Death bbwwim-7

by James R Benn

  “Koch,” Remke said, pointing him out to his men. But he was already gone, vanishing into the panicked crowd. “Sind Sie schlecht verletzt?” he said, turning his attention to Dieter, who held a hand over his right arm, blood dripping between his fingers.

  “Nicht schlecht,” Dieter said. I think he was saying he was all right, but his face was white and he was losing blood. “I saw Becher, but his men knocked me over when they burst out of the church.”

  “It seems I owe you my freedom, if not my life,” Remke said to me, supporting Dieter. “But know this; someone betrayed you and it was not my people. Only three of us knew of the change to this location. Someone you told must have informed Koch.”

  “Bishop Zlatko?” Dieter suggested.

  “No, he hasn’t been seen at the Vatican,” I said. “Are you certain it couldn’t have been someone at your end?”

  Sirens began to echo in the distance, and the more curious of the onlookers were gathering to stare at the blood-drenched corpses in monks’ robes.

  “I stake my life on it,” Remke said. “And now we must leave before too many questions are asked.”

  “What about-?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “Your actions have relieved me of the need to detain anyone. Consider all debts paid.”

  He snapped his fingers, and two sedans left the curb and stopped in front of us. The driver’s door opened and Bernard stepped out, pistol at the ready. Remke gave a curt nod, and he held the door for me. Diana sat up front, Abe and Rino in the back, their eyes wide, confusion etched in their faces.

  “Back to being enemies, then?” I said, my hand on the door. I should have hated Remke. If things hadn’t worked out, he would have left Diana to rot in prison, I was certain of it. But in that moment I hated myself more, because I understood. Remke did exactly what had needed to be done. He was gambling with the lives of thousands, and one life more or less wasn’t going to stop him. I should have hated him, but all I felt was awe at his focused intent, and pity for what it must have done to his soul.

  “Yes. Until we set things right in Berlin,” Remke said.

  “Now I must insist on the return of my uniform,” Dieter said, trying for nonchalance but coming up short as he wavered unsteadily, blood seeping through his fingers.

  “And the handmade boots,” I said. “If you can get to the Vatican tomorrow, head for the Arch of the Bells at noon.”

  “Until then,” Dieter said, as Bernard helped him into the other vehicle. I extended my hand to Remke. He hesitated, then shook it.

  “Good luck,” I said, then jumped into the car and floored it, putting as much distance between us and the damned Spanish Steps as I could.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “What’s happening?” Diana demanded, her hand pulling my sleeve. “What was the shooting about?”

  “We were betrayed. Those were Koch’s men disguised as monks. They had set a trap,” I said, heading away from the church. “Rino, where’s the nearest bridge?”

  “Take this right, the Via del Corso,” he said. We passed ambulances heading in the other direction, and a squad of Germans double-timing it on foot. In the rearview mirror I saw the Germans stop traffic and seal off the road. Diana noticed it too.

  “They’ll set up identity checks at the bridges,” she said. “It will be a while before they realize it wasn’t a partisan attack.”

  “So step on it,” Abe said from the backseat. “I ain’t plannin’ on a stretch in a POW camp. Or worse. We’re in civvies, for Chrissakes.”

  I looked at Diana. She nodded, and gripped the seat with both hands. “Okay,” I said. I leaned on the horn and watched pedestrians and a few bicyclists scatter. I dug into my pocket and gave Diana the Beretta. “Three or four rounds, that’s it.”

  “This left!” Rino shouted, and I took it hard, tires squealing. Diana rolled down her window and held on, the Beretta at the ready. A block ahead of us, the Ponte Cavour spanned the Tiber River. A lone German military policeman stood at the intersection, a red-and-white sign in his hand. Halt. Behind him, on the bridge, we could see other Germans moving a barbed-wire barricade on a wood frame into place. They were Kettenhunde, or “chain dogs,” as the common German soldier called them, for the metal gorgets they wore around their necks. They were cops, of a sort, but hardly brothers in blue.

  “Go!” Diana said, and leaned out the window, firing a shot at the German. I swear she hit the sign, which spun out of his hand as he dove out of the way of the speeding car. Soldiers were stopping traffic on the road that ran along the Tiber, allowing us to pass right through the intersection. Nice of them.

  The road dipped as it met the bridge, and the car shuddered with the impact as it lurched forward at high speed. It swerved, and I fought to keep control as we sped toward the line of Germans. If we crashed we were dead, one way or the other. One officer drew his pistol and held up his hand. Diana fired two, three more times, and the soldiers dropped the barricade and threw themselves on the pavement, rolling to the side of the bridge. We flew through the opening, sending shattered wood flying as the car struck the ends of the frames. Barbed wire stuck to the front bumper and headlights, and one of the barricades trailed us, still hanging by a strand, spinning out of control, cartwheeling on the roadway and insuring no one tried to be a hero.

  All that was left was one officer, standing at the far end of the bridge. No barricade, no backup, just one Kraut in his peaked cap, wearing the chain dog gorget. And holding a submachine gun.

  “Get down!” I screamed, and pressed the accelerator hard, hoping that a few thousand pounds of metal at high speed might give him something to think about.

  It didn’t. He raised the MP-40 and fired a burst at the windshield. It hit high, probably from the recoil, shredding the roof. I was closer now. Rino was swearing or praying, I couldn’t tell. Bullets stitched the hood, leaving jagged holes that spewed steam from the radiator. The German didn’t move; he kept firing, the spent shell casings arcing brightly in the sunlight. The last few yards seemed to take forever, as if I could count the casings as they flew from his weapon and bounced on the pavement. Abe cursed, Diana screamed, and I prayed the bumper could take it.

  A heavy thud. His body slammed against the windshield, cracking the already pockmarked glass. His face, the dullness of death already upon it, was pressed against the glass for a second before his body slid off the hood, his arm trailing in a dead-handed farewell. Dumb bastard. He’d be alive if he had simply stepped aside and let us go.

  Smoke poured from under the hood as the windshield finally gave in and fell like ice off the eaves right into our laps. I glanced at Diana, who looked wild-eyed but unhurt, her mouth still open in the scream I had heard before impact. There was a helluva racket behind us, part of the barbed-wire barricade still along for the ride. I took a quick turn, and the wire finally snapped, leaving the barricade blocking the street behind us.

  “You ain’t a half-bad getaway man,” Abe said, twisting around in his seat to check our six. “Now let’s ditch the car before she lights up.”

  “Good idea,” I said. We were a bit conspicuous. I pulled into a piazza behind the Palace of Justice, which seemed like the perfect spot to leave a shot-up sedan. Diana tossed the empty Beretta on the seat and we walked in the direction of the Castel Sant’Angelo, trying to look casual as we turned a corner, putting the smoldering car behind us. My heart was pounding and sweat dripped down my temples as a muted whump signaled the combination of leaking gasoline and creeping flames.

  “Follow me,” Rino said. “I know the back ways.” He and Abe went ahead a few paces and disappeared into a palazzo. We followed through the large oak doors, pulling them shut behind us. Rino led us through the building and onto the next street. We’d walk a block, then duck into another building, wait until the coast was clear, and repeat the process.

  “We are close,” Rino said as we huddled in a passageway. “This is the Via di Porta Angelica. See, the Gate of Sant’Anna, there.” He
pointed down the street. “I am friends with many of the Swiss Guard, we will have no difficulty.”

  “All we need is a distraction to get past the German sentries,” Diana said. German paratroopers, in their distinctive helmets and smocks, strolled along the white line, rifles slung idly over their shoulders.

  “It looks quiet,” Abe said. “Maybe they ain’t sounded the alarm on this side of the river yet.”

  We pulled back, out of sight of the street.

  “Rino, do you have your identity papers?”

  “ No, sono spiacente, they took everything. I know some of the Germans by sight; they are used to seeing me and may let me pass. But that would do you no good, my friends.”

  We withdrew into the shadows, waiting for an edge to get us the last fifty yards to the safety of neutral ground.

  “Billy,” Diana whispered as we leaned against the wall. “You did it. You got us out.” She clasped her hands over mine and drew them close. I leaned into her and we kissed. It was hungry, a kiss born of life and death and the precious seconds in between. We could have been in front of a firing squad or in bed alone; it wouldn’t have made one bit of difference. Our cheeks brushed and I felt warm tears as we leaned against a cold stone wall. I should have told her right then, but I couldn’t find the words to speak the truth. How could I tell her I’d been about to leave her behind? She buried her face against my shoulder, and we held onto each other, not quite believing we were together, afraid we might not make the last few yards.

  “Was it hard to get Montini to write the letter?” she finally said.

  I was happy to talk about that instead of my near abandonment. “Yes. It wasn’t everything Remke wanted, but I guess it was enough. Montini mentioned the Auschwitz Protocol specifically, but the reference to the coup was vague.”

  “Well, you must have convinced Remke. He’d been apologetic to us, but said he intended to keep his word if you didn’t come through. He was going to take me to an Abwehr prison in Germany. I’ve had enough of jails. Enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

  “Well, we’re not home free yet. If Koch figures we’re headed this way and moves fast, he could seal off the Vatican.”

  Several vehicles passed by and we pressed ourselves more tightly against the wall. Rino stuck his nose around the corner and came back shaking his head. “Perhaps we should try walking into Saint Peter’s Square,” he said. “They may not be checking papers.”

  “If they aren’t now, they could start any minute,” I said. “We don’t know if Koch was after Remke or me. Or you.”

  “What’s so special about you anyways?” Abe asked.

  “I’m the guy who’s going to finger the killer, and I think he knows it,” I said. “Other than that, I’m just your average Joe.”

  “So this bastard drops a nickel on you? Gets Koch to do his dirty work?”

  “Either that, or Koch had it in for Remke. Probably Koch was happy to pitch a doubleheader. Regardless, we’re stuck here until we can figure out how to get by those sentries.”

  “Doubleheader?” Rino asked.

  “Baseball, pal,” Abe said. “Remember I was telling you about the Brooklyn Dodgers?”

  “Dem Bums,” Rino said, delivering the Brooklyn accent perfectly.

  “Go Roma,” Abe said in return. “Italian football. Roma won the scudetto back in ’42. We didn’t have much else to talk about the last coupla days.”

  We settled into the shadows, listening to the sounds of the street, wondering about our chances. Maybe we could simply walk in. Maybe we’d be nabbed and end up guests at Pensione Jaccarino.

  “Listen,” Abe said.

  “What?” Diana said, tilting her head to catch the sound.

  Abe closed his eyes and lifted one finger, signaling us to wait. “B-24s,” he said. “Not as pretty a sound as B-17s, but they’re coming.”

  I caught the heavy drone a second later. A noise like no other, four-engine bombers headed in our direction. Once you’ve heard it, you don’t soon forget it.

  “Come on,” I said, edging closer to the street. “How soon will they be overhead, Abe?”

  “Any minute,” he said. “They’re a little to the south.” He edged around the corner and checked the street and the sky. “The Krauts are all looking up.”

  We walked out into the street. Everyone was looking up, Germans, Swiss Guard, nuns, priests, passersby. The droning grew louder as we watched the planes passing far above the city rooftops-scores, maybe hundreds of them-flying across Rome, heading toward some target to the west. A few puffs of antiaircraft fire added to the show, but the bombers flew on unscathed. Abe nodded and we stepped out into the street, our heads craned skyward like everyone else, hands shielding eyes from the sun. We walked slowly, moving through the crowd like ghosts, unseen. Every soul around us was united in curiosity and relief that such a devastating force was going elsewhere, passing over with their bomb bay doors closed, the gods of war having decreed one more day of life and sunshine.

  Such was the joy that no one noticed us as we stepped over the line, into the safety of the Holy See.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “Come, quickly, you must not be seen,” O’Flaherty said, beckoning us with an impatient wave of the hand, as if we were dawdling schoolchildren. Rino had asked one of the Swiss Guard to telephone the monsignor, who’d left a message for us to stay put. He arrived in two minutes, out of breath and with a worried look on his face. We were well within the Vatican walls, so I didn’t understand whom we were hiding from. “Here, inside.”

  He held open the door of the Church of San Pellegrino and ushered us into a small chapel not far from the Swiss Guard barracks. Set between two larger buildings, it looked like an afterthought of the Vatican bureaucracy.

  “You are all in one piece,” he said. “Thank the Lord. We heard reports of gunfire; you’re none of you hurt, are you?”

  “No, Monsignor,” Diana said, laying her hand on his arm. “It was close, but we got away. Koch was waiting for us. Or for Colonel Remke.”

  “The only good thing about Koch is that he provides proof of the very devil in our midst. And you, my dear, I’d almost not recognize you. Quite a change, quite a change,” O’Flaherty said, letting a smile creep over the concern on his face. I hadn’t had the time to notice, but Diana was nicely turned out. She wore a dark-blue dress and a fitted jacket under a stylish tan raincoat. She looked like she’d been shopping, not kept under house arrest.

  “What’s the problem, Monsignor?” I asked, saving my questions about Roman fashions for later. “We’re safe now, aren’t we?”

  “For the moment, yes. I take it you have not heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “The Americans have bombed Monte Cassino. This morning, over two hundred bombers attacked the abbey. It is completely destroyed and many civilian refugees have been killed. Trouble is brewing over this, and the Germans are making the most of it.”

  “What’s special about this abbey?” Abe asked. “We’ve bombed whole cities, so what makes this one joint so important?”

  “The Abbey of Monte Cassino sits on the highest ground above the town of Cassino and overlooks the Liri and Rapidio valleys,” O’Flaherty said. “The hill is part of the German defensive line. They hadn’t occupied the abbey, but having control of the area around it gave them an extraordinary position for observation. Allied soldiers have been hit hard trying to take it.”

  “You know for sure the Krauts weren’t inside?” Abe asked.

  “Yes, we have had regular reports from the abbot, and the Holy See received official assurances from Field Marshal Albert Kesselring that no German troops would set foot inside. The occupants were monks, refugees, and priceless works of art. It was founded in the year 524 by the Benedictines, and took centuries to complete. Today it was destroyed by American bombs in one morning. Some cardinals want His Holiness to protest directly, but he has not yet made up his mind.”

  “Surely we’re not in
any danger?” Diana said.

  “Many in the College of Cardinals are very angry over the bombing. Some because they still harbor fascist sympathies; others are genuinely appalled at the senseless destruction. There has been talk of expelling all Allied escapees within the Vatican. Not to mention you and the baron, along with Miss Seaton. Depending on what action His Holiness takes, you may indeed be in danger of expulsion.”

  “What about his order to expell refugees in the other Vatican properties?” I asked.

  “Monsignor Montini has managed to derail that idea,” O’Flaherty said. “But there is so much anger against the Allies now that he may not be able to do the same if the cardinals demand action. To make matters worse, the Allies have also announced they may bomb Castel Gandolfo, the Pope’s summer palace in the mountains above Anzio, claiming it is occupied by German troops, which is ridiculous! There are over fifteen thousand refugees there. Can you imagine the carnage if they bomb it? I must say, your generals wield their bombers with an indiscriminate hand. Now I’ve got myself worked up telling you this, but understand, you may need to leave soon, and quickly at that.”

  “We need to get Abe to a safe place,” I said. “Bomber crew may not be the most popular guys around here. Best for him to lie low.”

  “Rino,” said O’Flaherty, “will you take Abraham to my room? And perhaps you should stay as well, in case you were recognized by Koch. It might not be safe for you on the streets of Rome.”

  “Yes, a good precaution,” Rino agreed. “We shall go through the gardens, less chance of us being seen.”

  O’Flaherty checked the street, and motioned for them to leave. We decided to go out separately, in case anyone was looking for a group of four.

  “You are safe with most of the Swiss Guard,” O’Flaherty said. “After helping me smuggle escapees in, they will have little heart for tossing them out. There may be a few with pro-German leanings, but not many.”