by Neil Maresca
Márton would have been less confident if he had known of the General’s assassination, and the zeal with which he and Sasha were being pursued. The agents following Father Márton searched the Capuchin church for a long time before giving in to the fact that they had lost their prey, a fact that presented them with a predicament. They wanted to get credit for finding and following the Jesuit, but they couldn’t tell their superiors that, once having found him, they lost him. So they agreed to a slight modification to their report. They described in detail, how they alertly picked Father Márton out of a crowd of people leaving the Jesuit church and followed him to the Capuchin monastery, where, they stated, he still was, likely accompanied by the rest of his band of assassins. For good measure, they added that a woman was seen entering the monastery at the same time, although they could not confirm that it was the Countess.
The report was wired to Gestapo headquarters that afternoon. As soon as Schengel read it, he ordered a staff car and a squad of men and, despite the lateness of the day, began the drive from Zagreb to Trieste. The report made sense. In Schengel’s experience, people were predictable. Jews hid out in synagogues and other places they knew; a priest would go to a place where he would have friends and support. Yes, he thought, a monastery. It made sense.
The distance between Zagreb and Trieste was not great, but the main road led out of Croatia and into Llubiana, Slovenia, nestled in the Julian Alps and a hotbed of communist resistance. Schengel had no choice but to take a much longer southern route, which required him to travel most of the night and only arrive in Trieste early the following morning.
He was exhausted and irritable when he arrived, but he declined an invitation to eat and rest, and instead insisted upon being taken to the monastery where the Jesuit was reportedly hiding out. He paced up and down outside the monastery while his men tore the place apart searching for the Countess and her companions. When they weren’t found, he had the poor, bewildered monks dragged from their cells and taken to gestapo headquarters where they were questioned for hours, all to no avail. Finally, he had the two agents who filed the report arrested and beaten until they confessed that they had lost the priest in the church and had never actually seen him enter the monastery. Schengel was furious. This priest was making a fool out the entire SS, and what was worse, he was making a fool of him. He ordered the two men executed, and instituted a city-wide search for Father Márton, the Countess, and Lukas. He was certain they were in the city, and he believed he knew where they were headed. He had come to the conclusion that they were spies, either for the allies or the communists—he didn’t know which, but it didn’t matter. They were headed for sanctuary, and that meant only two places—either Switzerland or the Vatican. Either way, it meant they had to travel north from Trieste. He would flush them out of the city, and when they headed north, he would be waiting. He studied the local maps. There were only two main roads out of Trieste, but there was plenty of countryside to hide out in—too much for his small corps of SS troopers. But he quickly recognized a pinch-point, a small town called Duino where all roads crossed and the mountains came so close to the sea that there was no open territory. He decided. He wouldn’t chase after them. He would wait for them in Duino.
László received a message from The Snake with information that brought a smile to his face. The Countess and her son, along with the priest and another young man had arrived in Trieste a few days earlier. The Snake had no further information. They may or may not still be in Trieste. However, the Partisans who were camped in the hills outside of Trieste kept a close watch on everything moving in or out of the city, and while they were not looking specifically for László’s quarry, they had, as yet, reported no further sightings of the Countess or the priest. It would seem that the Károlyi family was still in the city.
After the assassination of General Von Piehl, the Gestapo tightened its grip on Trieste. László realized that he couldn’t just walk in and look around until he found the Countess. No, he would have to wait until they moved, and he came to the same conclusion that Schengel had—when they moved, it would be north.
There were only two roads north out of Trieste. One hugged the coast of the Gulf of Trieste as it curved its way around the northern reaches of the Adriatic Sea. The other ran a little further inland in the valley at the foothills of the Julian Alps, which was also the border between Italy and Slovenia. The coastal road was firmly in the hands of the Germans. They controlled both the land and the sea in this part of Italy. The valley road was in dispute. The Germans held it, but the garrisons there were under constant threat of attack from Partisans crossing the mountains from Slovenia.
Both roads terminated at Monfalcone, a mid-sized, busy port approximately 30 kilometers north of Trieste with train and road connections to Italy’s heartland—a heartland which, at the moment, was in chaos, controlled neither by the Germans nor the Partisans. If the Countess and her party could reach Monfalcone, their options, and their chances of survival, would increase greatly.
László, who was unfamiliar with the territory and spoke neither Italian, Slovakian, nor German was given two local-area Partisans to help him. They told him the narrowest point between Trieste and Monfalcone was a small town called Duino, but that was firmly in the hands of the Germans. It had to be avoided. His best chance of intercepting his quarry, they told him, was to wait for them in Monfalcone where he would have the help of the local communist resistance fighters. So, László thought, I will end this in Monfalcone.
Chapter 22
May, 1944
Trieste, Italy
“The Bishop sends his greetings.”
Father Márton smiled. The Bishop was a good friend. Márton was certain he wouldn’t let them down.
“But he also sends a warning,” Ambrose added. “There is amazing news. It seems that our situation is more dangerous than we thought. Perhaps we should sit. There is much to discuss.”
Sasha and Lukas joined Father Márton, who was already seated at the table. They looked expectantly at Ambrose, who pulled up a chair and sat facing the others.
“General Von Piehl is dead.” He paused to give the others time to digest what he had just said. “His body was found in your apartment Countess, along with Petra.”
“Oh dear Lord,” Sasha gasped, “Petra’s dead too? How…?”
“The Bishop told me that the General was assassinated. He is believed to have been the target. Petra was in the wrong place. But, what is important to us is that the Gestapo believes that you and Father Márton are involved, perhaps even the perpetrators. They know you are in Trieste, and they are scouring the city for you. They have arrested the entire Capuchin community, and have even questioned His Excellency himself.”
Ambrose paused, expecting, perhaps, some emotional response, but to his surprise, everyone stayed calm. Even Lukas seemed unperturbed by the news.
“What does he suggest?” Márton asked.
“For now, he says to keep your head down. He didn’t even want to know where you and the Countess are staying. The less he knows, he said, the less he can reveal under torture.”
“The Bishop expects to be tortured?” Sasha said aghast.
“I asked the same thing. He said he doesn’t expect it, he just wants to be prepared for all eventualities. He repeated that the Germans are in a fury. He says he has never seen them so frenzied. The good news is that they have no idea where you are, so the best thing to do for the moment is to stay put. And he added another piece of good news—the path from Monfalcone to the Swiss border is secure. He says if you can get to Monfalcone, he can almost assure that you will reach Switzerland safely.”
“And now the bad news…Ambrose?”
Ambrose hesitated, but Sasha urged him on.
“Do not think that we are weak, Brother Ambrose. Lukas and I are not afraid of danger.”
“I am not a Brother yet, Countess, only an acolyte. Pray God I live long enough to take my vows, which will not happen if the Nazis
have their way.”
“God is more powerful than any enemy, Ambrose. Never forget that.”
“I won’t Father, but sometimes I wonder why He just doesn’t strike down such wickedness.”
“The bad news, Ambrose?”
“The bad news, Father, is that His Excellency says that, at this time, he has no way to get you out of Trieste. The Germans have sealed both the coast road and the valley road to Monfalcone. Nobody can get in or out of Trieste from the north. He also suggests that whatever we plan to do, we avoid anyplace associated with religion. They are all under surveillance. He says he cannot help us any further as long as we are here in Trieste. He is being watched too closely.”
The little group sat quietly, each member dealing with this new information, lost in their own thoughts.
“30 kilometers,” Father Márton said. “30 kilometers to Monfalcone and safety. Surely, we have come this far, we can go 30 kilometers further.”
“Who killed the General?” Sasha asked no one in particular.
“Probably anarchists or communists,” Father Márton replied.
“Probably László.” Lucas said, surprising everyone because he usually did not speak at family meetings.
“Why do you say that?” Sasha asked.
“Because he shot Papa, and he tried to shoot me, and the General was killed in your apartment. I think he was looking for me, and shot the General by mistake.”
“I don’t see how a person like him would have the means to get to Zagreb or the ability to locate us.”
“You didn’t see the look in his eyes. He hates us. I don’t think he will stop until we are all dead.”
“The boy may be right,” Márton said. “We have to consider it a possibility.”
“What difference does it make?” Ambrose asked.
“Well, if Lukas is correct, and he and the Countess were the targets in Zagreb, it means that the communists are helping László, because the Countess is also correct, he is not capable of doing this on his own. It means that we are being actively hunted by both the communists and the Nazis. It also means that the valley road is out of the question. At least along the coast road all we will have to deal with are the Nazis.”
“The Bishop says the road is sealed. All traffic, in or out, is stopped and searched—no exceptions.”
“Then we must use neither road. Ambrose. You are familiar with this region, are you not?”
“Somewhat, Father. I traveled it once or twice as a child. We had relations in the region at one time, but they moved out many years ago.”
“Is there any way to avoid the roads?”
“It can be done. The coast road begins in Barcola, the northernmost suburb of Trieste. From there to Prosecco, it is separated from the valley road by forest; and then from Prosecco to Duino there is some forest cover again, but it diminishes with each kilometer as the mountains come closer to the sea. Both roads enter Duino, the coast road on the west, and the valley road on the east. There is no way around Duino unless you want to climb the mountains or dive into the sea. However, Duino is only a few kilometers from the heart of Monfalcone.”
“Good. Tomorrow you must take the tram as far as Barcola. Find us a suitable place far from the road, but close to the forest. Purchase supplies, but be discreet! Do not buy everything at one place or at one time. Hide the items where you can find them again, and when you are done, come back here. Do you understand?”
‘Perfectly.”
“Then you’d better get started. I’d like to be ready to move next market day.”
it was not difficult for Ambrose to find an abandoned farmhouse at the edge of the town, away from the busy city center. Barcola had been a prominent beach resort during the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but after World War I it had fallen on hard times, and many of the original Slovak inhabitants had moved away, unhappy with their new Italian overlords.
He spent the next two days cautiously buying small amounts of foodstuffs, mostly bread, cheeses, salamis and other non-perishable items, and stashing them into two rucksacks that he had found abandoned by the side of the road. He had camped out often as a child, and knew what was necessary and what was not. He followed Father Márton’s advice to the letter, keeping his purchases small and spreading them out among a variety of different merchants in a number of different precincts of the city. Money was scarce, and the last thing he wanted to do was to appear wealthy. This would arouse the suspicions of the police and also make him a target for thieves. So he bargained hard over each and every item, and pretended to be shopping for his widowed mother, left at home with three small siblings. The charade made the process extremely tedious and lengthy, as he had to take each purchase back to the farmhouse and store it, and then go out again and make another purchase from a different vendor in a different part of the city. After three days of walking and carting, he felt satisfied that he had acquired enough food and equipment for four people to journey the three-to-four days that Father Márton estimated would be needed to cover the 30 kilometers to Monfalcone, a journey he would normally complete in two days. But they would be traveling at night, moving very cautiously to avoid being seen, and further slowed by the Countess and Lukas, neither one of which was accustomed to living rough. They would be eating stale bread and dried out meats and cheeses by the trip’s end, but he felt confident they had enough provisions to get them to Monfalcone without having to stop to resupply.
He placed the provisions in the rucksacks, wrapped them both in burlap and buried them in the cellar before leaving to take the tram back to the center of Trieste and the three refugees anxiously awaiting his return.
“Ambrose!” Lukas shouted as he ran to greet his ‘big brother’.
Father Márton and Sasha were more reserved, but still extremely happy to see that Ambrose had returned safely. Márton gave the group a short time to greet each other before getting down to business.
“What news?” he asked.
“Well, the Bishop was right about the Germans—there are patrols and checkpoints all over the city, but despite that, I was able to travel easily to Barcola and find us an empty farmhouse that we can use as a base to begin our journey. It is stocked and ready. The only problem that I can foresee is the four of us traveling together. I noticed they stopped families, but let me walk past untroubled. They were especially interested in priests.”
“Then we shall travel independently, and I will leave my priestly garments behind. Ambrose, do you think you can find some less respectable clothing for us to wear? We will need to look like farmers and locals if we are to move unnoticed through the crowds on market day.”
Ambrose had no trouble finding used clothing for sale. He also managed to find another scraggly hen to make chicken soup. “I thought we should eat well before we begin our journey,” he said. “Once we are on our way, there will only be stale bread and moldy cheese.”
Chapter 23
May, 1944
Prosecco, Italy
Two days later the farmer’s market opened in Trieste, and Sasha, Márton, Lukas, and Ambrose began their flight to Monfalcone. As they had planned, Ambrose and Lukas left the apartment first. When they were about a block away, but still in sight, Sasha left, dressed as a peasant woman, carrying a net shopping bag, her beautiful hair pulled tightly into a bun. Márton left last, looking like the peasant farmer that he would have been had he not felt called to the priesthood.
They kept their distance from each other, but at the same time, watched each other closely. When Ambrose and Lukas stopped at a cart pretending interest in a toy or some other object, Sasha paused to examine the fruits and vegetables, while Márton struck up a conversation with one of the farmers.
The German presence was heavy. Uniformed soldiers walked in pairs, scrutinizing the crowd for the fugitive priest and countess, and plain-clothed SS agents tried to appear inconspicuous among the shoppers. Schengel had moved his personal focus to Duino, but he did not relax his vigilance in Trieste.<
br />
The plan appeared to be working well, until a pair of troopers took an interest in Ambrose and Lukas as they moved through the crowd. They stopped as the young man and boy walked past, looked at them for a moment and then turned and walked behind them. Sasha, from her vantage point behind the boys, saw this happening and was barely able to keep herself from calling out or rushing forward and scooping Lukas up in her arms. Ambrose also noticed the troopers, and guided Lukas to a stall where an old man was carving animal figures and other novelties.
“We’re being followed,” Ambrose whispered. “Pick something up.”
Lukas complied, choosing a model airplane with a swastika painted on it. As the troopers drew closer, Lukas began to twirl the model plane in the air, imitating the sound of an airplane as it dove down and soared upward. The troopers stopped and watched in silence. Sasha almost feinted, but Ambrose and Lukas remained calm.
“Put it down Lukas, we can’t afford it,” he said, but Lukas continued his mock air battle. Suddenly he stopped, looked up at the two soldiers, smiled, held out the plane to them, and said “Luftwaffe.” The two soldiers laughed, ruffled his hair and started to walk away. Sasha exhaled, realizing that she had not breathed the entire time. Then one soldier turned and walked back to the stand. He gave the old man a coin and motioned in Lukas’ direction. Ambrose and Lukas also walked away, Lukas continuing to fly his model plane, which he now owned, courtesy of the German soldier.
The four fugitives worked their way slowly and carefully through the market center to the crowded tram station. They boarded separately, Lukas clutching a small model airplane, and Sasha with her net bag full of bread, cheese, and fresh fruit. They looked like all the other people coming and going to the market. And in this way, they passed through the German checkpoints and disembarked at the last stop, in Barcola.
Ambrose led them to the abandoned farmhouse that he had selected and prepared for them. Once inside, and certain that they had not been seen or followed, they relaxed for the first time since they had left their apartment earlier in the day. Sasha emptied her net bag, and Lukas threw the plane into the wall, breaking it into pieces.
