Shadow of Treason

by Tricia N. Goyer

  “You mean José and his friend didn’t pass them off?”

  “No, they were passed off, but that is all we know. I’m afraid our two men in Bilbao were both found dead. We do not know what happened to the photographs after that.”

  Sophie assumed that Walt was referring to Lester. She also wondered if the second man was the guardian who had protected her all those days and nights. But she didn’t ask. It would be one more burden for her to carry—and she wasn’t sure she could handle all that weighed upon her as it was.

  “So, do you think you can sketch what you saw? I don’t know where else to look. we’ve searched all the ports near Cartagena, where the gold was shipped from. We know the stolen gold was taken to some type of cave, and we assumed it was one similar to the naval caves where the shipment was held. But from what we have searched, that is not the case.”

  “Well, as my mother always said, two heads are better than one.” Sophie moved to retrieve her sketchbook and pencils from her satchel. “I’ll do what I can, and you can tell me about the robbery, as much as you know. Maybe something else I’ve overheard will tie in—I’ll never know until I hear the complete truth.”

  Walt tapped his fingers on the chair and then studied her eyes. “You say you saw Philip?”

  Sophie nodded, opening the sketchbook to a blank page.

  “And still you stayed?”

  She nodded again, outlining on the page the shape of one of the ships she had seen in the photograph of the harbor.

  “Okay, I will start from the beginning—when the gold first left the vault. I trust you, Sophie.” He intertwined his fingers and settled them on his lap. “Besides, I have no other choice. The Republican troops are losing ground on all sides. If I can find the gold artifacts, they can be sold for far more than what the Russians paid—money that can help the troops. Not only that, my employer has promised they’ll be sold to some of the most trustworthy collectors in the world—ones who can guarantee their safety, and perhaps will be willing to sell them back to Spain when this land finds peace.”

  Sophie set aside the sketchbook as Walt told her about the layout of the vault. But even as she forced herself to concentrate on Walt’s words, the image of Philip’s face didn’t leave her. Her heart ached, but more than that, hearing the truth behind the gold confirmed she was doing the right thing—even if her heart told her otherwise.

  “A dozen carabinero guards patrolled the vault,” Walt explained. “Another two guards greeted the boxes and their carriers when they arrived at street level. The guards escorted the loads to police trucks waiting in the bank courtyard. The loaded trucks then left for the nearby Atocha railroad station—the one you ar

  rived at this morning.”

  Where I saw Philip, Sophie thought.

  “The lack of adequate security would have made Michael’s mouth water,” Walt said with a chuckle. “Can you believe only one miliciano driver armed with a pistol and one carabinero patrolled each load?”

  “Surely word would have leaked out about the shipments. Weren’t the bankers worried about that?”

  “That’s the amazing thing. Most of those who worked inside the bank truly believed it was weapons being transported. Premier Francisco Largo Caballero and Finance Minister Juan Negrin knew the truth, but most of the bankers believe their treasure is still locked inside the vault, including the louis d’or coins.”

  “You’ve mentioned those before—what are they, exactly?” Sophie asked.

  “A very rare coin, minted in the seventeenth century. They are extremely fine pieces with the head of the French monarch Louis XVI on them. But that is just one example of the worth of some of the pieces they treated as equal to plain gold bars.”

  “The first convoy left with eight hundred white bags on September 15 at eleven thirty at night,” Walt continued. “The rest followed at nightly intervals. The trip to Cartagena took more than fifty hours. Once there, the gold was tucked behind three solid doors. Each door closed off one cave and was secured by three locks. They had three lock men, one for each lock.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  Walt’s eyes twinkled. “Our friend Emilio was one of the lock men.”

  “Maria’s husband?” Sophie felt her heart pound, understanding for the first time how vital her information had been.

  Walt nodded. “The very one. The second week of October, the finance minister ordered the gold sent to Russia. The Spanish wanted a receipt, but the Russian in charge refused. No one wanted to be personally responsible. They knew if word leaked out, then one spark would ignite Spanish tempers. All those who disagreed with the exchange of gold for arms, or wanted it for their own means, would hunt it down at any cost. Those in charge of the shipment also worried about interception by anarchists on land or by Italian or German ships at sea. No one can be trusted when it comes to such wealth. The Russians told the Spaniards a formal receipt would be issued in Moscow by the State Bank.”

  “And they let the gold go anyway?”

  “Most of it. At dusk on October 22, twenty five-ton trucks in two convoy shuttles transported the gold. For three moonless nights, from seven to dawn, sailors loaded the white ammunition boxes. Since there was no formal order and no receipt, it’s no wonder some of the gold disappeared. In the confusion, no one even missed it. My guess is that the thieves took a box or two from each truck. The right number of truckloads were delivered, but no one checked to see if the correct number of boxes was contained in each.”

  Walt’s voice rose as he spoke. “The ships sailed for Odessa at ten the next morning. A relay of Spanish warships guarded the convoy along the Mediterranean. The captains of the navy vessels were not told what they guarded. They carried sealed envelopes to be opened only if they received a special SOS code.”

  “You found out all of this from Emilio?”

  “Yes, he was one of the few who joined the operation from beginning to end.”

  “And Maria no doubt knew every detail.”

  Walt cocked an eyebrow. “Sí, she is a beautiful woman who no doubt has her ways with men. We can assume as much.”

  “So the shipment made it to Russia, I presume?” Sophie asked.

  “It arrived in Odessa in November, and when it was completely counted in January, it was worth over five hundred million dollars.”

  “And no one knows the rest of the gold is missing—or where to look for it?”

  “We know it is held in a cave somewhere—which was confirmed by the photos you found.”

  “Photos we no longer have.” Sophie sighed.

  “We have searched all of the naval caves held in Nationalist territories, but came up with nothing. The photos will help, but it will take time to match all the clues. And our worry is that the longer it takes, the more time Michael has to get the gold out of the country. He ’s stalling, we know—trying to find the perfect way to ship the priceless treasures now that he has them in his possession. In fact, we are sure that is what he was strategizing in Bilbao with his friends. So if you heard anything at all . . .”

  Sophie stood and crossed the room, searching her memory for any mention of caves, but the only thing that came to mind were the coal mines that Eleanor mentioned in her letters, and that was hardly a fit. Unless . . .

  “Walt.” She turned to him. “Have you thought about other caves? Maybe coal mines? They are all around the country, and many are quite developed, having been mined for years. Of course . . .” She thought out loud. “Coal mines aren’t very often near the coast.”

  Walt jumped to his feet. “I think you’re on to something. There are other places. . . .” Walt snapped his fingers. “Yes, Sophie, I think that is it. Grab that sketchbook and show me what you saw.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Sophie sketched the boats in the harbor. She sketched the interior of a tunnel and the large warnings on the wall that read DINAMITO. She tried to remember as much as she could, but she knew her drawings missed much.

  “What about
the land around the harbor?” Walt asked. “Is there anything that stood out?”

  “Well, one of them had a large mountain of sorts.”

  “Really? What did it look like?”

  Sophie sketched a triangular shaped mountain made of rock, looming over the bay.

  “That’s it!” Walt turned to her, eyes bright. “I have a feeling Michael will return today with news that he ’s been given an assignment to cover a story near the Strait of Gibraltar. I’ll see what types of caves are in the area—other than the naval ones already searched.”

  Sophie remembered seeing the rock of Gibraltar in a painting. “Yes, I think that’s the one. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? So, if you believe that’s where he ’s going, should I ask to join him?” Her heart pounded a little quicker, realizing how close they were to the gold.

  Walt strode to the window and stroked his chin. “No, that won’t work.” He snatched his hat from the armrest and set it on his head with a flourish. “The Strait is in Nationalist territory, and you, Sophie, are a well-known sympathizer for the Republicans. You’d be a target for sure. You must let Michael go alone. Let him think you’ll be staying where it is safe, in Madrid.”

  “Let him think? Where will I be instead?”

  “With me. We’ll travel down together. After all, you saw the photos. You can help me find the caves. You’ll have to be in disguise, of course. It will be a challenge, but I believe I can have false papers made up by dawn.” Walt stroked his chin. “Yes, I think it will work. There are Americans volunteering on the Fascist side too, you know—nurses especially. That will be your cover—an American nurse heading to southern Spain to volunteer. Tell me, Sophie, do you have a name you’d like to go by?”

  “How about Eleanor?” Sophie said without hesitation.

  “Is it someone you know?”

  “Yes, it is. Eleanor was an American who was very much in love with the Spanish people. My kindred spirit. She couldn’t find a way to help, but I think she ’d be proud to know I can.”

  “Eleanor it is.” Walt turned toward the door. “I’ll be in touch. . . . If you can, find a way to change your look. Maybe do something with your hair?”

  Sophie touched her shoulder-length brown hair, letting it run through her fingers. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Walt left, and Sophie moved to the satchel that held the Bible. Changing her look seemed like such a simple thing to sacrifice. That wasn’t what worried her. But her stomach knotted as she wondered if she could pull off the charade. She ’d taken chances before, but always as herself. How much would she have to change to be perceived as someone new? And just how did one go about inventing a whole separate life?

  Chapter Thirty

  Instead of trying to hide his limp, Ritter emphasized it as he strode from the gangplank of the German ocean liner Bremen at Pier 86. New York City loomed before him—a skyline he ’d seen many times in newspapers or newsreels, but never imagined seeing in person.

  His steps were slower than usual, as he emphasized with his cane. His papers bore his name, but instead of showing any military status, his paperwork stated that he was the director of an export-import company, visiting New York on business.

  The American woman strode by his side, her footsteps matching his. Though her arm wasn’t entwined in his, she walked close enough to his side that Ritter thought anyone who took time to notice them would assume they were a couple— which, over the weeklong journey across the Atlantic—had evolved into more than mere acting.

  Of course, Monica knew little about Ritter’s past and his true motives for traveling to the States. While she knew of the arrangement between her father and Göring—to share their knowledge of aircraft to the benefit of both—only Ritter and Göring himself knew there was more to the trip than the exchange of ideas. Much more.

  The sky was overcast, and it was cold for a June day. The customs inspector pulled thin gloves from his hands, his teeth chattering as he rifled through Ritter’s things. He gave Ritter’s suitcase the normal scrutiny and even took a quick glance at the cane.

  Monica spoke quickly in English, and Ritter understood no more than a few words. The inspector waved them forward, and Ritter turned to her with a questioning glance.

  “I explained how you were injured in a flying accident, but I don’t think he cared much. I think he was most interested in pouring himself another cup of coffee to warm up for the rest of his shift.”

  “Excellent. Where are we off to first?”

  “I thought you’d enjoy a tour of the weapons factory, but I’m not sure they’d let you in.” She winked at him. “So instead, why don’t we meet my father for lunch? He ’s eager to meet you.”

  “I’d love to, but are you sure you want that? I’m afraid you might get bored with all our aviation talk.”

  “Are you kidding? I love hearing about it. If I had my choice, I’d be working in that factory myself. Of course, my mother would never allow it. She thinks a woman’s place is at a man’s side. In fact, the only reason she allowed me to travel overseas at all is that she thought my world travels would interest an eligible bachelor.”

  “Then she won’t be surprised to meet me?”

  “Not at all.” Monica squeezed his arm as they moved toward a waiting yellow cab. “In fact, you are exactly the type of person she hoped I’d meet. Someone educated, motivated. Someone who is involved in all the right circles.”

  “So basically, when it comes to both your father and mother, you’ve captured the perfect man.”

  “Captured? Not quite.” Monica slid inside the cab and patted the seat. “This guy was thrust upon me by my ‘Uncle Hermann.’ But, yes, I think my traveling companion is worth knowing, especially since he doesn’t think a woman’s place is in the home and doesn’t think aviation talk is above me.”

  “Not at all,” Ritter said, squeezing her hand and ignoring both her little pun and the guilt rising within him. For not only was he not what she, or her parents, thought, but his intention was to use her for his gain.

  As they drove through New York toward the high-rises, Ritter studied the crowded streets, taking it all in. He also replayed his plan.

  Yes, he would talk about aviation with Monica’s father, and even share some information in return for what the American offered. But the true purpose of Ritter’s trip wasn’t for the information freely offered to him, but for that which he would only obtain through trickery and theft.

  Though they retreated from the Iron Ring around Bilbao, the sound of gunfire sounded closer than Deion anticipated. His arms shook with fear, but he refused to run into the woods as he saw other soldiers do. He refused to leave the fight.

  He ’d been under fire before, yet the memory of the bullet piercing his leg seemed like something that happened to another person long ago. He could remember that it hurt, but he couldn’t remember the pain.

  But fear, that was another thing. It came back to him the moment he picked up the rifle the first day he ’d returned to the Internationals. And now that he was back under fire, Deion realized it wasn’t bravery that kept his feet planted, but the fear of shame. Shame of being a coward among others who had faced much worse. Shame of being first to run for cover. Shame that he had lifted his hand high and signed up with great conviction, then come thousands of miles to fail.

  He knew now how important the fight was. He ’d seen what happened at Guernica and knew that the Fascists wouldn’t stop there. Nothing would stand in their way, not even the very people—the heart of the country.

  As they marched down the road, gunfire erupted around them. Deion dove toward the side of the road, throwing his body into the protective trees and boulders. He pressed his face into the ground and covered his head with his hands.

  Bullets pinged against the rock like angry hornets, sending a shower of rock chips flipping through the air. Deion saw the man next to him crumble to his knees. As if in slow motion, the soldier’s hand flew to his neck, and he opened his mout
h to speak. Instead of words, blood spilled from his lips.

  Deion jumped to help him when another explosion hit. Closer this time. He felt a jolt through his gut like an electric shock. And then only darkness.

  It hadn’t surprised Ritter when he first learned of his assignment. Ever since the end of the Great War, he knew Germany’s military had been limited by the Versailles Treaty. They had not shut down everything, though, and even managed to create an illegal Schwarz Luftwaffe—black air force. Still, their efforts to keep up with technology had been handicapped.

  The Black Luftwaffe had purchased what technology they could. But, Göring explained, what they couldn’t buy they were forced to steal, since some things weren’t available at any price.

  Unable to carry any information with him, Ritter replayed in his mind all he knew about the Norden bombsight. Göring had passed on what he could; the rest was up to Ritter.

  Ritter walked to the window. Just four months ago he was in a first-aid station in the heart of Spain; now he was staying at the Taft Hotel in downtown New York.

  Tonight he had plans for dinner with Monica’s family, but before then he had other priorities. Changing into a pair of slacks and a white cotton shirt, he left the hotel and took a cab to Brooklyn. Not speaking much English, he presented the cab driver with a written address.

  Ritter was surprised to find that his contact lived in a simple apartment in a rumble-tumble building. He found the right apartment and knocked on the door. A thin man with hollow cheeks and several days’ worth of stubble opened the door.

  “Herr Kern?” Ritter said, stating the code word.

  “Who asks?” the man responded in German.

  “Your cousin from the old country has sent her greetings. Hilda asked me to look you up when I came to town.” Ritter nodded as he finished the phrase, telling the man he ’d come from the office of Göring.