the women, who knows? Happy, a little drunk, he came out of the house with his face uncovered, before dark. That road was hardly used. He made a mistake. Brindisi saw him. He saw Brindisi see him. Perhaps Umberto confirmed it. The priest understood that his disguise as a partigiano was in danger of being ripped away, which meant he would then be killed if certain people—me, for example—found out.”

“Does Father Costantino know that you know?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? I don’t think he knows, not yet.”

“But why would he have us kill the Germans on the train if he loves the Germans?”

“He hasn’t killed any Germans so far, has he? Think about it. This is a fake plan. A plan that will get you and me—two partigiani—to an isolated place in the middle of the night. Your priest tells us we’re going there to damage the train tracks. But why would he send us to such a hidden place?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because he’s arranged for his friends from the OVRA to ambush us there, kill us, and throw us into the river where we’ll never be found.”

“But why?”

“Because the Americani have taken Sicily.”

“I heard they were fighting there.”

“The fighting there is over. They took Sicily. And Calabria. And Napoli. Soon they’ll be in Roma, then here. Il Duce is gone, no one knows where. The Nazis and the OVRA are losing. They’re panicking. They’re trying to kill everyone they think is an enemy, but they’re doing it in a sly way. The priest recruited you so he could know which side you’re on. If you had said no when he asked you, he would have left you alone.”

“Vittoria.”

“Yes, exactly. He wanted Vittoria to take the deserters so he’d know which side she’s on. Now he knows. I’m surprised he didn’t arrange to have her killed on the Zanita Road or something.”

“And Eleonora? And you?”

“The same. If he knew Eleonora was Jewish, she’d be dead by now, or on her way north. Why do you think he’s sending you and me together to be met by the OVRA in the darkest, most remote place he could think of? He’ll leave Eleonora and Vittoria for the next SS visit. The devils will have their fun first, then kill them.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t think this way. I— Why are we going then?”

“Because I’m one step smarter than your good priest. The OVRA men waiting in the car there are dead by now, killed by my men. And there is, in fact, a train that comes along that route and takes Italian Jews and others to the work camps. And we are, in fact, going to send it off the rails and save the people in it and make sure the trains can’t run there again for some time.”

“Won’t some of the people die?”

“Not if we do it right.”

“And the Germans driving the train? The guards?”

“A handful. My men will take care of them. You and I will be gone by then. You’ll place the explosive, set the timer, and we go.”

Antonio reached behind him with one hand, took hold of something there, and lifted it over the back of the seat. He rested it across Paolo’s knees, just in front of the package. Black metal.

“A rifle,” Paolo said.

“An automatic rifle, American-made. We have these now. The OVRA bastards learned that too late. The Germans in the train will learn it.”

“And the explosives? Why me? Why not have your men do it?”

“Because you are one of my men now.”

Paolo moved his hands so that he was holding the automatic rifle in place and keeping the package between his forearms. His fingers were trembling. He felt as though every dark tree they passed was pointing at him, announcing his sins, promising punishment.

“Your problem,” Antonio went on, the words flowing out of him now, as if a dam had broken, “is that you want to be pure. A pure man. In war you can’t remain pure and you can’t remain neutral. You’re fighting with us now. You’ve made your choice.”

Paolo was shaking his head back and forth, back and forth, trying to clear it. “Then it’s you I have to trust.”

Another mean laugh. “Not really,” Antonio said. “We’ll get to the train tracks in another few minutes. If you see a car there with dead OVRA killers inside, and a group of my men with guns like these, and if, tonight, you get back to your barn alive, then I think you’ll understand who you should trust and who you shouldn’t.”





Thirty-Four

The boxcar was completely dark, savagely dark. Carlo couldn’t tell how many other men were in there with him and Carmine—twenty, he guessed, from the brief glimpse he’d had when they’d first been shoved through the open door at the station in Pietramelara. All of them had moved to the far south end of the car because the north end was where several of the men had already relieved themselves. On the plank floor near the side wall, he and Carmine sat in silence, in darkness, the train rumbling along, the air filled with the stink of sweat and urine and the sound of nervous conversation. They’d gone less than an hour when Carlo felt the train slowing down. The wheels squealed against the tracks. He and Carmine were jostled sideways, there was the screech of brakes, and the car slowed still further and lurched to a stop.