Roman Holiday
by Joseph Cusumano
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
“That was a good story, Mamma,” Carlo said. “Read me another.”
“How do we ask politely?” Angelica prompted.
“Please.”
“Okay. One more, then it’s lights out.” She began the next one in the collection of children’s bedtime stories she had just bought for him, but Carlo didn’t last much beyond the introduction before falling asleep. Angelica bent over him and gently kissed his forehead, marveling at her good fortune to have become his mother but also regretting what had been taken from Fia.
She turned off the bedside table lamp and left his room, leaving the door ajar so Arturo could hear him if he woke. Normally, Gretchen would help Carlo go back to sleep should he wake from a bad dream, but Gretchen had the night off and Angelica would be leaving shortly for a meeting with the New Carthaginians she had met a month ago.
She entered the study where Arturo was seated at his desk, began massaging his shoulders, and said, “I’m leaving now.”
“You remember how to get there?” Arturo rose and placed a hand on each of her hips.
“Yes, it’s pretty straightforward.”
“Take the Bugatti. It’s bigger and safer.”
“I’ll have to. I let Gretchen take the Fiat. I’ll be back pretty late, depending on how long they need me. Don’t wait up.” Arturo stood and hugged her.
Before leaving, she went to Fia’s jewelry armoire and retrieved the T-shaped gold piece, folded the two arms down alongside the middle handle, and slipped it into her purse. Angelica had initially been thrown off track by where Fia had kept it, but she subsequently realized the object’s intended use by considering the physical characteristics of gold. It was soft and malleable, resisted corrosion, was chemically inert and conducted electricity. Fia had concocted a terrifying plan of redemption, but now it was Angelica’s to execute or ignore.
On route to the old factory where New Carthage had set up shop, Angelica only had an hour to decide. She had to go through with Fia’s plan tonight or forever lose the opportunity. She engaged in a desperate dialogue with herself. “But how can I give up my life with Arturo and Carlo? Living with them has been a dream come true, and I’ve only had them for about six weeks. None of this would ever have happened to me in my Rome of 2035.”
It struck her as outrageously unfair to lose them so soon. “But it was my lab fiasco which might have injured or killed several coworkers that provided these precious six weeks. So by rights, I should be grateful even if that’s all it’s going to be.
“But what if I abandon Fia’s plan and convince Arturo that we have to get out of Rome? He’d have to desert Pugno and everything he believes in, but we’d be together, all three of us. And we’d be rich no matter where we went.”
Then a different viewpoint took center stage. “So, Angelica, you’re willing to go along with Emilio and New Carthage so that you, Arturo, and Carlo can ride off into a golden sunset even if it means that the city of Rome will become a radioactive wasteland? Has it occurred to you that you have a chance to save the lives of the twelve million people living here and keep this world free of atomic weapons for decades, which might favorably change the course of history forever?” Angelica pondered this; then another troubling question entered her mind.
“Might there have been someone in my Rome of 2035, maybe someone like me, who had been given this chance? Someone who could have prevented the terrorists’ nuclear attack on London in 2025? Someone who chose his own narrow self-interest instead of the needs of everyone else?”
As she approached the end of her drive, Angelica turned onto the road that would bring her to the factory in minutes. Looking for any justification to avoid making a decision, yet another possibility occurred to her.
“What if none of this world is real, and I’m actually lying comatose in a hospital bed in 2035? Maybe I survived the lab disaster, was taken to a hospital and put on life support. For all I know, an imaginary six weeks here in Fia’s world could have transpired in just a few days in an ICU. And if they eventually decide to shut off the life support, it’s all going to end anyway. Why shouldn’t I enjoy being with Arturo and Carlo a little longer?” When Angelica pulled into the factory parking lot, she still did not know what she should do or would do.
Five minutes later, Angelica was staring at this world’s first operational fission device and congratulating Emilio and the other scientists on their accomplishment. “I can’t believe how quickly you finished it,” she told them with all sincerity.
The first thing she noted was that Fia’s bridgewire detonator had been incorporated into the rest of the bomb. The completed weapon was armed and very intimidating. She resisted an urge to back away from it.
“Take as long as you need to inspect it,” Emilio said. “We’ll be in the conference room if you have questions.”
The device was about the size of a very small car, and could be wheeled into the trailer of a large truck, although its weight would challenge the truck’s suspension. Angelica could see the care that had gone into its construction, as if it had been crafted by Ferrari. All for a one-use device, she thought.
Several minutes later, she found herself reaching into her purse and taking hold of Fia’s other design, the golden T. Angelica did this with no additional deliberation. The conscious, logical part of her mind was functioning more as an observer than as the originator of her actions, but she didn’t fight it.
After inserting the folded T into the two-centimeter hole in the casing of Fia’s detonator, she carefully withdrew the rubber-coated handle against the inside edges of the hole to lift the two side pieces, one at a time.
From the very beginning, Fia had created a design that would activate the detonator’s electrical circuit when the center handle of the T was then rotated 180 degrees or less, thus bypassing the main switch and also bypassing the rest of her life.
Angelica bid a silent and painful goodbye to Arturo and Carlo, then resolutely rotated the handle about ninety degrees. Nothing happened. She rotated the handle more, feeling the limbs of the T abruptly make contact with the electrical components. She flinched, but nothing happened.
“Your little key won’t work,” Emilio startled her as he approached from behind. “I thought you might try something like that. Before you arrived tonight, we interrupted a different part of the circuit. We didn’t really need your inspection of the bomb this evening. It’s ready. We just wanted you to confirm our suspicion about Arturo.”
Angelica could barely breathe. How could they know? This is impossible!
“Buonasera, Signora Donati.” Gretchen had emerged from the conference room and was approaching her. “Don’t worry, we’re still going to let you witness the historic first atomic explosion.”
* * *
Two of the factory workers had tightly bound her wrists behind her back, and she could do nothing but watch as the fission weapon was loaded into the rear of a large truck. After tying a foul-smelling rag over her mouth to gag her, they carried and lifted her into the truck’s trailer, then strapped her to a side wall. When they shut the rear gate of the truck’s trailer, snuffing out the light, her fear exploded into heart-racing panic. Arturo, come and get me! Please!
She stood only a foot away from the weapon for what seemed a one-hour drive before the truck finally stopped. Her hands and wrists had gone numb, and she would have to urinate soon. They brought it to Rome, she told herself. How did I get into this? None of this is my fault.
Both of the truck’s cab doors opened and shut, but no one opened the trailer. She heard two car doors slam shut, followed by the sound of the car’s engine first revving and then diminishing as it pulled away. Then there was only silence and darkness.
They’ve already set the timer! she realized. She drew the conclusion: “It must be near 2 o’clock in the morning, and Carlo and Arturo are asleep. Nobody is coming to help me. I have to rescue everybody else, and I may only have an hour before the weapon goes off. That’s all the time the driver and his passenger will need to get to a safe distance.
“I can do this, she told herself. If I rub my wrists against the rope, there will eventually be enough blood to help me slide out.” She began immediately, trying to rotate her wrists within the loops. But the rope was so tight that she couldn’t get either wrist to move. What did you expect, you idiot? Your hands are numb because the rope is too tight. Think of something else!
About the time Angelica could hold her bladder no longer and decided to wet herself, she experienced the bizarre sensation of being turned inside out. She never felt the blast.
* * *
Daniella chose to sit in the back of the bus alone. The rest of her fourth-grade class was talking excitedly, but she wanted to think about her dream, the special one that came rarely now and seemed less real than it used to. It had come again last night, and it was always very romantic.
As the bus approached the coliseum, Signorina Calabrese, her young teacher, walked down the center aisle to check that each child was wearing his or her black armband with the red swastika. When she was satisfied, she returned to the front of the bus and asked the children,
“Do you all know what we’re celebrating today?”
“The German-Italian victory of World War II,” a child in front said.
“That’s right,” the teacher replied. “Ten years ago today, May 1st of 1945, our forces captured the city of Moscow and eradicated the Communist Party. Churchill fled to Canada, and England surrendered two days later. The America First movement kept the Americans out of the war, although they did supply weapons to our enemies. The Americans still think they’re safe.” She then distributed the small Italian flags the children would wave at the military parade. Each tricolor Italian flag was now emblazoned with a small swastika in the upper left corner.
Daniella took her flag; then her thoughts returned to the dream she cherished. In the dream, she was all grown up, tall and beautiful, wore expensive clothes, and was married to a handsome man who was always hugging and kissing her. Her husband did important and secret work for Italy, and they had the cutest little boy who loved having bedtime stories read to him.
Copyright © 2018 by Joseph Cusumano
