Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) by J Robert Kennedy

said
nothing.
    “Your
motivation for taking it is no longer of any concern. Your employer, Mr. Donati,
has given us a full confession.”
    Nicola’s
shoulders sagged as he thought of the man who had given him a job outside of
the fields his allergies tortured him in. It wasn’t much of a job, simply
manual labor in and around the small museum, but it was work that paid enough
to hire a hand at the farm with a little left over.
    It was
enough that he felt he was contributing.
    Until he
would be forced into the army.
    “All I
need to know from you is where you took the portrait.”
    Nicola
looked up at the man, deciding whether or not to reassert his manhood, to
reclaim his soul from his cowardly act of admission.
    The man
smiled at him. A smile devoid of any sense of pleasure or joy or friendliness.
It was the opposite of what a smile should be. It was evil. “I sense defiance
in you, boy.” He pointed at the door. “Let me remind you, we have your aunt in the
next room, and your parents back home, and your cousin, and his friend. All
their lives depend on your next words. Do you understand me?”
    Nicola
nodded, closing his eyes.
    “Where
did you take the portrait?”
    Tears
burned his cheeks as he revealed the truth, condemning even more lives.
     
     

 
     

    Via Dello Statuto, Rome, Italy
July 7 th , 1941
     
    Sturmbannführer Bernard Heidrich removed his hat as he entered the
bakery, his nostrils filled with the aromas of fresh baked goods he missed so.
He longed to return to the streets of his beloved Munich, yet it wasn’t to be,
not for some time at least. He had been tasked to collect a set of artifacts in
Italy that Dr. Mengele himself had compiled. What the purpose for this was, he
wasn’t privy to, all he did know was that he had been given tremendous latitude
in fulfilling his mission, the orders in his breast pocket impressively signed
by the Führer himself.
    It was a
license to do anything.
    Any thing.
    Including
torturing Italian farm boys who got in his way.
    But he
wasn’t a monster. Far from it. He had parents whom he loved dearly, an older
brother in the Wehrmacht that he was immensely proud of, a sister who was a
file clerk in Berlin, and several nieces and nephews, all in the Hitler Youth
and Young Girls’ League. They were all proud Nazis, and loyal Germans. It
didn’t mean they were vicious animals without hearts. If you cooperated, you
were left alone. If you didn’t, then the law would be applied without mercy.
    The
young man had cooperated quite quickly.
    And if
he had told the truth, he just might survive the day.
    But if
he lied and wasted his time?
    He would
be shown no quarter.
    “Are you
the owner?” he asked, stepping ahead of the line of patrons, none daring to
protest.
    The man
jerked out a quick nod, it clear he was terrified.
    Good.
    “Y-yes.
Unless you ask my wife, then she’s in charge.”
    Heidrich
smiled slightly. This one was quick on his feet, even when scared. He held up a
photo of the boy before he had been beaten. “Do you recognize this young man?”
    The
baker leaned over the counter and nodded. “Yeah, he was here earlier. Asked me
for some expired offer and I sent him in the back to talk to my wife.”
    So he
didn’t lie.
    “How
long did he stay?”
    “Maybe
five minutes. He came back out and I gave him his bread.”
    “Did he pay?”
    “Damn
right he did.” The man frowned. “But at the lower price.” He shrugged. “My wife
is a soft one with anyone but me.”
    “Where
is she?”
    “In the
back.” He turned toward a door and shouted. “Greta! A German officer here to
see you!”
    “Send
him in!”
    The man
motioned with his chin and Heidrich bowed slightly, snapping his heels together
with an impressive click, before walking toward the bead-covered opening. An
Italian police officer with him sped ahead, holding the beads aside and Heidrich
ducked slightly as he entered, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. A
woman sat at a desk covered