“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 so hard at being nonchalant around each other that I was certain they were both head over heels. Good for Kaz. He’d suffered more than most, lost more than most, and had cared less for life than most. The princess and the baron. It sounded like a happy ending, but those were in damn short supply these days, and I worried about my own chances for one.
Kaz didn’t have a get-out-of-jail pass, and Koch had his photograph, so he stayed behind to look for Zlatko. If things went smoothly, I’d be back in an hour, and we’d have some pieces of the puzzle in place. Of course, if smooth had been in the cards, I wouldn’t be out in this weather. Head bowed into the wind, I crossed the bridge and took the Via Agonale, which led into the north end of the square. Neptune stood in a fountain with his trident like a sentry, his gaze fixed on the obelisk where I was headed.
I skirted the left side of the square, mixing in with pedestrians who were walking between the few open restaurants and shops; mainly German officers going in for an early lunch, with a few leather-coated civilians thrown in for good measure. Any of them could have been on the lookout for me. Or just hungry. I did a full circuit of the square and didn’t spot Remke. I arrived back at the Fountain of the Four Rivers, with its Egyptian obelisk, a trophy from another war.
Kaz had told me the four rivers marked the extent of papal authority, back in the days when God’s kingdom was as much of earth as of heaven. Each river was represented by a statute. The Danube, the Rio de la Plata, the Ganges, and the Nile. Kaz had explained that the figure representing the Nile had his robe pulled over his face to symbolize that the source of that river was unknown. The guy was as much in the dark as I was, so it seemed like a good spot to wait.
“Follow me, Lieutenant Boyle,” a voice whispered to me. It wasn’t Remke, but I didn’t get a chance to protest. He headed south out of the piazza, taking a narrow side street, which led to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the Piccola Cuccagna. The walls were the familiar rusty red, and the smell of rotting garbage wafted up from the alley. Not one of Rome’s finer attractions, but out of the way and dry. A good choice.
My escort opened the door, and the aroma of warm food from the kitchen made it an even better choice. Remke sat at a corner table, alone, a single glass of red wine at hand.
“What news do you have? Don’t worry about speaking English, we have the restaurant to ourselves.” As he spoke, his men closed the curtains and doused most of the lights. “These officers are all loyal to me and our cause, so you may speak freely.”
“I will get the letter from Montini this afternoon. I met with him this morning, and he agreed to write it.” When you need to lie convincingly, the truth can be convenient. I glanced at Remke’s men, who gave me approving nods. Nice to have a vote of confidence from the enemy.
“You are certain? You will have it tomorrow?”
“I can have it for you later today. Why don’t we do a switch this afternoon?”
“Impossible. I have generals to brief later, and they all like to talk, and drink. A waste of time, but necessary. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I will have your friends nearby. If you deliver, they will be freed.”
I didn’t inquire as to the alternative. “I will. Have you found Severino Rossi?”
“Yes.” Remke signaled for a glass of wine for me. I took that to be a bad sign.
“I don’t need a drink, Colonel. I need Rossi. Is he alive?”
Remke looked uncomfortable, and I wondered if he were the type who felt he had to deliver on a promise, no matter how hard. He was reminding me more and more of my own Colonel Harding.
“Yes, he is alive. But getting him out will be difficult.” Remke had said he would give me Rossi if I held up my end of the deal. For him, that meant all in. If Rossi had been dead, he wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep. But not delivering on a promise, that would keep him up at night. “When the jailers at Regina Coeli did not receive any further instructions from Soletto, they didn’t know what to do. Yesterday, when you encountered Koch at the prison, he was there for prisoners. They gave him Rossi.”
“Prisoners to torture.”
“Yes. He does it both to extract information and for the pleasure it gives him.”
I took a large gulp of wine. “Would he release him to the Vatican Gendarmerie?”
“Koch would laugh at them. Their jurisdiction means nothing to him. He is clearly insane, although I am told he is devoted to his wife and children, as well as his mistress.”
“Would he release him to the Abwehr?” I locked onto Remke’s eyes, daring him to take the step I was suggesting. We had a bond now, a bond made of new loyalties in a changing world, where enemies were friends and friends were not to be trusted.
“Perhaps the question is, could the Abwehr take him from Koch? Giving is not in his nature.”
“Colonel, I respect what you’re doing against Hitler. But my story to Colonel Harding will sound a lot better if you take an active role in rescuing a Jew from the clutches of this crazy Fascist cop. It would help me sell the whole package, especially if I were an eyewitness.”
“Sell the package? You sound like a UFA producer. This is not a film script, Lieutenant. If we go after Rossi, and take you, it could mean your life.”
“I have to go. I know what he looks like.”
“All right, my American friend. We will go. But you must dress the part. So we can sell this package to Koch.” Then he laughed, and I couldn’t decide if he had a healthy sense of humor or a death wish. He rattled off some German and his men gathered around.