A Death in Vienna

committed anti-Semite and a supporter of Hitler’s regime. Does it not make sense that he would willingly help Austrians and Germans after the war, regardless of the crimes they had committed?”
    “His opposition to Jews was theological in nature, not social. As for his support of the Nazi regime, I offer no defense. Bishop Hudal is condemned by his own words and his writings.”
    “And hiscar, ” Gabriel added, putting Moshe Rivlin’s file to good use. “Bishop Hudal flew the flag of the united Reich on his official limousine. He made no secret of where his sympathies lay.”
    Drexler sipped his lemon water and turned his frozen gaze on Donati. “Like many others within the Church, I had my concerns about the Holy Father’s Historical Commission, but I kept those concerns to myself out of respect for His Holiness. Now it seems the Anima is under the microscope. I must draw the line. I will not have the reputation of this great institution dragged through the mud of history.”
    Monsignor Donati pondered his trouser leg for a moment, then looked up. Beneath the calm exterior, the papal secretary was seething at the rector’s insolence. The bishop had pushed; Donati was about to push back. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice to a chapel murmur.
    “Regardless of your concerns on this matter, Your Grace, it is the Holy Father’s desire that Professor Rubenstein be granted access to Bishop Hudal’s papers.”
    A deep silence hung over the room. Drexler fingered his pectoral cross, looking for an escape hatch. There was none; resignation was the only honorable course of action. He toppled his king.
    “I have no wish to defy His Holiness on this matter. You leave me no choice but to cooperate, Monsignor Donati.”
    “The Holy Father will not forget this, Bishop Drexler.”
    “Nor will I, Monsignor.”
    Donati flashed an ironic smile. “It is my understanding that the bishop’s personal papers remain here at the Anima.”
    “That is correct. They are stored in our archives. It will take a few days to locate them all and organize them in such a fashion that they can be read and understood by a scholar such as Professor Rubenstein.”
    “How very thoughtful of you, Your Grace,” said Monsignor Donati, “but we’d like to see themnow. ”
    HE LED THEMdown a corkscrew stone stairway with timeworn steps as slick as ice. At the bottom of the stairs was a heavy oaken door with cast-iron fittings. It had been built to withstand a battering ram but had proved no match for a clever priest from the Veneto and the “professor” from Jerusalem.
    Bishop Drexler unlocked the door and shouldered it open. He groped in the gloom for a moment, then threw a switch that made a sharp, echoing snap. A series of overhead lights burst on, buzzing and humming with the sudden flow of electricity, revealing a long subterranean passage with an arched stone ceiling. The bishop silently beckoned them forward.
    The vault had been constructed for smaller men. The diminutive bishop could walk the passage without altering his posture. Gabriel had only to dip his head to avoid the light fixtures, but Monsignor Donati, at well over six feet in height, was forced to bend at the waist like a man suffering from severe curvature of the spine. Here resided the institutional memory of the Anima and its seminary, four centuries’ worth of baptismal records, marriage certificates, and death notices. The records of the priests who’d served here and the students who’d studied within the walls of the seminary. Some of it was stored in pinewood file cabinets, some in crates or ordinary cardboard boxes. The newer additions were kept in modern plastic file containers. The smell of damp and rot was pervasive, and from somewhere in the walls came the trickle of water. Gabriel, who knew something about the detrimental effects of cold and damp on paper, rapidly lost hope of finding Bishop Hudal’s papers intact.
    Near the end of the passage was a small, catacomblike side chamber. It contained several large trunks, secured by rusted padlocks. Bishop Drexler had a ring of keys. He inserted one into the first lock. It wouldn’t turn. He struggled for a moment before finally surrendering the keys to “Professor Rubenstein,” who had no problem prying open the old locks.
    Bishop Drexler hovered over them for a moment and offered to assist in their search of the documents. Monsignor Donati patted him on the shoulder and said they could manage on