《Last Words》 Part One Tony stood straight and adjusted the fit of the German infantry uniform in the mirror with a sour expression. The dark grey fabric clung uncomfortably and seemed to restrict his chest. Pinned to the pocket, the Eagle insignia appeared to mock him with its glaring eye. ¡°It¡¯s a perfect fit, sir. You¡¯ll pass easily, for the small amount of time required,¡± the middle-aged man in the black suit, standing behind him, replied in an over-polite tone. ¡°We¡¯ll be ready to transport you in another ten minutes. In the meantime, you might like to glance at the briefing notes one last time. To make sure everything goes smoothly.¡± ¡°Yes, of course¡±. Tony picked up the tablet and scrolled. The face of a dark-eyed, elegant 19-year-old Italian girl, with high cheekbones, and long dark brown hair, appeared on the screen, smiling enigmatically back at him. Tony¡¯s eyes fixed on the jewelled intricate silver brooch pinned to the lapel of the fine black cotton shirt that she wore and hung there for a moment. Subconsciously, his left arm dropped to hang by the pocket of his tunic. ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t she?¡± the man observed. ¡°This photo was from before the war, of course. Before the Gestapo took their time with her. Expect someone a bit¡­ less glamorous when you meet her.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Tony frowned. He didn¡¯t need the reminder. Rosina Barrichello, communist partisan, executed by a German firing squad in 1941. ¡°Yes, she is very beautiful,¡± Tony agreed. ¡°She¡¯s the perfect candidate. Young, passionate, tragically romantic.¡± The man walked over to a desk and checked the computer. ¡°Our Assistant, who you saw leave twenty minutes ago, would have arrived a week before you and prepared the ground for your arrival. You¡¯re a recent transfer from another regiment ¨C rest and recuperation deployment. You¡¯ll only be there for the day of the event, of course. He will monitor you constantly and initiate any appropriate safety procedures if required.¡± The man raised his head from the screen and took on a more serious expression. ¡°This may require your being brought back early, you do understand?¡±. Tony nodded. ¡°Good. This disruption allows only one insertion. We can drop you, and only you, into this event one time.¡± Tony¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Once will be enough.¡± In the far corner of the room the light above the door changed from red to green, accompanied by a short bell. Both men glanced towards the door. ¡°Well, this is it Sir. Good luck¡±. Tony stepped through the door without another word. Part Two The tiled wall felt cool under Tony¡¯s palm as he steadied himself. Slight nausea, they¡¯d said. Slight? His head swam as if he¡¯d drunk too much the night before. What he¡¯d give for a paracetamol right now, but that wasn¡¯t permitted by the Agency. Just himself, a translation implant, and the clothes he was wearing. That was all he could bring with him. His hand went straight to his pocket, frantically feeling for the single item he¡¯d smuggled past the Assistant. Relief swept over him as he wrapped his hand tightly around the metal edges of the illicit object. Good. It was still there. The nausea ebbed, and he surveyed the room. A toilet. Of course. The perfect entry-point. Guaranteed privacy: provided it wasn¡¯t occupied, of course. The Assistant would have made sure of this detail. Tony stepped out into a dimly lit corridor and found the Assistant standing there waiting. A tall, blonde-haired man in his late twenties with a dispassionate expression. ¡°Here, have some water,¡± he spoke in a monotone voice, handing Tony a metal canteen. ¡°You¡¯re expected in the Guardroom shortly. It¡¯s down this corridor. Follow me and remember to keep any conversation brief and to the point.¡± Tony took the time to run over his cover story whilst the pair walked briskly along the corridor. Fuchs, the weary soldier from another regiment, new to this posting. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. As they approached, he could hear the noise emanating from inside becoming louder. The clattering of mugs, laughing and joking. The joviality sickened him. Beside him the Assistant seem to sense his apprehension. ¡°Stay focused¡±, he said, opening the door, with a voice devoid of judgement or empathy. There were about twenty of them spread around the room. Standing, sitting; smoking and drinking. A mixture of ages from young men in their late teens, barely out of school, right through to late middle-aged veterans. The air, acrid with the smell of tobacco, sweat, and beer only seemed to heighten the sickness in Tony¡¯s stomach. A lieutenant approached. ¡°Fuchs? Yes?¡± Tony nodded and presented the papers the Agency had provided. ¡°Good. I have a job for you. I¡¯ve been told you¡¯re good with the ladies, eh?¡± He smirked, and behind him, the other soldiers chuckled. Tony forced a thin smile. The Assistant would have primed the officer over the course of the previous week, planting subtle suggestions here and there, just to create this result. ¡°Good. Grab yourself a beer. We¡¯ve got an hour before the big show¡±, the officer added, laughing. Tony obeyed, gulping down the drink to mask the nausea that still lingered. Soon, his ¡®big moment¡¯ would arrive. Part Three ¡°She¡¯s in there. She¡¯s all yours¡± the soldier at the door nonchalantly stated as he turned a large key in the lock. Tony stepped through, entering the cell. It must have been a repurposed store cupboard Tony thought. Small, bare, and with the only light coming from a high-up window, no larger than a biscuit-tin. In the far corner a bruised and trembling girl huddled, the ripped brown dress barely clinging to her thin frame. Her hair, once glossy, was now a matted tangle. For the briefest moment Tony faltered. Instead of the steadfast partisan he¡¯d imagined, before him lay a fragile, battered girl ¨C a delicate figure etched with bruises. The cold reality struck him like a blow, and despair entered his mind. Yet as he met her tearful gaze, he saw not fear but the shadow of an inner strength that no torture could erase. He knew he would never begin to comprehend the lengths the local Gestapo would have gone to in their attempt to extract information from her. By all the historical accounts, they had failed. They gained not one single piece of accurate intelligence. In the end, she had beaten them. Glancing behind he could see the guard lingering in the doorway, looking hurried. Damn, he cursed, why couldn¡¯t he just move back to his desk and give Tony the moment of privacy he required? ¡°Well? What are you waiting for?¡± bellowed the guard, impatiently. ¡°Everyone¡¯s standing around outside, waiting for her.¡± Tony, with his mouth dry, forced himself to swallow. Composing himself, ¡°Rosina Barrichello,¡± he spoke softly, but her red-rimmed eyes darted away in terror. Tony bent down and gently took her arm. ¡°It¡¯s time to go.¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. She flinched but allowed herself to be led down the corridor towards the light of the open doorway ahead, leading to the town square. Outside, through a clear blue sky, the crisp morning light shone over a grim scene: a simple wooden chair standing alone against a stone wall, a line of rifles gleaming in the hands of the soldiers lined up, and a silent crowd of townspeople gathered under duress. Tony surveyed the square, marking the positions of the soldiers, and picking out the Assistant on a nearby balcony, watching intently from behind. This would be his last opportunity. As he held the trembling Rosina by her right arm he surreptitiously reached into his pocket with his left hand and brought out the object he smuggled into this time. He turned slightly to face her and began to whisper. He could feel the muscles in her arm stiffen as he spoke. As they crossed the square, Rosina¡¯s posture began to shift. She straightened, the trembling subsided, and a faint, defiant smile played on her lips. Tony¡¯s grip on her arm tightened briefly ¨C a silent message of assurance. Rosina took her seat. She declined the blindfold and fixed her gaze on the line of soldiers standing in front. Her voice, though soft, carried strength. ¡°Thank you.¡± Her final words, meant only for Tony, were almost a whisper. As he stepped away, she squeezed together her bound hands behind the chair. The townsfolk bowed their heads and prayed. The roar of a rifle volley broke the stillness of the morning, and the shots hit their target. Rosina Barrichello slumped forward; her defiance immortalised in death. Part Four Tony stepped back into the Agency office to find the middle-aged man standing, waiting, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. ¡°Here, drink this¡±, he said, ¡°it helps¡±. ¡°Thanks¡± ¡°You can step back into the other room if you¡¯d like to change out of that uniform and into your usual attire¡±. Five minutes later Tony, dressed now in a smart business suit, emerged and sat in the chair in front of the desk. ¡°Well, how was it sir? Intense? Rewarding?¡± Tony gulped at a newly refilled glass. ¡°Fulfilling¡±. Behind them the light on the door changed from Red to Blue and the Assistant entered. ¡°All here sir. Everything went like clockwork¡± he spoke as he handed over a recorder to the middle-aged man and left the room. Checking the images on the recorder, the man smiled, then took out the memory stick. ¡°There remains, of course, the final payment of our fee.¡± ¡°Yes, of course¡± replied Tony as he reached in his pocket and brought out his phone. ¡°The balance is Twenty-Five Million I believe. After the deposit?¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s correct. I must admit though, I was somewhat surprised at the price this item reached. Young women always attract more interest, but the bidding for this particular subject proved quite intense.¡± Tony made the transfer and waited for the confirmation to appear. ¡°All complete, thank you sir¡±. ¡°And the images?¡±, Tony asked. ¡°Right here sir.¡± Tony took the small crystal cube in his hand. ¡°This is the only copy?¡± ¡°Yes. At the present time. I would recommend you make your own backup of course. The privacy of our clients is our utmost priority. It doesn¡¯t look too good for public relations, of course, with our clients all prominent people and in the public eye.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Good.¡± Tony said with a hint of satisfaction. He stood up, dropped the cube on the floor, and brought his foot down heavily, smashing it into countless fragments. The act felt like a huge release ¨C and condemnation. The man behind the desk gasped. ¡°Now that our business is concluded I can tell you exactly what I really think. You¡¯re a morally repugnant excuse for a human-being, running a grotesque and abhorrent business.¡± The middle-aged man frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. You appeared most eager to purchase this item, and the amount you paid?¡± ¡°I would have paid twice as much to prevent any of your other clients indulging in this girl¡¯s fate. My Great Grandmother¡¯s maiden name was Barrichello. Rosina was family.¡± The man shrank back in his chair as Tony leaned over the desk and looked him straight in the eye. ¡°As I led that girl over to the wall, I told her that the son she¡¯d given birth to two years previously was safe, protected by people who would love and care for him, and would grow up in a free Italy. I told her who I was and where - or rather when - I¡¯d come from. I showed her this,¡± taking the jewelled silver broach out of his pocket and holding it up to the man¡¯s face. ¡°I told her that her courage lives on in her descendants and that my family will honour her forever.¡± With that, Tony rose and left the room. His parting words, ¡°Bella Ciao¡±, whispered, hung in the air, before the door slammed behind him.