“Son.” Sandro’s father released him, his eyes glistening behind his glasses. “Well done.”
“You, too, Papa.”
Foà cleared his throat. “I thank all of you for your herculean efforts. We did this together. It is a tribute to the love, strength, and power of our Community.”
Almansi nodded. “I will call the Vatican and thank the Pope, but I am extremely proud that we did not fall short. That said, we still have time, so I would delay before we announce our wonderful news to the Community. As much as I want to relieve their suffering, I think we should keep up the collections, to be on the safe side. I also think we should call Colonel Kappler and ask for an extension. I don’t want him to think we met his deadline too easily.”
“Very wise.” Foà turned to Sandro’s father. “Massimo, do you agree?”
“Yes, on all points. If we tell the Nazis we met their demand, they’ll just ask for more and put us back where we started.” His father turned to Sandro. “Son, what do you think?”
“I agree,” Sandro answered, pleased to be asked.
* * *
—
The Nazis ended up extending the deadline, and when it was time, Foà, Almansi, and Massimo traveled to Villa Wolkonsky with the gold. For some reason, Kappler wasn’t there, and they were redirected to his office at Via Tasso, an unwelcome turn of events. At first the Nazis claimed the gold was of insufficient weight, but after protest, they reweighed the amount and had to relent.
The Jews of Rome were saved.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
Marco
29 September 1943
It was just before dawn, and the vast sky in the countryside was a warm golden orange at the horizon, cooling to sheer blue as it thinned to atmosphere. The moon was only the slimmest of crescents, barely a curved white line, like the obverse image of a shadow. Marco, his father, and the partisans had just assumed their firing positions, propped up on their elbows and lying belly-down along the deserted dirt road with a steep hill. They were waiting to ambush a Nazi convoy, due to pass in half an hour.
Marco looked down the sight of his long gun, which he aimed at the crest of the hill. His father had learned of the convoy late last night, so the partisans had mobilized quickly. They lay hidden by a hillock that bordered the road, and behind them was an abandoned lemon grove. Rotting lemons soured the air. Bees droned around Marco’s head.
His father looked over, next to him. “Marco, when it starts, keep your head down.”
“Who are you more afraid of, the Nazis or Mamma?”
“Do you have to ask?” His father smiled.
Marco felt closer to his father than ever. “Papa, you be safe, too.”
“I survived Caporetto, I can survive anything.”
Marco was surprised, as his father never said the word Caporetto out loud.
“Get ready.” His father took aim. “They’re coming.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel the vibration within my chest.”
Marco fell silent and felt the telltale vibration. Not long after, the mechanical rumble of heavy engines came from the far side of the hill, a steep grade. The convoy was said to consist of three covered trucks carrying supplies, escorted by two VW Kubelwagens, one in front and one behind. The gears ground as the trucks labored up the incline on the far side.
Marco tensed, readjusting his aim. The engine sound intensified, and he waited for the order to fire. It would come from his father. The battle plan was for the partisans to hold fire until the entire convoy was on the downward slope of the hill.
Marco looked down the barrel and reminded himself to be patient.
In the next moment, a Kubelwagen crested the hill.
Marco swallowed hard, keeping his head low. There were four Nazi soldiers in the Kubelwagen. It descended the hill, picking up speed.
Marco felt his heart hammer. A truck crested the hill with two Nazi soldiers in the cab. It followed the Kubelwagen closely. The second truck crested the hill, then the third.
Marco’s mouth went dry. Another Kubelwagen containing Nazi soldiers crested the hill. The entire convoy was moving fast on the long downward slope.
All of a sudden the partisans near the bottom of the hill threw a slew of quattropunti onto the road. The Nazi vehicles had too much momentum to stop. The first Kubelwagen hit the quattropunti. Its tires popped and began to deflate.
“Fire!” shouted his father. Marco and the partisans started shooting. The Nazis in the Kubelwagen were caught unawares, shot as they reached for their weapons.
The first truck crashed into the Kubelwagen, too heavy to stop. The second truck joined the pile-up. The third truck tried to drive off the road. Hillocks blocked them on both sides. The driver of the second Kubelwagen tried to veer out of the way. Momentum carried him downward into the pile-up.