The Lost Catacomb (30 page)
What Elena did not know
—
and what Mother Teresa did not choose to share
with her just yet
—
was
that Elena was no longer safe with the Holy Sisters, and not entirely because
of her newly disclosed pregnancy.
Only a few days ago, the Mother Superior had received a panicked phone
call from Father Donato, who informed her that the Italian secret police, the
Operazione
di Vigilanza per la Repressione
, known as OVRA, had sent some of its men to
Santa Maria in Trastevere to demand access to its parish records.
They had rifled through Father Donato
’
s desk, turned over
filing cabinets and cupboards, and vandalized his office.
His aged housekeeper had been thrust
aside brutally as they entered the room and had suffered a broken arm and
several cracked ribs.
It was
doubtful that she would ever recover fully.
As he cowered in the corner, fearful for his own safety
despite a show of passive cooperation, Father Donato had overheard a disturbing
exchange.
One of the police thugs
had shouted to the others that they should find all records dealing with the
Conti family.
“
Giovanni has given us
explicit instructions,
”
he
had added cryptically.
“
Mauro will be furious
that she
’
s slipped
through his hands.
”
“
Jahwohl
,
Helga,
”
Tom
replied crisply, in perfect Berlin-accented German.
“
Danke
. Yes, I would very much like a cup of
coffee.
With two sugars,
bitte
.
”
While food basics were being rationed elsewhere in Italy and
throughout Europe, here in Kappler
’
s
office in Rome there was no shortage of real coffee or sugar.
At least there were some perks to this
dangerous mission, Tom reflected soberly.
At the Allied Command back in London, ersatz tea was the only hot
beverage available, so this was a welcome change, despite the surroundings in
which the coffee was to be enjoyed.
Tom was sitting in a well-equipped office in the Villa
Wolkonsky, at Gestapo headquarters, where he was ostensibly engaged in a
variety of supervisory and administrative tasks.
His room was located not far from
Kappler
’
s spacious
suite, which adjoined a locked records room that was off limits to most of the
personnel in the building.
Copies
of classified correspondence between Berlin and Rome and between Berlin and the
Vatican were filed here, as Tom had been given to understand from muted,
half-whispered conversations overheard through the door of Kappler
’
s office.
It was vital to Allied intelligence that Tom gain access to
the documents and photograph the most important of them, but so far, no
opportunity had presented itself.
He had only arrived at Gestapo headquarters a few weeks ago, and though
it was simple enough for him to determine where the classified documents were
kept, it was far more complicated to gain entry to the area and search for
specific items.
Kappler
’
s
secretary had been watching Tom closely on more than one occasion, but he had
assumed that it was more a matter of interest in him as a potentially
available, single male than any suspicion about his behavior or movements
within the Villa Wolkonsky.
Either
form of interest, however, could be hazardous to his mission.
Fr
ä
ulein
Scheisster, or Helga, as she had asked him to call her, appeared to be in her
early to mid-thirties.
She was
somewhat plump and not especially pretty, but apparently quite efficient and
seemingly indispensable to Kappler and the rest of his staff.
In his guise as Jurgen Kessler, Tom had already hinted to her
that he had a girlfriend waiting for him back in his hometown of D
ü
sseldorf, but the
covert looks and invitations to join him for coffee or lunch had continued
unabated.
It was now late afternoon, and most of the staff had begun to
leave the premises.
Tom ducked into
one of the private bathroom facilities, in the hope that when he finally
emerged, the Villa would have been vacated for the night.
A security guard knocked repeatedly on
the locked door, and Tom called out that he was having stomach problems and
would let himself out of the building when he was finished.
No one asked him to identify himself,
and as far as anyone was concerned, he could have been any one of the staff
members with special security clearance for this section of Gestapo
headquarters.
He waited quietly, listening for telltale sounds out in the
corridor to dissipate.
A glance at
his wristwatch told him that approximately twenty minutes had passed since
someone had last checked the bathroom door.
He knew that there were several guards
left on duty around the clock, but that they made their rounds throughout the
building only at thirty-minute intervals, on the hour and on the half
hour.
This might be his only window
of opportunity, and he would need to take immediate advantage of it.
Slipping out of the bathroom, he moved quickly towards the
room adjacent to Kappler
’
s
office, where he knew the most sensitive files were kept.
He removed a small set of picklocks from
his pocket, and within a few minutes the door was open.
He placed a hand towel that he
’
d brought from the
bathroom along the bottom of the door to muffle any possible sounds and block
the light from the small flashlight that he now turned on.
There were several filing cabinets in
the tiny room, and he began to open their drawers gingerly one at time.
Finally he found what he was
looking for
—
two
files were marked
“
Berlin
- Correspondence with the Vatican
”
and another bore the ominous header,
“
The Jewish Problem in Rome.
”
He opened each file methodically, and using the miniature
camera he had carried for the purpose, he began to photograph the documents
inside.
These would later be
developed and enlarged, then sent for analysis to Military Intelligence in
Washington and London.
It was clear
to him that some sort of arrangement had been made with representatives of the
Holy See to ensure the continued protected status of Vatican City and,
moreover, that it had been confirmed in writing, almost in the form of a legal
understanding or binding contract.
He would find out the precise details afterwards, when he was not
pressed for time.
The documents concerning the Jewish community in Rome were
somewhat more surprising.
Some had
originated in Berlin and others, apparently, in the Vatican itself, though he
could not immediately identify the source.
But a quick glance was enough for him to understand that the Jews of
Rome were in danger and that there would be no interference by the Church.
He placed the dockets back in the filing cabinet,
extinguished the flashlight, and removed the towel from the doorway.
Out in the hallway he paused for a
moment to relock the door, using the same picklocks that had opened it, and
made his way towards a service stairwell at the back of the Villa.
“
Guten
Abend, Hauptsturmf
ü
hrer
,
”
a voice called out
just as he reached the top stair.
He turned around and saw that
Fr
ä
ulein
Scheisster was standing in the corridor
several feet away.
She
regarded him somewhat suspiciously, but then softened her look as he
acknowledged her greeting.
“
Ah,
Fr
ä
ulein
Helga, what a lovely surprise,
”
Tom said, clicking his heels together and nodding briskly at her.
“
What
are you doing here so late, if I may ask?
Surely your work hours allow you a bit of leisure time in the
evenings.
I cannot imagine that
your life revolves solely around the workings of Gestapo headquarters here in
Rome.
Such devotion, even from one
as efficient and clever as you, would be above and beyond the call of duty to
the Reich.
”
“
Perhaps
I should say the same about you,
”
she replied in a clipped tone of voice, regarding him closely.
“
I
thought you would have left the Villa more than an hour ago.
”
Tom smiled in as charming a manner as he could manage and
confessed sheepishly,
“
Such
a silly thing to do,
Fr
ä
ulein
,
but I took off my wristwatch while writing out some reports earlier today and
discovered that I had left it behind in my office.
Such a waste of time and effort to
return and retrieve it, but I could not take the risk of anyone among the
cleaning staff
—
how
shall I put it?
—
deciding
to remove it for personal use.
“
It
was given to me by my dear departed grandfather when I enlisted in the military
and has a great deal of sentimental value.
I could never forgive myself if anything were to happen to it.
Never,
”
he added emphatically, pulling back his sleeve to
reveal the valued article.
“
I
see,
”
she replied
thoughtfully.
“
Well, perhaps as it
’
s quite late,
”
she said, now placing
a broad hand suggestively on his arm,
“
you
may wish to join me for a light supper.
My apartment is not far from here.
That is, unless you have other plans.
”
“
Actually,
my dear
Fr
ä
ulein
,
I am expected for dinner at a colleague
’
s
home tonight,
danke
, but tomorrow evening looks promising, if that will
do.
Shall we say 8 o
’
clock?
And I
’
ll see if I can obtain a bottle of reasonably good
wine somewhere in this hopelessly uncivilized city.
Nothing like it to soothe the nerves and
relax one after a long day
’
s
work, wouldn
’
t you
say?
”
he added, as
his gaze swept deliberately over her body.
“
Yes,
that will do just fine,
”
she
said, coloring faintly but maintaining her composure.
“
And
don
’
t worry,
”
she added, her eyes
meeting his somewhat hesitantly.
“
I wouldn
’
t think of mentioning
to anyone that I found you here in the Villa after work hours.
Not even to Herr Kappler.
I
’
m glad that you found your watch.
Auf wiedersehn
.
”
He reached out and pressed his lips to the back of her hand,
maintaining the contact for just a fraction of a second longer than standard
courtesy required.
“
Until tomorrow, then,
Fr
ä
ulein
Helga.
Heil Hitler
!
”
And he turned on his heel and
walked down the staircase without looking back.
Several blocks from the Villa Wolkonsky, Tom knocked in a
coded sequence of soft raps on the door of a small bookshop, which, like the
other places of business up and down the street, had closed several hours
ago.
The heavy blackout curtain
covering the glass window of the storefront was pulled aside slightly and the
door was opened by a bespectacled man of about forty.
Quickly glancing around him one more
time at the empty street, Tom entered the shop.
“
How
may I help you?
”
the shopkeeper offered.
“
It
’
s after hours, you
realize.
”
“
I
’
m looking for a first
edition of
War and Peace
,
”
Tom replied.
“
It
’
s rather urgent.
”
“
In
which language?
”
asked
the shopkeeper, glancing at the oak leaf insignia on Tom
’
s collar.
“
We have
several available.
”
“
English,
preferably,
”
Tom
replied.
“
And preferably something printed in the United
States.
”
“
I
see,
”
the
shopkeeper responded.
“
I think I may be able
to assist you.
Come inside.
”
“
Grazie
.
I think we have a problem,
”
Tom explained in rapid
Italian as he identified himself and described his encounter with Kappler
’
s secretary just a
short while ago.
“
I
need to make contact with the
Resistenza
immediately. My cover appears
to have been compromised.
I
’
m afraid I may need to
leave Rome sooner than I thought.
Tonight or early tomorrow morning at the very latest.
And I
’
m afraid it will be too dangerous to return to my
apartment at the moment.
I
’
ll need a safe place to
spend the night, if you can arrange it.
”
“
Wait
there,
”
the
shopkeeper said, pointing to a small, dimly lit room to the left of the
bookcases on the back wall.
“
There
’
s a mattress on the
floor if you wish to rest, and a few
biscotti
in one of the cupboards,
in case you
’
re
hungry.
I
’
ll need to speak to one of our contacts from the
Frascati cell.
In person.
I
’
ll be back as soon as I can.
Don
’
t turn on any lights or move around
unnecessarily.
You
’
ll be safe here, for
the time being.
”
He picked up the telephone, waited a moment, and then said
into the receiver,
“
Buena
sera, signorina.
I need to make
an urgent delivery of books by no later than tomorrow morning.
A special request from an important
client.
Si
, I
understand.
I
’
ll be there shortly to
discuss the packaging arrangements.
”
He put down the receiver, removed his spectacles, and reached
for a dark workman
’
s
cap, whose narrow brim obscured the upper part of his face.
Glancing at Tom, he added almost
as an afterthought,
“
By
the way, there
’
s a
spare key inside the
biscotti
tin, in case of an emergency.
Just in case you need to leave
unexpectedly before I return.
”
He left the bookstore silently, locking the door behind him
with a barely audible click.
