James Benn - Death

“It is Colonel Remke now, Lieutenant,” Remke said as he sat down. “And you are still a lieutenant? Does the American Army not recognize officers with initiative?”

“What’s going on here?” I asked. Still standing. It was about the only thing I had control over.

“Go ahead, Billy, sit down,” Diana said. She tried for a smile, and it almost worked. So I sat, and our eyes locked on to each other’s.

“There, now we can talk, the three of us,” Remke said. He spoke excellent English, with more of an Oxford accent than a German one. He was tall, with a chiseled face, all angles and soldierly intent. He wore his uniform well, the green-gray fabric well tailored. On one sleeve was a cuff with Brandenburg in Gothic script. I knew that was a special commando outfit attached to the Abwehr, the German intelligence service. Remke noticed my glance. “Yes, as you can see, Miss Seaton and I are engaged in the same work. Intelligence, or what passes for it.”

“What do you want?” I asked. I’d been thinking of doing what we’d been told to do if captured, which was to give name, rank, and serial number, then clam up. But this was all too elaborate, too complex. We were way beyond the protocols of the Geneva Convention.

“Are you not glad to see Miss Seaton well?” Remke demanded. “You must know the reputation of this place. This is a pleasant surprise, is it not?”

“Diana, did you tell him your name?”

Remke leaned back and nodded to Diana, giving her the floor. They were a bit too much at ease with each other. Something was up, something that I needed to figure out, fast.

“No, Billy. He knew it. And, I know this sounds odd, but it’s so good to see you,” she said, her lip quivering. I reached out with one hand to take hers, but Remke held me back.

“I am sorry, Lieutenant Boyle. For now, we have important matters to discuss. Later, you and Miss Seaton may embrace. But not yet.”

“You’re Rudder,” I said. It was chancy, but if I were right, it might throw him off. It did.

“Very good,” Remke said, surprise flashing across his face. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You’re here, for starters. You know Diana’s name. A few clues from the Vatican. Too many people claiming to be Rudder, or being in contact with him.”

“Yes, I am Rudder. We captured an American OSS team four months ago, radio and all. We had been watching them for some time, and monitoring their transmissions. Once we took them, we kept transmitting and recruited new agents.”

“So the people in the Vatican thought they were helping the Allies? Brackett, Corrigan, Bruzzone?”

“The first two, yes. Monsignor Bruzzone was not recruited. He has kept a low profile since Genoa, where I hear he was almost trapped by the Gestapo.” Score one for Bruzzone; he hadn’t lied to me about Rudder.

“Even Bishop Zlatko?”

“No, not the good bishop. He is working with us, trying to curry favor with the high command. He reported on activities within the Vatican while he tried to ferret out information about Tito and his Partisans, but he is of little use to me. He has peddled the same information to the Gestapo, who have him on their payroll. That has become inconvenient for him, of course. The last I heard, he was trying to convince an American diplomat that he was a double agent, and on the side of the Allies. I think he is planning for the future.”

“I doubt the Allies will take him seriously.”

“Or the Wehrmacht. The violence of the Ustashi left even the SS stunned, which is a remarkable achievement.” His eyes avoided mine, and I wondered at the atrocities he’d seen to make that judgment.

“I’m sure that kept you up nights. Now what is this all about? You could have picked us up on the way here. Why bring me all the way to Diana’s cell?” As I spoke, I remembered the situation in Algiers, when Remke found Colonel Harding and me in that Vichy jail cell. He let us live for his own purposes, to help free one of his agents also being held by the Vichy police.

“Because I have a task for you, Lieutenant Boyle. One that is especially suited to the nephew of General Eisenhower.”

“How did you know…?” I’d never let that slip, and I didn’t believe Diana would have told him. I also knew the OSS hadn’t included that tidbit in any of their transmissions.

“After our encounter in Sicily, I began to build a file on you, Lieutenant William Boyle, late of the Boston Police Department. A distant but trusted relative and confidant of General Eisenhower.”

“Very distant, and as you point out, still a lowly lieutenant, so don’t count on me being worth much in a trade.” I figured Remke wanted to swap me for one of his agents, and if Diana wasn’t enough of a bargaining chip, maybe he thought I was.

“No, Lieutenant Boyle. I do not want to exchange you. I want you to help me end the war.”

That was the last thing I’d expected to hear. Looking at Diana, I could tell she wasn’t surprised. Remke had filled her in, and from the way she held herself, I knew she believed it. There was no fear, no hesitation in her eyes, more of an eagerness to draw me in. I wanted to trust her instincts, but this was happening too quickly.

“Perhaps you should have thought of that sooner,” I said. It’s always easier to fall back on a wisecrack when you don’t know what else to do.

“We did,” Remke said, leaning back in his chair. “Allow me a brief history lesson. In 1939, Admiral Canaris of the Abwehr began to recruit intelligence agents with links to the Vatican. Canaris sent Josef Mueller to Rome to meet with the Pope. The message was that an anti-Nazi circle existed and that plans for the assassination of Hitler and a coup d’etat were in place.”

“You’re telling me that the top ranks of the German Intelligence service are all anti-Nazi? That’s hard to believe.”

“I am telling you nothing that is not known to the highest ranks of your own intelligence services. Now, in late 1939, Mueller met with the Pope’s private secretary, Father Leiber. He laid out the plans for him and asked that the Pope contact the British and help determine if they would support the coup and not attack Germany while the anti-Nazi forces were struggling for control.”

“The SS probably wouldn’t give up easily,” I said. “Even with Hitler dead.”

“Exactly. We needed to be assured that England would not strike in the midst of a German civil war. That would only turn the nation against us.”

“So what did the Pope do?”

“He agreed to help. He met with the British ambassador, Sir D’Arcy Osborne.”

“I know him,” I said, trying to take in the enormity of what I was hearing.

“Yes, I know,” Remke said. “You dined with him the day you arrived.”

“How do you know that?”

“Through an Italian boy who works in his kitchen. Sir D’Arcy is well aware he is an informant. The trick in Rome is to know who is informing on whom, and to tailor your comments accordingly. In any case, Pius told D’Arcy of the plot, and the ambassador forwarded the information to the British Foreign Office. Cables were exchanged, and for a while it seemed as if the English took us seriously.”

“But they didn’t?”

“Not in the end. In February 1940, they were given the plans for the invasion of France and the Low Countries. They reacted by demanding a list of all the conspirators, their ranks, roles in the new government, and so on.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying that the British had the plans for your invasion of France in 1940?”

“Yes. They were passed through the Pope’s offices to Sir D’Arcy, and then on to the Foreign Office. They are probably buried deep in a locked room somewhere in London, if they have not been destroyed. Quite embarrassing, if the truth came out. Admiral Canaris also informed the Dutch directly about the invasion plans, but they thought it a trick and ignored him.”