A Mortal Terror by James R. Benn

Author:James R. Benn
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2011-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“THE SIGN SAYS Carano to the left,” I said. “That’s right where it should be.”

“Sounds right to me,” Einsmann said, turning the map around several times, viewing it from every possible angle. The jeep was idling at an intersection. Left was Carano, straight was Velletri, which I knew was up in the Alban Hills. To the right was nothing but emptiness, plowed fields, and damp gullies.

“We should turn around,” Kaz said in an exasperated tone. “I said so back at the last turn.”

“This feels right,” I said, gunning the jeep and taking a hard left. I hoped it was. The road narrowed and became a hard-packed dirt surface. We came to a fork in the road, one weathered sign pointing left to Carano. We went right, on my theory that keeping Carano to our left was the wisest course. It was left of Le Ferriere on the map, so logic was on my side. Kaz didn’t say a word, satisfying himself with switching off the safety on the Thompson. We drove farther and found another fork in the road. This time, the sign to Carano pointed back the way we’d come. Gianottola was to the left. I couldn’t find it on the map, so I went right, for no particular reason, the road curving around a slight rise.

“We should turn around,” Kaz said.

“Not yet,” I said, unwilling to admit what I was beginning to suspect. That we were lost.

“No, I mean look behind us.”

I pulled over and we craned our necks around. The view was stupendous. With all the twists and turns, I hadn’t noticed we were slowly climbing. In the distance, the sea shimmered with sunlight. The flat plain of the drained Pontine Marshes was laid out before us, straight roads and canals dividing the ground, stone farmhouses dotting the landscape.

“Okay, we’re lost,” I said.

“How far have we driven?” Einsmann asked.

“Twenty miles or so, but not in a straight line.”

“We haven’t seen a single German,” Kaz said. “I’m curious as to where they are.”

“I’m not so curious I want to find any of them,” I said. “Should we go back?”

“I think we should go on,” Einsmann said. “Until we hit a main road or town, so we know where we are. Then you can bring back some intelligence.”

“And you get an exclusive story, as the intrepid reporter behind the German lines.”

“Billy, I don’t think we’re behind the German lines,” Einsmann said. “I’d bet there’s no Germans between us and Rome. This could be the biggest story of the war, an invasion that achieves total surprise. Hell, it is a big story, no doubt about it.”

“He’s right, Billy,” Kaz said. “If I can make any sense of this map, we should come to Highway 7 soon.”

“The road to Rome, through the Alban Hills?”

“Yes. From the height here, I’d say we are already in the Alban Hills.”

“Okay, I’m in,” I said, studying the map Kaz was holding. “Velletri, that’s on Highway 7, and there was a signpost back a while ago.

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