do with a wrench. “Do you recall when the commission ordered the Swiss Guard to turn away Allied prisoners entering the piazza?”
“Yes,” O’Flaherty said. “The order was never enforced.”
“And once His Holiness has ignored an order-his or the commission’s-it remains ignored. So leave it to me. No one will be expelled. But it means this is a difficult time to ask the Pope to engage in espionage.”
“Again, Giovanni,” O’Flaherty said. “He did so in 1940. We know much more now about what is happening in these camps. It makes it even more important.”
“Yes, I agree. But in 1940 there were no German divisions in Rome. The SS did not run Italy.”
“Sir, may I speak?” I half rose from the chair. I wasn’t sure of my status here, but I figured I had little to lose.
“Yes,” Montini said, smiling. “Mr. Boyle, is it?”
“Yes sir. I understand how this is a delicate matter, and that timing is important.” I took a deep breath, willing myself to slow down and make sense. “But remember, what Colonel Remke is asking for is simply an acknowledgment that you’ve received the document about the planned coup. He mentioned you by name, Monsignor. Not the Pope.”
“True,” Montini said. “But as an officer of the Secretariat, I speak for the Pope. It would have been different if this colonel had asked Monsignor O’Flaherty to sign such a letter. He could do so, without repercussion. Would that satisfy the colonel?”
“No. He was quite clear about you, given your position here.”
“Monsignor?” Kaz rose and walked toward Montini.
“Please, feel free to speak, Baron Kazimierz.”
“You have seen the Auschwitz Protocol as well?”
“I have. We have heard many reports, but this is the first detailed documentation. It is beyond belief. Shocking.”
“Yes, Monsignor. It would not be espionage, would it, to accept receipt of this report?”
“No. We often receive reports from other parts of occupied Europe. Why?”
“He is onto something, Giovanni,” O’Flaherty said, slapping Kaz on the back, almost sending him reeling. “Listen to the lad, it could save three people from the Germans with no risk at all.”
“Go on,” Montini said.
“You could give us a letter acknowledging receipt of the Auschwitz Protocol. An experienced diplomat such as you could also insert language which the knowledgeable reader would understand referred to another, separate document.”
“Will that work?” Montini asked. “Would it free Sister Justina and the others?”
“It’s better than nothing, Monsignor,” I said. “If you absolutely can’t acknowledge the information about the plot, at least do that. It will give us a chance.”
“I agree,” Bruzzone said. “It may work, and you can sign such a letter without fear of incident. You have drafted letters for His Holiness on this very subject, responding to reports from bishops in Poland.”
“Perhaps,” Montini said. He rose from his seat and approached O’Flaherty and Bruzzone. All pretense of an official meeting was gone. The three men huddled together, conversing in Italian. They had an easy familiarity, their places in the Vatican hierarchy less important now than their common bond as friends and conspirators.
“Do you really think it can work?” Kaz whispered to me.
“It has to,” I said. “That was sharp thinking. It’s a good-faith effort on our part, which has to count for something. I wonder if we should have pressed Montini more, though.”
“If the Pope is nervous about the Germans taking the Vatican, I doubt he would associate himself with any document that would put him in league with the Allies and the anti-Nazi plotters.”
“Gentlemen,” Monsignor Montini said. “I believe I can craft the letter as you suggest. I will work on it today. Meanwhile, Monsignor Bruzzone will deliver both documents to Sir D’Arcy. He can get them to Switzerland, I imagine.”
“I made copies last night,” O’Flaherty said. “We will keep those for when the time is right. I have a priest working on a translation of the Auschwitz Protocol into English. I’ll give you a copy, Billy, when that’s done.”
“This must be kept secret, for the moment,” Montini said to Kaz and me. “I trust the monsignors implicitly. We have worked together many times during this war, to help the unfortunate among us. They are both good men, as you are, I am sure. Can I trust your silence?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I will have to report this to my superiors, once this mission is complete.”
“Of course,” Montini said. “Have you made progress in your investigation?”
“We have,” I said. “As soon as we return with Diana-Sister Justina-I expect we will be very close to finding the killer.”
“Excellent,” Montini said. “We were greatly saddened at the loss of Monsignor Corrigan. The work we do is not without danger.”
“How soon can you have the letter ready?” I hoped he’d say within the hour. All I could think of was Diana crossing that white line.
“Not until later today. I have other pressing duties to attend to. Have Monsignor Bruzzone bring you to my office in the Papal Palace at three o’clock.” So much for my high hopes. One more day, then.
“Grand work, boys,” O’Flaherty said after Montini left us. “That ought to do the trick. Monsignor Bruzzone will get you the letter this afternoon. I must leave you now. We have a bit of a crisis in one of our houses.”
“In Rome?” I asked. “Remke warned you about the Gestapo, remember?”
“And I’m glad he did, boy. That’s why I’ll be disguised so my own mother wouldn’t recognize me.”
“Be careful, Hugh,” Bruzzone said as we filed out of the room. “There’s no disguising your height.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you all tonight. Good luck.”
“I shall bring the documents to Sir D’Arcy immediately,” Bruzzone said as we stepped outside. “I will meet you at the German College before three o’clock, to take you to the Palace.”
We stood under an archway in the courtyard, watching the two monsignors dash off in different directions, the collars of their coats turned up against the cold rain. Something that had been said in the fancy yellow room was not sitting right. Maybe I was thinking too much about Diana and was distracted. Or maybe there was something important that had been said. Or not said. I glanced around for Zlatko, but didn’t see him. The covered archway kept out the rain but not the biting cold. Maybe he got cold feet, either kind, and went indoors.
“Billy, is there a reason you didn’t mention your meeting at noon with Remke?”
“No reason to,” I said. “O’Flaherty knows about it. Montini didn’t have enough time to prepare the letter anyway.”
“Is something bothering you? Things went fairly well in there. You should be glad.”
“I should. How come I’m not?”
“Worry,” Kaz said.
“Isn’t that what makes cowards of us all?”
“No. That’s conscience, as Hamlet says.”
I looked around for Zlatko, and thought I caught a glimpse of him as we made for the Hospice Santa Marta. But bishops in black and purple were a dime a dozen around here, and I figured he’d come around with his list of informers sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Remke had shown me the south entrance to the Piazza Navona. So I’d studied my map and found the route to the north entrance. I donned extra layers of clothing-scarf, hat, gloves-courtesy of Nini. Mistrust I had enough of already. The rain had turned to a damp mist that felt even colder than the earlier downpours, and I clenched my hands in my pockets as I trudged along the Tiber, checking to make sure I had the safe-conduct pass from Remke close by, along with my Vatican identity papers.
I passed under the looming Castel Sant’Angelo and the huge Hall of Justice, built out of so much heavy white stone that it had created a sinkhole and almost toppled into the Tiber River, according to Nini. She and Kaz worked
