The Maya Codex (19 page)

A thick fog began to roll in from the south. Gökoğlan yanked defiantly on the dirty length of rope hanging from the rusted roof of the bridge. Three short bursts of steam issued from the
Wilhelm Kohler
’s funnel as the foghorn sounded an eerie warning, one that was immediately absorbed by the mists. In defiance of the speed restrictions, Gökoğlan maintained course towards the Kandilli Turn, the notorious Bosphorus promontory that required a forty-five-degree change of course. Any ships heading south were blind to traffic going in the opposite direction. He peered into the gathering darkness, searching for the promontory he’d already passed, and the
Wilhelm Kohler
crossed into the northbound shipping lane.

Five deep blasts from a ship’s horn, the international distress signal for an imminent collision, reverberated through the fog. A large Russian freighter loomed out of the mists.

Gökoğlan swore and wrenched the telegraph to emergency full astern.

In the engine room below Barzani leapt to the reciprocating lever and immediately brought the great engine to a stop in a cloud of hissing steam and protesting pistons. Just as quickly, he applied full throttle in the opposite direction. Whatever the engineer’s views of his stubborn and irascible captain, Barzani was responding to a fundamental law of the sea. Above the thunderous noise in the engine room, the frenzied dinging on the telegraph meant the ship was in danger. Barzani watched the con rods slowly gather speed. On the bridge above Gökoğlan frantically spun the
Wilhelm Kohler’s
wheel to starboard, but as the huge Penn and Company engine reached maximum revolutions, the overheated bearing caps finally reached their limits. The number one bearing-case seized and shattered in an explosion of sparks. Freed of one of its supports, the glistening silver main shaft began to flex violently. Barzani rushed towards the reciprocating lever but he was too late. The shaft snapped just for’ard of the shattered bearing casing. Clear of the load of the propeller, the old engine reached revolutions for which it had never been designed. The little end-bearing in the number one cylinder was the next to fail, driving the con rod through the crown of the massive piston. The number two and three pistons shattered in sympathy and the engine disintegrated in an explosion of metal shrapnel. A lump of red-hot metal decapitated Barzani in a bloodied mist of escaping steam.

The Russian freighter hit the
Wilhelm Kohler
midway between the bridge and the stern on the starboard side. She sliced into the rusted plates in a grinding, sickening crunch. Rebekkah was knocked unconscious as her head slammed into one of the steel bulkheads. Ariel held his sister’s limp body with one hand and clung desperately to a stanchion with the other.

The Russian captain immediately ordered full astern and ever so slowly, steel grating and screeching against steel, the Russian freighter freed herself from the
Wilhelm Kohler’s
grasp. Tons of icy water flooded the aft coal bunkers and the
Wilhelm Kohler
listed alarmingly to starboard, the sea foaming through the connecting bulkhead doors that had been left open.

‘Launch the lifeboat!’ Gökoğlan bellowed. One of the deckhands struggled with the ropes on the starboard lifeboat, but to no avail. Mustafa Gökoğlan hadn’t conducted a lifeboat drill in years, and the pulleys in the davits were rusted solid. Gökoğlan fled the bridge to the fiercely listing deck below.

‘Launch it!’ he roared, swinging on the ropes, but the small wooden boat hung drunkenly from the davits. The
Wilhelm Kohler
shuddered and rolled past forty-five degrees, throwing Ariel and Rebekkah, along with those children not trapped below decks, into the icy sea.

Ariel spluttered and coughed up sea water as he surfaced a short distance from the stricken coal steamer. ‘Rebekkah! Rebekkah!’ he yelled, frantically searching for his sister in the dark, oily waters.

19

ISTANBUL

A
lberto Felici leaned forward in the worn but comfortable armchair in Archbishop Roncalli’s book-lined study in the Vatican Embassy on
Ölçek Sokak.

‘The Cardinal Secretary of State is sympathetic to the plight of
any
people who are oppressed, Excellency; but you must realise there are greater issues at play here than the fate of the Jews,’ he insisted.

‘I’d be interested to know what you might consider a greater issue than the lives of children,’ Roncalli replied stonily. ‘Hitler and the Third Reich represent a grave threat to world peace.’

‘That’s not a view shared by Cardinal Pacelli, Excellency. He believes Communism poses a far greater threat to the Holy Church than Hitler. And,’ Felici added pointedly, ‘with the Holy Father now gravely ill, Cardinal Pacelli may well be next to fill the Shoes of the Fisherman.’

‘That will be a matter for the next conclave. It is poor taste, don’t you think, Signor, to be discussing the next Pope before the current one is dead?’ Roncalli’s dislike for the Italian banker-turned-papal envoy grew by the minute. ‘In the meantime Istanbul will remain one of the main escape routes for the Jews. The Nazis have stripped them of everything they have, and I need more funds to help them. But more importantly Rome must understand that the Nazis are committing
mass murder
. Instead of sending Hitler congratulatory birthday telegrams, Cardinal Pacelli should be urging the Holy Father to condemn this massacre in the strongest possible terms. If the Vatican won’t condemn genocide, what hope do we have?’

‘You don’t seem to understand, Excellency —’ Felici’s protestations were cut off by the strident ringing of the phone on Roncalli’s desk.

‘Angelo Roncalli.’ The archbishop leaned forward into the Bakelite mouthpiece.

‘Angelo, it’s Mordecai Herschel. There’s been a terrible accident in the Bosphorus. The
Wilhelm Kohler
has been sunk in a collision with a Russian freighter.’

‘Oh, no … the children?’

‘We don’t know yet. I’m on my way to the Kandilli Turn. We may not be able to get the children to Palestine now, but there’s another steamer leaving for Central America tomorrow night. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘I will pray for them,’ Roncalli whispered, and he replaced the receiver. He turned to Felici. ‘I’m afraid I have to go, Signor. The
Wilhelm Kohler
, a ship bringing Jewish children out of Austria, has sunk in the Bosphorus.’

Obersturmbannführer von Heißen signalled the waiter. ‘Another bottle of Château Latour.’

The Pera Palas dining room was one of Istanbul’s finest. A magnificent crystal chandelier, heavy velvet drapes, crisp linen tablecloths and silver cutlery were complemented by a cellar containing some of the world’s finest wines.

‘Do you think the Vatican Bank proposal will go ahead, Alberto?’

Felici nodded. ‘I suspect Pacelli will be the next Pope, and he’s very keen to establish it. It’s confidential, of course, but he’s already asked me to be a delegate to the board.’

‘Excellent news, Alberto.’ Von Heißen raised his glass. ‘I should imagine such a bank will be very well capitalised.’

‘I expect that for the right clients, we’ll be able to offer services more than comparable to those of any of our competitors in Zürich,’ Felici replied smoothly.

Von Heißen smiled, momentarily thinking of the contents of the strong room beneath the SS headquarters in Mauthausen.

‘On another issue,’ Felici continued, ‘I was with Archbishop Roncalli earlier this evening. There’s apparently been a collision on the Bosphorus. It seems one of the ships was carrying Jewish children from Vienna.’

‘Is that so? Well, it is a dangerous stretch of water,’ von Heißen replied, choosing his words carefully. ‘Any word on survivors?’

‘Not yet, but Roncalli is taking a very keen interest in them.’

‘How many were saved?’ Roncalli asked the Mother Superior as he arrived at the Sisters of Sion Monastery in the old Pangalti Quarter of the city.

‘Just three, Excellency. A boy and two older girls,’ Sister Marta replied, leading the way down a narrow stone-walled corridor to a makeshift ward.

Roncalli took a deep breath and crossed himself. Eighteen young souls taken … At times like this he questioned God’s presence in the world.

‘The little boy in the last bed,’ Sister Marta said quietly, ‘his name is Ariel. His father was murdered by the Nazis; his mother is in a German concentration camp, and he lost his sister in the collision.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

Roncalli held Ariel’s hand in his. What could he say to this young boy who had already suffered so much in his short life? ‘I’m so very, very sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I just want you to know you’re not alone.’

Ariel nodded numbly, wiping away a tear.

Roncalli turned to find another of the sisters at his side. ‘There’s a German officer at the front door, Excellency,’ she whispered.

Roncalli nodded. ‘Tell him I’m coming.’

Ariel watched Roncalli walk from the room, sensing this was a man he could trust. He checked again under his pillow, and sighed in relief. The maps were still there.

A tall, immaculately uniformed SS officer was waiting for Roncalli at the front door. Everything in Roncalli recoiled at the sight of him, but he moved forward.

‘Can I help you, officer?’ he inquired mildly.

‘I am Obersturmbannführer Karl von Heißen, Excellency. I have come to offer the condolences of the German government and my personal best wishes to the survivors. A shocking tragedy.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Obersturmbannführer. I’m sure you’ll understand, however, that the children are still in shock. It may be some days before they’re allowed visitors. Do you think you could come back the day after tomorrow … say just after lunch?’

Von Heißen fought to control his irritation. ‘But of course, Excellency – the day after tomorrow.’

It was well after midnight by the time Roncalli and Mordecai Herschel had arranged for Ariel and the other children to be transferred to the greater security of the Vatican Embassy.

A candle flickered feebly on Roncalli’s desk as he and Herschel worked on into the small hours of the morning. Never had certificates of Conversion to Catholicism been prepared with such loving care.

‘The SS
Belize Star
sails tomorrow night for British Honduras and Guatemala,’ Herschel said, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’ve organised three berths, and we’ve an agent in Guatemala City who will meet the children. I’ll take these papers down to the Immigration Department tomorrow morning and arrange Turkish passports.’

Roncalli smiled. ‘Where I come from, that would take weeks …
domani, domani
, always
domani
.’

‘Fortunately we’re not in Italy, Angelo, and I have a contact who is sympathetic. I just hope the children will be fit to travel.’

‘Children can be remarkably resilient, Mordecai, although I’m worried about Ariel Weizman,’ Roncalli said. He’s been through more than any adult should endure in a lifetime.’