Monsignor Montini wrote of so eloquently?”
“You ask us to solve that problem, a temporal problem, which we had no part in creating,” Bruzzone said with a heavy sigh. “You wish us to take a side in this struggle, and risk His Holiness, the Holy See, the treasures of the Church here in Rome. But we are not an army. We are not the Red Cross or the League of Nations. You wish for a stronger letter, to save your friends. This I understand. But such a letter, in the wrong hands, would bring the Gestapo down upon us. Here, where Saint Peter built his church. What good would that do, to deliver His Holiness into the hands of Hitler?”
“Your words make sense, Monsignor, but they are words spoken in a safe place, with good brandy at hand,” Kaz said. “Out in the world, beyond the white border line, things are not so clear.”
“Do not forget, I too have been out in the world. I know what it is like to be hunted. Do not judge us too harshly, my friends. Our job is to care for souls, and do the best we can while we are here on earth. Perhaps we are weak and fearful, perhaps we make mistakes, but that is because we are human.”
Bruzzone folded his hands in front of him. With his words hanging in the air, I slid my glass toward the bottle and he filled it. For that small gesture I was glad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I stood at the foot of the bed, willing Severino Rossi to wake up. He was the key to solving the murder, I was certain. He looked much better, but I knew that was because he’d been cleaned up, laid out on clean sheets, and his filthy clothes replaced with white pajamas. His eyes were still swollen shut and wine-colored bruises decorated his cheeks. He had a splint on one arm and a bandage wound tightly across his thin chest. Each breath was labored, each gasp ragged. He looked like he’d been in a fight with Joe Louis and then stepped in front of a milk truck.
“What do you think?” Kaz asked in a whisper. Sister Cecilia was asleep in an armchair near the bed and she blinked an eye open as we spoke.
“I think we aren’t the only ones waiting to see if he wakes up,” I said, guiding Kaz out of the room.
In the sitting room, Nini had laid out plates of pasta and glasses of wine. “Aglio e olio,” she said. Garlic in olive oil. It was pungent enough that I thought Severino might rise up and ask for a bowl.
“Has he spoken at all?” I asked.
“He whispered something in French,” Nini said. “I couldn’t make it out.”
“In case anybody asks, say he’s in a coma. Probable brain injury.”
“It may well be true,” Nini said. “Sister Cecilia says he was severely beaten, and certainly sustained a concussion. He should be in a hospital.”
“We couldn’t protect him there,” Kaz said.
“You must,” Nini said, her hand clenched into a fist. “That boy has suffered too much already.”
“Kaz should stay here,” I said. “If that’s all right with you, Nini.”
“Certainly. What do you think could happen?”
“That’s just it-we don’t know. The killer could be anyone, even someone we all trust. Nini, you’ll have to be on guard against everyone,” I said.
“Perhaps now is a good time to show you this,” Kaz said, pulling a Beretta automatic pistol from his coat. “I took this from that Fascist officer at the train yard. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“We were under orders not to bring any firearms in neutral territory,” I explained to Nini. “But I’m damn glad you did,” I said to Kaz. “And that you didn’t tell me at the time. You may need it if the killer makes a move against Severino.” I reached for my wineglass, and when I rested my hand on the table, I saw it tremble. I hadn’t thought about the train yard in days. About killing the Italian. Necessary, we had told each other at the time. It was, but my hand still shook at the memory of it.
“Then perhaps you should tempt him,” Nini said, with a glance at my hands that told me she’d noticed. “If we tell two people that he was awake and speaking, two hundred will hear that message within the hour.”
“Not yet,” I said. “I have to deliver the letter to Remke tomorrow. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. But as soon as I get back, we’ll let it slip that Rossi made a miraculous recovery.”
When I get back tomorrow. With Diana, Abe, and Rino in tow. There was no other option, nothing else I could think about but their safety. Abe and Rino were my responsibility. Diana was everything else. I struggled to focus on Rossi and work out the best way to use him to our advantage. When all that was behind us, I could focus on finding Corrigan’s killer. It was easy to forget the orders that had brought me here, being so far removed from the brass. One of the advantages of dangerous work: you don’t have senior officers watching over your shoulder.
“You should take this,” Kaz said, sliding the Beretta across the table.
“I will,” I said, pushing it back to him. “But you keep it tonight and stay here. Block the door and shoot anyone who tries to force their way in.”
As Kaz reached to take the pistol, the door to Nini’s room opened and a stooped figure in a threadbare coat stared down at us. He was covered in dust from boots to beard, and he wore a blue workman’s coverall over his clothes. Kaz snatched the Beretta up and leveled it at the stranger’s belly. “Chi e?” he demanded, asking the man’s identity.
“Would you shoot a harmless priest, Baron?” The Irish accent was unmistakable.
“Hugh!” Nini exclaimed. “You know better than to sneak up and frighten people with your disguises. One day you will get yourself shot.”
“Excuse me, Principessa. I thought I’d receive a warm welcome, but I never dreamed it would involve a small cannon. I’ll go wash up and return a changed man while the Baron puts away that pistola.” As he spoke he straightened himself, gaining six inches in height. Nini shook her head, as if exasperated at the antics of a young boy, and I thought that for all the danger to himself and others, Hugh O’Flaherty did manage to squeeze a sense of enjoyment out the situation. Ten minutes later he was at the table with us, the fake whiskers gone and the rest of him fairly well dusted off. I gave him a quick summary of the day’s events.
“Can you keep things quiet about Rossi? His presence here puts Nini in danger, you know,” he said, taking a sip of wine.
“Kaz will stay here tonight to guard them both,” I said. “We got in without too many people seeing us, so I hope that will buy some time.”
“Are you satisfied with the letter from Montini?”
“No, but it’s the best he could do. We’ll keep our fingers crossed.”
“Do you know,” O’Flaherty said, pausing to take in a mouthful of pasta, “that crossed fingers were a sign the early Christians used to secretly identify each other? Making the cross, you see? It’s a good sign to make, but I’ll add a prayer or two tonight for your success.”
“What were you doing today, Monsignor, to need such a disguise?” Kaz asked.
“Trouble in some of the houses where we have people hidden. I had to travel across the city. Workmen are part of the background scenery in Rome. It helps me blend in, and the stoop does away with some of my height.”
“What kind of trouble this time?” Nini asked.
“All personal problems, nothing worse. It’s hard for a man to be hidden away in a home and not able to speak the same language. There was a British officer who was sure the family he was with hated him, since they dined separately. Served him his meals in a hidden attic room. He became afraid that they were going to betray him. It turned out that they were giving him the lion’s share of their food. If they got one egg, it went to him, to keep his strength up.”
“And they didn’t want him to see what little they were left with,” Nini said.
“Aye. I explained it to him and then there were tears and the shaking of hands all around. I promised to get more food sent to them. Then onto another family, where a young South African sergeant was paying too much attention to the wife of the house. I have to say, I’ll be glad when the Allies get here and take these fellows off our hands.”
“How do you get around? You must wear out a lot of shoe leather,” I said.
“With the help of the unsung heroes of the occupation of Rome,” he said. “The trolley conductors. Good
