“Far as I can tell, it was to tell me in no uncertain terms not to try to spring Diana. They probably figured I’d take the personal approach more seriously. And you know Big Mike-he’d insist he was fine as soon as Sam asked him.”
“It is a pity we cannot speak directly with Colonel Harding.”
“We can do the next best thing,” I said. “All we need to do is find a communications unit and send a radio teletype to SHAEF.”
“Why not ask Captain Croft? He may have the right equipment here; there are radio masts on the villa roof.”
“I’d rather not,” I said. “Let’s blow this joint.”
It was a good idea. Too bad the guard at the door ordered us back into the villa. My jeep was nowhere in sight, and there was security at every exit. We were prisoners.
CHAPTER FIVE
We spent the afternoon being turned away from the SOE radio room, Croft’s office, and every door that led out of the villa. Kaz and I went through all the reports again, and again. Nothing new. A directive from Colonel Harding stressed the importance of not violating Vatican neutrality, but what he really meant was not to get caught violating Vatican neutrality. The big worry was that the Germans would use any excuse to occupy Vatican City and take the Pope into protective custody. Meaning he’d be a hostage to the Third Reich.
I understood all that. It wasn’t going to stop me if I saw a chance in hell of freeing Diana, but that was probably an accurate description of the odds, so I didn’t worry about it. What I didn’t understand was why we were being held incommunicado, and the sudden appearance of the Marine lieutenant. Or what the hell was going to happen next.
It turned out that dinner was next. Kaz, Big Mike, and I were led into a dining room where Croft, his Marine pal, and a couple of British officers were mixing themselves drinks.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Croft said, approaching us as if we were weekend guests at his country home. “Will you join us for a drink?”
“The hell with drinks,” I said, steamed at the runaround and now the soft soap. “Why are we being held here and what’s he got to do with it?” I pointed to the marine.
“Lieutenant Boyle, all will be explained…”
“Don’t try that polite crap with me, Croft. I don’t care if you’re a captain or a cardinal, I want the truth, and I want it now.”
Croft raised his eyebrows, glanced at the marine, and asked the two other Brits to give us some privacy. He eyed me until they closed the door behind them.
“You’d do well to remember the rank, Boyle. A captain trumps a lieutenant, and SOE trumps every other branch, so mind your manners.”
“This is war, not a goddamn tea party,” I said, my temperature rising. “What the hell is going on, and what aren’t you telling us?” I stepped closer to Croft, my fists clenched and arms pressed to my sides. It wasn’t his fault, I knew. He was only following orders. Orders that might make sense or might not, but clearly came from over his head. Still, I wanted answers. I tried to hold my temper in check, but the thought of Diana in prison kept it white- hot. If I did have a chance to get near her, I didn’t want any SOE funny business to interfere.
“War or tea party, we’re all on the same side,” the marine said. His deep voice sounded so familiar. “Let’s have a drink and sit down, okay fellas?” He had an easy smile, and clapped his hand on Croft’s shoulder, breaking the tension in the room. The two of them looked like cousins from across the Atlantic. Both tall and blond with well-weathered faces, they moved with a grace that comes from confidence borne of challenges met and mastered. I didn’t like the idea of them arrayed against us, but if so, I wasn’t going along with their schemes without a fight.
“Agreed,” Croft said. “Let’s begin again. Drink?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Irish whiskey, straight. You know, like the truth.”
“Irish whiskey I believe we have in ample supply,” Croft said, with a barely suppressed grin. “Have you met Lieutenant Hamilton?”
“No, we haven’t been introduced,” I said, taking the glass Croft offered.
“Sorry, Lieutenant Boyle,” the marine said. “John Hamilton, US Marine Corps.”
“You sure we haven’t met?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, wearily, as if he heard that line often. “Big Mike, Baron, what’ll you have?”
“Vodka,” Kaz said. “Truth on the side, please.”
“I’ll have what you’re drinking,” Big Mike said. “I never drank with a movie star before.”
“Aw, Christ,” Hamilton said, pouring Kaz’s vodka. “Don’t ask a bunch of stupid questions about starlets. I hope you like tawny port. Love the stuff myself.”
“What?” I said, trying to figure out what was going on.
“Tawny port,” Hamilton said. “Great stuff, packs a wallop.”
“No, I mean-”
“ Bahama Passage,” Big Mike said. “I saw him in it before I left the States. I don’t remember the name, but it wasn’t John Hamilton.”
“Gentlemen,” Croft said, chuckling at Hamilton’s discomfort, “allow me to introduce Sterling Hayden, otherwise known as Lieutenant John Hamilton. He is our liaison with your American OSS.”
“I must have seen that movie too,” I said. “I was sure we’d met. Don’t recall it, though.”
“For good reason,” Hayden answered. “It was only my second film, and might be my last. Silly way for a man to make a living. Come on, let’s all take a load off and talk this thing through.”
“What does the OSS have to do with this operation?” Kaz asked as he took a seat at the table. I saw Croft and Hayden exchange glances, Croft giving a subtle nod.
“Okay, we’ll play it straight with you guys, since you sound like a no-nonsense bunch,” Hayden said. “The orders that Big Mike here brought with him came via a slightly different route than he thought.”
“I got those from Colonel Harding,” Big Mike said, his mouth set in a grim line. “I wouldn’t like to hear him called a liar.”
“If he’s a friend of yours, I’d hate to call him one,” Hayden said. “And I won’t have to. Or General Eisenhower either. There’s just a missing link in the story. It wasn’t the president that Bishop Finch called when he heard of the murder. It was another old pal, this one from Columbia Law School.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “William Donovan. Head of the Office of Strategic Services.” The OSS was the American equivalent of the Special Operations Executive. We were newer at the game, but eager to make up for lost time. “Your boss.”
“Right on both counts,” Hayden said, slapping the table with glee. “Wild Bill-that’s Donovan’s nickname, one he doesn’t mind a bit-Wild Bill didn’t want OSS to be connected to this operation, for security reasons and out of the same concern for Vatican neutrality that Colonel Harding has. But Wild Bill wants to do his pal a favor and find out who killed Monsignor Corrigan, so the story was altered a bit in case anyone spoke out of school.”
“As for your being detained,” Croft said, “that is standard procedure before a mission. Nothing sinister about it.”
“So other than keeping watch on us, Lieutenant Hamilton, or Hayden, what’s your game?”
“Hey, call me Sterling if you want, but don’t spread it around. I’d prefer to keep the movie business quiet. It’s all a load of horseshit anyway. And hell, I’m not here to watch you boys. I’m here to drive the boat.”
“Boat?” Kaz said.
“Sure, the boat. We’re taking a little trip up the Adriatic,” Hayden said, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Lieutenant Hamilton is an experienced seaman,” Croft said. “He makes regular runs to Yugoslavia to deliver arms and supplies to the partisans, and brings out downed Allied airmen.”
“Billy and Kaz are going to Rome, not Yugoslavia,” Big Mike pointed out.
“Yes,” Croft said. “And we will get them there, via the Adriatic. We can’t use the western coastline, since
