LITMIR.BIZ

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very comfortable in his skin. Nothing bothers him, he likes to be a soldier, and I think he will want to stay one when the war is finished. I’ll have to give that some thought, though, because I don’t know about being a soldier’s wife. One last thing . . . I think he looks up to you.”

      “That’s because I’m taller, honey, but thank you. What about Cousin Bear, what do you see there?”

      “That’s easy. His heart is bigger than he is. Who else?”

      “Why, me, of course.”

      “Oh, my friend . . . you are very hard to see, but you are funny, smart, and . . . allora . . . troubled, I think.”

      1020 Hours

      CINC Southwest Headquarters, Monte Soratte, Italy

      Major Grossmann was stunned. What the colonel was proposing was unthinkable, but he only had Bernardi’s word to go on. Mark Gerschoffer would not have turned sides, of that he was certain. Not unless it was true that he was Bernardi’s lover and she directed him to do so. Her influence on men was formidable.

      “Sir, do you have any evidence that Captain Gerschoffer did as you imply?” he asked of the colonel.

      “Evidence? No . . . what evidence do you think might apply?”

      “I don’t know, sir. Why do you think the situation is anything other than what I described in my report—that Captain Gerschoffer was killed after being captured?”

      The colonel smiled again, and Major Grossmann found himself wishing that the colonel would quit doing so. The senior Abwehr officer coughed harshly and then said, “Because I don’t trust you. I don’t trust your whore, and I don’t trust Gerschoffer. Or didn’t, perhaps I should say.” The colonel used his fingers to delineate his point. “Let’s see. We don’t have a body. We haven’t seen a corpse. There’s no collaborating intelligence from the American camp. Your whore is perfectly poised to defect to Switzerland, and, well, I’ve always wondered about your allegiance. It’s Occam’s razor. My hypothesis is simpler and more logical than your own, which is, to wit, that an American intelligence officer infiltrated a heavily fortified city and kidnapped one of our two German-American intelligence officers—a savage brute of a man—tortured him, and executed him. What do you say to that?”

      “I can’t express what I’d like to say, Colonel. Other than noting you’re wrong about Mark, and about me, I haven’t a goddamned thing to say.” Grossmann began to feel nauseous. This morning was going worse than he imagined it possibly could. What was next? Orders to the Eastern Front? An interrogation?

      The colonel shook his head and looked at his wrist-watch. “Ach, Major, you’re still stuck in your American uniform. You need to embrace your Aryan side for a moment and follow orders, which are to explain to your superior why he’s wrong. I’ll give you thirty seconds to convince me, or I’ll turn this situation over to the Gestapo for more, uh . . . well, let’s call it objective resolution. Go!”

      Grossmann glared as the colonel glanced again at his watch. “Don’t bother, Colonel. It won’t take that long. You didn’t question our allegiance when we provided the operational intelligence that delayed the American advance, nor when we discovered the American stockpile of mustard gas in Bari. You never questioned my allegiance when I uncovered ties between British intelligence and the Vatican, nor when I planted the time bombs in Naples. There’s no basis to question it now. I am devoted to the Fatherland. I’ve killed for it, and I’m prepared to die for it. What more do you want?”

      The colonel leaned back in his chair and studied Grossmann again as if he were fascinated with his subordinate. “I don’t know, Major. Something’s not quite right with you. Well, anyway, what is that American phrase? ‘No sense beating a horse to death’? Suffice it to say, I’m not convinced—I think you’ll turn the first time things get tough on you.” He paused, lit another cigarette, and stared in silence for a full minute at Grossmann before continuing, “I think you’ll turn, but that doesn’t really matter. Admiral Canaris doesn’t, which is truly good news for you, I suspect. He thinks your work has been exceptional. Maybe they have different standards in the navy, I don’t know. Oh, here’s a little present from the admiral.” He pulled a small rectangular box from his leather briefcase and slid it across the table to Grossmann. When Grossmann opened the box, it revealed an Iron Cross. “The admiral thought that perhaps we might do more for you, say, maybe some more leave or even a mention of your name to the Führer . . . but I convinced him this was quite sufficient.” Switching to English and then to Latin, the colonel continued, “He said to tell you as I gave you this, and I quote, ‘Audaces fortuna iuvat.’ Unquote.”

      Fortune favors the bold. Grossmann stared mutely at the box for a moment. It was his first award of the Iron Cross, a medal that he had coveted greatly since the war began. The manner in which it was awarded, though, left him a little dismayed.

      “Thank the admiral for me, please, sir.”

      “Yes, of course. No pithy Latin or Greek phrase for him in return? No? Well, good luck then.”

      Grossmann looked the colonel in the eyes, saw that the other officer was enjoying his discomfiture and confusion, and struggled to achieve a neutral tone. “Good luck with what?”

      “Your next assignment, of course. The admiral and I had quite a discussion about this. I thought that you should try to infiltrate the American staff again, but he thought that perhaps the risk would be too high. Maybe a little cooling-off period and we shall try again. Wouldn’t want you to suffer the same fate as your friend, would we? That’s a rhetorical question. No need to answer. So here’s the summation of your future, if you can call it that. You are relieved of responsibility to the Rome Abwehr station immediately. That’s been de facto for some weeks in any case as you’ve seemed to have lost all your Yankee doodles—to one man, I might note. You are to be a semi-independent agent, answerable only to the admiral and me. I insisted on that, by the way. Here is a letter specifying that you are on orders from Admiral Canaris and requesting the assistance of other Axis units as required.” The colonel handed over an envelope and waited until Grossmann read through its contents. “If your whore doesn’t sleep her way into Switzerland, you may retain her services on an as-needed basis; the Abwehr will pay her fee and expenses, of course. Now, to the assignment at hand: the admiral wants you to resume your work on the Vatican.”

      At this, Grossmann sat up a little straighter in his chair. Finally, the meeting was turning around. This was good news and he forgot about both the Eastern Front and Paris. He was familiar with the problem as his office had done the initial investigations and analyses. Over the course of the past year, and with Bernardi’s help, he had turned a priest in the Vatican Curia into an unwilling source of information for the Third Reich. Through the priest’s information, Grossmann was able to develop an accurate model of the internal workings of Vatican politics. More importantly, in his opinion, he uncovered indications that a renegade group within the Vatican, led by Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty, had established a considerable network to assist escaped Allied prisoners of war and downed pilots in avoiding capture by the Germans. It was Grossmann’s contention that O’Flaherty’s network was acting as a front for British intelligence, although he had never been able to document the connection other than establishing that a fellow Irish priest in the Vatican had a brother in British Army Intelligence.

      “You have two objectives, Major. You are to ascertain whether the Vatican is assisting escaping Allies. We are particularly interested in any connection to a foreign intelligence service. That your suspected network may have the blessing of His Holiness is of intense interest, of course, although such information would ultimately be immaterial in the Führer’s decision to demarche or depose the Pope.”

      “Really? I would think—”

      “No need to exert yourself, Major,” the colonel interrupted. “The Führer will do that for you, and he will do what he feels necessary to achieve the greater end. He does not require our justification, but we will provide it in any case, of course.”

      “OK, what

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