Free Shout in the Dark by Christopher Wright

was the third advertizing sign he'd seen.
Although not a great fan of their food, Karl knew that hamburgers
would be easy to order just by pointing at the menu, and they
probably tasted better than some of the unpalatable garbage being
served in Rome's noisy bars.
    Turning the corner again, following the
McDonald's arrow, he glanced back. The three men were still
standing, laughing together as they wiped their hands on an oily
rag being passed around.
    He felt puzzled by his own behavior.
Attacking that security guard in the elevator had been stupid. He'd
over-reacted, and over-reaction was something he'd been trained to
avoid. Now he was worrying about three dozy Italians with a broken
moped. He clenched his fists and tightened his arm
muscles.
    Suddenly he became aware he was on the Via
Sistina, one of Herr Kessel's famous roads where Nazi troops had
been stationed. All round here was real history. Herr Kessel had
pointed out roads like the Via Sistina and the Via Tasso on the
map. Never mind the shoddy Roman ruins, this could be what
sightseeing was all about.
    The men working on the bike had given him an
idea. With transport of his own he could get from place to place,
discovering where the German troops had been quartered, seeing for
himself where the Nazis had been the imperial power in the heart of
Rome. Possibly too much was made of past leaders. The future
leaders would be stronger. After all, the Third Reich had not
exactly been a major success.
    The moped by the jeweler's would be
useless, still leaking oil. But there must be others around, in
perfect working order, just waiting to be requisitioned.
    According to Herr Kessel, local Communists
and radical left wingers had used bicycles down this very street to
intimidate crack Nazi forces with home-made bombs. Feeble attempts
to harass highly trained and organized troops. Bombs flung
carelessly, doubtless missing their targets more often than not,
and occasionally even landing back in the surprised cyclist's
basket! Karl looked around, allowing himself a laugh at the idea of
such incompetence.
    His Göring dagger was tucked in his belt
and hidden under his shirt. It would be fun finding Sartini and
eliminating him. Disposing of the enemy would make the trip to this
decaying city worth the trouble. It would also help redress the
balance for screwing up the attack at the television studios last
night, and destroying Herr Kessel's stupid relic. The priest had
annoyed him, the way he'd stood there watching.
    The plan was good -- and it would be
poetic justice. The Italians had used bicycles to taunt the Nazis.
Well, they probably did more than taunt them, because Herr Kessel
said bicycles were quickly banned in Rome. Anyway, whatever they
did, this time it would be a German on the bike, and he'd be
assassinating an Italian -- an Italian priest.
    To test the idea he needed a moped with
the key still in it. A busy shopping area was the most likely place
to look. At the bottom of a long flight of crowded steps, below an
old church, the McDonald's restaurant came in sight at last, with
tourists flocking in and out.
     
    CARLO CARINI WAS just eighteen and considered himself better than
moderately handsome. His girlfriend, his moped and his good looks
were a source of pride -- though perhaps not in that order. In
spite of being nearly twenty years old and having pedal assistance,
the moped still looked almost new: a Piaggio Ciao, smart and black.
He'd been saving for six months to get it, his first ever bike. It
might be the basic model, long discontinued and second-hand, but it
satisfied his one passion -- a passion for motion.
    Marisa complained that he thought more of
the bike than he did of her, but Carlo knew it was just the sort of
thing Marisa would say. Now he had a way to impress her, and show off his prowess with the
Ciao.
    Marisa said she felt hungry. He bet her he
could be on his bike, down the Via Barberini to the Piazza di
Spagna, buy two hamburgers at