Nino's Promise (Nino #3) Read online

  Donovan rolled the first map up and replaced it with another. He allowed Nino time to study the topographical impression of Northern Italy. The Apennine Mountains were north of Rome. Directly above the Apennines rested the Po Valley, and north of that, the Alps established a border between Italy and Switzerland. In the valley, Nino recognized the names of several cities, three that stood out. Turin to the west, closer to the French border, Venice to the east on the Adriatic Sea, and Milan, northeast of Turin. Milan is where his close friend and college roommate Vito Bianchi was from. His thoughts drifted to their time together in Sicily, and he wondered if Vito and his fiancée, Gabrielle, had made it safely back to Milan, or if the Germans or fascist Italians had captured them.

  Donovan’s map had lines, circles, and a dozen or more dots represented by distinct colors. A legend at the bottom indicated German strongholds, airfields, and command posts. Shaded areas were associated with more than a dozen names like Giustizia e Libertà Brigade (Action Party), Matteotti Brigade (Socialist), Yehoshua Brigade (Jewish), Fiamme Verdi Brigade and Mazzano Brigade (both Catholic), and the Garibaldi Brigade (Communist).

  Nino asked, “Sir, what do these dots and shaded areas represent?”

  “Based on intelligence from our own agents, as well as the British SOE, the dots represent our best estimates of where German defensive and antiaircraft positions are located. The shaded areas are where we believe the various partisan groups are operating from. In addition to these few marked on the map, there are potentially fifty more partisan brigades of which we are unaware. Our plan is to find their positions and recruit them to help us wreak havoc on the enemy.”

  “Sir, may I ask, who is in these brigades?”

  “They are made up of anti-Nazis and anti-fascists. Most, but not all, are former Italian soldiers. When the Italian government switched sides, the Germans were infuriated and suspicious of their former allies. They immediately forced Italian soldiers to lay down their arms. They then rounded them up by the tens of thousands, put them on trains and sent them north to work in German factories. Those remaining in Italy were placed in internment camps and forced to work as slave laborers building defensive positions and repairing the very roads and train tracks that we have been destroying by air.”

  “So, the brigades are made up of young Italian men who have avoided being captured by the Germans?”

  “Mainly men, but there are many brave women among their ranks. The women make excellent spies and couriers. For obvious reasons, few young Italian men roam freely in Northern Italy since the Gestapo and fascists relentlessly stop them. If their documents aren’t immaculate, they will surely be arrested.”

  Nino said, “In Sicily, I received a brutal firsthand introduction to the German Gestapo. But my encounters with Italian fascists were limited. What role do they play in all of this?”

  “They have gone by many names, RSI and Blackshirts to name a couple. For simplicity, you just need to know that they are Italian fascists who remain loyal to Mussolini and work side by side with the Gestapo to combat the partisan brigades and keep order in Northern Italy.”

  “Where is Mussolini now?”

  “When the Italian government ended their alliance with Germany, they removed him from power and had him arrested. He’d been incarcerated in a ski lodge in the Apennine Mountains, but by September, the Germans found where he was being detained and sent in a crack unit of paratroopers to free him. He was taken to Germany for a period, however, we believe he has been returned to Northern Italy and is in hiding, waiting in the wings for a German victory so he can reclaim his power and run a puppet regime for the Nazis.”

  “So we already have people there. Have they contacted any of these partisan groups?”

  “Our success has been limited. We have sent in nine agents thus far. Four are still in regular communication with us, two reported back a handful of times before going dark, and the other three we never received a single message from.”

  From what he had just heard, Nino knew the odds of survival were not good. He inhaled deeply, then let his breath out slowly to calm his nerves as he thought of Hannah and his children. He remembered when he had been captured by the Gestapo in Sicily and had visions of Hannah raising his children without their father. Those thoughts were worse than the beatings the SS had inflicted on him.

  “Sir, of the partisan groups our agents have contacted, how many have been receptive to helping us?”

  “Those we have safely assessed have been eager to collaborate and have already had success cutting communication lines and destroying key targets. They have also reported on antiaircraft placements. Other groups haven’t panned out because the agent working with them either didn’t trust them or believed their numbers were too small or their personnel too old. But overall, partisan numbers are growing daily. They have been harassing the Germans—even without our help—since Sicily, some before that. But we believe if we had more agents on the ground to coordinate their activities, their effectiveness would increase tenfold. Just like you did with civilians in Sicily, we need you to organize these partisan brigades into a more cohesive unit.”

  “Will I be working alone?”

  “At times there might be a need to coordinate your operations with other agents, but you will be arriving solo into the country.”

  “What is the political climate among the partisan groups? How well do these groups get along? When I look at the legend on this map, I see they are made up of communists, socialists, Catholics, and Jews. Others as well, I’m sure.”

  “Their political differences may be an issue for Italy after the war, but for now, that’s not our problem. Right now, we all have one common enemy—Nazi Germany and the leftovers from Mussolini’s fascist organization.”

  Nino rubbed his chin and returned his gaze to the map.

  “Agent Servidei,” Donovan said. “This is only your second mission, and it will be treacherous. The temperatures will be bitter cold and the terrain rough, but just like Sicily, Father Morlion has a handful of contacts in Northern Italy and has arranged a safe house.”

  Nino said to Morlion, “Father Russo was one of my greatest blessings when I was in Sicily.”

  Morlion said, “As your contact in Lucino will be. His name is Father Gentile. He oversees a small parish there.”

  Nino glanced at the map and located Lucino between Como and Milan.

  Donovan said, “You’ll once again operate under the cover of a priest. As with Father Russo in Sicily, Father Gentile will be expecting you and will play the role of your mentor. We have chosen this sector for you because many of the key brigades we need to recruit operate in the hills north of Milan. You’ll use Father Gentile’s parish as a home base to recruit as many of these partisans as you can find. Because they use his parish house as a waypoint when they travel the mountain passes, Father Gentile is already familiar with some of these groups.”

  “How do you communicate with Father Gentile?”

  “The British have supplied him with a wireless. In addition to being a haven for partisans, his parish house is also a refuge for downed British pilots on their way to the Swiss border. Now, with our own air attacks, he has also become a sanctuary for American pilots.”

  “How will I be inserted?”

  “By parachute.”

  “When will I be leaving?”

  “A week from today. We’re sending you to jump school in Fort Benning, Georgia. After jump school, you will remain at Fort Benning where you will receive a brief refresher course in hand-to-hand combat, weapons, and communications. The final stage of your training will take you to Canada where you’ll train with the British Special Operations Executive at Camp X. They are conducting a cold weather survival school that suits our condensed timeline.”

  “After Canada, will I see my family before departing to Italy?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Agent Servidei. Time is of the essence.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Milan, Italy

  Christ’s Hospital was the smallest hospital in Milan but had the finest reputation. It had been shut down twice by Mussolini’s fascist government, once in 1942 and again in early 1943, for employing Jewish doctors and allowing them to treat non-Jewish patients. Its director, Dr. Ricardo Bianchi, had a reputation as one of the most respected surgeons in Northern Italy. He had even received letters of gratitude from both Mussolini and King Victor Emmanuel III for saving the lives of members of their families. Dr. Bianchi had leveraged these relationships to petition both Mussolini and King Victor to allow the facility to reopen. He received numerous invitations to dinner soirees at Mussolini’s main home, one of which he accepted yet left early, claiming to be ill. In reality, the company of fascists had disgusted him.

  Vito entered the medical library and walked past a series of bookshelves centered in the middle of the room before grabbing the corners of a bookcase positioned flush against the rear wall. He slid the case across the floor, stepped into the small opening, then grabbed a handle on the back of the bookcase. Pulling it toward him, Vito sealed the opening once again.

  He descended a rear staircase he and Sergio had built to access a windowless section of the basement they had bricked off. The staircase was one of two entrances to the concealed living quarters. The other access door was located along the posterior wall of the hospital’s morgue. The basement was damp and had a wintery chill, although the temperature had become more tolerable with the increase of warm bodies. Those warm bodies were also the cause of the increased odor. Vito made his way between the refugees. They were comprised of British military personnel, children, their parents, and a few elderly couples. Those who were ill lay on cots. In the corner, children played on the concrete floor, their laughter an uplifting distrac
tion from the precarious situation.

  Playing cards on the floor near the wall were five British military personnel: two airmen, who had been shot down and rescued by partisans, and three soldiers, who had escaped from a German prison camp and were recovering from frostbite after their arduous journey through the Apennines. The rest of the group consisted of twenty-one Jews, including the seven Vito had just escorted from Rome, and three Gypsies. For all of them, they hoped this would be their last stop before they crossed the Swiss border.

  Vito approached his wife. She was applying a damp cloth to the forehead of a small boy whose mother laid beside him, too ill to tend to him herself.

  “Gabrielle, my lovely, have you seen Papa? Nurse Camilla said he was looking for me.”

  Gabrielle looked up. “He was here an hour ago. Have you had any luck gathering food?”

  “Sergio and I are going out tonight. There’s a baker south of the city who is selling loaves of bread after hours without checking ration cards. It’s expensive, but the men down here have all chipped in with the few coins they have. The next time we escort a group to the border, we’ll hunt for game.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Some of these people aren’t ready to leave,” Gabrielle said. “They are too sick. This little boy and his mother both have a fever.”

  “I’m thinking we’ll take the British pilots. There are two Jewish boys in their mid-teens traveling by themselves, they can go too. Even if I don’t hear from my contact, we will leave tomorrow night. Once I get them over the Swiss border, they’ll be on their own.”

  “What’s the weather like?” Gabrielle said. “I haven’t looked out all day.”

  Vito embraced her. “This is the coldest winter I can ever remember. When’s the last time you slept?”

  “I sleep here and there when I can. I’m going to shower in a bit, then I’ll crawl into bed.”

  Vito whispered in her ear, “Do you mind if I join you?”

  She smiled. “In an hour?”

  He kissed her forehead. “In an hour, my lovely.”

  He then asked, “How is the medicine holding up?”

  “Our supplies are all but depleted. I’ve asked your papa if I can take more from the hospital pharmacy, but he says the Germans have confiscated much of his supply, so he doubts he has any to spare until his contacts in the black market can find more.”

  Vito heard his name called and turned to see his father.

  “Yes, Papa?”

  Dr. Bianchi pulled Vito to the side, away from the others. “Earlier today, I was confronted at the entrance of the hospital by a half dozen Waffen-SS. A Hauptsturmführer Ludwig asked me if I knew anything about the two missing soldiers. He said they disappeared a few blocks from here and wanted to know if I had seen or heard anything suspicious. They searched both the first and second floors. They forced some of the patients to produce their papers. They arrested an elderly man because his documents were outdated. He was recovering from an appendectomy and was in no condition to leave. I protested, but they were having none of it, and they dragged him off.” Dr. Bianchi looked down at the floor. “I should have presented a sterner objection. If I had, perhaps I could have changed their minds. But with this group down here, I didn’t want to get on their enemies list. A stubborn attitude would surely have put a target on the hospital.”

  “You can’t save the world, Papa.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Bronx Little Italy, New York

  Arthur Avenue, Tavani’s Market

  There was nothing special about the corner market other than it was new, having replaced a tavern that closed after the owner died of a heart attack. Nino’s mother, Maria, encouraged Hannah to shop there since the owners told her they were from Salerno, Italy, Maria’s ancestral home. Hannah shopped there, not because of any loyalty to Italy, for she herself had none, but out of respect for Maria who was back at the apartment watching Lilia and Solomon.

  A bell over the door rang when Hannah entered. A vacant counter was to her right, and behind it, a corridor led to a back room. She waited, anticipating a clerk would appear, yet she remained alone in the tiny market. Hannah roamed about, passing two wooden shelves sparsely stacked with canned goods. The shelves extended from floor to ceiling. She made her way to the rear aisle and looked for flour and sugar to make a cake for Nino’s return from Washington. The bell over the front door rang, but her view was obstructed by the canned goods.

  Two voices spoke in Italian, then one of them pounded on the counter and shouted, “Rocco, mio fratello. Where the hell are you? Get out here, Papa has arrived.”

  The greeting indicated they were a family. Two brothers and their father. Hannah listened as an enthusiastic voice came from the back.

  “It is good to see you, Papa. How was your journey through Canada?”

  “The winds were bitter cold. My escort took me through the woods and open fields. We spent the night in a cabin with no heat, only thick blankets. It was miserable.”

  “Well, you’re here now. How is Mama?”

  “She’s upset. The Americans captured Uncle Paolo.”

  “Shh … you must be careful, Papa,” one of the brothers said. “We’re in America now, and this is New York. There are people all around us who speak Italian. Their loyalties aren’t to Italy. Many New Yorkers came here to escape fascism. They are not on our side.”

  “I know that, Rocco. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

  “Let’s go to the back. I’ve made food, and I want to show you our plans.”

  Hannah’s heart raced. What did their conversation mean? Perhaps it was innocent.

  She stepped softly toward the entrance, not wanting her shoes to be heard on the wooden floor. Upon passing the counter, she glanced down the back corridor and saw the three men looking down into two crates on the floor. She caught a glimpse of the face of one of them. She hurried to the door, opened it enough so the bell rang, and then slammed it shut so the noise reverberated throughout the store.

  Making her way to the counter, she looked down the corridor and waved. “Excuse me. I’m looking for flour and sugar. Can someone help me?”

  The men ignored her initially, covering the tops of the crates, before the man she had seen previously said something to the others, then approached her. He was slightly taller than the average man, had a stocky build and the little bit of hair he had was jet black. He looked like he had shaved earlier in the week but hadn’t seen a razor since. The man said nothing, just stared at her with a look of curiosity. Hannah was used to having men stair at her. She typically thought nothing of it, but this was different.

  In Italian he said, “Were you just in here? Did you leave and come back?”

  Although fluent in the language, she stepped back, shook her head, and patted her chest with her hand, “I don’t speak Italian.”

  He remained silent as he studied her, then in broken English said, “How may I help you?”

  “I would like to bake a cake. I need flour and sugar. Where might I find them?”

  The man wiped his hands on his apron, his eyes still locked on Hannah’s. He led her to the back shelf where she had already been. “How many do you need?”

  Her voice cracked. “How many?”

  “How many sacks of sugar and flour?”

  “Just one of each.”

  He picked up a sack of flour and a sack of sugar and she followed him to the counter. The scowl never left his face when he said, “One dollar, twenty-seven cents.”

  She fumbled in her purse and with a smile said, “Thank you.”

  At the bus stop, she tried to push the conversation from her mind, but her instincts had seldom betrayed her, and the unease she experienced wouldn’t release its grip. Over and over, she questioned what she had just witnessed. Perhaps she was being paranoid. Nevertheless, the newspaper printed daily warnings about potential spies and saboteurs entering the country. Those warnings were directed mainly at factory workers and navy yard employees who might talk too much over cocktails at the local bar. The warnings mentioned threats from Germany and Japan. Italy had surrendered and we were no longer at war with them. As the bus approached, she stepped on board, sat down, took a deep breath, and dismissed her fears.