Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) (4 page)

His head
dropped to the cold stone, his eyes slowly closing as he gripped the satchel
over his chest.

And
prayed the Vatican Gendarmerie would protect its contents.

South of Turin, Italy
July 5
^th
, 1941

“Keep quiet, there’s a road block!”

Nicola’s
cousin Leo’s hissed warning had him holding his breath until he thought better
of it. Better to have steady, regular breaths than gasps. He had arrived at his
cousin’s farm without incident and told him what had happened.

What had
happened next had shocked him.

His moped
had been immediately taken and put into the root cellar under the barn then
piled with hay, his cousin saying little except that they had to move fast. Leo
had ordered the kids to prep the horse and wagon while his wife patched up
Nicola’s arm, the bullet just having grazed him. When she finished, he was left
to run after Leo, begging for an explanation for the whirlwind of activity.

Leo had
finally stopped for a moment and jabbed a finger in his chest.

“As long
as you are here, you are a danger to my family.”

Nicola had
felt crestfallen. “I-I know. And I’m sorry. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

Leo took
him by the shoulder. “You did the right thing, but we must move quickly.” He
pointed at the cart. “Get in the back and lift that panel.”

Nicola jumped
in the back, not sure to what panel Leo might be referring. His eyebrows popped
as he spotted several boards in the center that seemed to be separate from the
rest. He reached down and pried it up, revealing a small area underneath the
floor that could barely fit a man.

“What’s
this?”

“We use
it to smuggle people and supplies.”

“We?”

“Not
your concern. Just get in and stay quiet. I’m going to get you to a safe
place.”

Nicola crawled
into the cramped space, his arms with barely an inch on either side to move,
his head and toes pressed against the ends.

He
wished he wasn’t so tall.

Then
thanked God he wasn’t fat when the cover was placed back over him, it so close
he was forced to turn his head to the side.

“You
okay?”

He
nodded then realized Leo couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

“Okay,
watch yourself.”

He felt
the cart rock as his cousin jumped down, then the sound of hay being loaded
into the back. He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to get a hand up over
his mouth and nose as the dust slowly covered him.

He
sneezed.

And it
wouldn’t be the last.

He could
hear his cousin urging the horse to slow as they approached the roadblock. They
came to a halt and he heard the brake applied as his nose started to itch. He
reached up and squeezed the bridge of it, trying to resist the urge, it meaning
certain death if they were to be caught.

Though
not before agonizing torture.

“Hey, Leo,
you’re early.”

“Yeah, I
lost a bet last night so now I have to deliver this load to Angelo. That
bastard is too lucky. I think he cheats.”

Whoever Leo
was talking to roared with laughter. “I learned when we were kids to never play
with him. I always lost my lunch to him.”

“So what
you’re saying is I’ll never learn.”

More
laughter. It was clear they knew each other, which was a tremendous relief,
though even that wouldn’t save them should he sneeze. This guard or soldier or
whatever, might be a friend, but he was probably loyal, so he would follow
orders. Nicola considered himself a loyal Italian, though not loyal to the
government. As far as he was concerned, they were two distinct things. He’d
never betray his country so that harm may come to it, but he also couldn’t
support a government that would take part in such a brutal war that threatened
to consume the world.

His
exposure to the Germans had been minimal, their town spared for the most part,
but the stories were horrendous, and whenever they had made an appearance, it
was never good, people usually hauled away, some never seen again, those that
were, never the same.

The
Nazi’s were murderous barbarians that would sack his country in a heartbeat if
they felt there was a need.

Which
was when he would truly show his loyalty.

By
fighting back.

As
probably would this guard just doing his job.

Somebody
else spoke up from a distance, but Nicola couldn’t hear what had been said.

“I know
him, he’s harmless.”

He could
hear footsteps approaching. “Nobody goes through without being searched. Orders
of the Regional Commander.”

“Okay,
okay.” The owner of the friendly voice stepped away and Nicola heard the
distinctive sounds of pitchfork tines scraping on stone. “Sorry about this, Leo.
It’ll just take a minute.”

The
sound of the metal passing through the hay near the rear of the cart had Nicola
finally holding his breath, his heart slamming hard, his ears pounding in a
panic as the probing neared him. The sound of the pitchfork directly overhead
had his bladder letting go slightly, his eyes squeezed tightly along with every
other muscle in his body.

“Okay,
you’re clear. You can go.”

“Thanks,
Thomas, let’s get together for a drink this weekend.”

“Count
on it! You’re buying.”

Nicola heard
the brake release and the reigns flick as they jerked forward. “I might not be
able to afford it!”

Laughter
from the guard had Nicola breathe a sigh of relief.

Then he
sneezed.

“Halt!”

It was
the other voice that had his cousin pulling up on the reins.

Another
sneeze erupted, this one from Leo. “What?” asked his cousin.

“Oh,
sorry. Umm, nothing. Get moving.”

The
reins flicked again and they were moving, Nicola pinching his nose shut, his
other hand clasped over his mouth as he struggled to keep control. As they
gained a little speed, he heard his cousin hiss. “That was close!”

“Sorry.”

“That
almost got us killed, little man, but don’t worry. It should be clear sailing
now.”

South of Turin, Italy
July 6
^th
, 1941

Nicola pushed the plate away as he wiped his mouth with the back of
his hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Feraldo. That was fantastic.”

“You’re
welcome, Nicola. You have a big journey ahead of you. We can’t have you leaving
on an empty stomach.”

Nicola grinned
as he rose, patting the little ones on the head as they still worked on their
breakfasts before heading for school. He had spent the night at Angelo Feraldo’s
farm, his cousin having delivered him just before noon the day before. The
swiftness with which it had been done, and the lack of questions, had him
thinking Angelo was not only a gambling buddy, but also part of whatever
underground movement his cousin was involved with.

He just
prayed his cousin got back home without incident.

The
sound of a motorcycle pulling up out front had him grabbing the portrait and heading
outside, eager to see what had been arranged. His moped was still at his
cousins, though he had a feeling it would be moved in case the area was
searched, and with the efficiency he had seen displayed so far, it may have
already been done.

He
smiled as he caught his first glimpse of the motorcycle that would carry him to
Rome. A BMW R6. It was beautiful, at least compared to his simple moped. It was
beat up, hardly any of the original paint left, so it wouldn’t attract any
attention. But it was bigger and more powerful than he was used to, and it
would get him to his destination that much more quickly.

Angelo was
already examining the motorcycle when he glanced up at Nicola. “All fed?”

“Yes,
sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Good.
She’s got a full tank of gas. You remember that address in Bologna I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll
have gas for you and you can overnight there. That should be enough to get you
into Rome.”

“Thank
you, sir.”

“All I
ask is that if they catch you, you tell them that you forced us to help you.”

“I will.
You have nothing to worry about.”

Angelo frowned.
“I’d agree if it weren’t the Nazi’s after you. If it was just the locals, I
wouldn’t care. I grew up with most of them and I know most just think of it as
a job. There’s a few zealots, but they’ve mostly moved to the big cities where
there’s problems. They leave us alone out here.” He turned to the man who had
delivered the motorcycle. “Which one?”

“Left.”

Angelo motioned
for Nicola to join him as he took a knee at the rear of the bike. “As we
discussed.” He unscrewed two bolts on the underside of the left exhaust then
swung the outer half away. “They won’t check this. At least they never have.
We’ve used it to smuggle documents and other things too many times to count.”

“Won’t
it get hot? Mr. Donati will kill me if anything happens to this,” said Nicola,
eyeing the opened exhaust as he held the rolled up drawing.

The
other man shook his head. “No, the exhaust has been all routed to the right
side. It cuts down on your horsepower, but you shouldn’t notice it unless you
get in a high-speed chase. And if you do, you’re screwed anyway.”

“I got
away from them yesterday.”

“That’s
only because there was one vehicle. Once you get near Rome, you’ll have to
outrun a radio, and that’s not going to happen.” The man stabbed the air with a
finger. “Don’t get cocky.”

Nicola flushed
then nodded. “Yes, sir.” He handed over the drawing and Angelo gently placed it
inside, securing the bolts. Nicola looked at the man. “Have you heard anything
about Mr. Donati?”

The man
nodded. “Yes, he’s been arrested. Apparently he hasn’t talked yet, but I don’t
know how long he’ll last. The Nazi’s are very good at torture. Does he know the
plan?”

Nicola nodded.
“Yeah, it’s his plan, or at least I think it is.”

“Then
there isn’t much time. He’ll eventually tell them you took it, which will lead
them to your cousin, and someone will remember he delivered a load of hay here
yesterday.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun, handing it to Nicola.
“You had this all along, given to you by Donati. You used it to force your
cousin to take you here, then used it to force me to give you my bike when I
arrived here to visit my friend. Understood?”

Nicola trembled
out an acknowledgement as he took the gun. He had never handled one before and
the very feel of it terrified him. He looked at the two men, it clear they held
no such fears.

Angelo took
the gun from him. “I think I better show you how to use it.”

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office
Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City
Present Day
One day before the theft