The Vatican's Last Secret

by Francis Joseph Smith

  His campaign manager arranged for his speech to be given in the hotel’s massive 7,000 sq. ft. Gold Coast Room. He wanted the best hotel and the best room. He even had the hotel’s Cape Cod Restaurant set up as an oyster bar for his guests.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” announced Meyers’ campaign manager from the stage’s podium. “It gives me great pleasure to announce to you, the Republican Party’s favored candidate for the next President of the United States, the Senator from the great state of Illinois, Mr. James Myers.”

  Myers bounded onto the stage with great enthusiasm, shaking his campaign manager’s hand, before turning to the crowd. He waited several minutes for their applause to die down, even tapping on the microphone several times in an effort to quiet them. When that didn’t work he extended his arms, after a few seconds the boisterous crowd started to calm. Myers smiled as he surveyed the packed room, noticing all three local television stations in attendance along with two national networks. Amazing what free food and booze will attract, Myers thought.

  He held up a sheet of paper for them all to see. “I have a few words I would like to say before we get back to our celebrating.”

  Applause roared once again from the floor.

  Myers let it continue for several minutes before he raised his arms to quiet the raucous crowd. The clapping and cheering started to die down as Myers fixed his hands on both sides of the podium that stood before him, ready to make his announcement.

  In the front row, reserved for the press, Nora Robinson had a prime seat directly in front of the podium. She arrived an hour early and decided to forego the free food just to grab her key location. She now looked from side-to-side, deciding the time was right. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. “Sir,” she shouted loudly, wanting to get right to the point before Myers had his goons toss her out. “Before your make your announcement, I have a number of questions to ask you.”

  The boisterous crowd started to boo Nora. Getting louder as time went on.

  Myers raised his hands in order to quiet them. His goons took up positions at opposite ends of her aisle. Myers made eye contact with them, shaking his head, stopping them from throwing her out for the moment.

  “It’s okay folks,” Myers said into the microphone. “The great Pulitzer Prize winning columnist, Nora Robinson, of the Chicago Tribune has something she wants to ask.”

  Nora smiled at another volley of boo’s greeted her. Being a good sport she waved at them.

  Myers quieted the room once more before pointing down at Nora, smiling as he did.

  Nora nodded to him in thanks, knowing it would be the last time he would ever smile in her direction after she was finished with him.

  She wasted no time, turning away from Myers, making sure the nearest television camera was focused on her before speaking. “Is it true your father was considered one of Hitler’s bankers?” she began, not waiting for a response before continuing. “And that your family money came courtesy of the Nazi’s? Well, actually the money coming by way of the Nazi death camps, and the mostly Jewish prisoners that occupied them?”

  The remainder of the television cameras now swung her way. The whirl of photographers snapping picture upon picture could be heard over the shocked crowd.

  “How dare you make such an accusation,” he replied angrily. “I will own the paper you work for.”

  Nora smiled as she held aloft the documents she had first presented to Myers weeks before, him boasting at the time that they were forgeries. Now, after her travels with Jim and Dan, her meetings with Benny in Israel, and finally her witnessing the treasure, she was able to confirm the documents authenticity.

  IN THE BACK OF the room, one of Benny Machaim’s men straightened his Chicago Police officer’s uniform, removed from its original owner only minutes before. He moved easily among the press as he searched for just the right position to accomplish his mission. His high and tight haircut, lean body, and quick, darting eye movements betrayed his true identity.

  NORA NOW HAD THEIR undivided attention, of this she was sure. “I have documents and photos that prove you and your family acquired their wealth from Hitler’s Germany both during and after the war.”

  The room came alive once more, reporters snapping photo after photo of Nora and Myers.

  Reporters rushed down the aisles wanting to interview Nora, their cameramen in tow.

  BENNY’S MAN CIRCLED TO the rear of crowd. Satisfied no one was watching him—he screwed a bulbous silencer into the tip of his 9mm before placing it back into his jacket pocket.

  No one took notice as he maneuvered into shooting position, looking perfectly normal to anyone who happened to glance in his direction.

  NORA CONTINUED. “You have blood money on your hands,” she shouted. “I think you should suspend your campaign,” as she paused, the pause deliberate. “Then the United States and the Internal Revenue Service should investigate your hidden holdings.”

  Myers held up his hands to try and silence the crowd only to be greeted by a mixture of applause and catcall’s. Cameras were still flashing as he did. He then indicated to his security team to have Nora removed from the building.

  She saw what was happening and kept up her pressure. “Give the money back and resign,” she shouted, the crowd joining in slowly before rising in tempo.

  From the back of the room people starting stomping their feet as they chanted, “Give the money back.”

  Nora knew her time was limited. She was about to be physically removed unless she could beat them to the punch. “That is all I have to say right now,” she said, as she brushed past her fellow reporters crowding around her. Nora tried to walk through the crowd and exit before Myers’ goons could toss her out. She wanted to exit with some dignity. As she pushed her way through, she yelled over her shoulder: “More statements will be forthcoming over the next several days. Also, check out my blog for more information.”

  With the crowd distracted and all attention focused on Nora, Benny’s man knew the time was right. He extracted his 9mm from his jacket pocket and took careful aim.

  Myers shook his head at Nora’s antics, wondering what had just transpired. He paid big money to cover his families’ legacy and now this.

  Suddenly his hands shot up to his head, and then his body went limp as he crashed to the floor.

  The bullet had clearly hit its target.

  CHAPTER 89

  PRESENT DAY: SALZBURG, AUSTRIA

  Standing beside the fast-flowing Salzach River, seventy-nine year old Solomon Nubelman gazed first to Salzburg’s old city with its mosaic of graceful domes and spires, then to the formidable cliff-top fortress of Festung Hohensalzburg and the mountains beyond. He loved the view of his adopted city. He always had since first arriving in 1945 as an eight-year old boy after the war. He would sit for hours and watch in admiration as the people walked by in all of their finery. Then towards evening, he would drift from one baroque church to the next in a daze of grandeur. He was in awe of the many churches, this, even though he was Jewish. Afterwards, he would simply stroll its side streets where classical music drifted from open windows, then linger near the coffee houses and eye the decadent cakes and treats in the windows, and let the horrors of Gunskirchen Concentration Camp ever so slowly drift away.

  Now he lived in Salzburg’s richest neighborhood on a small estate that once housed the lordly prince-archbishops and where Salzburg’s own, Mozart, frequented. Solomon realized that it was a long way from his squalid quarters at the Gunskirchen Lager Concentration Camp where he had lived as an eight-year old; a wretched place where his family died, his father dying only hours from liberation by the Americans. His mother and father would have been proud of him and what he had accomplished had they survived.

  Solomon walked beside the Salzach River, albeit a little slower than when he was in his youth. He still enjoyed his daily stroll, usually accompanied by his wife of 50 years, but she was busy shopping with the grandchildren on this lovely day. A policeman walking hi
s beat smiled and tipped his hat to the well-dressed Solomon, him instantly recognizing one of Salzburg’s richest men. Solomon nodded politely in return. But seeing the policeman’s gray uniform was cause for Solomon to suddenly take a seat by the river on one of the many wooden benches that lined its banks. He withdrew a handkerchief from his sport coat, mopping his brow. The simple gray uniform was enough to conjure up images of the brutal guards from Gunskirchen. It did not take much for the vicious images to reappear. His many years of therapy had taught him to conjure positive images from the same time period; anything but the guards who so brutally beat and tortured him and his family. His mind began to drift back to his last day in the god forsaken camp, a day that brought his worst nightmare to reality with his father’s death, but also a rewarding new life. It was something that would provide him and his new family with riches many times over. Solomon remembered the day as if it were only yesterday. He was once again eight years old as he peered from his barracks perch in time to catch the Camp Commandants aide, S/S Captain Peter Lenz, emerge from the camp’s sole brick building, the camp’s Headquarters. He watched as Lenz used a discarded coffee tin to dig a small hole out, making sure he was out of sight of the awaiting train and its passengers. Solomon watched as Lenz pulled something from the black briefcase, emptied it, before covering it over with dirt. Standing, Lenz brushed himself off before running for the train that was slowly departing the camp.

  Solomon was famished, having not eaten in days. He naively hoped it was food Lenz had buried. He wasted no time and ran to the spot where Lenz had just departed, using the same can to remove the dirt, finding what he had buried. He extracted the small tin, greedily opening its top, only to be rewarded with a folded piece of paper; he opened it to reveal a small map of the perimeter of the camp with areas circled, the word gold written within the circles, diamonds in others. The man had evidently buried his treasures around the camp. He smiled for the first time in many years. The map reminded him of a book his Mother had read to him several years before, Treasure Island. The pirates used a map to find buried treasure. Maybe I could do the same, he thought as he placed the map in his pants pocket for safekeeping. Solomon then peered back inside the tin, only to be rewarded with sparkling stones. His eyes grew wide upon realizing they were diamonds. Hundreds and hundreds of diamonds.

  Even at his young age, he knew his life had changed forever.

  Now these many years latter his life had indeed changed he thought as he sat looking at the river. Suddenly a well-dressed man suddenly slid onto the bench beside Solomon. “Guten Tag,” Solomon said in German, greeting an old friend.

  Benny Machaim nodded to Solomon. “Shalom,” he replied. “It has been a long time in coming but, as promised, I have something for you.” He handed him a folded newspaper, in its crease a white sheet of paper containing a list of neatly typed names.

  Solomon took the newspaper, opening it to the list, scanning it. He smiled as he viewed the names: S/S Colonel Manfred Heber, Licio Gelitoni, Sheik Hassan Nasrallah, and Senator Myers. Lines through them all. After each a simple word; Deceased.

  “What about Perluci?” he asked, still staring at the list.

  “His own people took care of him,” Benny replied matter-of-factly.

  “Greed will do that to a man,” said Solomon as he rose. “But I see my money to feed Mossad’s coffers has not gone to waste.” He points to the list. “I hear from my sources that James Dieter, Nora Robinson, and Eian Murphy provided you with access to most of the monies?”

  Once again, Benny nodded. “They only kept $10M. I think that’s a reasonable number, shall we say, for a finder’s fee. They donated the rest of the money to various charities.”

  Solomon dabbed at his eyes with a silk handkerchief he had pulled from his pants pocket. “There are still some good people in this world, Benny. I still want to believe this. I just wish my parents could still be alive to see our justice. I promised my father as he lay dying in my arms that I would hunt down the bastards who were responsible. It took us over seventy years but we extracted some revenge.”

  Benny realized the pain Solomon was going through. He too had lost family during the war. “It was all your doing, Solomon,” he replied, shaking his head. “It was you all along. You allowed the justice to happen. You allowed us to seek revenge. You funded our whole operation. I was just your conduit.”

  Solomon smiled. “It was money well-spent. In the end we were able to steal the money back from the Nazi bastards.” He paused, his index finger touching Benny’s hand. “My father liked to believe in a Christian saying that was common in the mixed neighborhood where I grew up. ‘There are always Angels out there willing to stand up and fight for what is right’.”

  Benny laughed aloud. “I like it. I guess I will have to start believing in Angels, my friend,” he said in reply.

  Solomon nodded. “You don’t have to believe, Benny,” he said, eyeing him directly, a look of seriousness about him. “You are one of them.”

  Benny realized the extraordinary compliment Solomon had just provided him. He was suddenly at a loss for words. “I thank-you,” he replied meekly.

  Solomon consulted the list once more. “Another name missing from the list is Mikel Drunz. What about him?”

  Benny looked at his watch. “He was delivered to us by our American friends several days ago. In about two hours, a team of my best agents will finish interrogating him in Tel Aviv. After they find out his banking codes,” Benny paused, smiling at Solomon, “And they will find out his codes, we will then fly him to Switzerland where we will push him out of the plane at four thousand meters in full ski gear. It will be deemed a skiing accident by the authorities, but only after we liquidate all of his accounts.”

  Solomon smiled. “So the money has come full circle.”

  Benny nods.

  In the distance, Solomon noticed his wife and two of his grandchildren approaching, their arms bulging with shopping bags. “We live in a better world because of people such as you, Nora Robinson and this Dieter fellow. I won’t forget all that you have accomplished, Benny.”

  They both stood up. “And remember, don’t forget the envelopes. They are to go to deserving people,” said Solomon.

  Benny tapped his jacket pocket indicating where they were.

  Solomon nodded before he grabbed Benny, crushing him in a bear hug. Benny was surprised at the man’s strength. “We will meet again of this I am sure.” Solomon handed him back the list before walking off to greet his wife and grandchildren.

  Benny sat back down on the bench. Me, an Angel, he said to himself, smiling as he did. He pulled a pack of Marlboro’s from his shirt pocket, extracting the last cigarette from the pack. He placed it between his lips, striking a match and lighting it; with the still lit match he also lit the paper containing the names, allowing it to burn up to his fingertips before dropping it to the ground. He sat there for several minutes, watching Solomon greeting his wife and grandchildren and thinking to himself: all of this happened because of a hungry young boy who peeked out of his hut and away from his dead father. If he didn’t, all of these bastards would have continued to live their lives in luxury and gotten away with their crimes.

  After several minutes he dropped his cigarette to the ground, extinguishing it with his well-worn loafer. He had a flight home to catch in a few hours. Physically he was tired but deep down he had a feeling of great satisfaction for what they had accomplished. He decided to take a walk along the river back to his hotel. After all, he still had work to do. After several blocks he came across an old man and woman sitting on bench. They were obviously experiencing some hard times from the look of their clothing, frayed at its edges, but apparently it was their best. He then noticed the woman was praying. In her right hand she held a rosary. With her left, she held her husband’s hand. It was easy enough to notice they were proud, but hurting. Benny smiled as he removed a small envelope, one of twenty that lined his pocket, handing it to the woman.

>   The woman looked at him as she took the envelope. “What is this?” she said mystified.

  “A gift from a long-lost friend,” he said as he continued to walk away, a smile spreading across his face.

  The woman looked at the envelope, shaking it several times, before showing it to her husband. He looked at her, hunching his shoulders. “Open it,” he said. “What do we have to lose?”

  The woman kissed her rosary before placing it back in her pocket. She carefully opened the envelope, peeking in, her eyes went wide as she grabbed her husband’s arm in shock when she saw its contents: ten diamonds, each the size of a dime. Inside was a note that read; A gift from the former holdings of Colonel Manfred Heber.

  CHAPTER 90

  PRESENT DAY: CASTLETOWNBERE, IRELAND

  Jim and Nora upheld the promise they made to Dan as he lay dying. He wished to be buried at home, in his native soil.

  They had traveled almost a kilometer to the west of Castletownbere, a small town of almost 800 souls hugging the southwest coast of Ireland on the picturesque Beara peninsula. A sign on the right-hand side of the desolate road proclaimed in Celtic: Cill Achadh an Eanaigh, or Glebe Graveyard. Jim parked the car on a soccer field to the left and he and Nora crossed the road on foot. They entered a small byway that meandered a couple of hundred years into the past over the course of the 200 meters it took to reach the Cemetery.

  A small wooden gate announced the entrance to the cemetery. The gate had an arch clad in overgrown ivy. As they pushed open the gate it was if stepping back in time. Looking to the left and right they noticed that some of the inhabitants of this little graveyard had been interred there since the 1700’s. The place was peaceful and overgrown in places with trailing ivy and winding creepers. Some of the grave markers were so old they were little more than plain stones resting their worn heads on the green grass.