William Tyree - The Fellowship

Wolf sat up. “No.”

“Good. You will need your strength today.”

Wolf felt suddenly uneasy. What were they going to do to him? Had the nun really decided to hand him over to Himmler? He watched as the doctor once again listened to Wolf’s heart and dropped almond oil onto his palms. It didn’t sting as much now.

“Your conversation had an interesting effect on Sister Klara,” the doctor said as he worked. “She spent most of the night praying in the Basilica.”

“I didn’t realize the pope’s secretary could be a women.”

“Sister Klara may be the first,” the doctor smiled as he poured some hyssop oil onto a spoon. “She rules the palace with an iron fist. They call her…” The doctor looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure that the door was still shut. “They call her La Popessa .”

Wolf and the doctor shared a smile. He understood immediately that the term La Popessa was something of a backhanded compliment.

The doctor pointed to a blue garment folded on the dresser — a less flamboyant, standard duty Swiss Guard uniform. Wolf immediately understood. The uniform was mean to disguise him from the spies the nun had warned him about.

“Please get dressed,” the doctor said. “With luck, I will see you tonight.”

Several minutes later, Wolf was led by two actual Swiss Guards down a staircase to the Curia’s lower floor. They passed several priests in black robes and countless nuns that appeared to be employed in domestic capacities. On every wall, and down every hallway in the enormous palace, he was met with a new artistic masterwork. He did not pay them much mind. The only treasure he wished to see was the ossuary. What exactly had the church been hiding from its believers all these centuries?

He was finally led into an administrative room with no windows. Two men in black cassocks sat at a worktable with notepads and steaming cups of coffee before them. He was shown to a chair opposite them.

The priests did not introduce themselves, but when they began speaking American-accented English, he knew that they were also not what they seemed.

The Americans wasted no time on pleasantries. The olive-skinned American began asking the questions. An exhausting list that, at times, did not even seem organized into broad topics.

Where are the V-2 rocket factories? Where are the Messerschmitt factories? Where are the Stuka factories? Where are the Panzer tanks made? Did you see any Allied prisoners working in the factories? What foods are still available? How scarce was meat?

Wolf answered the inquiries as fast as they came at him, marking locations on elaborate topographical maps. And the Shepherd will devote himself to bringing all that is concealed into the light. Although he was confident in the righteousness of this work, he thought often about his mother. He knew that in collaborating with the Americans, he was putting her at risk too. But she was already at risk, he reasoned. Would she rather not die than live to see the plague of national socialism rule the entire earth?

The Americans chain-smoked cigarettes. They were neither friendly nor hostile. They simply listened and took notes, seeming to question nothing and be surprised by nothing. The interrogation continued throughout lunch and into the afternoon. They stopped only for occasional bathroom breaks.

Wolf wasn’t sure what time it was when the debriefing abruptly stopped. Two Swiss Guards appeared to escort Wolf back to his room.

In his room, a plate of bread and olives awaited him. Soon Dr. Enzo Marchesi visited him, checked on his wounds, and administered more herbal medicine. Wolf had so many questions of his own, but he was too tired to ask them. He fell asleep before the doctor had completed his examination.

*

Wolf saw the Americans for the next two days. Their questions were endless. How many Hitler Schools were there? What were their names and locations? What was the purpose of the Hitler Youth? How many divisions were there? What roles were the Hitler Youth expected to play in the event of an invasion? Were there any regular meetings where the top leadership gathered in a single place? What could he tell them about the labor camps in Poland? What could he tell them about the Jewish resettlement program?

He told them everything he knew, holding nothing back.

At night, the doctor tended to his wounds. Wolf asked about the Black Order, but the doctor didn’t seem to know what he was talking about. And Sister Klara did not return.

On the third day, Wolf decided he had had enough.

“I have done my duty,” he told the Americans. “Now I should like to be repaid in kind.”

The olive skinned one lit a cigarette. He looked at his companion, who gave a nod of approval. “We’ve already made arrangements. You’ll be taken overland through the Alps tomorrow. We have a contact there that will take you to Spain. From there, you’ll be taken to Washington D.C. for further debriefing.”

It was not what Wolf had expected. He felt suddenly winded. “I want asylum here ,” he said. “Not America.”

He wanted to know about the ossuary. He wanted to see what was really in the Vatican archives. He wanted to know the truth. He deserved that much.

“Look kid,” the American said, interpreting Wolf’s silence as defiance. “If you don’t want to cooperate in D.C., we can send you to a work camp in Alabama, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“I want to see Heinz Lang,” he told them.

He could tell by the looks on their faces that they had either met Lang or knew of him. The olive-skinned one whistled for the Swiss Guard. Wolf was taken back to his room, where he sat detailing his thoughts in the notebook where he had documented the vision and the prophecy.

*

The cell door opened sometime after ten. Two Swiss Guards pushed a figure inside the room. Wolf took the candle from the bedside and raised it. It was Lang.

His friend’s hands were cuffed before him. He was dressed in white linens identical to those Wolf had been wearing since his arrival. Wolf got up and embraced him. Lang’s return touch was merely cordial.

“Are you hurt?” Wolf asked.

“No.”

“Have you talked to the Americans?”

“As little as possible.”

“We have to help them,” Wolf said. “Better that the Americans drink themselves into a stupor at the Haufbrauhaus than the Godless Russians.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“They want to send me to America, Heinz. I told Sister Klara that I want to learn about the Black Order and about the ossuary.”

“You have to forget about that,” Lang said. “The Black Order doesn’t exist.”

“What are you talking about? You saw them!”

“I saw nothing. One of the monsignors here said the Black Order was shut down centuries ago.”

“And you believed him? Don’t deny your own experience! They hit us in Paris and Venice. If they are real, then the ossuary has to be real.”

“It was just the Resistance,” Lang said. “A well-organized insurgency. That is all.”

“Heinz, listen. I had a vision . God spoke to me.”

Lang stood and headed for the door. Wolf sprung from his chair and grabbed Lang by the arm, toppling him over with his enthusiasm. Something metal clanged in the near-darkness. Lang scrambled to his knees, searching the dark floor for the object.

Wolf found it first. He stood, holding the shiny object up to the light. It was a long key inscribed with the papal crest.

“Heinz,” Wolf said. “How did you get this?” Even with such limited visibility, he could make out the terror on Lang’s face. “Why would you have a key like this?”