The following morning, Mac took to his run with a purpose, leaving the Inn at dawn. He ran the couple of miles to Villa Taverna, with the roll of undeveloped film in the pocket of his running shorts. He greeted the Marine at the front gate with instructions that he should awaken the Ambassador, as he had something of great importance to give to him.
“This early?” asked the Marine.
“Yes,” said Mac, “wake him up!” said Mac sternly, clearly meaning business. “It's on me, Marine. Tell him it is Commander Martin.”
The Marine shook his head as he called the main house. After a few minutes of waiting, Mac was permitted to cross the gardened courtyard, the front door of the Ambassador's residence open, the Ambassador himself standing there in his robe and slippers.
“What is it, son?” he asked, clearly concerned.
“I had to get you this roll of film, sir. It is urgent. The Blackshirts are going to be frantic to get their hands on this. You will not believe what I have gotten! It is a Directive from Hitler himself authorizing an attack on Russia. It is the whole damn thing! The battle plan itself! You won’t believe what we have here, Ambassador!”
“Mac, what are you talking about? Where? Where did you get this?” he asked, studying the film Mac had put in his hand.
“It is a long story, sir. I do trust the source. We need to get this out of here before they come looking for it. That is why I am here so early.”
“Where is the original, Commander?”
“Someone I know grabbed it off Mussolini's desk. She has the original. I saw it. I photographed it myself. She took it back to give it to her people in Russia.”
“What? If this is what you say it is, Mac, Christ! It is good that you woke me up. I will get it into the right hands. Now, be careful! Why do you think they might come to you looking for it? How would they know you photographed the documents?”
“Another long story. They already came to my apartment at two in the morning looking for the Russian. They commented on my empty camera. They will surely put two and two together. Let's just get it out of here for now, and I will tell you all about it tomorrow, in your office.”
“Alright, Mac. I will get it out right away. We will talk tomorrow. I am going to send it to Allan Dulles in Switzerland. He will get it developed, and he will know what to do with it thereafter. Christ, Mac!”
“Who is it dear?” asked Mrs. Philips, from the top of the grand stairway behind the Ambassador.
“Oh, it's nothing, dear, just some papers. Go back to sleep.”
“So early in the morning?” remarked Mrs. Phillips, as she turned to go back up the marble stairs. “Good morning, Commander.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Phillips. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“I will see you tomorrow, sir. Got to be at church by ten o’clock. I am sorry that I woke you and Mrs. Phillips, but I thought it urgent to get this to you.”
“No, don’t worry about it. Good job, Mac. Please, be careful!”
Mac ran back to the Inn as if he were just out on his normal morning constitution. Upon his return, however, he spotted a couple of brutish looking men on the Piazza in civilian clothes, clearly there to keep an eye on him, it being too early to be out on the Piazza for any other reason. Mac was satisfied that they had not been there when he left. He knows he could not have been followed through the local streets to Villa Taverna unless they were running as well. Seeing him in his running attire, they would have to be convinced that he had merely gone out for some early morning exercise.
“Signore,” called Beaumonti, as Mac walked through the lobby. “I am so sorry about last night. These men, they got me out of bed, and they made me take them through each apartment. I told them that you were alone, but they would not listen.”
“It's alright, Signore Beaumonti. It is not your fault. Do you know who they were looking for?”
“They only said a woman dressed in black. They said that she had stolen something from the fascist offices. That is all they said.”
“Well, hopefully they find her. If they come back when I am not here, be sure to let me know. I must go. I must meet Carla for church.”
“Ah, yes! I forgot to ask, in all the commotion. How was the Ball, Signore? I bet Carla looked magnificent, didn’t she?”
“Beautiful, Signore Beaumonti. Bellissima! We both had a wonderful evening. She got to meet the King and the Queen, and even Il Duce. We both had a very special evening that we will never forget.”
“Wonderful. Her head will be in the clouds now.”
“Thank Signora Beaumonti for all her help. Tell her I said Carla looked beautiful. She was truly the belle of the ball.”
“I will do that, Signore. She will be pleased.”
Mac showered, and he changed for church, again seeing the two men from his terrace. He left the building, climbing the Spanish Steps to the Trinita dei Monti, allowing them to see him enter the church. He found Carla in the same pew as the week before, and he kissed her on the lips as he sat beside her.
“Good morning, sweet princess,” Mac whispered in her ear.
“Good morning to you, sweet prince,” smiled Carla, tucking her arm inside Mac's, nestling her body next to his.
Mass was about to begin, the priest and his procession waiting at the back of the church, behind the wrought iron gates, for the entrance hymn to commence. Mac turned to see that his tail had taken seats in the rear of the church, just inside the gates. The priest and his procession walked past them as they made their way up the aisle.
Once again, the mass was beautiful. With Christmas in just three days, the church was filled, with even more flowers and religious relics. The Crèche had been constructed to the left of the Great Altar, the figures almost life-size in appearance. Straw was brought in which to warm the animals, with the crib all set to receive the baby Jesus.
Mac went up to receive Communion with Carla, nodding to his tail as he walked back to his pew, his hands clasped in prayer in front of his chest. The men did nothing to acknowledge Mac, as their bodies tensed up, and their faces showed anger, realizing that they had been made. They left the church by the rear door before mass had even ended.
“My sister-in-law invited you to have Sunday dinner with us,” said Carla, on the front steps of the Trinita dei Monti, her hand in Mac's. “We eat at one o’clock, if you would like to join us,” she said, with pleading big brown eyes, her lace still affixed to her curly long brown hair.
“That would be very nice. I would love to spend Sunday with your family. I want to be wherever you are,” said Mac, as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“I will go home to help Teresa get ready, then you can come along later.”
“I will be there, but I want to walk you home first.”
“I’d like that, Mac.”
Mac checked for his tail as they walked the streets to Carla's home, seeing nothing unusual. He kissed Carla at her door, and he waved as he turned to return to the Inn to freshen up, allowing them time to prepare dinner.
“Signore,” yelled Beaumonti, as Mac entered the Inn. “There were two nasty looking men here looking for you. They forced me to let them into your rooms, but they did not take anything. I stood there while they looked around. Then they just left. They did not say what they were looking for, nor did they say anything, for that matter.”
“It's alright, Signore Beaumonti. Tomorrow, I will put a stop to all of this. I don’t even know what, or who, they are looking for. It is really disturbing, though.”
Mac went up to his rooms, thinking about the gun he had hidden there in the box spring. Obviously, he thought, they did not find it, or Beaumonti would have been apoplectic. The other things given to him by Professor Moriarty he had in his pockets, so that was not a problem.
Mac lifted the mattress to check on his weapon, he washed up, and he returned to Carla's house, again checking to see if he was being followed. There was no one there that he could see, so he knocked on the now decorated front door of the DeFelice residence, complete with a fragrant pine bough, and a big, beautiful wreath. Alberto opened the door, inviting him inside with a slap on the back, as if they were already related. There were now presents under the Christmas tree, and a Manger had been placed on the dining room buffet, with cotton spread underneath.
“You had a good time last night, I hear?” asked Alberto, smiling broadly. “Carla could not stop talking about it. She had us up until all hours of the morning.”
“We had a great time, Alberto. Thank you. Carla was dazzling. Even Il Duce noticed.”
“That is not good news. He is a pig, you know. Loves the ladies! Keep him away from my sister!”
“He is still Il Duce, Alberto, and your sister charmed him. You should be proud of her. I am. If it was disrespectful, I would have punched him in his big nose.”
“I like you. You’re a funny guy. Come in. Give me your hat and coat. Let's go inside and have a drink before they put the food out. Teresa! Carla!” Alberto yelled. “Mac is here. We will be in the den.”
“So, tell me, did Ciano say anything about me?” asked Alberto, as he lit up a cigarette, and sat down in his easy chair, looking at Mac with questioning eyes.
“Only that you have been keeping your sister hidden,” chuckled Mac, as he sat on the couch next to Alberto, lighting up a cigarette of his own.
Alberto poured them both a glass of wine from the bottle breathing on the end table next to his chair.
“Here, try this. Corvo. From Sicily.”
“Nice, a little sweet,” said Mac. “Not bad.”
“So, did you hear there was a break-in at Il Duce's offices during the Ball, Mac?”
“I did. The Squadristi came to my rooms last night looking for a woman in black who was apparently involved.”
“What? That is ridiculous. Why did they come to your rooms? You were at the ball with my sister and half of Italy at the time. I will look into it.”
“It's alright, Alberto. Ambassador Phillips will take care of it. These things should go through diplomatic channels. In any event, they did not single me out. They checked all the rooms at the Inn for this woman, because someone apparently had seen her enter the building.”
“Gentlemen, dinner is served,” yelled Teresa, from the other room, Italian family style.
“Coming,” yelled Alberto back, as if he were used to it.
Mac, feeling as if he were now part of the family, kissed both ladies as he entered the dining room, taking his seat next to Alberto, with Carla seated on his right, next to her sister-in-law.
“Mac was just telling me he got a visit from the Squadristi last night,” said Alberto, as he served himself chicken and pasta from the large serving bowls the girls had brought out to the table. “Can you imagine that? They were looking for a woman that had stolen something from Il Duce's office during the Ball. Crazy! Pass the cheese, Teresa!”
“It was not a big deal. They did a room-by-room search of the Hotel, as someone said they had spotted her going into the building,” offered Mac, as he took the chicken from Alberto, taking some, and passing it to Carla.
“Well, that is exciting, particularly after the night we had,” said Carla, sounding somewhat suspect.
“That kind of excitement I can do without,” said Mac. “Pass me the broccoli rabe, please. Everything is great, girls. What kind of chicken is this?” asked Mac, looking to change the topic of conversation.
“Chicken cacciatore,” replied Teresa. “No big deal, but Alberto likes it with his Sunday macaroni.”
“It's delicious; I’m going to have seconds, for sure.”
The meal was uneventful thereafter, with the boys retiring to the den to smoke afterwards, while the girls did the dishes. Alberto pressed on about Ciano, more interested in himself, than in any woman dressed in black.
Carla walked outside with Mac, as he was ready to return to the Inn for the evening. She kissed him on the front stoop, her eyes seemingly still full of questions.
“Mac, I’m concerned. The Squadristi?”
“Don’t worry about it, Carla. I will have it dealt with tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“These are not the kind of men to be fooled with, Mac. They are dangerous, and they do not need a reason to be violent. Please be careful.”
“I will. They did not single me out, Carla. I will deal with it.”
“Do you know this lady in black they were looking for, Mac?” asked Carla, suspiciously, as if she already knew the answer.
“I will deal with it tomorrow, Carla,” replied Mac, not answering the question, as he squeezed her hand, and he kissed her goodbye.