“. . . Therefore, as a very junior, inexperienced intelligence officer, I have always paid rapt attention to whatever they had to say.”
The priest chuckled and shook his head.
“Many times,” Cronley continued, “one or the other has referred to other intelligence agencies as ‘the best in the world.’ Better, in other words, than the CIC, the DCI, and the NKGB. Sometimes, one or the other of them so described General Gehlen’s organizations over his long career. At other times, they said the Zionist organization’s Mossad was not only the best, but vastly superior to ours. And at still other times, both said, separately, that the nameless organization run by your boss, His Holiness Pope Pius XII, was unquestionably the best.”
Father McKenna raised his eyebrows. “But the Church does not have an intelligence service like the NKGB or the DCI.”
“Hear me out. The entire Church is an intelligence service far more extensive and effective than any other.”
“We are agreeing to disagree,” the priest said.
“Intelligence is dumped in your lap, Francis, if you think about it. You don’t have to look for it. But intelligence is intelligence no matter where it comes from. I speak, of course, of the confessional.”
“What is spoken in the confessional remains in the confessional,” the priest said, coldly.
Cronley was undeterred. “Okay, fine. Let’s leave the confessional out of this. But the fact remains that Holy Mother Church has assets in place around the world, as well as a communications system from bottom to top. I don’t know the exact numbers here, but let’s say there is no other population in the world where, conservatively, one-third of the citizenry meets regularly with its officials. And the worst sin of all is action contrary to the best interests of Holy Mother Church.”
“This conversation is beginning to really offend me.”
“I’m simply trying to explain my position. So, let’s turn to Mossad. Why are they so efficient? Well, when they go somewhere—anywhere—the Hebrew population is already on their side—”
“Where are you going with this, James?”
“It’s quite simple: The reason we can’t find von Dietelburg and Burgdorf is because something like ninety-nine percent of the Germans are rooting for them—and against our success in returning them to prison and, ultimately, putting them on trial.”
“But it has to be common knowledge among the Germans that those two are really despicable people. And I’m not even getting into the Church of Saint Heinrich.”
“Francis, I don’t think it’s got anything to do with right or wrong.”
“What, then?”
“How about humiliation? Maybe even the humiliation of humiliation?”
“Now it sounds like you’re babbling again. What is your point?”
“Germany didn’t lose the First World War. They lost War Two.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Germany didn’t surrender in World War One. They came to an armistice with the Allies. The terms of the armistice, and of the Versailles Treaty which followed, were humiliating. They lost territory in Europe. They lost their foreign colonies.”
“We know that. Get to your point, if you have one.”
“They lost World War Two. They were forced to surrender unconditionally. That was even more humiliating than being forced to seek an armistice.”
“I still don’t get your point.”
“The best way to counter the depression that comes with humiliation is to give whoever is humiliating you the finger.”
He demonstrated, making a fist with middle finger extended. McKenna’s expression was one of mild displeasure.
“By doing nothing to help us bag von Dietelburg,” Cronley went on, dropping his hand, “or, even better, doing something that actually helps them avoid getting bagged, they have the satisfaction of giving the finger to the people that are humiliating them.”
“That’s possibly, even probably, true. But, so what?”
“The point is, if we want to bag von Dietelburg and Burgdorf, we’re going to have to do it ourselves, as no one is going to
help us. At least, not help us intentionally.”