The car swerved around a switchback as the road descended to the valley below, and the burlap bag slid on the seat. The pistol was halfway out and I started to make a move for it, but Sciafani was too fast. He clutched the bag to his chest and sighed as he turned his face away from me. I followed his gaze to the spare, rocky ground, dotted with cactus and spindly green trees. I recognized the place. I'd been here before. We were entering the Valley of the Temples.
The driver slowed, rolled down his window, picked up a long strip of white cloth, and held it out. It fluttered in the breeze like a banner, a flag of truce, as he shouted the same few phrases over and over again. I had no idea what he was saying, so I made up my own version, based on the cadence of his words. Don't shoot, it's only a mafiusu, a demented doctor, and an amnesiac American. One of us is harmless, take your chances on the other two.
We must have passed through the front lines. The GIs here were either standing around, marching in single file, or busy, stacking boxes and setting up an aid station by the side of the road. Ruins dotted the landscape for miles, some of them no more than heaps of rubble with two or three columns left standing. Others consisted of rows of columns holding up empty sky.
There was one that was different. What was it?
" Viva gli americani," the driver shouted to a file of GIs trudging up the road, kicking up little clouds of hot dirt with their shuffling feet. They laughed and waved, but it all seemed distant, as if I were watching a newsreel. Troops on the move. Heat and grit from the road flowed into the car, and I had to rub my eyes to clear the sweat, dust, and fatigue away. My heart began to beat faster and faster as a cold shiver ran through my body and sweat trickled down my back. I felt dizzy, and the windows seemed to fog over, encasing the tiny vehicle in a hazy cocoon. I shut my eyes and clasped my hands over them, hoping when I opened them again everything would be normal. I breathed deep and heard the blood pounding in my ears as images flashed into life, brighter and clearer than they ever could have been, sharp and focused, so real I could feel them slashing and clawing at my eyelids.
A man in a black robe. The sacristan, one hand on my shoulder, the other pointing to the valley below the city.
"There," he said. "The only temple still intact. See it on the hill? The Temple of Concordia." The setting sun lit it, casting fingers of soft yellow light along the narrow building.
"Our contact will meet us there, you're sure?" That was Nick.
"It's all been arranged." Tommy the C nodded and walked away.
As in a dream, the scene changed swiftly. I saw myself standing at the bottom of the steps leading into the temple. Harry was there.
"Do you see anyone?" Harry asked me, swiveling his head and squinting his eyes to pick up any movement in the fading light.
"No. Nick?" Nick had gone inside. He appeared, waving us on.
We were all wearing the same thing. Nondescript khaki jackets. Khaki pants. Boots. We could have been anyone on a dark night. That was the point, I guess. I felt my boots clomp against the stone steps as I passed between two columns looming above us, blocking the light. Patches of stars showed through the ruined roof. Inside the columns was another building, supported by its own set of smaller columns. A temple. It was disorienting. I turned, looking for Harry. He was gone.
"Billy?" Nick said in a whisper.
"What?"
"Give me the handkerchief. Now." I felt the hard, cold barrel of his automatic pistol press against my neck.
"What's got into you?" Panic fluttered in my chest.
"Never mind. Give me the handkerchief and get lost. I don't want to shoot you but if I have to, I will."
"What did you do to Harry?" I was trying to buy time.
"I sent him to watch for the contact. Give it to me now," he ordered. He made his point by pressing the tip of the automatic harder against my neck, so hard I could feel the front sight dig into my skin.
"OK, OK," I said. "I don't want to get shot over a piece of silk."
I felt him relax. But the automatic was resting on my shoulder, still pointing at my neck.
"I'm sorry, Billy, I have to have it."
"OK, stay calm. It's in my jacket pocket." I thrust my hand into my jacket. As I did, I swung away from the pistol and smashed him with my elbow in the back of his neck. He went down with a grunt, but the automatic went off. The sound echoed off the temple walls, and I heard the zing of a ricochet.
"No, no!" Nick coughed up the words as he struggled to get up, one hand on his neck and the other clutching the automatic.
I drew my. 45 and aimed it at his head. I heard footsteps running toward us and tried to comprehend Nick's actions. Had he gone mad? He seemed determined and anguished at the same time.
"Nick, drop your weapon."
He held onto the automatic, grasping it loosely in his hand as he rose to his knees. "I need the handkerchief," was all he said, his eyes cast down to the stone floor of the temple.
"What's this?" Harry said, stepping carefully around a column, pressing his back to it and keeping both of us covered with his Italian Beretta submachine gun.
"I need the handkerchief," Nick repeated, as if that explained everything.
Harry and I exchanged dumbfounded glances. Nick, with his Sicilian connections, was the key to this mission. We needed him, but it occurred to me that except for the handkerchief, he didn't need us.
Nick stood, placing his body between Harry and me. He didn't drop his weapon. He held my eyes and it seemed he was searching for something, an answer to an unfathomable question.
"Give it to me, Billy, and go hide out somewhere, both of you. I'll take it from here."
"I can't-"
He turned and squeezed off two shots, aiming high, over Harry's head, but close enough to drive him back under cover. He judged me right. I couldn't shoot him, not in the back anyway. He ran from me while angling away from the column Harry had hidden behind. I fired, high too, wanting to let him know I meant business but reluctant to hit him. He disappeared behind rows of columns and I followed, darting between the stone pillars, listening, trying to stay close but not too close.
I heard footsteps again, heavy this time, not like Harry's stealthy approach. I tried to see beyond the outer row of columns but it was too dark.
"Chi va?" The voice was demanding something, and more boots tramped the ground outside the temple. A single shot sounded in response, and I figured that Nick was about to make his break, covered by a hail of gunfire. It was risky, but he probably figured every nervous Italian soldier standing in the open would keep his eyes on the temple as he blasted away.
He was right. Shots rang out, bright flashes sparkling in a rough line that slowly moved closer. The soldiers were yelling, firing, advancing. I backed into the interior temple, hoping to find Harry and escape before they pulled the ring tighter. I made it to the rear corner of the temple and hid behind a wall that gave me a view along the perimeter of the colonnade.
More shouts from inside the temple, one voice, probably an officer, rising above the others. I couldn't understand but I was sure the words meant Come out with your hands up!
Boots scraped against the hard floor, moving in my direction. I needed to do something, to take the initiative away from them. I pulled a grenade from one of the big side pockets of my jacket. I holstered my. 45 so I'd have both hands free and looked down the shorter row of columns that ran along the rear of the temple. It was clear. I stepped out and pulled the pin of the grenade, holding the safety lever down. I judged the distance and figured I could roll the grenade halfway down the length of the corridor formed by the two rows of columns. The explosion would distract the soldiers and force them to take cover, giving me a chance to beat feet out of there.