The Vatican's Last Secret

by Francis Joseph Smith

  Dan laughed enthusiastically in reply. “I believe you could be right my friend.”

  Jim placed a pitcher of Margaritas and glasses on the table. “Peace offering,” he said, pouring each a glass.

  Eian shuffled the cards, placing them before Dan for him to cut. Dan cut the cards before sliding them back over to Eian. “Tell me the truth on this one, Danny,” Eian said in a low gravelly voice as he dealt the cards. “On our last little adventure, those English SAS bastards were really after you, right? They didn’t care about Jim’s father and his little ‘deal’ with the Vatican and their Nazi gold. Hell no, they finally caught up with the great Flaherty, Mr. IRA himself.”

  A smile concealed Dan’s silence.

  Eian shamelessly pushed on. “Those Brits must be royally pissed that you screwed them.” He observed both men, his eyes betraying him as they darted anxiously between the two of them.

  He was holding something back.

  Dan noticed it first. “Spit it out, Eian,” he said. “You’re a painfully horrendous liar and you sure as hell can’t play cards. Say what’s on your mind.”

  Eian nodded. “Okay. You got me, Cousin Dan,” he said as he took a sip of his drink before placing the glass back on the table. “Quick synopsis. We loaded the gold from Jim’s father’s farm in the hold of our plane. I flew the plane across the Atlantic with the Brits, unbeknownst to us, on our ass. I land us at the Millville airport. My friends Colin and Sean board the aircraft to help us unload. Then we have our little shootout with the Brits. The shootout was soon followed by an explosion that destroyed the aircraft and basically ended my chances of ever leasing another one again. Well, at least under my Christian name.”

  Dan looked at Jim, before back to Eian wondering why the history lesson. “Speed it up my friend, I have a tee time in a couple of hours.”

  Eian smiled. “Okay, the down and dirty version for the hurried amongst us. Remember, gentlemen, the authorities found six dead bodies in the wreckage or in its proximity; four British SAS troopers and two of my boys, Colin and Sean. When I was up in Philly last week, I just happened to be playing in a high-stakes poker game with a few homicide detectives who knew more than they should have about the case. Of course, they weren’t aware of my involvement. Over the course of a few hours, a few drinks, and me losing a couple thousand bucks, they opened up. They let it slip that the autopsy had come back on the criminals who had a shoot-out with the British SAS. Big news considering British troops were on US soil tracking a known IRA terrorist. The detectives went on to say that the bodies on-board the destroyed aircraft were burned beyond recognition, but one of them was thought to be,” he paused, looking coyly to Dan before continuing: “One, Daniel Flaherty. If you think about it, you are dead as far as they are concerned, so they won’t be coming after you. The great Dan Flaherty is a dead man. They will be in mourning at Whitehall on that one.”

  Jim turned to Dan, “I guess after 20 years of playing dead, you really are dead,” he said.

  Dan smiled as he nodded. “As long as those bastards leave me alone, I will leave them alone. I’m just sick of constantly being on the run.”

  Eian saw his opportunity and dove right in. “Dan, you have your ghost status. Come on cousin, it’s what you always wanted.”

  Dan nodded.

  Eian pressed on. “And, as you have always told me, business is business.”

  Dan knew where Eian was leading him but allowed him to proceed.

  “That piece of information was considered valuable. Am I right?” Not waiting for Dan to respond, he proceeds. “Well, I’m under the assumption it is. So, as I see it, I should receive my little bonus that was promised to me; that and a little vacation time on your yacht here.” Eian beheld his surroundings on the yacht appreciatively. “She’s a beauty, Dan.”

  Dan poured Eian another frosty margarita, a serious look on his face. “Come on, Eian, you impetuous little bastard. Asking for the money so quickly? That’s not being polite. Didn’t you just lose $50,000 at the craps table in Atlantic City?”

  “You should have seen the lovely lass I had standing beside me. I had a system, Dan. It was working up until….”

  “Up until you lost it all,” Dan countered, knowing his cousin all too well. “And how about the other $50,000 you paid to the bookies that have since rescinded the contract on your ass? That’s it boyo. I’m keeping you on an allowance. I owe it to your sweet mother. God rest her soul. That and because we may be willing to cut you in on Jim’s next little adventure.”

  Eian took the frosty glass in hand, wiping the excess salt from around its rim. “What do you mean next little adventure? You almost succeeded in getting me knocked off on your last little adventure.”

  Eian downed the margarita with one long swallow, placing the empty glass down in front of Dan, indicating he’d like a refill.

  Dan nodded. “You are one of us, Eian, an adrenaline junkie. Now as I see it, we still owe you $250,000 from our last trip, and if we are successful on our next one, you could clear close to $1.2 million. How does that sound? Such a lovely figure, wouldn’t you say?”

  Eian’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious? Who do I have to kill?”

  Dan looked to Jim, him nodding to Eian. “It’s true. And you don’t have to kill a soul.”

  Eian pondered his response for all of two seconds. “If I heard you correctly state the figure of $1.2 million, then it would be a pleasure to do business with gentlemen of your stature.”

  Jim laughed at Eian’s predictable response, now moving toward the boat’s main stateroom, gaining Eian and Dan’s attention as he did. “All right, gentlemen, enough of the petty shit. Let’s get down to the reason why we are here,” knocking on the door of the main stateroom, waiting for its occupant to exit.

  An elderly man emerged, swiping a comb through his thinning white hair, a forced smile upon his face. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said the small, almost gnomish man with a hint of an Italian accent. He had the resigned look of one who knows that at his age life has stopped giving and only takes away.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Antonio Perluci at your service.”

  CHAPTER 45

  “Son of a bitch,” shouted Eian, looking desperately from Dan to Jim then back to Perluci. “He’s the damn Vatican bastard who was trying to kill us!”

  Dan patted Eian on his back in reassurance. “No worries; he’s on our side, cousin. He’s what you might call a turncoat.”

  “But he’s still the damn enemy!”

  Jim shook his head. “It’s okay, Eian. He is one of us. When you hear all he has to say, you’ll see he’s been helping us all along. How do you think we were able to get away with all of those close calls in Europe?”

  Dan nodded. “Don’t worry, we already worked out all of the details, cousin.”

  “One day somebody has to sit me down and explain all of this,” said Eian, shaking his head. “Last month that bastard and his goons were trying to kill us and now we’re all buddy, buddy. But it’s your dime.” Eian raised his hands in mock surrender. “Since you gentlemen are footing the bills, it’s your game. Your rules.”

  Dan and Jim smiled at his analogy.

  Perluci saw the coast was clear. “I must be getting old, that is, if you can call ninety-four, old,” Perluci said, pointing back to the unmade bed in his stateroom. “I seem to nap more now that our little chase has concluded.” A dazed expression dominated his face until he spied the pitcher of margaritas. “I could use one of those before we get started.”

  Eian indulged him, pushing an empty glass towards Perluci as the old man eased himself into a chair at the table, then filling it for him. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” Perluci said in a loud booming voice before smiling, “getting old sucks.”

  Everyone laughed in agreement.

  Once settled, Perluci promptly grabs the glass and hoists it aloft. “Cheers. To my new friends and ……”

  Jim and Dan raised their glasses
in agreement, waiting until Eian refilled his in order for Perluci to complete the toast.

  “business partners,” he said.

  “Nothing like a little Tequila before work,” Dan said as he sipped his drink.

  Jim was still standing as he garnered their attention. “All-right, I think it’s time we get down to business.” Jim looked to Perluci with a slightly confused look about him. “I’ve been calling you Mr. Perluci for a few weeks now. It does seem a little odd since we are becoming friends, and business partners. What do your friends call you?”

  Perluci’s deep wrinkles seemed to carve a map of his life on his face as his eyes twinkled. “At my age, well, all of my friends are dead. But just the same, call me Perluci. Only my long-departed Mother called me by my Christen name, Antonio,” he said solemnly.

  “Perluci it is,” said Jim. “We can’t sit on Dan’s boat all summer and live the life of Reilly.” He pauses, the pause deliberate. “Or can we?”

  A chorus of laughter greets him.

  He continues: “I mean Dan was kind enough to allow us to use his amenities here as we recoup from our last little adventure. But we can’t be the proverbial guest that wouldn’t leave. And with that in mind, I have asked Perluci to provide us a brief on our next little project. We all know, without Perluci, we wouldn’t be sitting on this nice boat boasting of our big bank accounts. Well, at least you gentlemen wouldn’t,” Jim said, grinning, alluding to his recent inheritance with his Fathers passing. “Perluci is about to take us to the next step and make us all very rich men indeed.” Jim walks to the edge of the boat before turning around to face his assembled group. For a moment, he looks uncomfortable. “But before Perluci starts, I want you all to know that I have gone ahead and taken the liberty of adding a partner to our team without consulting you.”

  Eian was the first to object, standing in protest as he spoke. “Are you telling me my share is already being cut? Hell, you just told me I was getting $1.2M!”

  “Shut up you little shit,” shot back Perluci, surprising everyone with his outburst. “I’m sure Jim has a very good reason for his actions and he doesn’t have to answer to the likes of a piss ant like you.”

  Eian looked to Perluci, a genuine look of shock gracing his face before choosing to respond. “Yes, sir,” replied Eian, providing him a mock salute. “You’re pretty bossy for an old-timer.”

  “I may be old, but I can still kick the shit out of the likes of you.”

  Dan concurred, pulling on the tale of Eian’s shirt to sit him back down. “You heard the man,” Dan said. “Now zip it before he kicks the shit out of you.”

  Each of them laughed aloud in response.

  After several seconds, Dan points over to Jim. “The floor is still yours, Jim.”

  The smirk had yet to leave Jim’s face as he nods in return. “I should have consulted you all but it was a snap decision. My apologies. I added her because of her resources, and the fact that she is already in-work on something that may have a bearing on our project.”

  “Just tell us who she is?” said Dan, taking the inclusion of another member to their team in stride. “I just want to know who is taking part of your share,” he said with a smile adorning his face.

  Jim looked to each of them before speaking. “Nora Robinson,” he replied sheepish, shying away from Dan’s gaze, knowing what was coming next.

  “Wait a minute,” shot back Dan, mischievously looking from side-to-side. “Is this the same Nora Robinson who writes for the Chicago Tribune? The same one who won a Pulitzer Prize a few years ago? Oh, wait a minute…..” he paused for effect, laughing as he spoke, “and just happened to be your Fiancée? That, Nora Robinson?”

  Jim smiled at Dan, nodding slightly. Dan was the only one among them aware of what had transpired between Nora and Jim. “I know. Trust me, I know. Nora and I had one hell of a break-up before my Dad died. But that’s all in the past. At the time, we agreed to move on. And we did. But the real reason I contacted her will become a little more apparent after Perluci provides the details of our next job.”

  Dan couldn’t let it go. “Nora Robinson. She’s too good for you. Too smart for you. And too damn good looking for you,” he said, laughing as he did, his Belfast accent was heavier now as continued. “But,” holding his index finger up to accentuate his point, “if I remember correctly, she won that Pulitzer Prize for the Presidential corruption scandal a few years back. From what I heard, it won her many friends in the new government. Could help us down the road if we need some, what I like to call, other type of support.”

  Jim nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable. “To answer both of your questions; yes, she did and yes it might. Can we please move on now?” he pleaded, looking uncomfortable.

  Dan shook his head. He was having too much fun. “Pulitzer Prize, Jim,” he said. “Don’t know how you’re going to one up her on that one.”

  Jim held up his hands in defeat. Dan smiled. “Well, in the interest of moving this along, I will concede the floor to our new friend, Mr. Perluci.”

  Perluci nodded respectfully to Dan as he slowly rose from his chair, him looking and feeling all of his ninety-four years of age.

  “It’s time for us to return to the Nazi Gold Train in the closing days of WWII.”

  CHAPTER 46

  3 MAY 1945; LAMBACH, AUSTRIA

  GUNSKIRCHEN LAGER CONCENTRATION CAMP

  The first rays of light danced across the sky allowing the long shadows of dawn to retreat.

  It was time.

  SS Colonel Manfred Heber withdrew his Walther P38 from its worn leather holster, pointing the weapon to the morning sky before firing three shots in quick succession. This was the signal to his remaining soldiers to abandon their positions guarding the perimeter of the camp and rush to the train awaiting them.

  He rubbed his tired eyes. They had no choice but to hurry, American army patrols were reportedly only a few kilometers away. Heber knew that if captured, he and his men would face immediate execution — no questions asked.

  Heber also possessed a dark secret he was obligated to escape with. A secret so dark it could either ensure him a life of luxury—or a very painful death. Of course he would choose luxury every time but that would involve him first escaping the Americans and being able to make a clean break from his past. It would also require a bit of luck. Heber had his first taste of luck in the form of a midnight phone call from a friend who lived only 20 kilometers west of camp. The friend informed Heber that elements of the American Army were pushing through his area and could quite possibly be arriving, in force, at Heber’s location by morning. This warning provided Heber just enough time to implement the first phase of his survival plan.

  A whiff of black coal smoke hung in the morning air, the smoke coming from his train’s solitary engine and its 42 railcars of the German National Railroad. Since the timely call from his friend, Heber hastily mustered 600 of his camps healthiest prisoners, this out of a population of close to 15,000, a tall order with dysentery and typhus having ravaged the camp in the weeks prior. He required his prisoners to empty the camps warehouses. The warehouse acting as a repository for stolen museum quality paintings, antique furniture, Persian rugs, and gold and silver bullion, and then their loading of its contents onto the awaiting train. Of course, most of its contents were stolen from the very prisoners in the camp, Hungarian Jews. For the most part, professional people, with many distinguished doctors, lawyers, musicians, and representatives of every skilled field. Everything was stripped from them upon their entering Gunskirchen, or by special SS units detailed to confiscate anything of value from their now empty residences and to transport the items to the camp’s warehouse. Also, with their proximity to the infamous Mauthausen-Gusen concentration camp, the Commandant of that camp had been ordered two months ago, by a prominent high-ranking Nazi party official, to move all of its camp’s valuables to Gunskirchen, there-by placing everything under the direct control of Heber.

  The letter was sign
ed by none other than, Martin Bormann, private secretary to Adolf Hitler.

  For Heber, the stars had suddenly aligned.

  The loading of the valuables took all of five hours. Heber made quick work of it, personally shooting any prisoner who attempted to walk, even in their emaciated state, with most resembling more a skeleton with skin than a human being.

  Each prisoner was forced to jog between the warehouse and the train. The lucky ones died of exhaustion or from starvation due to the meager rations Heber had fed them since their entry to Gunskirchen — mostly sawdust bread or warm water mixed with grass, maybe a rotten potato or two tossed in each four-liter bucket. With such a pitiful meal, the average prisoner’s life expectancy dropped to only three or four weeks upon entering the camp. Heber saw no reason to waste good food on Jewish prisoners who would soon be dead.

  Heber had scrutinized the chaotic scene from above, choosing to walk on top of the railcars, hopping from one to another, pistol in hand ready to shoot down anyone who disobeyed him.

  With the loading complete, Heber required witnesses to be eliminated. He had his orders. The remaining prisoners who had loaded the train were taken at gunpoint to the side of the train opposite the camp. Where, as ordered only a week before by Hitler’s private secretary, Martin Bormann, they were to be summarily shot, their bodies left in-place where they died. Heber was only too happy to oblige. It would only aid him in the end. The Nazi’s required no witnesses for their unspeakable deeds. However, more importantly, neither did Heber.

  With the camps remaining prisoners ordered to remain in their barracks until further orders, only empty guard towers and a towering, four-meter high barbed wire fence separated the train from the prisoners. With typhus and dysentery having spread rapidly through the starving and weakened camp population in the preceding weeks, Heber had no worries about the prisoners charging the outnumbered guards. Most would likely be dead by the end of the week from disease anyway.