“Hey, you!” Elisabetta called to the nearest Nazi guard, stepping out from behind the tree, with a smile.
The Nazi raised his gun, and a bolt of fear coursed through her body.
“It’s only me,” she called out, waving.
The Nazi lowered his gun, and Elisabetta breathed easier, remembering the German phrases Marco had taught her.
“I remember you, handsome. Do you remember me?”
“Natürlich,” the Nazi answered, keeping his voice low. He glanced behind him, checking to see if anyone was watching them.
“I like you the best. I need a man.” Elisabetta struggled through her fear to remember the German words. “I’m so lonely.”
The Nazi stood still, neither answering nor moving.
Elisabetta held her breath, not knowing what to do. She had to improvise. She pulled up her skirt in the front, leaving no mistake about her meaning. “Please, I like you the best. I need a man. I’m so lonely.”
The Nazi turned in the direction of the other guard, then shouted to him in rapid German. Elisabetta prayed to God he wasn’t informing on her. The other guard only nodded, so evidently he wasn’t.
The Nazi started walking toward the back exit of the transit camp, then let himself out the gate, unbuckling his belt as if he had to go to the bathroom.
Elisabetta slipped back behind the tree, watching the Nazi come closer. Her heart thundered in her chest. She checked the construction site. She couldn’t see if the fire had started. She could only hope Marco was on his way back to her.
The Nazi made a terrifying silhouette advancing on her, backlit. She wanted to scream, but instead she forced a naughty giggle.
The Nazi shadow loomed larger. She could hear him chuckling, in excitement. His belt jingled, and he unzipped his pants.
Elisabetta struggled to control her panic. The Nazi was almost there, saying something in German. She was supposed to reach out her arms, but she was too frightened. She didn’t see Marco anywhere.
The Nazi embraced her roughly. He kissed her hard on the mouth, tasting of cigarettes. His hand slipped under her dress, sliding up her thigh to her underwear.
She forced herself not to struggle. The Nazi thrust his tongue into her mouth. Tears came to her eyes. The Nazi leaned her back, then pressed her to the ground.
Elisabetta scrambled backward, stalling. The Nazi thought she was teasing. He scrambled after her, chuckling. He gripped her arm, pulled her under him, and climbed on her with his full weight.
Suddenly the Nazi’s head was jerked backward. His body was lifted off of her. Marco materialized above the Nazi, grabbing his head.
The Nazi’s eyes widened with fear. Marco twisted the Nazi’s head deftly, breaking his neck with a crunch of vertebrae.
Elisabetta rolled away, swallowing her horror.
The Nazi collapsed, dead.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE
Marco
18 October 1943
Marco walked toward the back exit of the transit camp. He kept his face down under the dead Nazi’s helmet. The Nazi’s uniform fit him well, and he buckled his belt as he approached the transit camp, as if he had urinated. The Nazi guard opened the gate for him, and Marco grunted his thanks. He entered the transit camp, crossed to the dead Nazi’s post, and stood on guard.
He glanced toward the construction site, praying that the fire grew soon. He had set it near some electrical wire behind a pile of bricks, then mixed in flammable solvent and oily rags. The fire wouldn’t show until it was blazing, and the Nazis would assume it was negligence, rather than intentional. He didn’t want it to look like sabotage, or they would lock down the transit camp.
Marco stood behind Sandro’s barracks, which were quiet. The plan was working, so far. He had gotten to Elisabetta in time. She had looked terrified, but she had done the job. He checked the umbrella pine, knowing she would be hiding behind it, recovering.
He shifted his gaze to the construction site. He noticed a faint orange brightness behind the pile of bricks. The rags must have caught fire. They were beginning to burn.
Marco turned, patrolled Sandro’s barracks, and peered in the windows, as he had seen the Nazis do. He glanced in the first window, then the second. The only thing he could discern in the gloom were sleeping forms, in rough wooden rows of beds. He had been hoping to spot Sandro inside, but it was too dark.
Marco passed the third window and heard snoring, a distinctly human sound that wrenched his heart. He wished he could save every one of