“Paul, I appreciate your doing all this. More than you know.”
“I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t fascinating. Besides, I might get a new client for the firm. Sounds like Wayland McKoy is going to need a lawyer.”
“I have a feeling all hell’s going to break loose around here tomorrow, when those investors get here.”
Paul tossed the newspaper to the carpet. “I think you’re right. It could get interesting.” He then switched off the bedside light. The wallet from the underground chamber lay next to the lamp, her father’s letters beside it.
She switched off the lamp on her side.
“This is really strange,” he said. “Sleeping together for the first time in three years.”
She curled under the comforter on her side. She wore one of his long-sleeved twill shirts, full of the comforting scent she remembered from a decade of marriage. Paul turned on his side, his back facing her, seemingly making sure her space was hers. She decided to make a move and spooned closer. “You’re a good man, Paul Cutler.”
Her arm wrapped around him. She felt him tense and wondered if it was nerves or shock.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said.
Tuesday, May 20, 9:10 a.m.
Paul followed Rachel down the dank shaft to the chamber harboring the three trucks. He’d learned in the shed that McKoy had been underground since 7A .M. Grumer had yet to appear at the site, which was nothing unusual according to the man on duty, since Grumer rarely appeared before midmorning.
They entered the lit chamber.
He took a moment and studied the three vehicles more closely. In yesterday’s excitement there’d been no time for a detailed look. All the headlights, rearview mirrors, and windshields were whole. The barrel-shaped canvas beds were likewise relatively intact. Except for an icing of rust, the flattened tires, and moldy canvas, it was as though the vehicles could have been driven right out of their rocky garage.
Two of the cab doors were open. He glanced inside one. The leather seat was ripped and brittle from decay. The dials and gauges on the instrument panel were silent and still. Not a scrap of paper or anything tangible lay in sight. He found himself wondering where the trucks came from. Had they once transported German troops? Or Jews headed for the camps? Did they bear witness to the Russian advance on Berlin, or the Americans’ simultaneous rush from the west? Strange, this surreal sight so deep inside a German mountain.
A shadow flared across the rock wall, revealing movement from the other side of the farthest vehicle.
“McKoy?” he called out.
“Over here.”
He and Rachel rounded the trucks. The big man turned to face them.
“These are without a doubt Büssing NAGs. Four-and-half-ton diesels. Twenty feet long. Seven and a half feet wide. Ten feet high.” McKoy moved close to a rusted side panel and banged it with his fist. Brownish-red snow fluttered to the sand below, but the metal held. “Solid steel and iron. These things can carry almost seven tons. Slow as hell, though. No more than twenty, twenty-one miles per hour, tops.”
“What’s the point?” Rachel asked.
“The point, Your Honor, is these damn things weren’t used to haul a bunch of paintin’s and vases. These were precious. Big haulers. For heavy loads. And the Germans sure didn’t just dump ’em in a mine.”
“Meaning?” Rachel said.
“This whole thing doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.” McKoy reached into his pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Paul. “I need you to look at this.”
He unfolded the sheet and walked close to one of the light bars. It was a memorandum. He and Rachel read it in silence:
GERMAN EXCAVATIONS CORPORATION
6798 Moffat Boulevard
Raleigh, North Carolina 27615
To:
Potential Partners
From:
Wayland McKoy, CEO
Re: Own a Piece of History and Get a Free Vacation to Germany
German Excavations Corporation is pleased to be a sponsor and partner of the following program along with these contributing companies: Chrysler Motor Company (Jeep Division), Coleman, Eveready, Hewlett-Packard, IBM, Saturn Marine, Boston Electric Tool Company, and Olympus America, Inc.
In the waning days of World War II, a train left Berlin loaded with 1,200 art treasures. It reached the outskirts of the city of Magdeburg and was then diverted southward toward the Harz Mountains and was never seen again. We have an expedition now ready to locate and excavate that train.
Under German law, the rightful owners have ninety days to claim their artworks. Unclaimed works are then put up for auction with 50 percent of the proceeds going to the German government and fifty percent to the expedition and its sponsoring partners. An inventory list of the train can be provided on request. Minimum estimated value of the artwork, $360 million—with 50 percent going to the government. The partners’ remaining sum of $180 million will be divided according to units purchased, less art claimed by original owners, less auction fees, taxes, etc.
All the partners’ monies will be returned by funds of the presold media rights. All partners and spouses will be our guests in Germany for the expedition. Bottom line: We have found
the proper place. We have the contract. We have the research. We have the media sold. We have the experience and the equipment to effect excavation. German Excavations Corporation has a 45-day permit to dig. So far, the rights to 45 units at $25,000 per unit for the final stage of the expedition (Phase III) have been sold. We have about 10 units left at $15,000 per unit. Please feel free to call me if you’re interested in this exciting investment.
Sincerely,
Wayland McKoy
President,
German Excavations Corporation
“That’s what I sent to potential investors,” McKoy said.
“What do you mean by ‘All the partners’ monies will be returned by funds of the presold media rights’?” Paul asked McKoy.
“Just what it says. A bunch of companies paid for the rights to film and broadcast what we find.”
“But that presupposes you find something. They didn’t pay you up front, did they?”
McKoy shook his head. “Shit, no.”
“Trouble is,” Rachel said, “you didn’t say that in the letter. The partners could think, and rightfully so, that you already have the money.”
Paul pointed to the second paragraph. “ ‘We have an expedition ready to excavate that train.’ That sounds like you actually found it.”
McKoy sighed. “I thought we did. The ground radar said there was somethin’ big in here.” McKoy motioned to the trucks. “And there damn well is.”
“This true about the forty-five units at twenty five thousand dollars each?” Paul asked. “That’s $1.25 million.”
“That’s what I raised. Then I sold the units for the other one hundred fifty thousand. Sixty investors in all.”
Paul motioned to the letter. “Partnersis what you call them. That’s different from investor.”
McKoy grinned. “Sounds better.”
“Are these other listed companies also investors?”
“They supplied equipment either by donation or at reduced rates. So, in a sense, yes. They don’t expect anythin’ in return, though.”
“You dangled sums like three hundred sixty million dollars, half maybe going to the partners, that can’t be true.”
“Damn well is. That’s what researchers value the Berlin museum stuff.”
“Assuming the art can be found,” Rachel said. “Your problem, McKoy, is the letter misleads. It could even be construed as fraudulent.”
“Since we’re going to be so close, why don’t you two call me Wayland. And, little lady, I did what was necessary to get the money. I didn’t lie to anybody, and I wasn’t interested in bilkin’ these people. I wanted to dig and that’s what I did. I didn’t keep a dime, except what they were told I’d get up front.”
Paul waited for a rebuke on “little lady,” but none came. Instead, Rachel said, “Then you’ve got another problem. There’s not a word in that letter about any hundred-thousand-dollar fee to you.”
“They were all told. And, by the way, you’re a real ray of sunshine through this storm.”
Rachel did not back down. “You need to hear the truth.”
“Look, half that hundred thousand went to Grumer for his time and trouble. He was the one who got the permit from the government. Without that, there’d have been no dig. The rest I kept for my time. This trip is costin’ me plenty. And I didn’t take my cut till the end. Those last units paid me and Grumer, along with our expenses. If I hadn’t raised that, I was prepared to borrow it, that’s how strong I felt about this venture.”
Paul wanted to know, “When are the partners getting here?”
“Twenty-eight with their spouses are due after lunch. That’s all that accepted the trips we offered.”
He started thinking like a lawyer, studying each word in the letter, analyzing the diction and syntax. Was the proposal fraudulent? Maybe. Ambiguous? Definitely. Should he tell McKoy about Grumer and show him the wallet? Explain about the letters in the sand? McKoy was still an unknown commodity. A stranger. But weren’t most clients? Perfect strangers one minute, trusted confidants the next. No. He decided to keep quiet and wait a little longer and see what developed.
Suzanne entered the garni and climbed a marble staircase to the second floor. Grumer had called ten minutes ago and informed her that McKoy and the Cutlers had left for the excavation site. Grumer waited at the end of the second floor hall.
“There,” he said. “Room Twenty-one.”
She stopped at the door, a slab of paneled oak stained dark, its jamb tattered from time and abuse. The lock was part of the doorknob, a tarnished piece of brass that accepted a regular key. No dead bolt. Lock picking had never been her specialty, so she slipped the letter opener commandeered from the concierge’s desk into the jamb and worked the point, easily sliding the latch bolt out of the strike plate.
She opened the door. “Careful with our search. Let’s not announce our visit.”
Grumer started with the furniture. She moved to the luggage and discovered only one travel bag. She rifled through the clothes—mainly men’s—and found no letters. She checked the bathroom. The toiletries were also mainly men’s. Then she searched the more obvious places. Under the mattress and bed, on top of the armoire, beneath the drawers in the nightstands.
“The letters are not here,” Grumer said.
“Search again.”
They did. This time not caring about neatness. When they finished the room was a wreck. But still, no letters. Her patience was running thin. “Get to the site,Herr Doktor , and find those letters or there’ll be not one euro paid to you. Understand?”
Grumer seemed to sense she was in no mood and only nodded before leaving.
Burg Herz
10:45 a.m.
Knoll thrust his erect member deeper. Monika was hunched on all fours, back to him, her firm ass arched high, her head buried deep into a goose-down pillow.
“Come on, Christian. Show me what that bitch from Georgia missed.”
He pumped harder, sweat beading on his brow. She reached back and gently massaged his balls. She knew exactly how to work him. And that fact alone bothered him. Monika knew him far too well.
He grasped her thin waist with both hands and torqued her body forward. She accepted the gesture and sighed like a cat after a satisfying kill. He felt her come a moment later, a deep moan confirming her delight. He pounded a few more seconds, then came, too. She continued her testicle massage, milking every drop of his pleasure.
Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all.
She released her hold. He withdrew and relaxed onto the bed. She lay beside him, belly down. He caught his breath and allowed the last spasms of orgasm to shudder through him. He kept his body still, not giving the bitch the satisfaction of knowing he enjoyed it.
“Hell of a lot better than some mousy lawyer, huh?”
He shrugged. “Never got to sample the wares.”
“What about that Italian whore you sliced up. Good?”
He kissed his index finger and thumb. “Mullissemo.Well worth whatever she charged.”
“And Suzanne Danzer?
The resentment was clear. “Your jealousy is so unbecoming.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Monika raised up on one elbow. She’d been waiting in his room when he arrived a half hour ago. Burg Herz was only an hour west of Stod. He’d returned to his home base for further instructions, deciding a face-to-face talk with his employer was better than the telephone.
“I don’t get it, Christian. What is it you see in Danzer? You prefer the finer things of life, not some charity case raised by Loring.”
“That charity case, as you say, graduated with honors from the University of Paris. She speaks a dozen languages, that I know of. She is well versed in the arts and can fire a sidearm with expert accuracy. She is also attractive, and an excellent lay. I’d say Suzanne has some admirable credentials.”
“Like one-upping you?”
He grinned. “To the devil her due, yes. But payback is truly hell.”
“Don’t make this personal, Christian. Violence draws too much attention. The world is not your personal playground.”
“I am well aware of my duties and my limits.”
Monika shot him a wiry grin, one he’d never liked. She seemed determined to make this as difficult as possible. It was so much easier when Fellner ran the show. Now business mixed with pleasure. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.
“Father should be through with his meeting. He said for us to come to the study.”
He pushed up from the mattress. “Then let us not keep him waiting.”
He followed Monika into her father’s study. The old man sat behind an eighteenth-century walnut desk Fellner had purchased in Berlin two decades ago. He sucked on an ivory pipe with an amber mouthpiece, another rare collectible that once belonged to Alexander II of Russia, liberated from another thief in Romania.
Fellner looked tired, and Knoll hoped their remaining time together would not be short. That’d be a shame. He’d miss their banter on classical literature and art, along with their political debates. He’d learned a lot from his years at Burg Herz—a working education obtained while scouring the world for lost treasure. He appreciated the opportunity that had been extended, grateful for the life, determined to do what the old man wanted till the end.