by Glenn Dyer
“Ah, yes. A miscommunication, I’m afraid. My Italian is a bit rusty. You see, the Holy Father was kind enough to send his car to pick us and the American representative Myron Taylor up from the airport.”
“Yes, I am aware. You were checked in a while ago.”
“Well, Mr. Taylor asked that we retrieve Bishop Heinz from Santa Maria dell’Anima for a meeting with Mr. Taylor, before he meets with the Holy Father. But it seems—”
“Bishop Heinz and guests checked in at this gate about thirty minutes ago.”
“Ah, yes. So we were told. A wasted trip it was, I’m afraid.”
Emily cleared her throat, getting Thorn’s attention. She pointed to her watch and raised her eyebrows. Thorn responded with a timid shrug.
Graf bent over and peered into the rear of the limousine. “Father, shouldn’t that diplomatic pouch be dropped off at the secretary of state’s office?”
“Yes. That is the next stop.”
Graff gave a halfhearted nod. “And who are these people?”
“That would be Father Thorn and Sister Bright. Is it all right to pass through, Sergeant Major?”
Graff gave his jaw a firm rub. “This all seems rather unusual, Father, but go ahead.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
Thorn rolled slowly though the gate, gravel crunching underneath the Cadillac’s tires. On the other side, he took a slight turn to the left and headed through the Piazza del Santo Uffizio, toward the German College. As Thorn brought the Cadillac to a stop in front of the German College, he noticed Longworth, his tall frame putting him a head above two other men and a third who pulled up the rear of the group, as he was getting into a long, black Mercedes.
Mark this day, you bastard. It’s your last.
“Well, look at that, would you?” Thorn said, motioning with his head. “Over there—it’s our man Longworth. And take a look at who’s behind him.”
“It’s Canaris,” said Emily, her voice tinged with wonder and dread.
“And the short man in the frock and cape—that’s Heinz,” said Sean.
Heinz stood on the periphery of the group, uninvolved in the conversation but looking intently at the Cadillac.
He looks plenty alive to me. Someone should tell MI6, Thorn thought, fighting the urge to drop the car into first gear and bury its hood in the side of the Mercedes and be done with it.
“I think they spotted us,” Emily said.
With the Cadillac’s engine still running, Thorn grabbed the gearshift and pulled it toward him, then down. A dull clunk, and the car was in first gear. Don’t be stupid. The Swiss Guards will be on you in seconds, and you won’t get the diary page. You need to jump them on the streets of Rome. Not here.
“No. They can’t see inside the car from that distance. They most likely recognize the car. The fender flags are kind of a giveaway,” Thorn said, putting the Cadillac back in neutral.
Longworth was the first to get into the back of the Mercedes. The other three men stood outside the car for a moment and conversed among themselves before they joined Longworth and drove off, headed in the direction of the Petriano gate, passing the papal limousine.
Thorn’s mind raced. The sight of a Churchill war cabinet member with the head of the Abwehr was chilling.
“Conor, that’s where D’Arcy Osborne’s office is—on the top floor,” Sean said.
Thorn turned around to look at Sean. “Of course it is,” he said, the pitch in his voice rising. “Longworth knew that Osborne was in London.”
“Of course he did—the cabinet held a lunch for him in his honor,” Emily added.
“And he knew that Osborne wouldn’t be here to raise questions about a letter or about Longworth’s appearance in Rome. The timing of Osborne’s trip to London fit into his plan perfectly.”
Thorn got out of the limousine and yanked the flags of the Holy See from the fenders, jumped back behind the wheel, shoved the gearshift into first, and sped forward. He took an abrupt right turn in front of the Sacristy of Saint Peter’s and another sharp right after passing the German College, then headed straight through the Petriano gate, drawing a stern look from the sergeant. Thorn could see the Mercedes up ahead, a flock of pigeons scattering into the air before resettling on the cobblestones as the vehicle raced along.
Longworth’s been a few steps ahead of us for too long. I think it’s time to catch up.
#
Longworth regained his composure as the Mercedes turned off Via Paolo VI onto Borgo Santo Spirito and picked up speed on the wide boulevard. Canaris and Kappler peered over their shoulders.
“What’s happening?” asked Longworth.
“It appears that we are being followed—closely,” Kappler said.
“That’s the Holy Father’s limousine,” Heinz said. “It was parked across the street from us moments ago. But he couldn’t—”
“I don’t care whose car it is. They’re following us,” Kappler shouted.
Longworth considered what would happen at the embassy. Canaris’s reaction to the document was deflating. Would they interrogate him? Would they torture him to collect other classified information? He had lost control of his plan. He was falling into an abyss.
“Longworth, could this be the persistent agent that has been after you?” Canaris asked.
“I have no way of knowing, but it’s your problem now.”
“Perhaps it is the NKVD coming to your rescue?” Canaris offered.
Longworth gave him no reaction except for an unrelenting stare.
“Admiral, should I try to take out one of their tires?” Kappler asked.
“No, let’s try to lose them in some traffic.”
“Driver. The black limousine behind us—pick up speed and lose them.” Kappler, seated opposite Longworth, took out his gun and placed it in his lap.
Longworth stared at it as Kappler turned to look out the rear window.
#
“Where are they headed, Sean?” Thorn asked as he guided the speeding Cadillac down the Borgo Santo Spirito.
“I don’t know. They aren’t headed back to Heinz’s office. But they could be headed to the airport or the German Embassy.”
“Well, they’re not going to get to either place. Hold on,” Thorn shouted. He took a right off of the Via Paolo VI onto Borgo Santo Spirito and saw that the Mercedes had picked up speed. He buried the gas pedal, and the Cadillac’s sixteen cylinders effortlessly closed the distance.
“What’s up ahead?” Thorn asked.
“If they stay on this street, it runs in to the Piazza Pia. If they take a right as it gets close to the Tiber, they’ll go across the Vittorio Emanuel Bridge.”
“What’s the plan?” Emily asked as she pulled her headdress off and took out her PPK .
“The diary page has to be in that car. All we have to do now is stop them.”
The Mercedes slowed as it approached the intersection of Piazza Pia and then took a right onto the Vittorio Emanuel Bridge. Thorn did not slow when he made the same turn, forcing Emily to slide across the seat toward him. Sean held on to a strap above the door.
The Cadillac, its tires squealing, was now less than fifty feet behind the Mercedes. The two-way traffic was flanked on each side by wide sidewalks, and a white, decorative marble railing three feet high ran down the length of the bridge on each side. The traffic on the bridge was sparse—a bus, a delivery truck, and a sedan in the oncoming lane. A two-wheeled cart pulled by a donkey was thirty yards ahead of the speeding cars.
Thorn swerved into the middle lane and pushed the Cadillac’s V-16 engine, pulling alongside the Mercedes.
#
Inside the Mercedes, Longworth saw that Kappler, Canaris, and Heinz were all riveted as the Cadillac pulled up. Mere moments ago, he believed that he might bargain his way into the safety of Vatican City. But that hope, as feeble as it was, was smashed by the relentlessness of their faceless pursuers…yet maybe all was not lost.
Kappler, his gun in hand,
screamed at the driver to pull ahead. Longworth lunged at Kappler, trying to wrestle the gun away from him.
“Get off me, you fool.” Kappler pushed his foot into Longworth’s chest, propelling him back into his seat. As Longworth’s hand was wrenched away, a shot thundered inside the cabin, Longworth’s ears ringing as it smashed through the glass partition and hit the driver in the shoulder.
#
“What was that?” Thorn shouted.
“Not sure. I think the driver’s been shot—he’s slumped over the wheel,” Emily yelled over the revving V-16.
On the right sidewalk, a woman held a baby, its carriage nearby as she stood at the bridge’s railing, looking out over the Tiber River. Thorn gasped as he realized the Mercedes was careening directly toward her and her baby.
The woman turned toward the sound of the approaching vehicles, and Thorn saw her face twist in terror as the Mercedes bore down on them. Her expression triggered an image of Grace as she held their son while he took his last breath, Thorn by their side, powerless to help in any way.
No. Not this time.
There was a loud bang as the Mercedes’s right front tire slammed into the curb, popping it. The delivery truck, bus, and sedan in the lane of oncoming traffic screeched to a halt. If Thorn mistimed what came next, he would launch the Cadillac over the railing and into the Tiber.
He reached out and grabbed Emily’s arm, yanking her away from the passenger door. Clenched his jaw, he spun the wheel of the Cadillac sharply to the right. The car collided with the Mercedes with a deafening crunch, launching it up onto the sidewalk, hurling Emily to the roof and then back down into her seat. The scraping sounds of metal on metal filled the air.
The Mercedes’s front end smashed into the marble railing. Parts of its grill and headlights showered the sidewalk and its chrome bumper slid across the sidewalk and crushed the baby carriage, coming to rest inches from the woman. The Cadillac jolted to a stop.
The woman screamed, sprinting down the sidewalk away from the crash, clutching her baby just as the Mercedes’s radiator ruptured and released a hissing cloud of steam. Thorn pulled ahead and up onto the sidewalk in front of the Mercedes. He glanced over at Emily and saw she had her PPK trained on the car.
The driver began to stir and moved as if reaching for a sidearm. Thorn grabbed his Colt. From the driver’s seat, he leaned toward Emily and, with his Colt inches from her left shoulder, fired a round, piercing the windshield of the Mercedes and killing the driver.
Thorn and Emily leaped from the Cadillac, guns aimed at the Mercedes’s back left door. Longworth was the first to stumble out of the car, followed by a man in a long, black leather coat with a gun pointed at Longworth’s back. Longworth looked as if he’d laid eyes on Satan when he saw Thorn.
Thorn smiled. You fucking bastard. You tried to kill me. Now it’s my turn.
“Thorn. Another bloody mistake surfaces,” Longworth said, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
Emily took several paces toward the bridge railing to separate from Thorn, getting a better angle on the man holding Longworth hostage. Thorn saw her stoop and peer into the Mercedes, where Canaris and Heinz remained, which prompted Thorn to momentarily think of Sean. Stay put, buddy. I may need you. Leather Coat took two steps backward toward the Mercedes, his gaze jumping between Thorn and Emily.
“And what is that, Longworth?”
“You’ve only made it possible for Stalin to overrun the Germans in the east and take over most of Eastern Europe.”
“A fascinating statement. The way I see it, I’ve kept a top-secret document from reaching Berlin while capturing a traitor to his country along with the head of the Abwehr.”
“Conor, we don’t have much time. We’re too exposed here,” Emily said, holding her PPK with both hands.
Thorn barely made out the sound of a siren above the hissing of the Mercedes’s radiator.
“You’re both bloody idiots. I am the true patriot here. I am the one that clearly sees who the true enemy is. Do you think I’m the only one working against the inept government of that Stalin-appeaser Churchill? I am not. Do you hear me? I am not alone.”
“God, that’s enough. Which one of you has the document?” Thorn asked.
“That would be me, Mr. Thorn—Major Kappler of the Abwehr.” He said it with the Germanic tone of arrogance that Thorn loathed so much, and as he did so, Kappler circled Longworth, putting the man between Emily and himself.
“Bucking for a promotion, are we, Major?” Thorn asked.
“Your humor betrays your fear,” Kappler said, a smile emerging. “I must say, if you are so anxious to reclaim the document, traveling so deep into our territory, it must be authentic. The admiral had his doubts. I’ll just hold on to it for the time being, because in a matter of minutes, this street will be swarming with German and Italian security.”
Canaris emerged from the backseat and stood near Kappler, whose attention bounced between Thorn and Emily. “Give it to them,” Canaris said. “It is nothing but another English ploy—worthless intelligence that will not be believed by the führer.”
Kappler’s focus on Thorn and Emily shattered, his gun shaking as he stole looks at Canaris. Thorn spied Longworth inching toward the railing.
“What are you saying? Have you lost your mind? How can it be worthless if they risked so much to retrieve it?” Kappler said, his face turning red. Spittle built at the corners of his mouth as Longworth moved closer to the railing.
“Longworth, sit tight. You’re not going to swim for it. And enough of this. Drop the fucking gun, Kappler, or I’ll put a round in your boss’s chest,” Thorn said.
Canaris put his right hand on Kappler’s forearm. “Do as he says, Major.”
“Admiral—” Kappler pleaded.
“Just do it.”
Kappler lowered his gun and placed it on the roof of the Mercedes.
“Emily, search Kappler,” Thorn said.
As she moved toward the major, Thorn glanced over his shoulder and could see that some of the bus passengers had gotten off and were gathered on the opposite sidewalk, taking in the show.
“Conor!” Sean yelled from the backseat of the limousine.
Thorn spun back around as Kappler made a move for the pistol. Thorn squeezed off two rounds—both landed in the man’s chest and he crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from each wound.
Kappler’s pistol hit the ground and skidded toward Longworth. Canaris dropped to the ground and Emily crouched for cover. As Longworth bent to pick up the gun, Thorn noticed movement in the back of the Mercedes. I shouldn’t have let it go this far. I should have come out blasting everyone in sight. Another mistake.
Heinz crept from the backseat holding a small-caliber revolver. As Thorn opened his mouth to warn her, Emily jumped up, drew a bead on Heinz, and fired off two rounds. His body fell atop the bridge’s railing before sliding into the Tiber River. As the sound of Heinz’s body hitting the fast-moving water echoed off the bottom of the bridge, Longworth raised his pistol at Thorn—but Thorn already had his gun trained on his head.
“You—”
Thorn fired. He was done talking—he was done with Longworth.
Longworth fell to the pavement, then onto his side. His eyes fluttered, his face tightening in pain. Thorn fired once more, the bullet driving into Longworth’s skull. That’s for Churchill.
Canaris struggled to his feet as Emily combed through Kappler’s tunic and pulled out an envelope. She held up a thin piece of paper and looked it over. “This is it!” she shouted, smiling and wide-eyed as she slipped the envelope under her habit.
The tension in Thorn’s shoulders released. He saw faces—the crewmates from the Reuben James, Grace, his mother. He had been spared for a purpose—one that was becoming clearer to him. Save and protect. He took a deep breath.
“Grab any identification from Longworth’s body—wallet, rings, anything,” Thorn said.
Emily rifled through
Longworth’s pockets.
“Check around his neck,” Sean said, leaning out of the door of the Cadillac. “There should be a Saint Christopher’s medal inscribed from Cardinal Massy.”
Emily quickly loosened Longworth’s collar, reached inside his shirt, then yanked a chain from around his neck.
Thorn slipped his Colt in his waistband in the back, bent down, and grabbed Longworth’s body under the arms. Longworth’s head bobbed as Thorn dragged his body to the railing. He gripped Longworth’s feet as he tipped the body into the murky, swift-moving waters of the Tiber.
He turned to Emily. “Now grab Canaris and put him in the back of the car with Sean. We have to get out of here.”
Emily began to back away from Canaris, her PPK in her hand. “Conor, I…I can’t do that,” she said.
Thorn’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure he had heard her right.
Canaris smirked.
“What? What the hell are you saying? Grabbing him would be a windfall for the Allies. We’re not leaving him here.”
“I have orders that he is to be left behind—and left alive.”
“From whom?”
Emily looked at Canaris, who looked back at her, patiently waiting for her answer. “From C.”
Canaris stared at Emily and nodded as if he had seen the script beforehand.
EPILOGUE
1700 Hours, Monday, October 19, 1942
Donovan’s Office, OSS Headquarters, London
When Thorn and Emily entered the foyer of 70 Grosvenor Street, Thorn saw the two ever-present armed guards flanking the elevator. Between them stood Lieutenant Colonel Duncan Lee. His wire-rimmed glasses were slightly bent out of their normal shape, sitting lopsided on the bridge of his nose. He looked agitated. As Thorn and Emily approached, he tapped his watch.
“Colonel Donovan and guest are waiting.”
“Well then, let’s get going,” Thorn said with just the right amount of pseudo-excitement to annoy Lee.
Emily tapped Thorn on his arm to bring him in line.
The elevator ride to the third floor was spent in silence until Lee cleared his throat. “The colonel wants to see you tomorrow morning, Mr. Thorn. Alone. At eight o’clock,” he said without breaking his gaze on the elevator panel.