“Billy,” came a whisper at my back. “You forgot my uniform. Not to mention the handmade Italian leather boots. Now follow me.”
I stood, waiting for Dieter to get a few steps ahead, marveling at how cool and collected he seemed. Which was probably the point of being cool and collected. The church remained quiet, a few nuns still at prayer, the monks at the confessional. One of the camera-toting soldiers strode ahead of Dieter and opened a door adjacent to the main entrance. He held it for both of us, and I wondered how many of the sightseers were actually Remke’s men.
The light outside was blinding after the dim interior, and I blinked my eyes to adjust. We were on a staircase leading to the side door of the church, with a high balustrade that gave some cover. Remke stood with his back to me, surveying the piazza below.
“What do you have for me?” His tone was sharp, demanding.
“The letter from Montini,” I said, reaching into my coat. Dieter flinched, his hand going to his holster. Force of habit, I figured. I withdrew the envelope slowly, letting him see it. I thought he might give a smile and an apology, but his hand stayed where it was. Only his eyes moved. Remke snatched the envelope and opened it. He read, the breeze fluttering the edge of the pages. It seemed to take forever. I scanned the crowds, wondering where Diana might be.
“I didn’t like the looks of the street sweepers,” I said. “Too many of them.”
“They are ours,” Dieter said. “We’ve been watching you.”
“What about the two Gestapo men in the hotel lobby?”
“They are watching a general who is having an affair with the wife of a Turkish diplomat. Decidedly un-Aryan of him.”
“This,” Remke said, his voice grim and his hand shaking. “This is all you have?”
“It’s diplomatic language,” I said, trying to calm him. “You have to read between the lines.”
“Idiots!” Remke shouted. “What do they expect to come of this watered-down drivel? I give you a valuable document about the crimes of the Nazi regime and your friends at the Vatican cannot even acknowledge that we are risking all to topple them? This is dishwater. Nothing. I could have given that report to a newspaper in Switzerland and gotten more out of it.”
“It was the best Montini could do. Koch’s raids on Vatican properties in Rome have gotten the Pope nervous about an invasion of the Holy See, so he didn’t want to risk bringing it to his attention. He thought half a statement was better than none.”
“Did he now?” Remke stuffed the papers into his pocket. “Well, you shall have the same choice. You delivered half of what I wanted, so you decide on which half of your payment you will take. Miss Seaton, or the Italian and the American? One woman or two men? Read between the lines of that bargain and see how you like it.”
Remke went down the steps, leaving me rooted to the spot. It never occurred to me he’d split the difference, but it made a perverse sense. It was no more than what we’d done. Diana, I told myself. Take Diana. But I couldn’t get the words out. Rino and Abe were my responsibility; I couldn’t leave them behind. And knowing Diana, she’d not want their fate on her conscience. It had taken her long enough to get over the guilt of surviving Dunkirk. I didn’t need to bring up that burden all over again.
So it was on my head. I had to leave her behind or on a train to Germany, wherever Remke had in mind to keep her under wraps. I had to count on him not to turn her over to the Gestapo. I didn’t think he would, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I had nothing but a bluff.
“Give them all to me,” I said, following Remke to the sidewalk. “Or I burn your documents. They’ll never get to London.”
“Then I give you nothing but a bullet,” he said. “You are an American officer out of uniform. I could shoot you now as a spy and be done with it. Make your choice.”
“How do you know I won’t get word to the Gestapo about your plans?” It was weak, I knew, but I needed time to think of something else. Anything that might give me an edge. Remke only laughed.
“If you were English, I would worry about it. But you Americans are too naive to play that game. You have thirty seconds to decide,” he said. “Then we leave.”
The wind picked up, swirling paper and dust in spite of the phony street sweepers’ hard work. I shielded my eyes and took a look around. He must have had them all close by. My hand closed around the Beretta in my pocket as I wondered what my chances were against Remke with Dieter at my back.
There was none. “The two men,” I said, my words condemning Diana. I couldn’t look Remke in the eye. As I spoke, two monks approached from behind him and the door above us flew open. The monks hurried forward, the rush of air blowing back the first monk’s cowl.
Becher. I recognized him from the Pensione Jaccarino. Koch’s pal.
I pulled my pistol and pushed Remke aside with my left arm. I shot Becher twice, dead center. I waited for a bullet in the back, either from Dieter, if he hadn’t picked up on what was happening, or from Koch’s men bursting through the door. The other monk hesitated as Becher hit the ground, then backed up, raising his pistol to fire. I knelt and shot twice again, sending him to the pavement.
Above me more shots echoed against the stone church. Remke stood with his arm outstretched, squeezing off shots from his Walther. Two monks rolled down the stairs, their pistols clattering uselessly against the stone steps. Dieter struggled to his feet, his arm drenched in blood, likely from one of Remke’s stray rounds.
Pairs of street sweepers in their blue coveralls ran to the scene, brooms exchanged for MP-40 submachine guns they must have had hidden in their trashcans. Civilians ran in every direction and off-duty soldiers dove for the nearest cover. We were knee-deep in dead monks.
“Look,” I said, pointing to a figure in a black trench coat, peering around the side of a statue fifty yards away. There was no mistaking the dark, slicked-back hair and the close-set dark eyes. Pietro Koch, who probably thought he had a ringside seat for the capture of the German who had kidnapped one of his victims. Or me, an American agent.
“Koch,” Remke said, pointing him out to his men. But he was already gone, vanishing into the panicked crowd. “Sind Sie schlecht verletzt?” he said, turning his attention to Dieter, who held a hand over his right arm, blood dripping between his fingers.
“Nicht schlecht,” Dieter said. I think he was saying he was all right, but his face was white and he was losing blood. “I saw Becher, but his men knocked me over when they burst out of the church.”
“It seems I owe you my freedom, if not my life,” Remke said to me, supporting Dieter. “But know this; someone betrayed you and it was not my people. Only three of us knew of the change to this location. Someone you told must have informed Koch.”
“Bishop Zlatko?” Dieter suggested.
“No, he hasn’t been seen at the Vatican,” I said. “Are you certain it couldn’t have been someone at your end?”
Sirens began to echo in the distance, and the more curious of the onlookers were gathering to stare at the blood-drenched corpses in monks’ robes.
“I stake my life on it,” Remke said. “And now we must leave before too many questions are asked.”
“What about-?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Your actions have relieved me of the need to detain anyone. Consider all debts paid.”
He snapped his fingers, and two sedans left the curb and stopped in front of us. The driver’s door opened and Bernard stepped out, pistol at the ready. Remke gave a curt nod, and he held the door for me. Diana sat up front, Abe and Rino in the back, their eyes wide, confusion etched in their faces.
“Back to being enemies, then?” I said, my hand on the door. I should have hated Remke. If things hadn’t worked out, he would have left Diana to rot in prison, I was certain of it. But in that moment I hated myself more, because I understood. Remke did exactly what had needed to be done. He was gambling with the lives of thousands, and one life more or less wasn’t going to stop him. I should have hated him, but all I felt was awe at his focused intent, and pity for what it must have done to his soul.
“Yes. Until we set things right in Berlin,” Remke said.
“Now I must insist on the return of my uniform,” Dieter said, trying for nonchalance but coming up short as he wavered unsteadily, blood seeping through his fingers.
