Death's Door (34 page)

“We should change the meeting spot,” Dieter said. “In case Zlatko did observe it today.”

“Yes,” Remke agreed. “We will meet at the Trinità dei Monti, the church at the head of the Spanish Steps. Do you know the Piazza di Spagna?”

“I saw it on a map. I’ll be there.”

“What was your arrangement with Zlatko?” Remke asked as Dieter barreled down one narrow, twisting street after another, staying away from the main thoroughfares.

“Information in exchange for doing my best to keep him in Rome. I don’t think he’s a big fan of the Russians, and he has a lot to answer for in Croatia.”

“As do we all,” Remke said, turning away and staring straight ahead.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“O
NE MORE THING
, Colonel Remke,” I said as the staff car drove along the south side of the Bernini colonnades, making for the entrance nearest the German College. “I need to know—”

“Halten Sie das Auto hier auf,”
Remke said to his driver, pointing to the end of the colonnade. “You, my American friend, are in no position to ask for further favors. I have done this because I said I would, as a gesture of good faith. But nothing else until you make good on your part of the bargain.”

“I will,” I said, with more fervor than I felt. “And when I do, if you happen to know the name of anyone in the Vatican who was an informer for the Gestapo in Genoa, I wouldn’t mind hearing the name.”

“Genoa?” Remke said. “Why Genoa?”

I knew I had him hooked. I never met an intelligence officer who could resist asking questions. “Because something very bad happened to Severino Rossi there,” I said. “Something that caused him to make the journey to Rome without identity papers, and left him on the steps of the basilica with Monsignor Corrigan murdered at his feet.”

“Genoa, you say? There is a lot of refugee traffic there. Coming from France or Yugoslavia, or trying for Switzerland. We may be able to find something, but you will only learn of it when you have fully completed your task. Now, leave the belt and the pistol on
the seat and take Monsieur Rossi with you, if he is still alive. Hurry.”

“I would appreciate the return of my uniform,” Dieter said as we carried the unconscious body of Severino Rossi over the line. Remke had intercepted the curious German guards and turned them away. Two Swiss Guard in their gray uniforms advanced with rifles at the ready, suspicious of a bloodied body being manhandled by Germans. “When it is convenient, of course.”

“Sure,” I said, feeling his boots pinch my toes. I looked around for a familiar face, and quickly spotted Kaz and Nini peering out at us from the shadows of the colonnade. I saw Kaz’s eyes widen as first he recognized me, and then saw the wreck of a man Dieter and I were holding up. He and Nini ran to us, speaking to the guards as they passed them. Officially, refugees were to be turned away. But, like most of the Swiss Guard, these two were sympathetic to Monsignor O’Flaherty, and stepped back, keeping a wary eye on Remke as he leaned against the hood of the car, one long step from the white border.

“Is this Rossi?” Kaz asked, taking one arm and hoisting it over his shoulder. He took in my clothes on Dieter and the uniform I wore, and gave Dieter a curt nod.

“Yeah,” I said. “We had to get him back from Banda Koch.”

“We?” Kaz asked as Nini felt Rossi for a pulse.

“It is a long story, Baron,” Remke said, raising his voice from the other side of the line. “Your friend is not without nerve. I trust tomorrow will not require it in a similar quantity.”

“Noon,” I said. “All three of them, and the names, Colonel.”

“In my army, lieutenants do not give orders to colonels,” Remke said.

“Yet you take them from an Austrian corporal,” Kaz said. After what the Germans had done to his family following the invasion of Poland, he had little love for any German, even one with a gun pointed at Hitler’s head.

“Yes, Baron. But perhaps not for long. Any demands from the lieutenant will only be considered once his obligation is met,” Remke
said, his eyes hard and narrow. “Nerve will count for little if I am disappointed in this. Until tomorrow then.” He bowed in Nini’s direction and ignored me, which was good, since I was sure I wasn’t hiding my worry well.

“We must take him to Santa Marta,” Nini said. “The nuns have a small clinic there. He needs help, his pulse is very weak.”

“Okay, but not the clinic, it’s too public. We need a safe place to hide him,” I said.

“Hiding people is what we do,” Nini said. “I will ask Hugh—”

“No,” I said, as we clumsily carried Rossi through the Gate of the Bells. “Not even Monsignor O’Flaherty should know where he is. Where can we bring him?”

“My God, do you not trust even him?” Nini asked.

“It is to protect this poor soul,” Kaz said soothingly. “The fewer people who know where he is, the safer he’ll be.”

“All right then. We will take him around to the side entrance and he can have my room. The sisters know how to keep a secret.”

We skirted the German College and kept to the shadows as we crossed a small piazza to the Santa Marta. Nini produced a key ring and unlocked a side door. Rossi began to moan as we carried him up the narrow stairway as gently as we could.

“Who could do such a thing?” Nini said once we’d gotten Rossi laid out on her bed. She had a small sitting room and a separate bedroom. Spartan, but luxurious by Vatican standards. She began to clean the dried blood from Rossi’s face with a wet cloth, and instructed Kaz to fetch Sister Cecilia and her medical kit.

“Don’t worry, Billy,” Nini said after Kaz left. “Sister Cecilia is a trained nurse and quite discreet. I only hope this boy can be healed. He is the one they say killed Monsignor Corrigan, isn’t he?”

“That’s what Soletto said, but I wouldn’t put much faith in that.”

“Because he was murdered also?”

“Yes. I think Soletto was paid off by the killer to cover things up, and then got too greedy.”

“How much would you have to pay a policeman to cover up a murder?” Nini asked.

“Apparently more than Soletto did,” I said.

Rossi winced as Nini dabbed around his swollen eyes, which was a good sign. You had to be alive and conscious to feel pain.

“I’m pretty sure there were diamonds involved, but I don’t know in what quantity. Good quality, though.” Kaz and I had kept things quiet about the diamond we’d found in Corrigan’s room so far, but it seemed safe to tell Nini.

“That’s odd,” Nini said, pressing a damp cloth to Rossi’s lips.

“Why?”

“What you said about good quality. About a month ago, an envelope was left for the Mother Superior. In it were three diamonds.”

“Of excellent quality?” This was quite a surprise; perhaps Kaz and I should have told Nini about the diamond sooner. It would have helped to know this.

“Yes, and that was what was remarkable. As you know, diamonds are useful currency for refugees. We’ve seen some, but usually small and flawed. A jeweler told me these were excellent specimens.”

“You have no idea where they came from?”

“None at all. We were simply glad to be able to buy food with what we got for them. Quite a lot of food, and some bribes as well.”

“It’s sort of an open secret that Santa Marta houses hidden Jews and refugees, isn’t it?”

“That’s a good way to put it,” Nini said. “I always thought the diamonds came from a man who had money and identity papers, but was perhaps Jewish himself, and wanted to help without revealing who he was.”

“The diamonds were his,” I said, pointing at Rossi.

“Oh no,” Nini said. “Is that what this is all about? Simple greed?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t. People killed for greed all the time. But if the motive had been greed here, why give away a small fortune in diamonds? A greedy man wouldn’t part with beautiful gems to help refugees. No, not a greedy man, or at least not a man greedy for lucre.

Sister Cecilia swept into the room, steel-blue habit swirling,
medical kit in hand. She took charge, sending Nini for more water and shooing Kaz and me out of the room.

“You seem to have changed tailors,” Kaz said as he poured us both a glass of wine from a side table in Nini’s parlor.

I sat in an easy chair facing a wide window with a magnificent view of the dome of Saint Peter’s. It was odd how this place revolved around the basilica—physically, spiritually, and aesthetically. Even so, its aura of majesty and serenity did little to alter the human drama all around it. Was it mocking us, with our conflicts and struggles? Would it be here in another thousand years, when this war was forgotten? I didn’t know. All I knew was that my feet hurt.

“It belongs to Dieter. One of Remke’s men,” I said, pulling off the boots with some effort. “He has small feet.”

“I assume he didn’t simply take a fancy to your priestly attire,” Kaz said, sitting on the couch opposite.

“No.” I took a healthy slug of vino and unbuttoned the collar of my—Dieter’s—tunic. “Remke found out that Pietro Koch and his gang had taken Severino Rossi from Regina Coeli, for no other reason than to torture him.”

“Nini has told me stories,” Kaz said. “Koch was forced to move to his current location from his previous hotel after the neighbors complained about the cacophony of screams day and night.”

“Yeah. They had an opera going full blast on the phonograph to cover the sounds of torture. Anyway, Remke agreed to take Rossi from them, since he’d told me he would get him if he were still alive.”

“Interesting,” Kaz said. “A man of his word, it seems.”

“That might work against us, if he doesn’t like the letter we give him. We might not get Diana and the others back.”

“Perhaps,” Kaz said. “But why the uniform?”

“I’d seen a photograph of Rossi, so I was the only one who could recognize him. We had no idea what we’d walk into, so it seemed best that I go along.”

“They gave Rossi up?”

“Yeah, Remke fed them a line about needing him for questioning, and there being a mix-up at the prison. Typical bureaucracy
and they bought it. But that’s not the big news. I know where Zlatko disappeared to.”

“Tell me where, and I’ll tell you why,” Kaz said, raising a wine glass to his lips.

“Okay. He showed up at the Pensione Jaccarino, just as we were driving away. It wasn’t a coincidence, either. He pointed me out as an American to Koch, and there were a few wild shots fired to cover our escape. Now, why was he there?”

“Because Cardinal Boetto from Genoa arrived with a report on Bishop Zlatko’s activities in Croatia. A number of witnesses place him at a concentration camp run by a Franciscan monk. Also, his superior, Archbishop Ivan šarić, has taken a number of Jewish properties for church and personal use, including one estate he signed over to Zlatko. Boetto wants Zlatko stripped of his bishopric, which would be an embarrassment for many in the Vatican who overlooked the clergy’s support of the Ustashi in Croatia.”

“It sounds like everyone was lining up against Zlatko,” I said.

“Yes. Since he is here, he is a convenient lightning rod for righteous indignation. The news got to Zlatko and he was seen crossing the border by one of the Swiss Guard.”

“Remke said that German intelligence hasn’t valued what Zlatko has been feeding them, but that Koch might take him on. It could be the only place Zlatko has left to go, if he doesn’t want to face the music here or back in Croatia when the Soviets roll in.”

“I pity the man if Banda Koch is his last resort. But he’s proved his worth to them already, by alerting them to your presence today. Leaving the Vatican tomorrow may be too dangerous, Billy.”

“We’ve changed the meeting spot to the church at the top of the Spanish Steps. I’ll dress in civilian clothes. There’s no sense in going out as a priest again.”

“Or a German,” Kaz said.

“Hard to believe we’ve thrown in with a German intelligence officer, against an Italian Fascist and a Croatian bishop.”

“The Vatican is not quite what I thought it would be,” Kaz said. “I am not a religious man, and what happened to my cousin colored
my view of the church hierarchy. But there is much good here, as well as evil. In Poland, the priests were executed by the Nazis, along with all the others they butchered. In Croatia, it is the priests who lead the butchery, and the church does little to stop it. Yet many here risk their lives to save others. It leaves one confused, doesn’t it?”

“Only if you expect revelation,” I said, gazing out at the basilica. “I find it easier to set my sights lower. Just because people wear fancy robes, they don’t necessarily act decently. It’s who they were before they put on the robes that matters.”

“I think the robes do matter, Billy. Once they are donned, this becomes a place of absolutes. No shades of gray, only the glittering dome of heaven or the descent into hell. From O’Flaherty to Zlatko, they all act in the name of God, don’t they? I don’t know why I am surprised; perhaps I had more faith than I thought.”

“And now you’re disappointed?”

“It does leave me wishing for simpler times.”

“To simpler times to come,” I said, raising my glass and draining the last of the wine, wondering when those times might be. Kaz finished his drink and we sat quietly, the rays of the setting sun gathering around the dome, bathing the basilica in pure light.

“Do you think Remke can succeed with the plot against Hitler?” Even here, in private, Kaz lowered his voice to a whisper.

“If it can be done, it would take a man like Remke to do it. He won’t be the one pulling the trigger, but he does seem the type to set things in motion.”

“Speaking of him, we should get the letter from Montini. After I find you some new clothes.”

I went to the window as Kaz left to find a new set of duds for me. The sky had turned a deep red, the dome now dark against the fading light. Rossi cried out from the next room. I hoped my prayers about tomorrow actually meant something, and that I wasn’t committing a sin for thinking they didn’t.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I
WAS DECKED
out in a nice blue suit, a little shiny on the knees and elbows, but it fit. I didn’t mind swapping the clerical collar for a dark-blue polka-dot tie either. Kaz ditched his cassock as well, since everyone within Vatican City seemed to know who we really were.