James Benn - Death

It was Zlatko. He wore an open coat, his purple bishop’s sash bright against his black cassock. He was yelling to Koch, his hand thrust accusingly in our direction. I could only make out one word, but it was enough.

“Americano!”

Becher raised his pistol, and my hand went to my Walther, but Dieter peeled out into the road, speeding around the lumbering truck, sending a motorcycle skidding onto the sidewalk. Pistol shots echoed in the street, and I saw Koch and Becher diving for cover as Carl and Bernard fired in their direction before disappearing down a narrow street.

“It appears Bishop Zlatko has found a new sponsor,” Remke said.

“We should have shot him and Koch,” I said.

“That would not have been wise,” Remke said, watching me from the front seat. “Killing Koch would result in the Gestapo and the Fascist police turning the city upside down. It would make things difficult for both of us.”

“Yes,” I said, holding onto Rossi. “Although I don’t think you are a man who goes through life choosing the wisest course.”

“Oh, I am,” Remke said, with a sharp laugh. “But perhaps wisdom has come too late for me.”

“I sure could have used some,” I said. “I had a deal with Zlatko, but it looks like he double-crossed me.”

“He must have followed you,” Remke said. “Or at least he saw you leave the Vatican and came to inform Koch.”

“That means trouble for you,” I said.

“It will be more than trouble for you, Billy, if we are stopped before we reach the Vatican border. As for Koch and his gang, they are often embroiled in conflicts with the Wehrmacht and even the regular Italian police,” Remke said, as Dieter drove calmly through the military traffic, his eyes checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. “Bernard and Carl fired high, simply to force them to cover so we could get away. If a complaint is made, it will be deemed a matter of mistaken identity. But Koch is not one for official channels. An ambush is more his style, so we must take care.”

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

“Yes,” Remke agreed. “We will meet at the Trinita 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.

“One 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?”