Hide and Seek: The Irish Priest in the Vatican who Defied the Nazi Command. The dramatic true story of rivalry and survival during WWII.

Kappler’s team would quickly discover that the former dictator was indeed where they suspected, in the Apennine mountains in the Abruzzo region of eastern Italy. He had been taken by boat from the island of Ponza around Italy to a villa on Maddalena, an island off Sardinia, and from there was flown to the winter resort of Campo Imperatore, near the Gran Sasso. The Italians had chosen Mussolini’s final hiding place wisely. They put him in a room in the Hotel Campo Imperatore, some 7,000 feet above sea level.

As a hiding place the secluded location was ideal, as it was close to the highest peak in the Apennines and could be reached only by a ten-minute ride in a cable car. Although he was surrounded by hotel staff and policemen, Mussolini was the only official guest at the hotel. In conversations with his captors, Gueli and Faiola, he referred to his new surroundings as the ‘highest prison in the world’. As he played cards, read and listened to the radio, Mussolini was unaware that his German allies, after six weeks of searching, were just one step away from rescuing him. Kappler, although a reluctant participant in the manhunt, had proved his worth.

As the rescue plans were finalized the Allies and the Italians struck in different ways. Allied bombers took to the skies over Italy. This time one of their targets was the major headquarters for German troops at Frascati. In a lunchtime attack 400 tonnes of explosives fell on the town, killing and injuring many hundreds of residents and German soldiers. The German military complex was hit and Otto Skorzeny’s quarters were wrecked. Field Marshal Kesselring climbed from the wreckage unharmed. He sensed the bombing was only part of a planned series of events.

Kesselring was right. The attack was a forerunner to an Allied landing in Salerno, but there was more news to come. That evening, as smoke still hung over large parts of Italy, Marshal Badoglio announced on the radio that Italy had surrendered. The Italian leader said that he had requested an armistice from the Allied Commander, General Eisenhower, which had been accepted. Badoglio’s radio address took the Germans by surprise. They had known it was coming, but not when. The timing, rather like that of Mussolini’s kidnap in July, had caught them out.

Colonel Eugen Dollmann, who had been assisting Kappler in the search for Mussolini, was tasked with finding out what was happening on the streets of Rome. There was great confusion in the city, and the rumours were many and varied. These ranged from reports that Allied troops were arriving to seize Rome to stories that German troops were about to take control.

At the German embassy there was an altogether different atmosphere. Staff there, convinced that they were about to be ordered to leave the city, had begun to burn documents. However, amid all the chatter and speculation, Dollmann had secured one critical piece of hard information. When he reported back to Kesselring at the Frascati headquarters, the commander-in-chief of the Southern Front was intrigued. Dollmann had discovered that before the armistice announcement an American general, Maxwell Taylor, had been smuggled into Rome for secret discussions with Badoglio. Taylor, second-in-command of a US airborne unit, had been on a reconnaissance mission to examine the possibility of an airdrop of paratroops close to Rome.

The discussions between Taylor and Badoglio had turned into farce when the Italian leader changed his mind about an airdrop and asked for the armistice announcement to be postponed. Angered by the Italian dithering, Eisenhower agreed to abandon the airdrop but refused to accept a cancellation of the announcement. Kesselring didn’t know this detail but assumed General Taylor’s presence in Rome meant that an Allied airdrop around Rome was imminent. He told Dollmann that if Allied paratroops landed, the goal of securing Rome was lost.

Kesselring knew he had to act fast. He began by attempting to block all the entry points into Rome. When the King and Badoglio heard of the Germans’ intentions they too acted quickly. In darkness, clutching a few of their possessions, the royal family, along with Badoglio and his ministers, fled the city.

No orders were left with the army and no one was given military command. As dawn broke on 9 September, Rome was at the mercy of the Germans.

Over the course of the day gunfire could be heard across the city as pockets of Italians made up of soldiers and civilians began to resist the German troops who were edging their way towards the centre of Rome. The resistance was patchy and uncoordinated. Some of the Italians were bedraggled and appeared to be hungry, and many had no ammunition. The Germans had the upper hand militarily and tactically. On 10 September the battle for Rome entered its final phase.

With the city under siege, Hugh O’Flaherty and Sir D’Arcy Osborne could only watch and wait as they stayed in the Vatican. They could see and hear the sounds of battle, and for the moment they were like prisoners of war themselves.

The Pope was now seriously worried that the Germans would first take Rome and then move into the Vatican. He told his staff to keep their suitcases packed and then asked Cardinal Maglione to contact the German Ambassador to the Vatican, Baron Ernst von Weizsäcker, for some clarification. Maglione asked him if the Germans would respect the neutrality and extra-territorial status of the Holy See’s property. As gun battles continued across the city, Weizsäcker contacted his masters in Berlin and the Pope had to bide his time.

By now German ‘Tiger’ tanks were moving through the streets and the last lines of resistance were being overcome. The initial unease felt in the Vatican had now turned to panic. Everyone in the Holy See was on full alert. In an unprecedented move, St Peter’s Basilica was closed off and the gates to the Vatican City were shut. The Swiss Guards, who normally patrolled with ornamental pikes, were issued with firearms.

The Pope had good reason to seal off the Vatican City, as he wished to keep the whole site immune from the chaos that was engulfing Rome. Across the city there was fear and uncertainty. Burglaries, assaults, rape and murder had spread to all districts as Romans took matters into their own hands. But Friday night was their last evening of unrestrained lawlessness. By the following evening the city was swarming with SS men, infantrymen and German troops of all descriptions. The battle was over and as darkness fell Rome had new rulers.

Field Marshal Kesselring declared martial law and his ten-point proclamation was pasted on walls throughout the city. His decree stated that Rome was under his command and all crimes would be judged according to German laws of war. He also made it clear that snipers, strikers and saboteurs would be executed. All private correspondence was prohibited and all phone calls would be monitored.

That night, at the Wolf’s Lair, Hitler recorded a special broadcast which was transmitted shortly afterwards on Radio Rome. His delight at having captured the Italian capital was obvious, though it was punctuated with a series of warnings and he declared that Italy would suffer for deposing its once-favourite son. Clearly Mussolini was on the Führer’s mind. Hours later the mission to rescue him from the heights of the Gran Sasso began.

The Nazi high command had also become worried that the intelligence work and planning organized before the Italian surrender would go to waste. Even during the battle for Rome, Himmler had sent a message to Captain Skorzeny and General Kurt Student, the commander of Germany’s airborne forces, reminding them that Mussolini’s rescue was still a top priority. Both men concluded there were three ways to carry out the rescue. They could arrive at the Gran Sasso by parachute, perform a landing by glider, or launch a ground attack.

On the afternoon of Sunday, 12 September a group of gliders carrying German paratroops made their way to the remote mountain resort. Mussolini was sitting by the window in his room and saw Skorzeny’s glider crash land outside the hotel. The young captain climbed out and ran towards the building. He overpowered a radio operator and bundled a number of carabinieri out of the way. He climbed the stairs and on the second floor turned right. Moments later he found himself face to face with the man he had been hunting for six weeks, Benito Mussolini.

Skorzeny spoke first. ‘Duce, the Führer has sent me to set you free.’

‘I knew my friend Adolf Hitler would not abandon me,’ Mussolini replied.

By now the other paratroops had secured the building and the cable car, and the underground passage that linked the hotel and the resort’s station was in German hands. The kidnapping had taken its toll on Mussolini: he looked tired and ill and a little unkempt. Wearing an oversize overcoat and a felt hat, he walked out of the hotel and his every movement was tracked by a German newsreel cameraman who had come along to record the rescue. He made his way to one of the gliders and then, tucked behind the cockpit, he sat beside Skorzeny.

The take-off from the mountaintop nearly ended in disaster. The glider shot down into a chasm but the pilot was able to pull out of the nose-dive. An hour later they landed safely and then Mussolini and Skorzeny were put on another plane. Aboard the Heinkel 111, they were flown for an overnight stay in Austria. Back in Rome Herbert Kappler was anxiously waiting for news and when it came he quickly passed it on to officials in Berlin. Shortly after six o’clock he cabled a message informing them that the rescue of Mussolini had been carried out successfully and that a meeting had been arranged with senior officers in Vienna.

The next day Skorzeny and Mussolini were due to fly to Munich, where the former dictator would meet up with his wife.

Before he retired to bed Skorzeny received a telephone call. It was Hitler, who told the young captain, ‘Today you have carried out a mission that will go down in history and I have given you the Knight’s Cross and promoted you to Sturmbannführer.’

The Führer was thrilled that Mussolini had been freed and he was clearly in the mood to congratulate those who had helped in the rescue mission. After Skorzeny was honoured, there were others to be recognized. Herbert Kappler was also on the list and he was given the Iron Cross for his work. However, for him there was another reward to come. He was promoted to Obersturmbannführer, the highest rank of his career. Five weeks earlier he had been ordered to stay in Rome by the Führer and told to concentrate on police intelligence work. Now, with the city in German hands, Lieutenant Colonel Kappler had an even bigger job to do.

Chapter Seven OCCUPATION (#ulink_eac73d02-97f2-55fd-90ff-498ecf73d013)

‘We Germans regard you only as Jews, and thus our enemy’

Herbert Kappler

Hungry and poorly dressed, a group of fourteen Allied servicemen arrived at the entrance of the Holy See looking for shelter and food. They were taking an enormous risk by travelling in such a large group and looking out of place. But they were lucky, for a friendly priest from St Monica’s monastery offered them respite and made contact with Anton Call, a carabiniere who was on close terms with Monsignor O’Flaherty and Sir D’Arcy Osborne and had helped to hide Albert Penny, the British seaman who had arrived at the Vatican on a bicycle. Call advised the new arrivals to approach the Vatican in twos and threes. He said once they got inside they should declare they were prisoners of war and ask to be handed over to Osborne’s butler, John May. The next day Call discovered that the servicemen were in a local barracks. The plan had failed. The escapees had managed to fool the Swiss Guards but not the gendarmes, who handed them to the carabinieri in St Peter’s Square. All fourteen men were taken to the Vittorio Emmanuele barracks.

That night Call visited O’Flaherty. The police officer gave the priest details of the new detainees and O’Flaherty gave him 3,000 lire to buy food for the escapees. Within hours the men were well fed and well dressed. O’Flaherty considered the police barracks a safe place to leave the servicemen as the Germans did not visit the place. But the men’s freedom was short-lived, for in late October the Germans unexpectedly arrived at the barracks. Two of the group managed to escape but the remaining twelve were rounded up. For O’Flaherty the episode was a clear reminder that the escape operation needed more space and resources.

For Herbert Kappler the discovery of the escapees justified his policy of keeping the Vatican under surveillance and confirmed that he was right to keep a close watch on O’Flaherty. In his developing battle with the monsignor it was an enjoyable early triumph. Even so, for every escapee Kappler’s men caught there were many more who evaded detection.

O’Flaherty took huge personal risks. On one occasion he met three South African escaped servicemen in Rome and while he was taking them to the apartment he had found for them they were stopped by three SS men. Luckily the Germans were lost and just wanted directions. Another time he escorted two more South Africans from a railway station to their safe house. He visited hospitals where escapees were being treated and regularly secured their release to pro-Allied families in the city.

It was an open secret that O’Flaherty was the man behind the escape operation. By late October 1943 around 1,000 servicemen had been placed in safety in homes across Rome and in farms and buildings outside the city. Kappler wanted to catch the monsignor red-handed but knew he could only arrest him away from Vatican territory.

By now the monsignor and his friend and collaborator John May realized that the two of them could not handle the escape operation on their own. ‘Look, Monsignor, this thing is too big for one man, you can’t handle it alone … and it’s hardly begun!’ May said. O’Flaherty agreed that another senior figure was needed to share the workload of recruiting host families, raising money and visiting suitable accommodation for the escapees. Count Sarsfield Salazar of the Swiss legation was approached. Salazar had been interned when Italy declared war but had later been released. He had originally joined the staff of the American embassy and gained experience dealing with prisoners of war when he visited internment camps as an official inspector. And now, as a diplomat for a neutral country, he had the ideal background. Salazar agreed to join May and O’Flaherty.

The trio’s first priority was to secure more accommodation, so O’Flaherty went house hunting, criss-crossing the city by tram and on foot looking for suitable houses and apartments. After living in Rome for nearly two decades he knew the city intimately and soon found a flat in Via Firenze and another, about a mile away, in Via Chelini.

But, as well as premises, the Escape Line needed cash to pay for food and clothes for the escapees. The issue of money was discussed at night-time meetings between Osborne, O’Flaherty and May. The British Minister agreed to seek financial assistance from the Foreign Office in London and over the next nine months large sums of money were made available. Eventually Foreign Office officials would secure a loan through the Vatican Bank of three million lire. It was a risky strategy for them because they knew a paper trail leading to Osborne could jeopardize his position in Rome. One senior British civil servant summed up the arguments and concluded that it was best to make funds available: ‘It is worth taking a good many risks, including that of compromising his position in the Vatican, to send money to British prisoners, wherever they may be in Italy.’ Money would also come from other sources, including a Jesuit account and the American government through its chargé d’affaires Harold Tittmann.

While sitting in his room in the Vatican, O’Flaherty answered the phone and heard the unmistakable voice of Prince Filippo Doria Pamphili. A member of one of Rome’s oldest families, the prince could trace his ancestors back to Admiral Andrea Doria, known as the liberator of Genoa. He was a friend of the monsignor and sympathetic towards his Escape Line. An opponent of Fascism, he had refused to accept Mussolini’s rule. Pamphili had declined to fly the Italian flag from his palace to mark the Fascist leader’s anniversary – a move that had particularly angered Mussolini because the prince’s residence was across the street from where crowds used to gather to hear the leader speak. Pamphili was imprisoned and then banished to southern Italy, but in recent months he had been allowed to return to Rome. He had become friendly with O’Flaherty before the war and the monsignor had often been to parties at his home. Having secretly become involved in anti-fascist groups which helped refugees, the prince was now telephoning O’Flaherty to say he wanted to see him.

The journey from the Vatican to the Palazzo Doria in Via del Corso didn’t take long. There the two men adjourned to the prince’s impressive picture gallery, where they were surrounded by renaissance and baroque paintings, some of the city’s finest works of art. Ever conscious of watching eyes and listening ears, the prince told O’Flaherty, ‘Even in my own palazzo I am not safe from spies now.’ He then explained that he wanted to help the escape organization, and handed over 150,000 lire, which at the time was equal to some £2,000.

O’Flaherty was being watched by Kappler’s men, who noted his trip to the prince’s residence.

As autumn arrived Kappler was adjusting to his new life as the chief of the Gestapo in Rome. Now he had the entire city under his control. One day specific orders came from Berlin. Kappler’s secretary put the call through to her boss, who listened intently. First the caller congratulated him on his promotion and then there were words of praise for his deputy, Erich Priebke, who, like Kappler, had been awarded the Iron Cross for his work in finding Mussolini.

Kappler had made sure his work tracking down the former dictator had not gone unnoticed by his superiors in Berlin. He had sent one cable reminding them that Mussolini was discovered ‘exclusively from intelligence sources controlled by me’. After the good wishes came the instructions, relayed in stark terms from Heinrich Himmler’s office.

The deportation of Rome’s Jews was to be Kappler’s first task following his promotion. This command, he was told during the phone call, would be followed by a radio message which would confirm that he was to begin the ‘Final Solution’ in the city. He had been in his new post only a few days but he was already once again at odds with his bosses in Berlin. Just as he had initially opposed the plan to rescue Mussolini, he found this latest plan objectionable. He didn’t agree with the order he had just received. He felt he knew Rome well, certainly better than those sitting behind desks in Germany. He believed any attempt to deport the city’s Jews would do little to engender sympathy among a local population already angered by the German occupation. Then there were the practicalities of a mass round-up. How could widespread deportations be organized? Days earlier Kappler had been instructed in a message from Berlin to secure the routes in and out of the Vatican. He had questioned whether he had the manpower for such measures and replied that ‘instructions to this effect can only be carried out if additional forces are brought up’.

Kappler was sure he did not have enough SS men and what staff he did have lacked any experience in these matters. It was a bad plan, but he knew he had to do more than simply object to it. If he was to successfully oppose this latest order from Berlin, he needed allies. He travelled the short distance to Frascati to meet Field Marshal Kesselring. He reminded Kesselring how he had dealt with Jews on a previous occasion in Tunisia. Rather than carry out mass deportations, Kesselring had formed the Tunisian Jews into work gangs, and Jewish leaders who had been arrested were released after payment of a fine. When Kappler told him how many men he would need to organize deportations across Rome, the field marshal was alarmed. Kesselring said he could not afford to have men tied up in such matters because they were needed to defend Rome. Kappler had found his ally. The new head of the Gestapo in Rome then started to put together his own plan.

Kappler summoned the city’s Jewish leaders. On the last Sunday of September he ordered two of Rome’s leading Jewish representatives to attend a meeting with him. Shortly after 6 p.m. Ugo Foa and Dante Almansi stood outside Kappler’s office in Villa Wolkonsky. They had not been told why he wanted to see them. At first their host was polite and the conversation was pleasant, but Kappler’s mood changed and he told his two visitors, ‘We Germans regard you only as Jews, and thus our enemy.’ He then chillingly warned them that unless the Jewish community handed over 50 kg of gold within the next thirty-six hours, 200 Jews would be deported to Germany. If the gold was handed over no one would be harmed.

Kappler’s plan had no official sanction and he was operating alone in the hope that his actions would delay the deportations.

Angry and worried, Foa and Almansi left their meeting with Kappler knowing they needed advice and help. Foa, a former magistrate, and Almansi, President of the Union of Jewish Communities, were both well connected in Rome. They spoke with contacts in the city’s Fascist police, but there was little the Italian police could do to change Kappler’s mind. The two Jewish leaders knew they had to act.

Word of the Gestapo chief’s ultimatum quickly spread among the city’s 12,000-strong Jewish community. Foa and Almansi felt they could raise the amount demanded but they were concerned that they could not do it within Kappler’s deadline. They set to work immediately. In an office close to the River Tiber, beside the central synagogue, donations were left. As darkness fell, a queue had formed to hand over rings, chains, pendants and bracelets. Even gold fillings were removed from teeth, and slowly the amount collected edged towards 50 kg. Twice Foa and Almansi appealed to Kappler to give them more time, and twice he agreed.

The Vatican had also been informed of the demand Kappler had placed on the Jewish community. Aware of the difficulties in reaching Kappler’s figure, Pope Pius XII offered to loan them gold if there was a shortfall. The Holy See said the loan could be arranged for any amount and could be repaid in instalments without interest. However, the Vatican’s loan was not needed. By early afternoon on Tuesday, 28 September, Kappler’s target was finally reached.

Packed into ten boxes, the gold was taken under police guard across the city to Villa Wolkonsky, where Kappler had issued the demand nearly two days earlier. The Obersturmbannführer was conspicuous by his absence and declined to see Foa and Almansi. The two Jewish leaders were then told to take the gold to Via Tasso, a short distance away. There they were greeted by a young SS captain who in error under-weighed the amount and then, after much delay, correctly measured the gold. The correct amount had been delivered and the two men prepared to leave. As a parting gesture, Foa declared that he would personally go to Germany at some stage to retrieve the gold. As darkness fell, Foa and Almansi returned to their families and friends and Rome’s Jewish community felt a sense of relief. Across Europe Jews were being rounded up and transported to death camps. Yet to date it seemed that Italy was exempt, and the Jews of Rome believed that the payment of gold would prevent any deportations from their own city. It was a false hope.

Within hours SS men were at their door, raiding the offices of Rome’s Jewish community, the very place where the gold had been handed in. They took money and documents, including details of Jews who had donated gold. Two weeks later they returned and took away old manuscripts and rare books.