“Never,” Carletto said.
“It’s simple really,” Knebel said, setting one gun down and pressing a latch to release the rotary magazine. “You’ve got fifty .45 ACP rounds already loaded in here.” He set the magazine on the counter before clearing the breech and showing them a lever above and behind the rear pistol grip. “Your safety,” he said. “You want to fire, you push that lever all the way forward. You want safe, all the way back.”
The major repositioned the Thompson, right hand on the rear grip and left hand on the front grip, the side of the weapon mashed tight to his torso. “Three points of contact if you want control over your fire. Otherwise, the recoil will have the muzzle bouncing all over the goddamned place, shots going high and wide, and who needs that?
“So both hands on the grips, and the stock pressed into your hip—three points of contact. See how I’m turning my hips with the gun?”
“What if we have to shoot from the car?” Carletto asked.
Knebel threw the gun tight to his shoulder. “Three points: shoulder, my cheek to the stock, and both hands. Short bursts. That’s all you really need to know.”
Pino picked up the other gun. He liked how heavy and compact the Thompson was. He grabbed the grips, held it tight to his body, and fantasized about mowing down Nazis.
“Your backup magazines,” the major said, setting two drums on the counter. He reached into his pocket and came out with an envelope. “These are your papers. They’ll get you through all Allied-held checkpoints. Beyond that, you’ll be on your own.”
“You ever going to tell us what we’re doing?” Carletto demanded.
Knebel smiled. “You’ll be taking a friend of America to the top of the Brenner Pass.”
“The Brenner?” Pino said, remembering something Uncle Albert had told him the day before. “The Brenner’s still at war. It’s anarchy up there. The German army’s in full retreat, and the partisans are ambushing them, trying to kill as many as they can before they get across the border into Austria.”
Knebel showed no expression and said, “We need our friend at the border.”
“It’s a suicide mission, then,” Carletto said.
“It’s a challenge,” the major said. “But we’ve got you a map, and there’s a flashlight to read it. Shows all the major Allied checkpoints. You won’t leave Allied-held territory until north of the A4 heading toward Bolzano.”
After a short silence, Carletto said, “I’m going to need two bottles of wine to do this.”
“I’ll make it four,” Knebel said. “Make it a party. Just don’t crash.”
Pino said nothing. Carletto looked at him. “I’m going with or without you.”
Pino saw an intensity in his old friend that he’d never witnessed before. Carletto looked eager to go into battle and die. Suicide by war. That thought pleased Pino as well.
“Okay, then, who are we taking up there?” Pino said, looking at Knebel.
The major got up and disappeared through the door behind the counter. A few moments later, the door reopened and Knebel exited, followed by a man in a dark business suit, dark trench coat, and a brown fedora pulled down low over his eyes. He struggled to carry a large rectangular leather suitcase handcuffed to his left wrist.
Major Knebel and the man came out from behind the counter.
“I believe the two of you know each other,” Knebel said.
The man raised his head and from under the fedora’s brim stared into Pino’s eyes.
Pino’s shock was complete. He stepped back as rage plumed through his body.
“Him?” he shouted at Knebel. “How is he any friend of America?”
The major’s expression hardened. “General Leyers is a hero, Pino.”
“A hero?” Pino said, wanting to spit at the ground. “He was Hitler’s slave master. He drove people to their deaths, Major. I saw it. I heard it. I witnessed it.”
Knebel was rattled by that and glanced at the Nazi general before saying, “I can’t know if that’s true, Pino. But I’m under orders here, and that’s what I’ve been told, that he’s a hero who deserves our protection.”
Leyers just stood there, not understanding a bit of the conversation but watching them with that detached amusement that Pino had so grown to despise. He started to say he wouldn’t do it, but then another idea, a much more satisfying one, wormed its way into his mind. He thought of Anna and Dolly. He thought of all the slaves and knew it was the right thing to do. God had a plan for Pino Lella after all.
Pino grinned with bonhomie then, and said, “Mon général, shall I take your bag?”
Leyers shook his head crisply. “I will carry the bag, thank you.”
“Good-bye, Major Knebel,” Pino said.
“Look me up when you get back, bud,” Knebel said. “I’ve got other plans for you. Be right here, waiting to tell you all about them.”
Pino nodded, certain he would never see the American or Milan again.
He left the hotel with his machine gun cradled and Leyers following. He opened the rear door to the Fiat and stood aside. Leyers glanced at Pino and then struggled into the seat with the suitcase.
Carletto got into the front passenger seat, the Thompson between his legs. Pino got behind the wheel, put his machine gun between Carletto and the stick shift.
“Keep control of my gun, too,” Pino said with a glance in the mirror at Leyers, who’d set his hat aside and was using his fingers to comb back his iron-gray hair.
“I think I can shoot this thing,” Carletto said, his finger wandering in admiration over the machine gun’s oiled surface. “I’ve seen how they do it in gangster movies.”
“All you need to know,” Pino said, and put the car in gear.
He drove on with Carletto reading the map by flashlight and navigating. The route led back through Piazzale Loreto, and then east toward the city limits, where they encountered the first US Army checkpoint.
“America is the best,” Pino said to the skeptical GI who came to his window with a flashlight. Pino handed him the envelope with their papers.
Taking them out of the envelope, the soldier shone his light on them, and his chin retreated. He quickly folded the papers, stuffed them in the envelope, and said nervously, “Jesus. You can go right on through, then.”
Pino put the papers in his breast pocket, pulled through the gate, and headed east toward Treviglio and Caravaggio.
“What do those papers say?” Carletto asked.
“I’ll look later,” Pino said. “Unless you read English?”
“Can’t read it. Speak it a little. What do you suppose is in his suitcase?”