and identity papers, but was perhaps Jewish himself, and wanted to help without revealing who he was.”
“The diamonds were his,” I said, pointing at Rossi.
“Oh no,” Nini said. “Is that what this is all about? Simple greed?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t. People killed for greed all the time. But if the motive had been greed here, why give away a small fortune in diamonds? A greedy man wouldn’t part with beautiful gems to help refugees. No, not a greedy man, or at least not a man greedy for lucre.
Sister Cecilia swept into the room, steel-blue habit swirling, medical kit in hand. She took charge, sending Nini for more water and shooing Kaz and me out of the room.
“You seem to have changed tailors,” Kaz said as he poured us both a glass of wine from a side table in Nini’s parlor.
I sat in an easy chair facing a wide window with a magnificent view of the dome of Saint Peter’s. It was odd how this place revolved around the basilica-physically, spiritually, and aesthetically. Even so, its aura of majesty and serenity did little to alter the human drama all around it. Was it mocking us, with our conflicts and struggles? Would it be here in another thousand years, when this war was forgotten? I didn’t know. All I knew was that my feet hurt.
“It belongs to Dieter. One of Remke’s men,” I said, pulling off the boots with some effort. “He has small feet.”
“I assume he didn’t simply take a fancy to your priestly attire,” Kaz said, sitting on the couch opposite.
“No.” I took a healthy slug of vino and unbuttoned the collar of my-Dieter’s-tunic. “Remke found out that Pietro Koch and his gang had taken Severino Rossi from Regina Coeli, for no other reason than to torture him.”
“Nini has told me stories,” Kaz said. “Koch was forced to move to his current location from his previous hotel after the neighbors complained about the cacophony of screams day and night.”
“Yeah. They had an opera going full blast on the phonograph to cover the sounds of torture. Anyway, Remke agreed to take Rossi from them, since he’d told me he would get him if he were still alive.”
“Interesting,” Kaz said. “A man of his word, it seems.”
“That might work against us, if he doesn’t like the letter we give him. We might not get Diana and the others back.”
“Perhaps,” Kaz said. “But why the uniform?”
“I’d seen a photograph of Rossi, so I was the only one who could recognize him. We had no idea what we’d walk into, so it seemed best that I go along.”
“They gave Rossi up?”
“Yeah, Remke fed them a line about needing him for questioning, and there being a mix-up at the prison. Typical bureaucracy and they bought it. But that’s not the big news. I know where Zlatko disappeared to.”
“Tell me where, and I’ll tell you why,” Kaz said, raising a wine glass to his lips.
“Okay. He showed up at the Pensione Jaccarino, just as we were driving away. It wasn’t a coincidence, either. He pointed me out as an American to Koch, and there were a few wild shots fired to cover our escape. Now, why was he there?”
“Because Cardinal Boetto from Genoa arrived with a report on Bishop Zlatko’s activities in Croatia. A number of witnesses place him at a concentration camp run by a Franciscan monk. Also, his superior, Archbishop Ivan saric, has taken a number of Jewish properties for church and personal use, including one estate he signed over to Zlatko. Boetto wants Zlatko stripped of his bishopric, which would be an embarrassment for many in the Vatican who overlooked the clergy’s support of the Ustashi in Croatia.”
“It sounds like everyone was lining up against Zlatko,” I said.
“Yes. Since he is here, he is a convenient lightning rod for righteous indignation. The news got to Zlatko and he was seen crossing the border by one of the Swiss Guard.”
“Remke said that German intelligence hasn’t valued what Zlatko has been feeding them, but that Koch might take him on. It could be the only place Zlatko has left to go, if he doesn’t want to face the music here or back in Croatia when the Soviets roll in.”
“I pity the man if Banda Koch is his last resort. But he’s proved his worth to them already, by alerting them to your presence today. Leaving the Vatican tomorrow may be too dangerous, Billy.”
“We’ve changed the meeting spot to the church at the top of the Spanish Steps. I’ll dress in civilian clothes. There’s no sense in going out as a priest again.”
“Or a German,” Kaz said.
“Hard to believe we’ve thrown in with a German intelligence officer, against an Italian Fascist and a Croatian bishop.”
“The Vatican is not quite what I thought it would be,” Kaz said. “I am not a religious man, and what happened to my cousin colored my view of the church hierarchy. But there is much good here, as well as evil. In Poland, the priests were executed by the Nazis, along with all the others they butchered. In Croatia, it is the priests who lead the butchery, and the church does little to stop it. Yet many here risk their lives to save others. It leaves one confused, doesn’t it?”
“Only if you expect revelation,” I said, gazing out at the basilica. “I find it easier to set my sights lower. Just because people wear fancy robes, they don’t necessarily act decently. It’s who they were before they put on the robes that matters.”
“I think the robes do matter, Billy. Once they are donned, this becomes a place of absolutes. No shades of gray, only the glittering dome of heaven or the descent into hell. From O’Flaherty to Zlatko, they all act in the name of God, don’t they? I don’t know why I am surprised; perhaps I had more faith than I thought.”
“And now you’re disappointed?”
“It does leave me wishing for simpler times.”
“To simpler times to come,” I said, raising my glass and draining the last of the wine, wondering when those times might be. Kaz finished his drink and we sat quietly, the rays of the setting sun gathering around the dome, bathing the basilica in pure light.
“Do you think Remke can succeed with the plot against Hitler?” Even here, in private, Kaz lowered his voice to a whisper.
“If it can be done, it would take a man like Remke to do it. He won’t be the one pulling the trigger, but he does seem the type to set things in motion.”
“Speaking of him, we should get the letter from Montini. After I find you some new clothes.”
I went to the window as Kaz left to find a new set of duds for me. The sky had turned a deep red, the dome now dark against the fading light. Rossi cried out from the next room. I hoped my prayers about tomorrow actually meant something, and that I wasn’t committing a sin for thinking they didn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I was decked out in a nice blue suit, a little shiny on the knees and elbows, but it fit. I didn’t mind swapping the clerical collar for a dark-blue polka-dot tie either. Kaz ditched his cassock as well, since everyone within Vatican City seemed to know who we really were.
Monsignor Bruzzone was at his desk, and didn’t seem unhappy to leave the paperwork behind. “I suppose you have heard about Bishop Zlatko,” he said as he led us out of the Medieval Palace. “He has left the Holy See.”
“Just a step ahead of Cardinal Boetto,” I said.
“It appears so. His archbishop and Archbishop Boetto are bitter enemies. Since Bishop Zlatko is close at hand, he knew he would incur the wrath meant for Archbishop saric.”
“Not without reason,” Kaz said as we neared the entrance to the Apostolic Palace.
“No, of course not,” Bruzzone said, halting in the middle of the courtyard. It was cold, and not a single light showed anywhere. “I simply meant that the bishop saw the handwriting on the wall and acted to save himself. Or, perhaps he is the killer you seek, and thought you were close to apprehending him. Have you made any progress that might have frightened him?”
“No, nothing,” I said. “Once the business with this letter is settled, we might have something to investigate.”
