The Crypt Trilogy Bundle

by Bill Thompson

  She lifted her brandy snifter and held it toward him with a smile. “Cheers. I think I’d like a little adventure too, Indiana Jones. How far is your hotel from here?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Moonbeams glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting eerie shadows on the bed. He lay quietly next to her, watching her chest softly rise and fall as she slept. Both had been passionate participants in foreplay, then lovemaking, then a thunderous mutual climax worthy of accompaniment by Rachmaninoff.

  Neither had had much to say as they left the restaurant, hailed a cab and went to Paul’s hotel. No one had asked, no one had answered, no one had hesitated. For different reasons they both ended up in the same place, each needing exactly what he or she got, with no strings attached. She’d ducked her head when they walked through the lobby. He wondered if she was afraid someone would recognize her. Once they were in his room, she had shed her clothes without modesty, watched as he did the same, and they wriggled under the covers. They’d been here since four, and it was nearly nine now.

  Paul went to the bathroom, washed his face and brushed his teeth. He was famished and already feeling a little hung over from the afternoon of drinking. He walked back into the bedroom and noticed she was awake. She smiled and gave him a little wave from the bed.

  “That was a first,” she murmured.

  “You’re a virgin?”

  “Ha! Far from it. What I’m saying is from the minute I met you today I had this overwhelming desire to sleep with you. That’s never happened to me before.” She’d started to say she’d never had sex so soon after meeting someone, but caught herself. Why lie? Instead she told the truth. She had wanted him, beginning the minute they met. Even though she still didn’t know what he wanted from her or who he really was, she had gotten what she wanted. From the grin on his face, she decided he had too.

  In her previous profession she’d frequently had sex only a few minutes after meeting someone, but this was entirely different. This wasn’t sex for sale. This was enjoyable, stimulating, deeply involved sex. This whole thing could go somewhere, she thought briefly, then dismissed an idea that could get her into trouble. She had a new identity, a new life, and the police were looking for her. As far as she knew, this man could be part of her problem, not part of her solution. This afternoon had simply been what it had been. And it was over.

  They ate a late dinner and finished with coffee. They spoke more about him, but not about her. At last he said, “I just realized I don’t even know where you live. Do you have a flat nearby?”

  She smiled. “Maybe. Are you fishing for an invitation?”

  “Maybe. But I’m also interested to know more about you.”

  “I moved when the grandchildren came in and I wasn’t needed anymore.”

  “You said that earlier. But what you actually said was that you left when he was arrested, not two months later when the grandchildren arrived. You said you left rather than hanging around to be interviewed by the police. Why did that worry you so much?” She picked up the shift in his tone of voice. He was all business now, digging for information. Like a policeman would do.

  During dinner, her mind had occasionally drifted, creating sensual scenarios and imagining herself back in bed with him. The sudden shift in his voice and his demeanor wrenched her back into reality, back to danger and caution and fear.

  Dammit! She’d let her feelings go wild and she had known better. He was after something, pure and simple. She pulled away from him, moving back in her chair. “Here goes the interrogation again…”

  “I don’t mean it that way. I’m just trying to figure out…”

  She snapped back at him. “Stop it! What exactly are you trying to figure out? Why are you really interested in Nicu, and how did you so conveniently drop into my life this morning? All of a sudden I’m thinking our chance encounter was planned all along. I hope you enjoyed our little sojourn in bed. I guess you somehow had that planned too. Congratulations on stringing me along, you bastard. I’m done.” She stood and jerked her coat off the chair.

  He seized her arm and growled, “We’re not finished. Sit down, Carey Apostol from Holland. You haven’t had your turn to talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  He hailed a taxi as they left the restaurant. “Tell him where your place is,” he commanded.

  “We can’t go there. They’ll be watching.”

  “Who? Watching for what? For you? We certainly have a lot to talk about, Adriana. Or is your real name Carey?” He gave the driver the address of his hotel.

  She sat in his room and explained her disappearance from Bucharest, stretching the truth but not by much. She admitted she was an addict, although she lied about being in recovery. Her dealer, Denis, had threatened her over money, and Nicu had offered to come to her rescue.

  “Denis told me to meet him in the Ferentari, and Nicu said he was coming too. I didn’t want him there – he was so old and that place is so dangerous – but he insisted. He said he had nothing to lose at this point. ‘I want to talk to him myself,’ Nicu said.”

  When they got there, Nicu pulled a pistol from his jacket, killed Denis and told Adriana to run as far away as possible. “I left Romania that night and went to Austria and Nicu sent me money occasionally. I contacted a friend of Nicu’s…” She slowed down. She had to make this story believable, to explain how a poor girl could afford a new identity.

  Paul observed the subtle shifts in her body language; he knew exactly what she was doing. He’d run enough interrogations to recognize the signs of deceit, but he said nothing.

  “Nicu’s friend was in Linz. He got me a new passport and EU identity card. He even made a credit card for me.”

  Interesting. That must have cost a fortune. Also impossible, the way she’s explaining it.

  “How much money did you pay Nicu’s friend? I presume new identities don’t come cheap. Especially ones created that quickly, credit card and all.”

  She paused a moment. “Uh, I gave him four thousand dollars.”

  Bullshit.

  “And this credit card – is it linked to a bank account in your old name or your new one?”

  In totally unfamiliar territory, she stumbled. There really wasn’t a credit card, of course. She had used the black card Nicu gave her and everything just happened. But she couldn’t tell Paul about that.

  “It was … It was in Carey Apostol’s name.”

  Paul leaned forward and stared into her eyes. “No, it wasn’t. You couldn’t get a credit card without visiting a bank, spending time, filling out forms. None of this is true.”

  She exploded. “No, damn you! Most of it’s not true! I’m afraid! Do you get that? I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid you’re here to kill me. I’m also afraid of the police and going to prison as an accomplice to murder. Nicu did kill Denis, but I was there and the desk clerk saw me. Denis was trying to take Nicu’s gold…” She caught herself. Whimpering, she cowered on the sofa. She knew she was in serious trouble and she couldn’t close the door she’d just opened.

  He nodded in grim satisfaction. “I knew it. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  The man she’d gone to bed with, the man who seemed so gentle and trustworthy, was so different now. She saw a deadly side and it alarmed her. She had really made a mistake this time and now she was seriously afraid.

  “Please don’t kill me! You can have the gold. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Paul needed to assuage her fears. He’d pushed too hard in his zeal to find out about a hidden Nazi train. He had to find out what gold she was talking about. He had to regain her trust and keep it this time.

  This time he spoke in a gentle voice. “Adriana, I’m sorry. I’m not going to kill you, and I don’t want the gold. I truly am what I said. I didn’t come here looking for you. I think there’s a Nazi treasure train – one that came through Bucharest, and Nicu knew about it. I went to the historical museum in Berlin, and I explored Hitler’s bunker.”<
br />
  She stopped crying, daubed her eyes with a tissue and whimpered, “Now you’re lying. The Soviets blew up the Fuhrerbunker. Every schoolchild knows that.”

  “They blew up some of it a long time ago, but it was too solidly built. There was a lot left, so they built a huge door and walled off the rest. There’s much more left than what they destroyed. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve found things the Nazis hid seventy years ago.”

  Adriana took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m such a fool. Why do I want to believe you so much? How can I know you weren’t sent here to kill me?”

  “If that were my plan, I could have done it a dozen times already. I followed you from the church because I wanted to know how you fit in with the Lepescus. It’ll be easy to find the grandchildren again when I’m ready, but you were a mystery. I didn’t know who you were, so I followed you to find out. It’s that simple. All I want is help. And I’m willing to help you in return.”

  She collapsed into his arms. He embraced her quivering body, holding her close.

  “I’m so scared. If I hadn’t come back for his funeral, I’d be free now.”

  “You are free. You just have to trust me.” She raised her face to his and kissed him tenderly. “I do. Why, I don’t know, but I do. I’m so tired, Paul. Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything.” Tucked into his bed, wrapped in his arms, she was asleep within minutes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  As soon as they awoke, she had murmured, “I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know.” Now they sat at a rolling room service table, nibbling on breakfast as they talked.

  “I’ll be more open with you too, Adriana. The things I have to ask may make you uncomfortable, but if we’re going to help each other, I need to understand all this. Yesterday you said you went to Linz after your drug dealer was killed. Was that true? And who told you how to get a new identity? That’s a risky, complicated thing. Not something your average gypsy fortune-teller would be familiar with.” He smiled as he said that last part, and she did too.

  She really wanted to tell the truth this time. She admitted Nicu had given her the key to a safety deposit box that contained twenty-three one-kilo gold bars and two old books.

  “Nicu gave me one more thing. That credit card I told you about yesterday was real, but it didn’t come from the man in Linz. Nicu gave it to me. And it’s not really a credit card. It’s something else altogether, but I don’t know how to explain what it is. I’ve never seen anything like it before. All I know is that it can do much more than any ordinary card.”

  Paul heard only part of that. His mind was still on something she’d said earlier.

  “You’re saying Nicu gave you twenty-three kilo bars? He simply handed you around a million dollars in gold? Why would an old man do that? Wouldn’t giving away that much money jeopardize his own future?”

  “He did give me the bars, and he said he had more assets to leave his grandchildren. I don’t know where he got his money, but he wanted me to have everything in that box. Nicu loved me – platonically, of course, but I’ve no doubt he really did love me. Until I came along, I’m certain he never loved anyone but himself. Regardless of his feelings for me, I could never love him back in the same way. He was a despicable man – a Nazi killer. He had no remorse for sending thousands to their deaths at Auschwitz. One day he asked me to hear his confession, but it was more recounting his life story than a plea for forgiveness. He was proud to have been a Nazi. His war medals still hang on the wall of his bedroom. In a way, eventually I came to love him too because he helped me, but I always hated what he had been and what he had done to his fellow man.”

  Nicu never revealed where the gold bars came from, she continued. “I’m ashamed. I should care more. I should try to find out if Jews died because of those gold bars. But part of me doesn’t want to. I want the financial security Nicu gave me, but I feel dirty. Does any of this make sense?”

  He nodded as he poured more coffee. “It does, and don’t beat yourself up. This isn’t your battle. You don’t know the history of those bars. Even if they’re stained with blood, nothing you can do will bring a single person back to life. Nicu committed the sins, not you.”

  They moved back to the bed and lay beside each other, propped on pillows. He squeezed her hand. “Tell me about the other things. Didn’t you say you found books too?”

  “There were two books. One is an old copy of Mein Kampf. I asked Nicu why it was in his safety deposit box and he said something strange. He said it was very important and I should guard it until I needed it. He said it would be helpful someday.”

  “That is odd. Did you look inside it?”

  “Briefly. It’s not a first edition and it’s not signed by Hitler. There are no notes, no underlining or pages turned down – nothing like that. It’s just a ragged copy of a very popular book.”

  “What’s the other book?”

  She paused for a moment, remembering the evil red swastika on its cover.

  “It’s his diary. It’s a journal from 1944, the year he was stationmaster in Bucharest.”

  Paul bolted straight up, tossing his coffee and hers all over the bed. Doused with hot liquid, she screamed and then laughed hysterically. As he wiped coffee from her arms, he boomed, “Sorry about that, but this is unbelievable! You have his diary from 1944? Incredible! I have to see that book!”

  All of a sudden she stopped laughing. Shit! Why the hell did I mention the diary? I don’t even have it anymore! I should have been ready for this, but he’s throwing questions at me so fast I can’t keep up.

  “It’s not that big a deal,” she stammered. “Half of it’s unreadable. It’s in some kind of numeric code or something.”

  “Numeric code? Even better. Wonder what was so sensitive he had to encode it? This is amazing! When can I see it?”

  She stared silently at the floor. Anything she said seemed only to make things worse.

  “I … I loaned it to a friend.”

  He didn’t reply for what seemed to her like ages. “Look at me,” he commanded at last. “Who did you loan it to? What’s your friend’s name?” He watched her face closely.

  “A friend of mine named…” Addled, she hesitated a second too long. “Paul. His name is Paul too, just like yours.”

  “This friend Paul. Where is he right now?”

  She couldn’t handle this. By now every answer was simply dropping out of her mouth before she even thought about what sounded logical.

  “I don’t know. He was going to London for a couple of days, he said. He took the book with him. I think he’ll be back on Monday.”

  “Adriana, this simply doesn’t make sense. You’re making this up as you go. You say you found a diary in a safety deposit box. The book was so important Nicu kept it locked away for decades, but you loaned it to a friend – a man named Paul, like me – who took it to London. What are you hiding? Where’s the book?”

  She shook her head and started to cry. I need time to think. She hadn’t intended to fabricate a story, but she had, and now she was lost. When she was under stress, Adriana relied on her old standby, the friend in the syringe, but she hadn’t brought any. This was to have been a day trip – a plane ride down, a funeral and a plane ride back. She should have been back in Amsterdam last night, but instead she’d stayed in Paul’s hotel room. Now he was pushing her, questioning her, backing her into a corner, and she was about to break. She began to shiver.

  She’d put two vials of Liquid O in her purse yesterday morning just in case. Liquid heroin took away the edge, but it didn’t offer the same effect as an injection. She’d used a vial already – she sneaked it yesterday when Paul was in the bathroom. Now she popped the last one, stuck it in her nose and inhaled deeply. Ordinarily she’d have never done this in front of someone else, but at this moment she had no choice. The stress was killing her. The drug calmed her almost immediately.

  He watched her, then said quietly, “You need it badly, don’t y
ou?”

  Adriana screamed, “God, Paul, stop! Stop badgering me! I can’t take anymore!”

  She needed to get back to Amsterdam quickly, back to her drugs. She couldn’t buy heroin here – Nicu had killed her dealer and she didn’t know any others. She had heroin in her hotel safe, and she could buy more in the Old Town anytime she wanted. She had to get home before this hit wore off.

  She forced herself to calm down and began putting on the only clothes she had, the ones from yesterday. She said, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore right now. You’re pushing too hard, Paul. Too many questions. You have to give me some space. I’ll explain everything later, but right now I’m going back.”

  He jumped out of bed and held her arms. “Why are you doing this? What are you hiding? There’s something in that diary, isn’t there?”

  “STOP! Stop the questions!” She pulled away, the stress causing her to shake violently.

  “You’re acting like…”

  “Like what, Paul? Like a heroin addict? I need a fix, okay? What part of ‘I’m an addict’ did you not understand? I have to go back to Amsterdam. I’ll tell you everything later. Right now you have to let me go.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No! Leave me alone!”

  Adriana stormed out of Paul’s hotel room and hailed a cab to the airport. She sat at the departure gate and thought about what had happened. Why had she lied about giving Philippe the diary? Because she was afraid, she realized. She barely knew Paul. What was he doing in her life anyway? She’d be wise to hold a few secrets back. Next week she’d call him. If everything was okay, she’d tell him everything like she promised. Right now she just had to make it back to Holland.