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Authors: Francis Joseph Smith
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so I will be brief. First, I have a question for you. Were you assigned under the command of a Captain Hans Dieter?”
He eyed the door over Peter’s shoulder as he awaited a response.
Peter traced the outline of his wife’s slim figure with his forefinger, not bothering to look up, the past several years of imprisonment suddenly erased as he did. “Yes, I was, but how did you come across this information?” he spat out.
Perluci smiled. “We in the Vatican also have our own intelligence unit. I will not bore you with details about our little operation because we have so little time, so just answer the questions. Did you or did you not participate in a military action against a German military truck that you latter found to contain a load of gold and other assorted objects?”
For the first time since receiving his wife’s photo, Peter looked up, suddenly concerned about the direction the conversation was taking. He had to be a KGB agen t — a plant.
“I don’t know what you are talking about. You obviously have the wrong man or unit. We only attac ked Soviet troops and vehicles, not the damned German military.”
Peter started to rise from his seat in order to leave.
Perluci rose quickly from his chair, catching Peter with a sharp right jab to his abdomen. “Sit down and listen to what I have to say,” he barked.
Doubled over in pain, a look of surprise spread across Peter’s face at the small man’s agility and strength. He wisely chose to sit back down as instructed, still flinching from the pain.
“Do you think I enjoy doing this?” Perluci spat out. “Now, as I said before, I have little time and patience left. Let’s get to the dirty side of my work. Do you happen to remember a woman named Monica Dems? I should hope s o — because she happens to be the other person in the wedding photo I supplied you. She is well”, pausing for its full effect, “and very much alive, for the moment .”
A look of horror s pread across Peter’s face. It had been five years since he last saw his wife. He often wondered if she ever remarried, not that he would blame her. Five years is a long time with no communication. He looked to Perluci. “You bastard, how do you know these things?”
“As I told you, I work for the Vatican Intelligence Network. We have our people located everywhere. Nothing will happen to your wife if you provide me with the information I want to know. Just relax and answer my questions.”
Perluci was confident he had the man right where he wanted him. The picture worked to perfection, conjuring up some of the old memories.
Peter sat back down in his chair, head hung low. “I didn’t think a man of the cloth would resort to such blackmail,” he said, eyes narrowing.
Perluci wasted no time. “After many interviews and checks and rechecks, our records indicate that your unit was the only one to have been in the area of our shipment . This leads us to believe you and your unit might have been involved in its disappearance. Now after four years of searching, I have only tracked two people from your unit who are possibly still alive. I only want to know where the gold and documents are hidden. My request is simple, yes?” He flashed a toothy grim. “If you do this, I will see that your wife gets a new apartment and money to live on until you get out of this rat hole in a couple of years.”
“ What if I choose not to cooperate?” Peter asked, knowing full well the consequences, but still trying to negotiate nevertheless.
He was handed yet another photo, this one taken more recently and clearly without her knowledge. “It would be a shame for such a pretty woman to suffer an untimely death,” Perluci said.
Peter fingered the photo of his wife. “Al l right you bastard, you have me.” He withdrew a cigarette from the open pack Perluci had provided earlier. “I never wanted anything to do with that mission. It was Captain Dieter’s
He eyed the door over Peter’s shoulder as he awaited a response.
Peter traced the outline of his wife’s slim figure with his forefinger, not bothering to look up, the past several years of imprisonment suddenly erased as he did. “Yes, I was, but how did you come across this information?” he spat out.
Perluci smiled. “We in the Vatican also have our own intelligence unit. I will not bore you with details about our little operation because we have so little time, so just answer the questions. Did you or did you not participate in a military action against a German military truck that you latter found to contain a load of gold and other assorted objects?”
For the first time since receiving his wife’s photo, Peter looked up, suddenly concerned about the direction the conversation was taking. He had to be a KGB agen t — a plant.
“I don’t know what you are talking about. You obviously have the wrong man or unit. We only attac ked Soviet troops and vehicles, not the damned German military.”
Peter started to rise from his seat in order to leave.
Perluci rose quickly from his chair, catching Peter with a sharp right jab to his abdomen. “Sit down and listen to what I have to say,” he barked.
Doubled over in pain, a look of surprise spread across Peter’s face at the small man’s agility and strength. He wisely chose to sit back down as instructed, still flinching from the pain.
“Do you think I enjoy doing this?” Perluci spat out. “Now, as I said before, I have little time and patience left. Let’s get to the dirty side of my work. Do you happen to remember a woman named Monica Dems? I should hope s o — because she happens to be the other person in the wedding photo I supplied you. She is well”, pausing for its full effect, “and very much alive, for the moment .”
A look of horror s pread across Peter’s face. It had been five years since he last saw his wife. He often wondered if she ever remarried, not that he would blame her. Five years is a long time with no communication. He looked to Perluci. “You bastard, how do you know these things?”
“As I told you, I work for the Vatican Intelligence Network. We have our people located everywhere. Nothing will happen to your wife if you provide me with the information I want to know. Just relax and answer my questions.”
Perluci was confident he had the man right where he wanted him. The picture worked to perfection, conjuring up some of the old memories.
Peter sat back down in his chair, head hung low. “I didn’t think a man of the cloth would resort to such blackmail,” he said, eyes narrowing.
Perluci wasted no time. “After many interviews and checks and rechecks, our records indicate that your unit was the only one to have been in the area of our shipment . This leads us to believe you and your unit might have been involved in its disappearance. Now after four years of searching, I have only tracked two people from your unit who are possibly still alive. I only want to know where the gold and documents are hidden. My request is simple, yes?” He flashed a toothy grim. “If you do this, I will see that your wife gets a new apartment and money to live on until you get out of this rat hole in a couple of years.”
“ What if I choose not to cooperate?” Peter asked, knowing full well the consequences, but still trying to negotiate nevertheless.
He was handed yet another photo, this one taken more recently and clearly without her knowledge. “It would be a shame for such a pretty woman to suffer an untimely death,” Perluci said.
Peter fingered the photo of his wife. “Al l right you bastard, you have me.” He withdrew a cigarette from the open pack Perluci had provided earlier. “I never wanted anything to do with that mission. It was Captain Dieter’s
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