by James R Benn
“What are you offering? Besides our freedom?”
“Your freedom will come, for all of you, once you deliver the message and I have confirmation. There is nothing to this that is injurious to the Allied armies. Quite the opposite, I hope.”
“So what’s the offer?”
“This,” Remke said, withdrawing a folded stack of papers from his jacket pocket and tossing them on the table. “The Auschwitz Protocol.”
“It’s the proof we’ve been looking for, Billy. Of what is happening in the camps,” Diana said, casting a glance at Remke, who had leaned back in his chair as if to put distance between himself and the document. “I’ve read it, and it is damning.”
“Two Slovakian Jews, Alfred Wetzler and Rudolph Vrba, were transported to Auschwitz in 1942,” Remke said, as if reciting from a report he’d read many times. “They witnessed everything that went on in Auschwitz and the nearby work camp, Birkenau. Selections for gassing. Random murders, starvation, brutality. They escaped quite recently and made their way to Slovakia, where an underground Jewish organization interviewed them and wrote up this report. The first version was in Slovak, and has been translated into German.”
I picked up the typewritten sheets. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the German, but there were hand-drawn diagrams showing the layout of a giant camp complex. “What is this?” I asked, pointing to an oddly shaped building.
“Gas chambers and a crematorium for disposing of the bodies,” Diana said. “On a massive scale.”
“Can you read any of this?” I asked her.
“A little. This passage, for instance, from February 1943. It speaks of two large transports coming into the camp.” She traced her finger along the text, translating slowly. “‘Polish, French, and Dutch Jews, who in the main, were sent to the gas chambers. The number gassed during this month is estimated at ninety thousand. Two thousand Aryan Poles, mostly intellectuals.’ It goes on and on.”
“Now, Lieutenant Boyle, are you satisfied?” Remke asked, his eyes glancing away from the document, away from me and Diana. He seemed to find no place to rest his gaze. “The shame of my nation is laid before you. The fruits of our inaction. We have tried to stop this madness and failed. We have warned our own enemies of invasion and betrayed our oaths, only to see Hitler and his Nazis win at every turn. All I ask is for you to simply deliver a document to the Vatican.”
I was overwhelmed. Finding Diana, listening to the unbelievable numbers in the report, trying to figure out Remke’s real motives-it was all too much. I was just a dime-a-dozen lieutenant, an ex-cop who happened to be on a general’s family tree.
“Do you know Milton, Colonel Remke?” Diana asked, giving me time to think.
“Fairly well,” he said. “My English professor at Heidelberg had us read it in the original. Why?”
“Deluded with a shew of the forbidden Tree springing up before them, they greedily reaching to take of the Fruit, chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death,” she recited.
“Paradise lost, indeed,” Remke said. They both looked at me.
I knew Milton was some sort of poet, but I didn’t understand what they were getting at. I only knew I didn’t want to regret what I did next and remember nothing but dust and bitter ashes in my mouth.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” I said. “But I want something else.”
“What?” Remke asked, sounding weary, impatient, and angry at the same time.
“Severino Rossi.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Remke didn’t have time to ask who Severino Rossi was or why I wanted him. One of his men stepped into the cell and hurriedly whispered in his ear, glancing nervously in my direction. Remke nodded, then stood and gathered up the Auschwitz Protocol. “Follow me,” he said. “We must leave immediately. The Gestapo knows about Miss Seaton.”
He barked orders to his men and within seconds we were descending the stairs to the main floor. Rino and Abe, their hands bound, cast startled glances at us as Remke hurried Diana and me past them, our hands noticeably free. “Don’t worry,” I said as I went by, but I doubted that gave them much comfort or answered the questions forming on their lips.
“Ruhe,” said one of the Germans, which I knew meant quiet. Rino and Abe took the hint.
We were out the door in under a minute and Remke hustled us into the rear of an idling staff car. He took the front seat and the driver sped off before his door was closed. Behind us I saw Abe and Rino getting the same treatment. Their handlers were pros, laying hands on the crowns of their heads, pushing them into the automobile as cops back home did. It made me wonder what the hell an honest cop would do under the Nazis, and glad that I didn’t have to make that kind of choice.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Your friends are going to an Abwehr safe house,” Remke said. “They will stay there until you have completed your assignment. Then we will return them to Vatican territory.”
“And where are you taking us?” Diana asked, clasping my hand in hers.
“To dinner, of course,” Remke said, as the church bells of Rome began to ring in the midday hour. “At the Excelsior Hotel.” He had to be joking, playing with us while he figured out how to sidestep the Gestapo. I held onto Diana’s hand, her touch my only truth. Even here, in uncertain captivity, it was enough.
We crossed the Tiber and wound through narrow side streets, empty of traffic. On the main thoroughfare, the only vehicles were German. Trucks, staff cars, and motorcycles, most heading south to the front at Anzio. We turned off onto the Via Veneto, and I had a feeling we were entering one of the ritzier sections of town. Like Beacon Hill back home, the Via Veneto was on the high ground, and the buildings had a well-kept look, matched by the few pedestrians out for a stroll. A couple of cafes were open, and even with a chill in the air, these elegant Romans were enjoying their espressos outdoors.
The car pulled up to a hotel entrance, the six-story gleaming white building topped by a dome at one corner, the name Excelsior wrapped around it in big green letters, in case you didn’t get the point that it was a really fancy joint.
“Welcome to the German military headquarters in Rome,” Remke said. “Do not speak, and follow me.”
He opened the door for us and I offered Diana my hand, but she had the sense to remember I was dressed as a priest and walked up the steps liked she owned the place. Remke led me by the arm, maybe thinking I was going to sprint off, holding up my cassock the whole way. Inside, the palatial lobby was lit by chandeliers, the black-and-white marble floor dazzling. Shiny black boots clicked up a wide staircase as officers with red-striped trousers-signifying generals-went about their duties. A younger German officer, also wearing the Brandenburg cuff, rose from the couch and gave Remke a discreet nod. He opened a waiting elevator and accompanied us to the third floor. Without speaking, he opened the door to a suite and checked the rooms as we waited.
“Forgive the cloak-and-dagger dramatics,” Remke said, leading us into a spacious room where a table was set for three. Heavy gold curtains were draped over ceiling-level windows, and tapestries hung between ornate Roman columns. This place was gaudier than the finest suite at the Copley Square Hotel. “Banda Koch has raided convents and monasteries in Rome and found hidden Jews and Italian antifascists. Someone undoubtedly talked and identified Sister Justina as part of the O’Flaherty organization. It didn’t take long for the Gestapo to realize she was in custody for black-market violations.”
“Those buildings all have extraterritorial status as part of the Holy See,” Diana said. “How can that be allowed?”
“Pietro Koch is a monster, in a world of monsters,” Remke said. “I have heard even Mussolini fears him. The Gestapo lets him operate because he is effective, and his status as a Fascist police commander allows them to disavow his actions when he goes too far. There has already been a diplomatic complaint lodged by the Vatican, and apologies are being made by the German ambassador.”
“But Koch was
able to torture enough refugees to get the information he wanted,” Diana said.
“Yes. But now, we shall sit and eat. We must not let Koch ruin your appetite, Miss Seaton,” Remke said, pulling out the chair for her.
“After the food at the Regina Coeli, it will take more than one psychotic Italian to do that,” she said, and Remke looked almost embarrassed. I studied Diana as she sat, pulling her light-brown hair back, adjusting the starched white napkin on her lap. Strange, how normal even the most absurd moments can seem. That morning I hadn’t known if I’d find her half dead or if I’d be put against a wall and shot. Now here we were, with bone china and cut crystal set out before us. A table prepared in the presence of mine enemy.
“What is this document you want me to take to the Vatican?” I asked, trying to shake the confusion and cobwebs loose. “Something other than the Auschwitz Protocol, if I understand you.”
“First, we will eat. I must leave Rome soon, and the way the war is going, I may not have another chance to enjoy the delights of the Excelsior’s kitchens.”
So we ate. I was actually hungry, despite dining under the noses of the German high command, with an Abwehr agent who’d probably saved Diana from torture and death at the hands of the Gestapo, and who wanted me to be his personal messenger boy to the Pope. We started with artichokes, along with plates of olives and mozzarella, then salmon and asparagus with pasta. Washed down with a couple of bottles of wine. I needed to be taken prisoner more often.
Remke inquired after Colonel Harding, and I told him he was fine. I asked about his aide, whom I’d last seen in Algiers. Dead, Remke said. On leave to visit his family in Hamburg, he was killed in a nighttime bombing raid. Except he called it terror bombing. I didn’t debate the point and we moved on to more pleasant conversation. He and Diana chatted about Bernini and Caravaggio and other artists I’d never heard of. Finally, when the dishes were cleared away and coffee was brought in, we got down to business.
“First, the conditions,” Remke said. “I will give you a document. You must deliver it to Monsignor Giovanni Montini, in the Vatican State Department. We understand he is involved in smuggling funds to refugee organizations in the north. He is most likely to be sympathetic and pass this on to Pope Pius.”
“Monsignor O’Flaherty mentioned the refugee work,” I said. “He should be able to get me to see Montini.”
“I do not care how you do it. But when you speak to O’Flaherty, warn him to keep within the Vatican walls. The Gestapo wants him dead. There was even talk of a sniper picking him off from outside, but fortunately that operation was canceled.”
“I doubt he’d ever give up his post on the steps of the basilica, sniper or not. But I’ll give him your message. Now, what’s so important about this document?”
Remke leaned in, his voice almost a whisper, even with no one else in the room. “There will be another assassination attempt in the near future. We almost succeeded last month, when one of our men was selected to demonstrate new winter uniforms for Hitler. He had dynamite in a briefcase, which he was ready to set off as the Fuhrer approached.”
“What happened?” Diana asked.
“Herr Hitler canceled at the last minute. That man has the devil’s own luck. Now another officer, who is often called upon to brief Hitler on the Russia front, has volunteered to shoot him at the next opportunity. He is scheduled to go to the Berghof, Hitler’s mountain retreat, next week.”
“The document lays this all out?” I asked.
“Yes. This time, there is more information about the conspirators. My name, among others. I am handing you a noose with which you could hang us all,” Remke said. “Give it to Montini, and ask him to forward it to the English. There are two copies. I will count on you to send one to General Eisenhower, likely through your Colonel Harding.”
“You know Churchill and Roosevelt agreed to nothing less than the unconditional surrender of Germany,” I said.
“I have to believe that is nothing but propaganda, to mollify the Soviets. It is the greatest gift they could possibly have given the Nazis. Now they can state that no mercy will be given, that Germany will be lost unless the war goes on. It is ridiculous,” he said. “Once the coup has succeeded, we will disarm the SS, arrest the surviving leadership, and retreat from Italy up to the Alps. We will request a cease-fire with the Soviets, and pull back to our borders as they were at the start of the war. All this will take time, and we need to know the Western Allies will not act against us as we do so.”
“Just like 1940,” I said.
“Yes, but in 1940 the Soviets were our allies. Now the Russians march west, and will not stop until they have swallowed all of Europe.”
“And in 1940 the world didn’t know about the extermination camps,” Diana said. “If there’s a chance to stop the war and save tens of thousands of lives, it’s worth taking, Billy.”
“What happens to Diana?” I asked, not quite as eager as she was.
“She will remain here, as my guest. In somewhat better accommodations than the Regina Coeli. But under lock and key, guarded by a female agent. Until you complete your mission.”
“I guess it is worth a try,” I said, meaning that it was worth keeping Diana out of jail. I doubted Remke’s plan would work, even if they did manage to knock off Hitler. I wasn’t as sure as Remke that the unconditional surrender demand was window dressing, and I knew the Russians, after losing millions of lives, would not let the German Army slip away intact. From what I knew of them, it wasn’t their way of doing business. “How will you know if I’ve done my part?”
“I will require an acknowledgment. From Monsignor Montini. A receipt, if you will. Written confirmation that he has the documents in hand.”
“And then Diana is free? My two friends also?”
“Yes. You have my word.”
Remke seemed like the sort who’d take offense if I questioned his word, so I let that slide. “You don’t want an acknowledgment that I passed it onto Colonel Harding?”
“How could you not?” Remke said. “That document and the Auschwitz Protocol are probably two of the most valuable intelligence finds of the war. Your colonel would be quite displeased if you did not deliver them immediately.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing he was right. Harding would kill for this stuff, and Diana had made it her mission to reveal the truth about the camps. It had haunted her when she began to hear bits and pieces after first coming to Rome. We’d been able to grab a few hours together between assignments not long ago, and she’d told me about the trains, the transports to the east, and thousands disappearing. Industrial killing, on a scale so inconceivable that it was hard to accept, and even harder to convince her superiors that the reports were not exaggerations or deliberate propaganda.
“Now tell me about this person you want,” Remke said, rising from the table and walking to one of the windows. “A prisoner, I assume?”
“Severino Rossi, and I hope he still is,” I said, watching Remke as he pulled a drape back, looking like a gangster checking to see if John Law was on his tail. “He’s a French Jew who made it to the Vatican and got fingered for the murder of Monsignor Corrigan. Commissario Soletto turned him over to the police in Rome, without much of an investigation.”
“If it has been more than a week, I doubt Monsieur Rossi is still in Rome. Or alive, I regret. This is the crime you were sent to investigate, yes?”
“It is. I haven’t had much success yet. I need to talk to Rossi and find out what he knows, before the killer strikes a third time.”
“Who else has been killed?” Diana asked.
“Soletto. Last night,” I said.
“Really? I did not know that,” Remke said. He didn’t sound as if he was used to secondhand news. “Who do you think is responsible?”
“Hard to say. There were a lot of people around the radio tower, where it happened. Might have been Bishop Zlatko, but he’s on the top of my list mainly because I don’t care for the man. Monsignor
Bruzzone was there, along with Robert Brackett, the American diplomat. Radio technicians, Swiss Guard, gendarmes, various refugees, the list goes on.”
“There is a slight chance Rossi was not sent for transport if he was involved in a criminal case. I will look and see what I can find out. If Rossi is alive, and you keep your end of the bargain, I will give him to you.” Remke let the drape go, apparently satisfied with the street scene.
“How will we make contact?” I asked.
“I will give you a military pass, which allows you to go about the city unmolested. Be at Piazza Navona tomorrow at noon, precisely. Stand by the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi and I will meet you there. At that time, I will tell you what I have found out. You must have the acknowledgment from Montini by the next day.”
“Two days? What if he won’t see me?”
“Make it your business to see that he does. If not, I will be forced to take Miss Seaton with me to Germany as my prisoner, and your two comrades will be back in the Regina Coeli.”
“But-”
“Two days. Excuses are irrelevant. I will leave you both alone now, for twenty minutes. Do not attempt anything foolish. My men are in the corridor and on the street.”
With that, he left the room. Diana and I were alone, two pawns in a game of giants. The only thing a pawn can do is to move ahead, slowly, hoping to reach that final rank where it can be anything it wants.
I figured I was halfway there. Maybe even a little further, I thought, as I looked into Diana’s eyes, inhaled her scent, felt the coolness of her skin, and fell into her embrace.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Another trip through narrow Roman streets, only this time I was alone in the backseat of Remke’s staff car. The little swastika banners on the fender snapped as the BMW sped down the Via Nazionale, the driver leaning on the horn as he encountered traffic and slow-footed pedestrians. Soon it would be Chryslers barreling through these streets, but for now a black BMW with blood-red pennants still had the right of way.
