“You have my unwavering loyalty, Your Excellency.”
“Excellent, my son. Now, let me share our vision with you.”
Hitler, in his naivety, believed that “our vision” referred solely to the shared aspirations of himself and the cardinal. Little did he know it implied a grander scheme, a master plan conceived by the Black Nobility. The Council’s aim was to bolster the Vatican’s financial reserves, and they planned to use Germany as the primary instrument to achieve this monumental task.
“As I mentioned earlier, Adolf,” Pacelli began, his voice steady and resolute, “this is not a task that can be accomplished overnight. It will require decades of meticulous planning and unwavering commitment. Are you prepared to dedicate yourself to the cause?”
“Again, I give you my solemn word, Your Excellency,” Hitler responded, his voice echoing his determination.
“Excellent,” Pacelli replied, his gaze scrutinizing Hitler, gauging his reaction to the daunting timeline. He was reassured when he saw the man, the decorated soldier, listening attentively, unfazed by the prospect of a decades-long commitment. “We both know who was responsible for Germany’s defeat in the Great War.”
“The Jews.” Hitler spat out the word with substantial disdain.
“Indeed. The Jews betrayed Germany, driven by their insatiable greed. They sought profits at any cost, and now the entire nation of Germany is paying the price—a staggering one hundred thirty-two billion gold marks.”
Hitler’s eyes darkened with memories from the front lines. “I’ve seen the horrors of war firsthand. Those money-grubbing traitors will never comprehend the sacrifices we made, the atrocities we endured. They have never set foot on the battlefield, never experienced the camaraderie of the trenches.” Hitler’s voice was laced with bitterness and longing. He yearned for the unity he’d experienced with his fellow soldiers, the respect he had earned for his bravery. His act of valor—dragging a wounded comrade to safety—had earned him the Iron Cross and the admiration of his peers. He yearned to feel that bond again.
“There’s already a simmering undercurrent of anti-Semitism in Munich and Berlin,” Pacelli noted, steering the conversation back on track.
“Yes, I’ve heard the whispers in the beer halls. I attended a meeting a few weeks ago led by an anti-Semite. His views mirror my own,” Hitler admitted, referring to a recent gathering of the German Workers Party. “The war reparations are bleeding us dry. The people know who’s to blame—the Jews. Those damned traitors,” Hitler spat again in contempt.
“It’s high time the Jews made amends to the German people for the atrocities they inflicted upon them.”
“But how can that be achieved?” Hitler questioned, his brow furrowed in thought. “The Jews won’t willingly part with their ill-gotten wealth. Have you ever tried to pry a pfennig from a Jew’s hand? They haggle over every last cent.”
Hitler, despite his cunning, had always found himself outmaneuvered by astute Jewish businessmen, never managing to secure the upper hand in any deal. The thought of retribution consumed him. He was prepared to go to any lengths to finally triumph over the influential Jewish community who seemed to have it all—the grandest estates, thriving businesses, powerful connections, and most enviable of all, the finest art collections. Hitler coveted their art, yearned to be part of this exclusive circle, but was always kept at arm’s length, his non-Jewish heritage a barrier he couldn’t overcome. The prospect of turning the tables, of holding the reins of power, was an intoxicating thought.
“The winds of change are on the horizon, I assure you. But first, I need your unwavering loyalty. Can I trust you with this mission?” the cardinal confirmed a third time.
“I am at your disposal, Your Excellency.”
Hitler’s thoughts drifted back to his days in the war. He had learned the value of obedience, of following orders from his superiors while serving as an infantryman during the Battle of Ypres. This brutal conflict had claimed the lives of 80 percent of his comrades, reducing his company of two hundred fifty men to a mere forty-two. Despite the devastating losses, Hitler’s loyalty to his leaders remained unshaken.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Keep your eyes open for any opportunity to make your mark within this Workers Party group. This could be the first stepping stone to you becoming the leader of the Third Reich.”
This new political phrase resonated with Hitler, stirring a sense of pride and ambition within him. “Leader of the Third Reich,” he repeated, sitting up straighter as he envisioned the prestige that came with it. “Germany will rise to greatness once again.”
Hitler had always held the Germanic people in the highest esteem; their strength and resilience resonated deeply within him. To lead them, to become their beacon in the storm, was the apex of his aspirations. Born an Austrian, he had always felt like an outsider, a spectator peering in through a frosted window. It was only when he enlisted in the German army, fighting shoulder to shoulder with his German brethren in the Great War, that he felt a profound sense of belonging. But then a tragic incident: a British gas shell temporarily blinded him, leaving him confined to a hospital bed until the war’s bitter end. Isolated there, Hitler became convinced that the German government had betrayed him, his comrades, the entire nation. And beneath this conviction, a deeper truth gnawed at him—it was the Jews who had truly betrayed them all.
“I will summon you for another meeting,” Pacelli declared, his tone grave. “It is of utmost importance that our discussions regarding this divine mission remain strictly between us. Can I count on your unwavering commitment and loyalty?” he repeated a fourth time, cementing Hitler’s allegiance.
“You have my loyalty, Your Excellency.”
“To initiate your mission, you will require financial support.” Pacelli rose from his seat and strode towards a large painting hanging on the wall. With a swift movement, he swung the painting aside, revealing a hidden safe. He deftly manipulated the tumbler, and the safe door swung open to reveal a substantial cache of Church funds stored within. This money, destined to fuel Hitler’s burgeoning revolution, would forever bind him to the cardinal.
A smile spread across Hitler’s face as he realized the magnitude of the opportunity lying before him. His meeting with the cardinal had not only secured the funding he needed to pursue his ambitious path, but had also opened the door to a future he had only dared dream of—becoming the leader of Germany.
As the clock chimed 2 a.m., Pacelli subtly gestured to Hitler, a silent indication that their clandestine meeting had reached its conclusion.
“You must go. Be swift and silent. It is of utmost importance no one ever learns this meeting took place,” Cardinal Pacelli whispered, leading the way towards the library’s exit. Hitler rose from his seat, following the cardinal in a hushed manner. “Our conversation tonight must never be spoken of. Do you understand?” Pacelli cautioned, pressing a finger to his lips in the universal sign of silence.
Hitler responded with a silent nod, understanding the gravity of their secret rendezvous as they exited the library.
Upon reaching the front door, Pacelli handed him the bag filled with money. His eyes darted toward the shadows, a subtle warning to Hitler that they were not alone.
The household was deep in slumber, oblivious to the clandestine meeting taking place. The only exception was Pacelli’s devoted aide, Sister Pascalina, who remained vigilantly awake. Her constant worry for the cardinal’s health often led the nun to wake at odd hours of the night, checking on Pacelli’s wellbeing.
“Go, quell the devil’s works. Help spread the love of Almighty God.” Pacelli gave Hitler a look, his words a cryptic directive for Hitler to follow suit. His gaze was intense, a silent command that left no room for misinterpretation.
Quick to comprehend, Hitler cast a glance over the cardinal’s shoulder, his eyes catching sight of a shadowy figure concealed in the darkness. “For the love of Almighty God,” he echoed, before turning to leave the residence of the Nuncio of Germany, eagerly anticipating his next orders.
Pacelli would need to be more cautious in the future, ensuring his discussions with Hitler remained confidential. The grand mission of the Black Nobility could not be exposed, not even to his loyal aide. Despite her decade-long loyalty to him, he did not want Sister Pascalina entangled in the mission entrusted to him by the Council.
Closing the front door behind him, Pacelli retreated to his library and sank into the comfort of his high-back leather chair. His mind began to weave the intricate web of his next moves with the young revolutionary who had serendipitously fallen into his lap. Eugenio’s progression of the mission would undoubtedly bring a smile to his brother’s face.
Chapter 15
28 September 1919
Sunday, 7:03 a.m.
In the secrecy of his private quarters, Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli initiated a secure line of communication with his brother, Francesco Pacelli. His heart pounded with an intensity that echoed the gravity of the situation. The secure phone line was his only connection to his brother; he dared not put their communications in writing. The conversation that was about to take place had the potential to change everything. Eugenio’s voice, a low murmur, echoed through the line:
Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli:
“Brother, I believe I have found the man who could act as the linchpin for the Council’s grand scheme.”
Francesco Pacelli:
“Excellent work. Who is this person?”
Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli:
“An Austrian. A man by the name of Adolf Hitler.”
Francesco Pacelli:
“An Austrian? How could he possibly lead the German people?”
Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli:
“He has proven his allegiance in the German military. His superior officer brought him to my attention. Hitler’s fervor for the German people is nothing short of extraordinary.”
Francesco Pacelli:
“What are his ambitions? He will need an immutable drive to endure the inevitable hardships.”
