emphasis on the relevant words. “Did the pope know Hudal was helping war criminals escape justice?”
“His Holiness opposed the Nuremberg trials because he believed they would only serve to further weaken Germany and embolden the Communists. He also believed the Allies were after vengeance and not justice. It’s quite possible the Holy Father knew Bishop Hudal was helping Nazis and that he approved. Proving that contention, however, is another matter.” Donati aimed the prongs of his fork at Gabriel’s untouched pasta. “You’d better eat that before it gets cold.”
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”
Donati plunged his fork into Gabriel’s pasta. “So what is this Radek fellow alleged to have done?”
Gabriel gave a brief synopsis of Sturmbannfuhrer Erich Radek’s illustrious SS career, beginning with his work for Adolf Eichmann’s Jewish emigration office in Vienna and concluding with his command of Aktion 1005. By the end of Gabriel’s account, Donati too had lost his appetite.
“Did they really believe they could conceal all the evidence of a crime so enormous?”
“I’m not sure whether they believed it was possible, but they succeeded to a large extent. Because of men like Erich Radek, we’ll never know how many people really perished in the Shoah.”
Donati contemplated his wine. “What is it you want to know about Bishop Hudal’s assistance to Radek?”
“We can assume that Radek needed a passport. For that, Hudal would have turned to the International Red Cross. I want to know the name on that passport. Radek would have also needed a place to go. He would have needed a visa.” Gabriel paused. “I know it was a long time ago, but Bishop Hudal kept records, didn’t he?”
Donati nodded slowly. “Bishop Hudal’s private papers are stored in the archives of the Anima. As you might expect, they are sealed.”
“If there’s anyone in Rome who can unseal them, it’s you, Luigi.”
“We can’t just barge into the Anima and ask to see the bishop’s papers. The current rector is Bishop Theodor Drexler, and he’s no fool. We’d need an excuse-a cover story, as they say in your trade.”
“We have one.”
“What’s that?”
“The Historical Commission.”
“You’re suggesting we tell the rector that the Commission has requested Hudal’s papers?”
“Precisely.”
“And if he balks?”
“Then we name-drop.”
“And who are you supposed to be?”
Gabriel reached into his pocket and produced a laminated identification card, complete with a photograph.
“Shmuel Rubenstein, professor of comparative religion at Hebrew University in Jerusalem.” Donati handed the card back to Gabriel and shook his head. “Theodor Drexler is a brilliant theologian. He’ll want to engage you in a discussion-perhaps something about the common roots of the two oldest religions in the western world. I’m quite confident you’ll fall flat on your face, and the bishop will see right through your little act.”
“It’s your job to see that doesn’t happen.”
“You overestimate my abilities, Gabriel.”
“Call him, Luigi. I need to see Bishop Hudal’s papers.”
“I will, but first, I have one question. Why? ”
Donati, having heard Gabriel’s answer, dialed a number on his mobile phone and asked to be connected to the Anima.
19 ROME
THE CHURCH OF Santa Maria dell’Anima is located in the Centro Storico, just to the west of the Piazza Navona. For four centuries it has been the German church in Rome. Pope Adrian VI, the son of a German shipbuilder from Utrecht and the last non-Italian pope before John Paul II, is buried in a magnificent tomb just to the right of the main altar. The adjoining seminary is reached from the Via della Pace, and it was there, standing in the cold shadows of the forecourt, where they met Bishop Theodor Drexler the following morning.
Monsignor Donati greeted him in excellent Italian-accented German, and introduced Gabriel as “the learned Professor Shmuel Rubenstein from Hebrew University.” Drexler offered his hand at such an angle that for an instant Gabriel wasn’t sure whether to shake it or kiss the ring. After a brief hesitation, he gave it one firm pump. The skin was as cool as church marble.
The rector led them upstairs into an unpresumptuous book-lined office. His soutane rustled as he settled himself into the largest chair in the seating area. His large gold pectoral cross shone in the sunlight slanting through the tall windows. He was short and well-fed, nearing seventy, with a gossamer halo of white hair and extremely pink cheeks. The corners of his tiny mouth were lifted perpetually into a smile-even now, when he was clearly unhappy-and his pale blue eyes sparkled with a condescending intelligence. It was a face that could comfort the sick and put the fear of God into a sinner. Monsignor Donati had been right. Gabriel would have to watch his step.
Donati and the bishop spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries about the Holy Father. The bishop informed Donati that he was praying for the pontiff’s continued good health, while Donati announced that His Holiness was extraordinarily pleased with Bishop Drexler’s work at the Anima. He referred to the bishop as “Your Grace” as many times as possible. By the end of the exchange, Drexler was so buttered up that Gabriel feared he might slide off his chair.
When Monsignor Donati finally got around to the purpose of their visit to the Anima, Drexler’s mood darkened swiftly, as if a cloud had passed before the sun, though his smile remained firmly in place.
“I fail to see how a polemical investigation into Bishop Hudal’s work for German refugees after the war will aid the healing process between Roman Catholics and Jews.” His voice was soft and dry, his German Viennese- accented. “A fair and balanced investigation of Bishop Hudal’s activities would reveal that he helped a good many Jews as well.”
Gabriel leaned forward. It was time for the learned professor from Hebrew University to insert himself into the conversation. “Are you saying, Your Grace, that Bishop Hudal hid Jews during the Rome roundup?”
“Before the roundup and after. There were many Jews living within the walls of the Anima. Baptized Jews, of course.”
“And those who weren’t baptized?”
“They couldn’t be hidden here. It wouldn’t have been proper. They were sent elsewhere.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but how exactly did one tell a baptized Jew from an ordinary Jew?”
Monsignor Donati crossed his leg and carefully smoothed the crease in his trouser leg, a signal to cease and desist in this line of inquiry. The bishop drew a breath and answered the question.
“They might have been asked a few simple questions about matters of faith and Catholic doctrine. They might have been asked to recite the Lord’s Prayer or the Ave Maria. Usually, it became apparent quite quickly who was telling the truth and who was lying in order to gain sanctuary at the seminary.”
A knock at the door accomplished Luigi Donati’s goal of ending the exchange. A young novice entered the room, bearing a silver tray. He poured tea for Donati and Gabriel. The bishop drank hot water with a thin slice of lemon.
When the boy was gone, Drexler said, “But I’m sure you’re not interested in Bishop Hudal’s efforts to shield Jews from the Nazis, are you, Professor Rubenstein? You’re interested in the assistance he gave to German officers after the war?”
“Not German officers. Wanted SS war criminals.”
“He didn’t know they were criminals.”
“I’m afraid that defense strains credulity, Your Grace. Bishop Hudal was a committed anti-Semite and a supporter of Hitler’s regime. Does it not make sense that he would willingly help Austrians and Germans after the war, regardless of the crimes they had committed?”
“His opposition to Jews was theological in nature, not social. As for his support of the Nazi regime, I offer no
