“If it‘s true, Chief, it really is,” Mattie answered and gave him the short course on the history of the Spear she had learned from her father. Constantine, Charlemagne, Frederick the Great. Bloodthirsty believers who held the Spear before them as they waged war without quarter.
“So, this means you would be interested in covering the story yourself?”
Mattie hesitated. Of course she was interested. How could she not be? She looked at her watch. Cockran was only minutes away from his oral argument she was going to miss. Later today, she would have to tell him they wouldn‘t be sailing together for Europe as planned.
But Venice? No, she couldn‘t blow it off too, especially not after their fight last night. They both had been so looking forward to Venice. Still, things like this were her father‘s lifelong obsession and now his daughter was being offered the real-life equivalent of a grail quest. Could she really pass it up? She sighed. Yes, she could. She loved her father and missed him still. But she had chosen Cockran. He was the man in her life now and she loved him. He came first. She had compromised on Hitler to please Hearst. She would not compromise on Venice.
“How soon would the expedition have to begin? After Hitler, I‘ve got some interviews in Berlin with international arms dealers. Then it‘s two weeks in Venice with Bourke.”
“Fine with me my dear. Just bring me back a good story with plenty of photographs.”
Well, that was easy, Mattie thought as Hearst escorted her to Cockran‘s big Packard towncar and bade her farewell. As Mattie sank back in the tufted leather upholstery, she realized she was one happy girl. Her father had once told her that happiness was a simple and uncomplicated matter requiring only three things. Someone to love. Something interesting to do. And something to look forward to. Mattie smiled. She had all three. The someone she loved would be disappointed but she knew exactly how to make it up to Cockran later tonight.
“A Problem With The Kaiser”
New York City
Spring, 1931
Monday
Kurt von Sturm liked the Oak Bar at the Plaza. The dark wood, the smoky atmosphere. In fact, Sturm liked America. It was only his second visit and it was a different America than the one which had captivated him during the summer of 1929. This America was still prosperous, of course, but there were unemployed men living in shacks in Central Park who had not been there previously. It was such a large country, however, that he found it difficult to believe that the economic bad times would last as long here as they had in Germany.
Sturm‘s eyes carefully roamed the room after he had been taken a corner table, looking for enemies where there should have been none. And there weren‘t. But old habits were hard to break and Sturm had no intention of starting now. Assassins lived longer that way.
Sturm also liked the American custom of cocktails before dinner. Prohibition was on its last legs but a drink in New York had never been hard to come by. He raised his glass of Bell‘s 12 year old scotch in a silent toast before he spoke in German to his companion, “I return to Germany tomorrow on the Graf. How did you fare on your recent visit to Holland?”
Anton Dressler, a Swiss banker who was Chairman of the Geneva Group for Scientific and Industrial Progress which Sturm served as Executive Director, frowned and drained the last of his cognac. “Not so well, my young friend. But I do not wish to discuss so sensitive a subject here. Walk with me back to my apartment. We‘ll discuss it along the way.” Dressler leaned in close and whispered to Sturm. “We have a problem with the Kaiser.”
The white-haired Dressler spoke softly as the two men walked out of the Plaza, declined the offer of a taxi and began to walk north on Fifth Avenue. “I had not mentioned this to our directors because I thought I had a ready solution,” Dressler began, “but it seems I was mistaken. The Kaiser, it appears, is a superstitious man. He has persuaded the Crown Prince not to accept our proposition to place him on the German throne upon our assassination of President Hindenburg without an ancient artifact he calls the Spear of Destiny, the spear which the Roman centurion Longinus reportedly used to pierce the side of Christ on the cross and mercifully bring an end to his suffering. It seems the Spear has been possessed at one time or another by all of the great German emperors, including Barbarossa and Frederick the Great. I had not thought it a problem to deliver the so-called sacred talisman to the Kaiser because I had already arranged with the director of the Hofburg Museum in Vienna, where this Spear is on display, to loan it to a Berlin Museum as part of a special exhibition of historic Germanic artifacts.”
“You arranged for an exhibition? Aren‘t the Austrians especially prickly about their German neighbors on matters like this?”
Dressler linked his arm with the taller man‘s and patted him with a kid-skinned gloved hand. “It is the way of the world, Kurt. A generous contribution to the museum‘s acquisition fund and an equally generous deposit in the museum director‘s account in my bank in Zurich.”
“So what is the problem?”
“The Kaiser no longer believes the Spear at the Hofburg is the true Spear once possessed by his illustrious ancestors. He thinks it‘s a fake.”
“The old man believes the Spear is a fake? Does he want us to produce the true Spear?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Dressler replied, handing Sturm a manila envelope. “This is a translation of a monograph by an English archeology professor claiming that the Hofburg Spear is a fake and that the real Spear was hidden in the Austrian Alps before the war.”
“I’ll read the monograph later. So, my former monarch and his eldest son now want us to go off on a wild goose chase in the Alps based on an obscure article by an English archeologist?
“Yes, but it‘s more than that. The Kaiser and his son firmly believe that with the Spear by their side, Germany would have prevailed in the Great War. German intelligence apparently reported to the Kaiser before the war that the Emperor Franz Josef personally vetoed an exhibit of the Spear and other artifacts in Berlin. He feared the Kaiser would never return them, a fear which the Kaiser indicates was correct. That is why he believes the Englishman‘s story. Hiding the Spear, he says, is something Franz Josef would think to do. More importantly, the Englishman has been to Doorn at the Kaiser‘s request and they were quite taken with his story.”
The two men reached the apartment building on Fifth Avenue where Dressler‘s bank maintained a residence for visiting bank officers. The uniformed doorman held the door open for Dressler as he shook hands with Sturm. “I am sorry you could not join us for dinner tonight.”
Sturm smiled. “I regret it also, Herr Dressler. But I am dining with a quite beautiful young woman I met the other evening at a reception given by the Swedish Consul General. And tonight, most conveniently, her husband is out of the city on a business trip.”
Now it was Dressler‘s turn to smile. “Enjoy yourself, my friend. I will see you soon in Geneva. Godspeed. Find the Kaiser his Spear.”
“A Face From The Past”
Lakehurst, New Jersey
Spring, 1931
Tuesday
Bourke Cockran, Jr. noticed Mattie was still stiff when they arrived at the airfield in Lakehurst. Neither had spoken to the other since their fight in the taxi the night before except to discuss their respective travel details which would reunite them in Venice. Two arguments in two days was not how he wanted to part with the woman he loved. But it was not their first fight nor would it be the last. It was probably how most Celts—Scots or Irish—procreated, he thought. Fights followed by fierce lovemaking. But that hadn‘t happened last night. He wished it had.
Cockran escorted Mattie out onto the tarmac to the wooden steps leading up to the passenger cabin of the Graf Zeppelin, its size and beauty still a wonder to him nearly two years after he had first seen the globe-trotting airship in Los Angeles. They briefly kissed and told each other, “I love you,” but he knew they both were still upset. “See you in Venice,” Mattie said, with a weak smile. Someone who didn�
��t know them would not think they were lovers.
“It‘s a date,” he said but he was worried. How had they so quickly gone in two days from his planning to buy her an engagement ring in Venice to her saying perhaps they were not right for each other? Maybe two weeks apart would give her time to think. Maybe what he said would start to sink in. He hoped so. He loved her dearly but she had covered far too many wars and taken far too many risks in her work for Hearst. She was wrong to claim he was trying to control her life. He was just trying to keep her safe. And alive. Why couldn‘t she see that?
Cockran walked back through the departure lounge. He glanced over to a coffee and tea stand, where two uniformed members of the Graf Zeppelin’s crew stood beside the armrests of a couple of chairs. They were talking with a striking figure in a well-tailored three-piece suit. A face from the past. Cockran recognized him though he couldn‘t place where. He was tall, his blond hair neatly combed, and he had a scar on his right temple. A handsome guy but not the kind of face you‘d mistake for somebody else.
The breeze ruffled Kurt von Sturm‘s blond hair as he once more thrilled at the sight of the giant silver airship, the largest in the world, floating patiently at its mooring mast, gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. These giant airships had once been his life and the two members of the Graf Zeppelin’s crew to whom he talked had flown under his command during the war.
“It is an honor, Käpitanleutenant, to have you flying with us again.”
Sturm gave a short bow. “No, Fritz, it is you who honor me. I am merely a passenger.”
“Your time will come again, Käpitanleutenant. The Graf is only the beginning of a new era in travel. We are building more airships and one of them should be yours.”
“You are very kind. Have you seen to the passenger arrangements I‘ve requested?”
A broad smile crossed Fritz Esser’s face. “Indeed, I have, Käpitanleutenant. The passenger manifest is full but I have arranged a single cabin for her side by side with yours.”
“And the dining salon?”
“Yes. A table for two by a window. Only you and the fraulein. She is very beautiful.”
Now it was Sturm‘s turn to smile. “Yes, she is, isn‘t she?”
“Have a pleasant voyage, sir.”
“Thank you, Fritz. Thanks to you, I believe I will.”
Sturm marveled at his good fortune as he walked through the double doors of the passenger reception area out toward the great dirigible. First, a successful mission in America. Then last night and this morning spent seducing yet another man‘s beautiful wife. Now, a glorious airship voyage. And, most extraordinarily, three days and two nights alone in the sky with another beautiful woman as his companion, someone he had coveted from afar more than once. He wondered if she would remember him. He didn‘t think so. Other men had been monopolizing her attention on those occasions. Munich in 1923 on the eve of the Beer Hall putsch and then again in California two years ago. He had envied her companion on the latter occasion because of her obvious tenderness toward him. But now the field was all his, his prey unsuspecting. Perfect.
Sturm had a highly developed sense on matters like this and he had not failed to notice the tension between the woman and her escort. A tension that was not there two years ago. A vulnerability to exploit. And more than enough time in which to exploit it. Due to the nature of his profession, married women were his preferred prey but he was more than prepared to make an exception if the reward would be bedding someone so brave and so beautiful. It had been nearly two years since last he saw her but he had never forgotten her. While she was with the same companion then as now, she was not wearing a wedding or even an engagement ring. He wondered why. Details. A predator like Kurt von Sturm always noticed details. He lived for the chase and the rewards to be claimed at the end of the hunt. He had never lost. And the hunt was about to begin.
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eISBN : 978-1-936-27409-3
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The DeValera Deception Page 42