James Benn - Death

“Hey, Kaz, maybe the Germans saw something. They have to watch the border day and night, right?”

“Yes. Most of the Vatican is walled, but Saint Peter’s Square is wide open. The Germans painted a white line to mark the border, and I understand they patrol it constantly.”

“But the locals can go in and out, right?”

“Certainly,” Kaz said. “Anyone who did not raise suspicion could have walked right by a German guard and killed the monsignor.”

“And walked out again,” I said.

“Yes,” Kaz said. “The doors to the basilica are behind large columns; it would be quite difficult to see from the square. But we need to know when he was killed, and nothing here states that. If it was in the evening, then many people would have been leaving the piazza. Late at night, or early morning, I think it’s likely that the guards would have questioned anyone leaving.”

“Well, it hardly matters. I doubt the Krauts will cooperate with our investigation.”

“One never knows,” Kaz said. “Perhaps we will find a way to speak with someone at the Regina Coeli. It is on the Tiber River, a quick stroll from the Vatican.”

“As long as we can stroll out, and back in again,” I said.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from the doorway. It was an American, tall and lean, with thick blond hair and a weathered look around the eyes, like that of fishermen I had known back home. I hadn’t heard the door open, and wondered how long he’d been standing there. “Either of you guys seen Andy around?”

“Captain Croft?” Kaz said. “He was in his office a short time ago.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, and turned to leave. His voice was a deep, mellow baritone, and he seemed familiar.

“Have we met?” I said, standing. I was sure we had. I got a look at his insignia and saw he was a lieutenant. A US Marine lieutenant, a rare sight in Italy.

“No, Lieutenant Boyle,” he said, his lower lip jutting out a bit as he looked down at me. “We haven’t. See you later.” With that, he was gone.

“Who was that?” Kaz asked.

“Don’t know,” I said. “But he looks so damn familiar. How else would he know my name?”

“Perhaps you are right, and the walls have ears,” Kaz said.

“This is supposed to be a secret operation, using the British SOE to smuggle us into Rome,” I said, throwing myself back into my chair. “So what’s a US Marine lieutenant who knows me by sight doing here?”

“Another mystery,” Kaz said. “I also wonder why they sent Big Mike here. Captain Croft said he should still be in hospital.”

“Far as I can tell, it was to tell me in no uncertain terms not to try to spring Diana. They probably figured I’d take the personal approach more seriously. And you know Big Mike-he’d insist he was fine as soon as Sam asked him.”

“It is a pity we cannot speak directly with Colonel Harding.”

“We can do the next best thing,” I said. “All we need to do is find a communications unit and send a radio teletype to SHAEF.”

“Why not ask Captain Croft? He may have the right equipment here; there are radio masts on the villa roof.”

“I’d rather not,” I said. “Let’s blow this joint.”

It was a good idea. Too bad the guard at the door ordered us back into the villa. My jeep was nowhere in sight, and there was security at every exit. We were prisoners.

We spent the afternoon being turned away from the SOE radio room, Croft’s office, and every door that led out of the villa. Kaz and I went through all the reports again, and again. Nothing new. A directive from Colonel Harding stressed the importance of not violating Vatican neutrality, but what he really meant was not to get caught violating Vatican neutrality. The big worry was that the Germans would use any excuse to occupy Vatican City and take the Pope into protective custody. Meaning he’d be a hostage to the Third Reich.

I understood all that. It wasn’t going to stop me if I saw a chance in hell of freeing Diana, but that was probably an accurate description of the odds, so I didn’t worry about it. What I didn’t understand was why we were being held incommunicado, and the sudden appearance of the Marine lieutenant. Or what the hell was going to happen next.

It turned out that dinner was next. Kaz, Big Mike, and I were led into a dining room where Croft, his Marine pal, and a couple of British officers were mixing themselves drinks.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Croft said, approaching us as if we were weekend guests at his country home. “Will you join us for a drink?”

“The hell with drinks,” I said, steamed at the runaround and now the soft soap. “Why are we being held here and what’s he got to do with it?” I pointed to the marine.

“Lieutenant Boyle, all will be explained…”

“Don’t try that polite crap with me, Croft. I don’t care if you’re a captain or a cardinal, I want the truth, and I want it now.”

Croft raised his eyebrows, glanced at the marine, and asked the two other Brits to give us some privacy. He eyed me until they closed the door behind them.

“You’d do well to remember the rank, Boyle. A captain trumps a lieutenant, and SOE trumps every other branch, so mind your manners.”

“This is war, not a goddamn tea party,” I said, my temperature rising. “What the hell is going on, and what aren’t you telling us?” I stepped closer to Croft, my fists clenched and arms pressed to my sides. It wasn’t his fault, I knew. He was only following orders. Orders that might make sense or might not, but clearly came from over his head. Still, I wanted answers. I tried to hold my temper in check, but the thought of Diana in prison kept it white-hot. If I did have a chance to get near her, I didn’t want any SOE funny business to interfere.

“War or tea party, we’re all on the same side,” the marine said. His deep voice sounded so familiar. “Let’s have a drink and sit down, okay fellas?” He had an easy smile, and clapped his hand on Croft’s shoulder, breaking the tension in the room. The two of them looked like cousins from across the Atlantic. Both tall and blond with well-weathered faces, they moved with a grace that comes from confidence borne of challenges met and mastered. I didn’t like the idea of them arrayed against us, but if so, I wasn’t going along with their schemes without a fight.

“Agreed,” Croft said. “Let’s begin again. Drink?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Irish whiskey, straight. You know, like the truth.”

“Irish whiskey I believe we have in ample supply,” Croft said, with a barely suppressed grin. “Have you met Lieutenant Hamilton?”

“No, we haven’t been introduced,” I said, taking the glass Croft offered.

“Sorry, Lieutenant Boyle,” the marine said. “John Hamilton, US Marine Corps.”

“You sure we haven’t met?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, wearily, as if he heard that line often. “Big Mike, Baron, what’ll you have?”

“Vodka,” Kaz said. “Truth on the side, please.”

“I’ll have what you’re drinking,” Big Mike said. “I never drank with a movie star before.”

“Aw, Christ,” Hamilton said, pouring Kaz’s vodka. “Don’t ask a bunch of stupid questions about starlets. I hope you like tawny port. Love the stuff myself.”

“What?” I said, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Tawny port,” Hamilton said. “Great stuff, packs a wallop.”

“No, I mean-”

“ Bahama Passage,” Big Mike said. “I saw him in it before I left the States. I don’t remember the name, but it wasn’t John Hamilton.”

“Gentlemen,” Croft said, chuckling at Hamilton’s discomfort, “allow me to introduce Sterling Hayden, otherwise known as Lieutenant John Hamilton. He is our liaison with your American OSS.”