Hallie insisted upon accompanying Mac to the dock, where she saw him get on the Serpa Pinto, with a hug and a kiss, and a tear in her eye. Mac found himself on one of the maiden voyages of the refurbished ocean liner, from New York to Lisbon. He was excited, as he had never been on the open sea before. It would take about four days to cross the Atlantic, depending upon the weather. Mac checked out his rather small, second deck cabin, with a view of the harbor, as the boat was underway, with a band playing on deck, “Happy Days Are Here Again.”
After getting himself settled in, he went about exploring the ship he would be on for the better part of the next week. The wooden top deck was completely open across the beam of almost fifty-six feet. People were milling about, watching the shore of Brooklyn passing them by, as a few men had already started a game of badminton at mid-deck. Mothers with children, young lovers, older ladies, and gents, did the promenade walk around the rail of the ship along with Mac, as the band now played the Tennessee Waltz. It was a crisp December morning, but that in no way tempered the zeal of the passengers headed to a Europe on fire. Mac could not understand why anyone, particularly with children, would head into such troubled waters. It caused him to look upon his fellow passengers with suspicion, and with wonder, just as they were undoubtedly looking upon the handsome young man walking the deck by himself.
Although the ship was now sailing under a Portuguese flag, a British company in Ireland had built the ocean liner. The main atriums were opulent, with fine woods, wrought iron railings, and marble shined to a reflection. Coffered ceilings and mural covered walls graced the grand staircases and hallways. There were parlors with ornate ceilings and moldings, crystal chandeliers, fine wooden tables with marble tops, comfortable brocade covered chairs, china filled Chippendale breakfronts and matching buffets. The chandeliered dining room was bathed in light despite being in the interior of the ship. A tuxedo clad serving staff, sommeliers, and bus boys waited on its fully dressed tables. Everywhere you looked was grandeur and splendor, with people expressing hope that German U-boats would not spoil their trip.
Mac understood the waters of the Atlantic in 1940 were not safe, as it had been reported that various vessels found themselves on the bottom of the ocean due to zealous German U-boat skippers. Not only were they sinking cargo ships headed for Europe regardless of the flag they sailed under, but they also torpedoed passenger ships from enemy countries on the pretext that they could be carrying troops or war related materials. Mac was more excited than nervous however, as the Portuguese flag meant the Germans might only stop and harass a ship like the Serpa Pinto, yet there was always the possibility of a mistake at sea.
As the ship found itself off the tip of Long Island, Mac got himself into workout clothes, and found his way to the ship's gym. It was fully equipped with stationary bikes and rowing machines, exotic belt shakers, iron weights, and punching bags. The room had coffered ceilings and carved maple paneling and wainscoting, belying the supposed intended less genteel use of the space. Mac did his workout, punching and kicking at sand filled bags, while most people were still milling about the ship, after which he returned to his cabin to clean up for lunch.
Upon arriving at the dining hall, Mac found that he was assigned to a table for eight, with three couples, and a young lady, Isabella, on her way to visit family in Genoa. Mac dined with the same people each meal, getting to know them perhaps more than he would have chosen. He told everyone that he was an attorney from New York, sent to his firm's Rome office to work on some Vatican business. He decided it unnecessary to inform them of his United States Naval Intelligence position, yet that might have been a good way to keep the conversation down to a minimum. Isabella made sure to tell him she was twenty-one years old and very single, and while Mac did his duty by dancing with the young woman at night, he was careful to ask the other ladies to dance as well. His life was complicated enough.
The four days passed rather quickly, as the Azores came into view. Lots of eating, dancing, and promenading on the deck, more than Mac found delightful, even in the company of the lovely Isabella Benvenutti. The following day, the Serpa Pinto docked in Lisbon, where Mac would say his goodbyes like a gentleman, and must remain for a few days awaiting his flight to Rome. Despite the War, they said happiness was staged in Lisbon so that God could believe it still existed. The Portuguese capital was a symbol of hope to those seeking to escape fascist persecution throughout Europe. The city of intrigue, where life was cheap and morals were even cheaper, became a haven of espionage under the cover of neutrality. Not only was Lisbon the point of embarkation to points west, but it was also the route to fascist Europe, where Gestapo and MI6 agents filled the chic hotels and drinking establishments together.
Mac was booked in the Hotel Palacio, where the favorite drink in the dimly lit, wood paneled piano bar, was the martini, shaken not stirred. British spies, European Royalty, and wealthy Jewish refugees mixed at the Estoril Casino, Europe's largest gambling house, which was to inspire Ian Fleming, who was in the British Naval Intelligence, to write spy novels. The red-light district, near the docks, inspired many in other ways, including the German agents who used the Hotel Avenida to present allied agents with their plan to assassinate Hitler, the Valkyrie Conspiracy.
It was in this den of spiders that Mac found himself for the few days necessary to secure passage to Rome. He got an education he was not anticipating at the “Spy Bar” in the Hotel Palacio, and at the blackjack tables in the Estoril Casino. There were beautiful women in formal attire showing no restraint on the jewels they wore to adorn their perfect bodies. The men were handsome, or at least well dressed, with fine timepieces straight from Switzerland. It was apparently understood that anyone in a white dinner jacket, from America, was in espionage of some sort. The British even knew to call Mac “Commander,” as if someone had prepared them for his arrival. Mac played the part of the debonair man of the world, speaking little, and listening a lot. He was in Europe to report back, not to reveal his Country's secrets. He understood, as did those he met. The young man was almost a celebrity, with most of his British counterparts welcoming him, and telling him what to expect over in Rome. They were happy to have America involved, in any capacity.
Mac felt as though he had lost his espionage virginity before he even got on the Alitalia flight to Ciampino Airport in Rome three days later. He no longer felt he was a babe in the woods. And yet, he also understood that he was about to enter the major leagues, in the heart of fascism.
Mac rode the packed, twin prop puddle skipper across Portugal and Spain, with a stopover in Sardinia, before arriving in Rome. Using his best Italian, Mac told the cab driver at the airport to take him to the Piazza di Spagna, where his hotel was located, at the foot of the Spanish Steps. He would be staying at the Inn at the Spanish Steps, at least until more suitable permanent accommodations could be found. However, given the nightly bombings of the city by British planes, and the resulting dearth of suitable living space, Mac had been told that he would most likely stay there for the duration, the charges to be picked up by the firm. Mac was not complaining, particularly in that the hotel was within a block of the firm's office at Piazza di Spagna 15, an eighteenth-century Italian Palazzo.