Hero on a Bicycle Read Online Free PDF Page B

discarded wine barrels, half hidden in weeds. At the end was a long, empty shed, and in its shadow, Rosemary saw the pinpoints of three lit cigarettes glowing in the dark.

T hree men stood there, huddled together, the outline of their rifles silhouetted against the sky. They all wore caps, pulled well down, making it impossible to see their faces.
    As Rosemary approached, one of them threw down his cigarette and said quietly, “Signora? Signora Crivelli?”
    “Yes.” With a stab of fear, she realized that the man beside him had now lowered his rifle and was pointing it at her.
    “We need to speak with you, signora. You know who we are, I think?”
    She knew who they were, all right. The Partisans. These men were probably led by Il Volpe — the Fox — a local leader whom hardly anyone claimed to have encountered in person. A man who, Rosemary suspected, was trying to draw her and her son into helping them.
    “What do you want with me?” Rosemary asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
    “We don’t intend you or any of your family harm, signora. We want your help — that’s all. Just a little help, like the last time.” He paused. The man with the rifle shifted uneasily.
    “Things are different now,” said Rosemary. “It’s far more dangerous. The Gestapo is watching us all the time.”
    The first man ignored this and went on urgently: “It would only be for one night. We need to bring two men in close to the city, to put them into contact with friends who will help them.”
    “What men?”
    “Who they are need not concern you too closely, signora. The less you know, the better.”
    “You mean Allied servicemen? Escaped prisoners of war who you are trying to get back to their own lines?”
    This was greeted by silence, but Rosemary knew she was right. She had been asked to do this before, several times, and on each occasion, she had unwillingly cooperated while desperately wishing that she had never, ever become involved. She had done it for Franco’s sake. But she knew very well what a terrifying risk she was taking. She thought of Paolo and Constanza and what would happen to them if she were arrested. They had both been away at school before and known nothing about it. But now . . .
    “I can’t —” she began.
    But the man cut in: “Just one night — that’s all we ask.”
    His voice was persuasive, but the rifle still pointing directly at her was more so. Rosemary was silent. These people were as ruthless as the enemy, especially now that the Allies were so close. They were eagerly awaiting the time when they could rise up out of hiding and fight alongside them.
    She tried to think about Franco and what he would want her to do. But instead, her mind was filled by thoughts of Paolo on his bicycle, riding at night through the empty streets, and what might happen to him — or any of them — if she did not cooperate.
    “Very well,” she said at last. “For one night only. . . .”
    “Good. It will be soon. We’ll be in touch to let you know when.”
    Rosemary hurried back to the house with her arms wrapped around her. She was shivering, not with cold but with fear. She was only just beginning to realize the full implications of what she had agreed to do. But she would have been far more terrified if she had known that as the three men melted away into the darkness, her son, Paolo, was following them.
    Paolo had known all evening that there was a certain tension in the air. Although his mother’s reaction to the message had been noncommittal, he sensed that she had something on her mind, so he was keeping an eye on things. This, he told himself, was what detective work was all about. It was one of the skills he was planning on practicing professionally one day, when he was grown up.
    When he got to his bedroom, he settled down to wait until he heard Rosemary come upstairs. A long silence followed. He could sense her sitting there in her room, wide awake. At last, after what seemed like an