James Benn: Death

“Go!” Diana said, and leaned out the window, firing a shot at the German. I swear she hit the sign, which spun out of his hand as he dove out of the way of the speeding car. Soldiers were stopping traffic on the road that ran along the Tiber, allowing us to pass right through the intersection. Nice of them.

The road dipped as it met the bridge, and the car shuddered with the impact as it lurched forward at high speed. It swerved, and I fought to keep control as we sped toward the line of Germans. If we crashed we were dead, one way or the other. One officer drew his pistol and held up his hand. Diana fired two, three more times, and the soldiers dropped the barricade and threw themselves on the pavement, rolling to the side of the bridge. We flew through the opening, sending shattered wood flying as the car struck the ends of the frames. Barbed wire stuck to the front bumper and headlights, and one of the barricades trailed us, still hanging by a strand, spinning out of control, cartwheeling on the roadway and insuring no one tried to be a hero.

All that was left was one officer, standing at the far end of the bridge. No barricade, no backup, just one Kraut in his peaked cap, wearing the chain dog gorget. And holding a submachine gun.

“Get down!” I screamed, and pressed the accelerator hard, hoping that a few thousand pounds of metal at high speed might give him something to think about.

It didn’t. He raised the MP-40 and fired a burst at the windshield. It hit high, probably from the recoil, shredding the roof. I was closer now. Rino was swearing or praying, I couldn’t tell. Bullets stitched the hood, leaving jagged holes that spewed steam from the radiator. The German didn’t move; he kept firing, the spent shell casings arcing brightly in the sunlight. The last few yards seemed to take forever, as if I could count the casings as they flew from his weapon and bounced on the pavement. Abe cursed, Diana screamed, and I prayed the bumper could take it.

A heavy thud. His body slammed against the windshield, cracking the already pockmarked glass. His face, the dullness of death already upon it, was pressed against the glass for a second before his body slid off the hood, his arm trailing in a dead-handed farewell. Dumb bastard. He’d be alive if he had simply stepped aside and let us go.

Smoke poured from under the hood as the windshield finally gave in and fell like ice off the eaves right into our laps. I glanced at Diana, who looked wild-eyed but unhurt, her mouth still open in the scream I had heard before impact. There was a helluva racket behind us, part of the barbed-wire barricade still along for the ride. I took a quick turn, and the wire finally snapped, leaving the barricade blocking the street behind us.

“You ain’t a half-bad getaway man,” Abe said, twisting around in his seat to check our six. “Now let’s ditch the car before she lights up.”

“Good idea,” I said. We were a bit conspicuous. I pulled into a piazza behind the Palace of Justice, which seemed like the perfect spot to leave a shot-up sedan. Diana tossed the empty Beretta on the seat and we walked in the direction of the Castel Sant’Angelo, trying to look casual as we turned a corner, putting the smoldering car behind us. My heart was pounding and sweat dripped down my temples as a muted whump signaled the combination of leaking gasoline and creeping flames.

“Follow me,” Rino said. “I know the back ways.” He and Abe went ahead a few paces and disappeared into a palazzo. We followed through the large oak doors, pulling them shut behind us. Rino led us through the building and onto the next street. We’d walk a block, then duck into another building, wait until the coast was clear, and repeat the process.

“We are close,” Rino said as we huddled in a passageway. “This is the Via di Porta Angelica. See, the Gate of Sant’Anna, there.” He pointed down the street. “I am friends with many of the Swiss Guard, we will have no difficulty.”

“All we need is a distraction to get past the German sentries,” Diana said. German paratroopers, in their distinctive helmets and smocks, strolled along the white line, rifles slung idly over their shoulders.

“It looks quiet,” Abe said. “Maybe they ain’t sounded the alarm on this side of the river yet.”

We pulled back, out of sight of the street.

“Rino, do you have your identity papers?”

“ No, sono spiacente, they took everything. I know some of the Germans by sight; they are used to seeing me and may let me pass. But that would do you no good, my friends.”

We withdrew into the shadows, waiting for an edge to get us the last fifty yards to the safety of neutral ground.

“Billy,” Diana whispered as we leaned against the wall. “You did it. You got us out.” She clasped her hands over mine and drew them close. I leaned into her and we kissed. It was hungry, a kiss born of life and death and the precious seconds in between. We could have been in front of a firing squad or in bed alone; it wouldn’t have made one bit of difference. Our cheeks brushed and I felt warm tears as we leaned against a cold stone wall. I should have told her right then, but I couldn’t find the words to speak the truth. How could I tell her I’d been about to leave her behind? She buried her face against my shoulder, and we held onto each other, not quite believing we were together, afraid we might not make the last few yards.

“Was it hard to get Montini to write the letter?” she finally said.

I was happy to talk about that instead of my near abandonment. “Yes. It wasn’t everything Remke wanted, but I guess it was enough. Montini mentioned the Auschwitz Protocol specifically, but the reference to the coup was vague.”

“Well, you must have convinced Remke. He’d been apologetic to us, but said he intended to keep his word if you didn’t come through. He was going to take me to an Abwehr prison in Germany. I’ve had enough of jails. Enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

“Well, we’re not home free yet. If Koch figures we’re headed this way and moves fast, he could seal off the Vatican.”

Several vehicles passed by and we pressed ourselves more tightly against the wall. Rino stuck his nose around the corner and came back shaking his head. “Perhaps we should try walking into Saint Peter’s Square,” he said. “They may not be checking papers.”

“If they aren’t now, they could start any minute,” I said. “We don’t know if Koch was after Remke or me. Or you.”

“What’s so special about you anyways?” Abe asked.

“I’m the guy who’s going to finger the killer, and I think he knows it,” I said. “Other than that, I’m just your average Joe.”

“So this bastard drops a nickel on you? Gets Koch to do his dirty work?”

“Either that, or Koch had it in for Remke. Probably Koch was happy to pitch a doubleheader. Regardless, we’re stuck here until we can figure out how to get by those sentries.”

“Doubleheader?” Rino asked.

“Baseball, pal,” Abe said. “Remember I was telling you about the Brooklyn Dodgers?”

“Dem Bums,” Rino said, delivering the Brooklyn accent perfectly.

“Go Roma,” Abe said in return. “Italian football. Roma won the scudetto back in ’42. We didn’t have much else to talk about the last coupla days.”

We settled into the shadows, listening to the sounds of the street, wondering about our chances. Maybe we could simply walk in. Maybe we’d be nabbed and end up guests at Pensione Jaccarino.

“Listen,” Abe said.

“What?” Diana said, tilting her head to catch the sound.

Abe closed his eyes and lifted one finger, signaling us to wait. “B-24s,” he said. “Not as pretty a sound as B-17s, but they’re coming.”