The Vatican's Last Secret

by Francis Joseph Smith

  Jim was the first to speak. “So I’m guessing we are in search of clues regarding the one successful attack on the train?”

  “Close,” said Perluci. “Perhaps some additional details would help. As the train meandered throughout Austria, the train’s military commander was stationed in the caboose at the end of the train. Being the military commander and the one in charge of loading the train, he made sure the gold and silver was loaded in the next to the last railcar, right in front of the caboose. From what information I have been able to piece together, the theft occurred sometime during the night of 6 May 1945. The train was being moved to a new location. They simply pulled the pin on the last two rail cars, allowing the rest of the train to go on its merry way. No one was aware they were missing until the train stopped several hours later.

  After the pin was pulled, the two rail cars came to a stop at a predetermined location using the cars manual emergency brakes. After stopping the commander transferred most of the valuables and his men to trucks he had prepositioned only days before.”

  “So this was the only successful robbery from the train,” said Dan. “The robbery was from within.”

  “What’s your American slang for correctly hitting the mark?” Perluci asks before his eyes light up. “Bingo,” he says in a loud voice. “And from my combing through American military action reports for Austria on the night of 6 May and the early morning of 7 May 1945, I found only one that mentioned rail cars. Two to be specific, a freight car and a caboose, both heavily damaged by fire but still identifiable.”

  Dan, Jim and Eian sat stunned for the moment.

  Perluci smiles. “And until now the fate of the gold on those trucks remained unknown. Nobody thought to link the railcars to our train.”

  Eian was first in clapping his hands together in celebration. “We are going to be absolutely rich. I mean, if it was worth millions back in 1945, it has to be worth 20 times that now. ”

  Perluci smiles and nods once more. “According to my conservative estimates of the gold and silver in question — we are looking at an estimated $350 million dollars at today’s rate.”

  Dan was quick to respond. “So, if we only locate five to ten percent of the total stolen, were in for a hefty payday.”

  “Not so fast my friend,” replied Perluci. “We still have a ton of work to accomplish before we start. And this won’t be a cake walk like your last little escapade in Germany.” Perluci was referring to Dan and Jim locating the hidden stash of valuables on the Dieter farm. The elder Dieter had been a German Army Captain in WWII. Stationed on the Eastern Front during the war’s latter years, he had mistakenly ambushed a truck of German soldiers and Vatican guards whose cargo were crates laden with gold bars and important Vatican documents. Then, using Dieter’s rank, they were able to commandeer a German military truck. With a pass in hand, they were able to travel unchallenged back to the town of Weimar where Dieter’s parents lived on a farm, promptly burying the treasure somewhere under its 300 acres, agreeing to divvy up the riches upon the war’s end. No one survived but the elder Dieter. Sixty plus years later Jim and Dan returned to recover it. But not without a fight; Perluci, the Vatican, Interpol, and MI-5 each chased Jim and Dan across half the globe seeking its return.

  Perluci’s cakewalk comment drew a round of laughs from Dan, Jim, and Eian. He held up his hand to quiet them, a serious look about him. “This time the gold will be guarded — and in an unfriendly area. Obviously after the war the gold was moved to another country for its own safety. So, it will take some partnering with another country to gain access — at least access with some, on-the-ground help.” He paused, gauging his new partners. Satisfied, he continued. “And this is why I have several wishes, well more like demands, before I provide the rest of the details. It’s something that if you do not wholeheartedly agree with, the project is off the table.”

  Jim, Dan, and Eian each nodded before Jim decided to speak for them: “I’m sure we can accommodate you and any demand you may have. Hell, you are the only one with the details. This is your job. We would have nothing without you. Nevertheless, it’s also something that must be very important to you. Why don’t you lay all of the facts on the table. We can either agree or disagree to your request, but I think I already know the answer.”

  “Yes, knowing what you did for that orphanage up in New York I think you will vote with your heart,” said Perluci, referring to Jim’s donation to a children’s orphanage his share of money found secreted on his father’s farm.

  Perluci smiled at them once more. “Since, due to my advanced age I obviously cannot travel with you, I have two demands. Each of which are non-negotiable. First, if you still find crates or boxes of wedding rings and fillings, they are to be turned over to the government of Israel’s, Yad Vashem, its Holocaust museum. No discussion on this one. Secondly, half of the gold bullion you find will be turned over to charities we can all agree on. No one person should have this much money.” He looks from man-to-man, each nodding in agreement to his unselfish request.

  “And I too have added a partner without discussing it with you,” Perluci said a matter of factly. “He knows where, as you Americans say, the bodies are buried. I’ll keep his name a secret for now. He at one time worked for Mussolini but now is his own boss. He has been my partner since late WWII, a forced one at that. On this particular operation I have yet to share all of the details with him, and he with me.”

  Eian looked perplexed. “You have to explain that one to a dumb Irishmen such as myself.”

  Perluci nods. “He knew half of the operation and I the other. We purposely kept the other from knowing the full piece. That way, neither one of us could go for the whole treasure without the others assistance.”

  Jim stood up, looked to Eian and Dan. “If you say we need this extra person, then we need him. He’s part of the team.”

  Eian raised his hands in mock surrender. “There goes another share.”

  Everyone laughed aloud.

  Perluci grinned from ear-to-ear. “Excellent, now let’s go find what remains of the Gold Train’s cargo.”

  CHAPTER 52

  CHICAGO, IL

  Nora dialed Jim’s number from memory. She looked at the oversized clocks on the newsroom wall. It was 5:30am so it would be 6:30am in Florida.

  Jim wearily stretched for his cell phone as it threatened to buzz off his nightstand. “Whoever this is it better be good,” he said as he brushed the sleep from his eyes, looking at his iPhone, it blinking 6:30am.

  Nora smiled. “Shut up you old fart,” she replied. “I have some good news.”

  “Nora? Where are you? Are you still in Chicago? What are you doing up so early?”

  “That business you called me about several weeks ago,” she replied coyly, “the one where you needed my help?”

  Jim paused for a moment to clear his head. “Yea, I remember.”

  “Well, I now need yours. A package with a lot of information was dropped at my door last night. I am assuming it wasn’t from you? Right?”

  Jim was wide-awake now as he shifted his feet out of bed and placed them on the floor. “I haven’t sent you anything.”

  “Then hold on to your hat. It relates to the same reason you asked for my help. I have a folder of Vatican and Nazi documents that might help me take home another Pulitzer Prize. It should also help with your treasure. My next step is trying to meet with Myers.”

  Jim agreed. “I have the funny feeling somebody else is guiding our hands on this,” he said, wondering who their newfound friends were. “Keep me in the loop after you talk to Myers. I am interested to hear what he has to say. You will be happy to hear that Dan and I are off to Austria to verify some 70-year old information and search for some new clues. Eian and Perluci are staffing the home base on Dan’s boat and continuing to do some research. Now, if you can’t get a hold of me then try to reach one of them on the boat.”

  Nora nodded. “Will do.”

  “We can talk in a few
days,” he said, not wanting to hang up, still mesmerized by the mere sound of her voice.

  Nora evidently felt the same, hanging on, the line silent for several seconds. “Well, I should be going,” she said.

  “You know we have to have a long talk when we see each other,” Jim said. “One way or another, we have to move forward with our lives.”

  Nora nodded as she spoke. “I understand,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “We have to leave everything in the past. So, I guess we can talk in a week or so.”

  “I look forward to seeing you again, beautiful,” Jim said, using his pet name for Nora, before hanging up.

  Nora placed her cell phone on her desk, staring at it for a minute or two before a smile slowly crept across her face. “I’m going to win you back, James Dieter,” she said aloud in the still empty newsroom. “One way or another, I’m going to win you back.”

  CHAPTER 53

  ROME – PRESENT DAY

  Miguel Carducci nervously paced about his small apartment in the Trastevere or “beyond the Tiber River” district of Rome, having been sent home due to his carelessness by his boss at the Vatican Bank, Maria Celnoleni. However, it wasn’t his fault, he thought to himself. I always open her mail. She values my opinions. He banged his fist into his closet door in rage, his murphy bed springing from the wall and falling to the floor with a crash in response. Miguel just shook his head. His fourth floor walk-up was typical of most apartments in the area; a closet-sized studio with a rarely used kitchenette, and a balcony with one hell of a view. Miguel opened his balcony door and stepped out to view the Piazza San Cosimato, where, just below, tented booths displayed a bountiful array of tantalizing fruits and vegetables.

  He viewed the locals moving from tent to tent as they assembled ingredients for their evening meals.

  As he stood there, Miguel couldn’t help but retrace his steps from his long walk home from the Vatican Bank. He was careful to the point of paranoia; always looking behind him, even darting in and out of shops, making sure he was not being followed. He even avoided taking his usual bus thinking he would be too confined or possibly trapped. Walking cleared his head. No more so than when he entered the area surrounding his apartment. It was an area often described as Bohemian and adored by artists and students alike; surrounded by eclectic boutiques, stylish bars, rich open air markets and some of the most renowned restaurants that Rome had to offer. Homes bedecked with flower boxes and clinging ivy greeted him. Buildings in terracotta, maize, and wine cast a glow, like a daylong sunset. From the cobblestone streets to the overhanging laundry lines, his senses awakened with every step. Miguel also loved the history of the area with Trastevere rich in monuments and attractions. In fact one of the oldest churches of Rome, Santa Maria in Trastevere, was just a short stroll away from his apartment. It was a place where Miguel would often seek solace. And today was just such a day. It was the one place where he could relax.

  Miguel grabbed his keys from his kitchen counter and quickly exited his apartment, walking down the four flights of stairs with a renewed sense of purpose. A smile now graced his face.

  A BLOCK AWAY, IN a non-descript Ford transit work van, sat two men who eyed Miguel’s apartment building. An early morning call had placed them in motion to be at this precise location and to sit-tight and await further instructions. Taped to their dashboard was a recent color photo of Miguel faxed to them before they had left. Having seen Miguel enter the building just 10 minutes before, they settled in with coffee and pastries for what they were told could be a long day. They were informed the target would be too frightened to make a move. One of the men used a worn pair of binoculars to eye Miguel’s balcony trying to sense any movement. He was rewarded with a view of Miguel looking down at the market. He tapped his fellow passenger, handing him the binoculars, pointing up. “He looks restless,” said the man as Miguel quickly disappeared back inside.

  NOT MORE THAN A minute had transpired before Miguel exited his building. What a glorious day, he thought. He now walked down the narrow street in front of his building, avoiding the sidewalk that was seemingly always under construction. In doing so he was also walking away from the van where the men sat monitoring his whereabouts.

  “THERE HE GOES,” said the van’s driver in an unmistakable thick German accent. They each hurriedly tossed their cups of coffee out their respective windows. The van’s driver started the engine just as Miguel turned the corner. “Don’t lose him,” said the passenger in the same accent as the driver, the driver now pulling out into the street.

  “You worry about your job, and I’ll do mine,” responded the driver angrily.

  The passenger nodded in return, extracting a 9mm from the vans glove box.

  IN TRASTEVERE, ONE OF THE most popular gathering spots is the Piazza Santa Maria which happened to be on the periphery of the Church of Santa Maria. Both the cobblestoned Piazza and the church dated back to the 3rd century, with the church of Santa Maria being the oldest in the city and one of its smallest, seating only 200. Visitors came to view the gleaming mosaics by Pietro Cavallini and then linger on in the Piazza steps of the octagonal fountain to people watch and enjoy an aperitif at one of the many cafes surrounding the plaza. This is where Miguel now appeared, walking diagonally across the Piazza and up the granite steps of the Church. A stout tug on the iron doors braided handle allowed the door to open outward. He was instantly rewarded with a scent of burning candles.

  With late afternoon now setting in, the church looked brilliant as it was bathed in candlelight. It was mostly deserted except for a young couple who snapped a selfie of themselves in front of the churches renowned Madonna mosaic. Giggling, they waved politely to Miguel as they now departed, him taking a seat in a pew in the center, best for viewing the church in its splendor. He especially loved sitting in the church after a funeral when the smell of incense would act as a perfume as it hung in the air. But alas, no funeral today. He would have to settle for the scent provided by the candles. Miguel closed his eyes for a moment, taking in several deep breaths as he did. He had to try and calm his nerves. Upon opening his eyes, he beheld the beauty of the churches altar, now noticing Father Gento, the Church of Santa Maria’s head priest talking into his cell phone, him staring directly at Miguel from behind the altar. He looked frightened, obviously arguing with someone on the other end of his conversation. Miguel Father Gento blessed himself, then bid a quick exit.

  THEY WERE ABLE TO maneuver their work van right up to the base of the church steps. Even though the Piazza Santa Maria was pedestrian only, surrounding shop owners and their work vans were able to make deliveries usually in the early morning hours but there were exceptions for emergencies.

  Speaking into his cell phone, the passenger exited the van, placing his 9mm into one of the deep pockets of his workman’s coveralls. “We have him in the Church,” he said into the phone. Satisfied with the response, he hung up, turning to face the driver, talking through the van’s open window. “Stay here unless you see the police,” he said assuredly. “If they happen to show up, drive down to the corner.” The driver nodded in understanding as the passenger turned and proceeded up the church steps.

  SOMETHING WASN’T RIGHT THOUGHT Miguel. Father Gento would usually wave or at least smile at him. Sometimes even sit with him in prayer. This time he just up and left. Miguel felt his paranoia returning. After this morning’s run-in with his boss, he couldn’t help but think everyone was after him. Now, as the Church door opened behind him, Miguel closed his eyes once more, trying to calm his frayed nerves, seeking solace.

  Behind him crept the work vans passenger, deciding against the need for the 9mm in such a quiet setting, he pulled a ready-made wire garrote from his pocket. He stretched the wire and wrapped it around both hands making it taunt with just enough wire to place around Miguel’s neck. He silently moved behind Miguel, now only feet away. He was ready to place the wire around Miguel’s neck when his cell phone rung, causing Miguel to instinctively turn around and vie
w the man approaching him. Miguel jumped up in horror realizing the man’s intent. “What the hell,” Miguel said as he looked around for a possible escape route, seeing none. That’s when Miguel realized he had to stay and fight.

  Father Gento suddenly appeared from behind the altar, holding his cell phone aloft, him the source of the cell phones ringing that had alerted Miguel.

  Miguel smiled at Father Gento in silent thanks. “Call the police, Father,” he yelled before jumping up onto the pew he was sitting on just moments before, using it as leverage to leap at the man who was busy untangling the wire from his hands. Miguel came down hard as he landed a blow to the man’s temple, them both crashing to the floor. The man managed to free himself from the wire and now struggled to reach the 9mm in his pocket. Miguel realized what the man was trying to do and managed to grab his hand just as he was pulling the weapon up to bear. A loud crack signaled the first shot went wide as they wrestled for control of the weapon. Miguel then slammed his knee into the man’s groin. The man screamed out in pain as Miguel stood up and quickly brought his foot to bear on the man’s chin, knocking the man out cold, his weapon dropping to the floor.

  Father Gento ran down to where Miguel stood next to the man’s body. “Are you alright my son?” he said. “He is one of the bastards working for your boss, Maria Celnoleni.”

  “Miguel turned to face Father Gento, a look of shock spread across his face. “Maria sent him to kill me?”

  Father Gento nodded. “She called me only moments ago. She said someone else would be calling me, and then this pig called wanting to know if you were in the church. She said you were going to cause trouble for the Vatican, and for the Pope. You are some type of mole.”

  Miguel shook his head. “It’s all lies, Father. I would never do such a thing.”