by Matt Eaton
When von Altishofen raised his head from the letter, his face was grave. “We have a plane on standby,” said Paulson. “With your help, we can have Favaloro out of the Vatican and en route to America in 24 hours. You will be aiding the US President and dealing with Russian infiltration of the Gendarmerie Corps.”
“Russians? You are certain of this?” he asked.
“I am, Commander.”
Von Altishofen picked up his telephone receiver. “J’ai besoin de voir le Pere Morello.” He hung up immediately and told them: “Father Morello is with the Secretariat of State. He is the liaison between the Swiss Guard and the Gendarmerie.”
Edna felt a wave of panic shooting up her spine. She touched Paulson on the elbow and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “This is getting out of control.”
Paulson nodded in agreement. “Is this absolutely necessary, Commander?” he asked von Altishofen. “I’d prefer not to complicate matters.”
“Yet you present me with a problem that is already complicated,” said von Altishofen. “We must do this my way. But as you will see, Father Morello will view this thing, how shall I say, avec pragmatisme. C’est un homme pratique.”
There was a knock at the door and Morello was ushered in. He was a stern man with a thick Italian accent and an aggressive air. Commander von Altishofen made introductions in English, then proceeded to explain the situation to Morello in Italian. It never ceased to amaze Edna how effortlessly Europeans switched from one language to another, but she had no real grasp of what was being said. Morello was shown the letter, which he read in silence, before the two men conferred briefly once more, concluding their discussion with a mutual nod.
“It is agreed,” said von Altishofen.
“A most delicate situation,” said Morello, staring at Edna. “One best kept from the office of the Pontiff until its resolution.” His eyes darted down at her cleavage momentarily, a mere flicker of a glance but he saw that she was aware of it and seemed to take a wry pleasure from her discomfort. “Miss Drake, please to come this way. We have arranged for you to stay tonight in the Istituto Maria Santissima Bambina. If you would like to wait outside, Sister Mary Josephine will be here soon to show you the way.”
He was telling her to wait outside and not worry her pretty young head about the men’s business. She nodded politely and did as she was told. The Commander’s secretary, a young male officer who smiled at her like she was the first lay woman he’d seen in close quarters since taking on the job, chattered away at her incomprehensively before pointing her to an uncomfortable wooden chair that reminded her of the seats outside the principal’s office at her old high school back in Rockaway.
The nun arrived as quiet as a mouse two minutes later. “Miss Drake?”
“That’s right. And you’re Sister Josephine?”
Josephine nodded meekly, offering a hint of a smile by way of confirmation. “Please, you come this way.”
“My suitcase is rather heavy, Sister, I hope it’s not too far.”
“I’d be happy to carry it for you,” the nun told her.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I just wondered how far...”
“We are just across St Peter’s Square. Two minutes, no more.”
Edna stopped herself just in time from saying, ‘thank God’.
St Peter’s Square was thick with visitors gazing adoringly at the basilica and dancing through the colonnades. A queue of people was waiting to see the Sistine Chapel, their brows covered in sweat from the afternoon heat. Edna checked her watch. It was half past four. Most people in that queue were not going to make it before closing.
Sister Josephine walked fast, like she had somewhere else to be and was running late. “What’s the hurry, sister?” Edna asked.
“My apologies,” said Josephine, “I always walk too quickly. There are never enough hours in the day. Always more to be done.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve taken you away from something important.”
Sister Josephine laughed lightly. “As important as it can ever be to keep a tidy house.”
“Tell me about your order,” said Edna.
“We are sisters of charity. We provide labor for those who need it inside il Vaticano. I work for Commander von Altishofen as well as for Father Morello.”
“Doing what?”
“Domestic support. Housekeeping.”
As advertised, the Institute of the Blessed Baby Mary was in the exact opposite position across the square from the Swiss Guards’ barracks. Sister Josephine guided her inside the ancient and austere Roman villa to a first-floor dormitory with about a dozen beds lined up in rows. The dorm was mostly empty, but most of the beds looked occupied.
“I’ve placed you in the bed next to mine,” Sister Josephine told her. “Most of the women here speak little English, so I thought this would be of some help.”
“Thank you, Sister, that’s most considerate.”
Edna placed her bag by her bed and Josephine led her to the nuns’ dining hall and opened the door to the kitchen, where two other young women in white tunics and aprons were busily sorting vegetables and scrubbing pots and pans. “There is always someone in the kitchen,” Sister Josephine explained. “Meal times are strict, but if you are hungry and you ask them nicely, they will be happy to find you an apple or some biscuits. We can speak more tonight, after dinner. For now, I must go.”
“I’ve been keeping you from something important, haven’t I?” Edna realized.
Josephine smiled wearily. “A sewer pipe burst this morning in the Swiss Guard Barracks. There is still much to clean up. You have given me a welcome break. But now I must go back.”
THIRTEEN
Tuesday July 15, 1953
Edna spent an hour playing tourist through the areas of the Vatican already familiar, then remembered she needed to find her way to the Belvedere Courtyard, which was adjacent to the Secret Archives.
It was seven o’clock when she returned to Maria Bambina. She realized she was late for dinner. The nuns were already eating, but politely sat her down and brought her food immediately. They treated her like a welcome guest, but she couldn’t help feeling like an interloper. The language barrier didn’t help. None of them had a word of English.
Dinner was a bowl of stewed mutton and vegetables. Very tasty, though the serve was not big. She mopped up the sauce with bread and wanted to ask for an extra helping but thought it might come across as greedy. She didn’t want to anyone else to go hungry.
Josephine appeared in the dining hall as the last of the nuns were finishing their meals. She sat down next to Edna and ate her food quickly, looking exhausted. Edna asked about her plumbing emergency.
“Don’t worry, I showered before coming to dinner,” Josephine said.
“Don’t they have plumbers to fix the pipes?” Edna asked.
“Yes, but they do not clean up the mess.”
Edna raised an eyebrow, but bit her lip. Josephine shrugged and smiled. “This is the task God has set before me,” she said.
Edna thought she was just making excuses for the men who were clearly making her life a misery. “Where are you from, Sister? Your accent sounds vaguely familiar.”
“I’m Polish. I joined a convent in Warsaw after the end of the Nazi occupation.”
“You were after safety, is that it?”
“The nuns were helping so many women who’d been left with nothing. I was one of them. They were so kind, I knew I had to dedicate my life to service. To help save lives.”
Edna told her about her time as a nurse through the last months of the war and then in Berlin as the Russians and the Allies divided up what was left. How she spent the first weeks after the German surrender treating women who were beaten and raped by Russian and allied soldiers.
Josephine nodded, understanding immediately and apparently untroubled by Edna’s florid descriptions of the horrors. None of this was news to Sister Josephine. Though their lives had taken different paths and Edna didn’t
understand the choices that led any women to being a nun, she couldn’t help feeling an odd sort of bond between them.
It seemed like a good opportunity to gather some background. “How well do you know Commander von Altishofen?” She immediately regretted the bluntness of her question.
But Sister Josephine seemed happy to respond. “He is a good man. A devout Catholic and dedicated to his job. He treats his men well and he has been kind to me. More than some.”
“Really?”
Josephine’s eyes widened and she looked down, ashamed. “Everyone here is doing God’s work. You too, I think, Miss Drake.”
“Me? No...”
“But you work for Father Paulson, yes?”
“Well, yes that’s right,” said Edna quickly. “But I wouldn’t call it God’s work. I’m a personal assistant.”
“But you’re a servant of the church. If the Father requires an assistant, his work must be important. I know so little about what happens here. There is the church, of course, and all that goes with being a beacon of the faith. But there is so much more besides — business, politics... Of these things I know nothing.”
“The Vatican is a sovereign nation. That demands money and diplomacy as much as it requires adherence to the faith,” said Edna.
“And security,” said Josephine.
“Yes. Exactly.” She wanted to ask more, but couldn’t think of a clever way to do it, so she just came right out and asked. “Tell me about Father Morello — have you had much to do with him?”
“He terrified me the first time we met,” the nun admitted. “He never looks happy. Always scowling like he is angry.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” said Edna.
“This is because he is charged with keeping il Vaticano running smoothly. A burden that must weigh heavily upon his shoulders, I think.”
Edna became aware of footsteps crossing the dining hall toward them. She looked up to see Clarence Paulson had finally found her.
“I will leave you now,” Sister Josephine said. “Please, make yourselves comfortable here, you will not be disturbed.” She smiled politely at Paulson, directed him toward her chair, then left without another word.
“I’m afraid you’re too late for dinner, Father,” said Edna.
“I ate with Father Morello.” Then in a whisper, “I’m sorry to take so long.”
“Are we all set?” Edna asked.
He nodded. “Before dawn tomorrow. Morello is sending in half a dozen of the Swiss Guard to arrest the gendarmes. We’ll be able to walk in there unchecked. In and out in a few minutes. Father Morello will have a car waiting.”
“Won’t he tell the Curia you’re here?”
“Yes, but he’s agreed to hold off until later in the day. We’ll be gone before they have a chance to do anything.”
Paulson’s confidence was reassuring, but she couldn’t help having lingering doubts. “What about the Russians? Any sign of them?”
“Morello admitted he’d heard stories about women posing as nuns, but he seemed genuinely shocked when I told him they were Russian agents.”
“Was it wise to tell him that?”
“We need his help. Without him, Paolo isn’t going anywhere.”
FOURTEEN
Wednesday July 15, 1953
Edna rose with the sisters before dawn. While they were praying in chapel, she slipped out to meet Paulson on the edge of St Peter’s Square. There was no sign of movement anywhere across the square and they found their way quickly to the Belvedere Courtyard and through to the Pigna Courtyard, where six members of the Swiss Guard were waiting. Their leader nodded to Paulson before signaling to his men to enter the archive building. They emerged less than two minutes later with three gendarmes in handcuffs.
Having spent many years himself locked away in the underground cloister of the secret archives, Paulson had no trouble finding his way in. Paolo Favaloro’s suite of rooms was on the lowest level, which was quiet and eerily shrouded in darkness as Paulson led the way through the labyrinth of rooms and books stacks.
“Looks like they’ve given him more space,” Paulson observed.
Favaloro was lying down and half naked when they found him. He leapt to his feet in shock and anger, apparently unconcerned by his state of dress. Seeing him in the flesh took Edna’s breath away.
“Hello Paolo,” said Paulson.
“Clarence. You surprise me. I take it you haven’t brought the woman for me?”
“I’m Edna Drake,” she said, tactfully ignoring the fact he had just suggested she was a prostitute. “We’re here to get you out.”
“You assume I want to leave. You’ve come right when I was expecting a visit from one of my Russian priestesses.”
Enough said.
“They like the early morning because there is nobody else is here to see them.”
“How do they get in?” Paulson asked.
“One fucks the gendarme on duty and the other comes to me,” said Favaloro. “They are very good at their work. Most dedicated.”
It dawned on Edna why he was calling them priestesses. “These women — do they wear frocks like the priests and have hoods over their heads?”
Paolo smiled. “The priests call them nuns. But I don’t think that is what these women are.” Edna’s stomach hit the floor. Then she sensed movement behind them. “Here she is, right on time,” said Favaloro.
“We come and go as we please,” a woman said behind them. Edna turned. A nun. Holding a gun. Her face was familiar — from dinner in Maria Bambina the previous night.
“They just told me they’ve come to take me out of here,” said Favaloro. “But I’m not going anywhere.” He opened his arms and drew the woman towards him. She moved toward him, keeping her pistol trained on Edna and Clarence Paulson all the while. What happened next was a blur. Paolo moved so quickly, snatching the gun from her with one hand and snapping her neck like a twig with the other. She was dead before her body hit the floor.
Edna gasped in horror. “Jesus Christ!”
“You didn’t have to kill her,” Paulson yelled.
“I just saved your lives,” Paolo said. “Lead the way. We still need to deal with her friend.”
“Just a moment,” said Edna, alarm bells sounding in her head. “She walked in here with her gun raised. She knew we were here. How?”
“Let’s not hang around long enough to find out,” said Paulson.
Edna picked up the Russian’s gun, figuring she was the only one of them likely to use it. They crammed into the elevator, Paolo on his knees so he could fit. Edna hit the ground floor button. The lift rose slowly. She listened intently for any sign of trouble as they arrived back on ground level. Hearing nothing, she pulled open the door and signaled to the others to wait while she went first. She was two steps into the foyer when bullets started flying. She dived back inside the elevator cage. A bullet pinged off the metalwork inches from her head and the ricochet caught her on the arm.
They were pinned down.
There’s only one way out of here,” a woman yelled at them, “and it’s this doorway where I’m standing. You have nowhere to go but back down.”
Edna’s worst fears were realized. “Josephine? It’s you, isn’t it?”
“No, no,” said Paolo. “That’s Nina.”
“I answer to both,” the voice said.
Edna’s arm was starting to bleed badly, but she wasn’t going to give up without a fight. She knelt down and fired two shots out of the elevator in the direction of the front entrance. One thumped into the wall, the other hit the wooden door.
“If you had the slightest idea of how to use that gun, I might be worried,” Josephine yelled back.
“She’s right about getting out of here,” Paulson whispered. “That’s the only exit.”
“Any ideas?” Edna asked him.
“Let me go out there,” said Paolo, who was still stuck on his knees inside the cramped elevator car. “She won’t shoot me.” He began to shif
t one of his legs in a bid to get out.
Edna grabbed his arm. “If she thinks it’s me coming out, she might start shooting anyway.”
Paolo frowned. “A hunter never mistakes a lion for a kitten.”
Before she had a chance to reply, Sister Josephine walked into view a few feet away, still dressed as a nun but now with a Russian Tokarev pistol pointed straight at them. Startled, but still determined not to give in, Edna quickly raised her gun. A look of relish passed across the Russian woman’s face. She was enjoying herself.
“Nina!” Paolo yelled, “it is you!”
“Polish my ass,” said Edna. She couldn’t help feeling Paolo’s enthusiasm was misplaced.
“My name is Nina Onilova. I will kill you all on the count of three if you don’t do as I say.”
Edna believed her. “Unless I fire first.”
Onilova’s eyes narrowed. “In you I do not see this level of commitment, Edna Drake.”
They both knew she was right. “So, what’s the play here?” Edna asked.
“I will allow you and Father Paulson to walk out of here alive. But Paolo must stay.”
“What if we call the gendarmes? Tell them about your little plot? Or Leopold?”
Nina Onilova smiled. “Be my guest. You will be the ones they throw in prison. Since you’re holding her gun, I assume my agent is dead. Murdered on holy ground. And on the matter of Paolo Favaloro, the Pope is on my side. This is why he knows nothing of your plan, am I right? You are out of your depth, Edna Drake.”
“She’s probably right,” said Paolo. “The Vatican still hasn’t forgiven Galileo for saying the Earth orbits around the Sun. Pius won’t let me walk out of here. It puts the church at too much risk.”
“Yes,” said Edna bitterly, “we can’t have people knowing the truth now, can we?”
“Come,” said Nina. “You need medical attention. Don’t make me kill you.”
Edna lowered her gun. Nina stepped up and snatched it from her grasp. The Russian walked Edna and Paulson outside. She opened the rear door of a white Mercedes that had pulled up at the door. Paulson groaned as he saw Father Morello behind the wheel.
