January 20, 1944 – 3:00 PM87Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiYyzd7CfqA
Rosa Lombardi had a secret.
She'd had it for twenty-three years, ever since she'd married Sal and moved from her father's house to the little row house on Philip Street. She'd kept it locked away, hidden, buried under the ordinary life of a South Philadelphia housewife. She'd never told anyone—not her husband, not her daughter, not her closest friends.
But now, as she sat across from Sal at the kitchen table, she knew the time had come to unlock it.
"My father," she said, "wasn't just a general."
Sal looked up from his coffee. "He was a general in the Italian army. You told me."
"That's what I told you. It's not the whole truth." Rosa took a deep breath. "He was a general in the Italian army. But he was also something else. He worked with people. Important people. Americans. Before the war, when Mussolini was making noise but hadn't yet done anything stupid, my father was part of a network. Italians who loved their country but hated what it was becoming. They passed information to the Americans. Warnings. Intelligence. Names."
Sal stared at her. "Your father was a spy?"
"A informant. A patriot. He believed that Italy could be saved from itself, if only the right people knew what was coming." Rosa's voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly. "When things got bad, when Mussolini started rounding up dissidents, the Americans got him out. Brought him here. Gave him a new life. In exchange for his silence."
"And you?"
"I was a child. I came with him. I grew up knowing that we were different—that we owed debts we could never repay." She met Sal's eyes. "I also grew up knowing people. People in Washington. People who owe my father favors. People who might be able to help us now."
Sal was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached across the table and took her hands.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because it wasn't my secret to tell. It was my father's. And after he died, it felt like... like a part of him I could keep safe. A part that belonged only to me." She squeezed his hands. "But those boys in that camp—they need help. And I can't keep secrets anymore."
Sal nodded slowly. "So what do we do?"
Rosa stood, walked to the hall closet, and reached up to the top shelf. Behind a stack of old blankets, hidden in a shoebox, was something she hadn't touched in years. A leather address book, worn and faded, filled with names and numbers written in her father's careful hand.
"There's a man," she said, opening it. "He was my father's contact. The one who got us out. He's old now, retired, living in Maryland. But he still answers letters. He still remembers."
She found the page and turned the book to show Sal.
The name read: General Harrison Pierce, US Army (Retired).
The drive to Maryland took four hours.
Sal borrowed Kowalski's truck—the same beat-up vehicle that had carried him through so many late-night emergencies—and they set out before dawn. Rosa sat in the passenger seat, the address book in her lap, her face set in determination. Maria had been sent to stay with Rosa's sister Concetta, with strict instructions to be good and not ask too many questions.
"Will she be okay?" Sal asked.
"Concetta will spoil her rotten and feed her enough pastries to fuel a small army. She'll be fine." Rosa paused. "It's us I'm worried about."
General Pierce lived on a farm outside a town called Emmitsburg, in a house that had been in his family for four generations. It was a big white farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a barn out back and fields that stretched to the horizon. A man in his eighties sat on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching the road as if he'd been expecting them.
He stood when the truck pulled up—slowly, painfully, leaning on a cane—and walked to meet them.
"Rosa Lombardi." His voice was rough with age, but his eyes were sharp. "You look just like your mother."
Rosa stepped out of the truck and embraced him. "General. Thank you for seeing us."
"Call me Harry. I haven't been a general in twenty years." He looked at Sal. "You must be the plumber."
"That's me."
"Good. Come inside. It's cold, and my bones don't work like they used to."
The inside of the farmhouse was warm and cluttered, filled with the accumulated debris of a long life—photographs on every surface, books on every shelf, military memorabilia hanging on every wall. General Pierce settled into an armchair near the fire and gestured for them to sit.
"Now," he said. "Tell me what's happened."
Rosa told him. Everything. From the beginning—the Eldridge, the experiment, the men fused with steel. Sal's role in bringing them back. The connection. The suicides. Reynolds and his promises. The camp in Virginia.
General Pierce listened in silence, his face unreadable. When Rosa finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
"Project Rainbow," he said finally. "I heard rumors during the war. Something about Einstein and a destroyer and a experiment gone wrong. I didn't believe it. I thought it was just gossip."
"It wasn't gossip."
"No. I see that now." He leaned forward, his old eyes sharp. "The man you described—Reynolds. He's not Navy. He's not even government, not really. He's part of something else. Something that operates in the shadows, between the cracks. They call themselves the Office of Special Projects. They handle things that don't fit anywhere else."
"Like thirty men who got stuck in a ship."
"Exactly." Pierce nodded. "And once they get their hands on something, they don't let go. Those boys aren't in a prison, Mr. Lombardi. They're in a research facility. Reynolds and his people are studying them. Trying to understand the connection. Trying to figure out how to use it."
Sal's blood went cold. "Use it?"
"The human mind is a weapon, if you know how to point it. Thirty men who can share thoughts, feel each other's emotions, perhaps even communicate across distances—imagine what that could do for the military. Instant communication, no radios, no codes, nothing to intercept. It would change everything."
"They're not weapons. They're just kids."
"To Reynolds, everyone's a weapon. Everyone's a tool." Pierce shook his head. "I've seen men like him before. They don't care about people. They care about results."
Rosa leaned forward. "Can you help us?"
Pierce was quiet for a moment. Then he reached for the telephone on the table beside him.
"I can make some calls. Call in some favors. There are still people in Washington who remember me, who owe me debts." He paused, his hand on the receiver. "But I need to warn you—once you start down this road, there's no going back. Reynolds won't forgive interference. He'll come after you. After your family. Are you prepared for that?"
Sal looked at Rosa. Rosa looked at Sal.
"We're prepared," Sal said.
Pierce nodded and picked up the phone.
ns216.73.216.253da2
and then Add to home screen.